#i sure have a type in media that just gets me grabs me wrings me out huh

[goddesswritings]

“Can I slap her for you?” -  Corpse Husband | Part Two

Title: “Can I slap her for you?” – Part Two

Pairing: Corpse Husband x Reader

Summary: Being stuck living with the queen of YouTube drama and partying during the pandemic has seriously worn down your patience. Meeting Pokimane has changed your life for the better, making Among Us a pivotal part of your life.

Word Count: 5.2k

Unedited for now. I was eager to post. I will edit it later.

Corpse Masterlist

********

<< PART ONE

After you left the apartment, you sat in the parking lot of some random store, trying to decide what to do now. Sighing, you opened your phone and went to Instagram. Corpse was probably wondering if it went okay.

Corpse: She left the stream, thank you!

Corpse: What exactly did you do?

Corpse: She’s sending Sean angry DM’s now.

Corpse: Hey, are you okay?

Y/n: Hey sorry, I had to pack. I’m fine, happy to help get her out of the stream. I switched off the power to her office.

Honestly, you wished you could have stood up against her more often than you did. She was four years younger, so you should have been able to have the say in things. But no, Olivia was a control freak and a spoiled brat too. She would no doubt tell your parents you started a fight with her, and she felt unsafe.

Corpse: Wow, you’re badass. Packing for what?

Y/n: Um, she may have kicked me out of the apartment, and I may have left without a fight because I’m tired of her shit. 🤷‍♀️

Corpse: Do you have a place to stay?

Of course you didn’t and you really should have thought about that before just leaving the way you did.

Y/n: Not really but I will find somewhere.

Well you hoped you could. There weren’t many people who were keen in taking in a friend during a pandemic.

Corpse: Poki’s going to call you.

At that message, your phone started to wring and sure enough, it was Poki.

“Hello?” You asked hesitantly.

“So someone let it slip that your sister kicked you out?” Poki said calmly.

“Is that someone, Corpse?”

“Yes, he said it out of shock but I’m glad he did. Knowing you, you would have kept it a secret from me.” She was right. You hated inconveniencing your friends.

“Damn you, Corpse.” You muttered making her laugh. “Yeah so I ruined Olivia’s stream and she started screaming at me before kicking me out. I didn’t fight it because I am tired of her.”

“Understandable. Well do you need somewhere to stay?”

“Yes but I will find some place.”

“Nope, you’re staying with me. Come over now or I am coming out to drag you back to my place.” Her protectiveness made you smile.

“Sure, I’ll be there in a few.” You hung up.

Y/n: Thank you for looking out for my stubborn ass, Corpse. I would have never told her.

Corpse: Stubborn is one word to describe you. Cute is another.

That comment made your face heat up from the sheer adorableness of it. Corpse seriously just called you cute.

Y/n: Can I say you have a genuinely nice hand. It’s marvelous.

Corpse: Hey, don’t make fun of my hand. It takes all the heat for me. That hand is very anxious every time I post him.

Y/n: Awe I bet. Give him hugs from me. Also tell him I’m a big fan!

The easy flow of conversation between the two of you was nice. You got along extremely well and talking outside of the game was nice, since you could focus on what you really wanted to say to him.

Corpse: He’s flattered!

This was great and took your mind off Olivia and the fact she just kicked you to the curb with nowhere to go. But Poki was there for you. You appreciated her more than she knew.

You pulled up in front of her apartment building, parking the car, you got out and grabbed your stuff. Typing in the code Poki had given you a while ago, you were let into the building. Entering the elevator, you made your way to her apartment.

Barely knocking, the door flew open to reveal Poki. She looked mad but also worried. She pulled you into the apartment and hugged you tightly.

“Can I slap her for you?” She asked calmly.

This made you giggle. “I mean I would like to slap her as well.”

“We should make a plan. Hey, the group is still on, come say hi.” She started to lead you to her office.

“Are they still streaming?” You didn’t want to reveal your face to the world, not like this.

“Oh no. We ended our streams when Olivia started talking about you. She completely wasn’t respecting your privacy and we weren’t about to let her spill it to our viewers.” That was so sweet of them to do.

You had left your bags in the other room while you followed her. An idle conversation was going on when you entered.

“Hey guys, I’m back.” Poki took a seat in front of the computer, she pulled up a second chair. “I have someone special here.”

Sitting down, you saw her nod for you to say something. “Hey, did you miss me?”

They went wild.

“Y/n! Oh we missed you!”

“Don’t leave us again.”

“I’m sorry I invited your sister to stream.”

“Hey Y/n.”

The mix of voices was overwhelming in a good way. Sykkuno, Rae, Sean, and Corpse pretty much spoke over each other which made you laugh.

“One at a time, guys. You can’t overload her.” Leslie told them.

“Sorry Y/n. We just really missed having you here. You’ve become one of our favorite friends to play with.” Sykkuno said sounding as sweet as ever. That man was just the best.

“Yes, I can say we agree.” Rae added.

It was nice to hear they missed you. It really helped to lift your mood as well.

“Did your sister really kick you out?” Toast asked

“Yes she did. But it’s not surprising at this point. She’s probably been gunning to kick me out as soon as she could.” Sad truth

“Well she’s the worst player ever. She can’t keep a secret at all. I really should have never agreed to get her into the group.” Sean said sounding sad.

“Hey Sean, please don’t worry about it. She’s always weaseling her way into things. It’s completely not your fault.” One of the things she loved to do was incessantly DM other youtubers for collabs or for free stuff. She really had no morals.

“Well thank you, Y/n. You’re literally the sweetest.” Sean said earning a bunch of ‘I Agrees’ from everyone else. That really was helping make the night better.

“Who’s up for some more Among Us to relax after that shitshow?” Lud asked making everyone laugh hard. It was agreed the group would do it. Luckily, you had your laptop and joined the call and game and stayed in Poki’s living room to play. Honestly, it was so good for you.

**

At the end if gaming, you said goodbye to the group. Then Poki showed you to the extra room that used to be her roommates before she moved out last month.

“Hey, are you looking for a roommate?” You asked as you put the bags on the bed.

Poki sent you a smile. “I am. Are you interested?”

This was good. “Yes, I mean I still have to find another job since my main is still furloughing me until this pandemic gets better but I have some money saved up.”

“Hey, please don’t sweat it. Besides, I know a friend who’s in need of an editor, I may have mentioned your name and she really wants to talk to you about it. Is that okay?”

“Wow, that’s perfect. Thank you, Poki. You’re such a great friend.” It felt good to have someone there for you.

She pulled you into a hug. “Always. I am so glad I met you. You’re one of my best friends.”

This was an honor. “Don’t make me cry.”

“I can’t promise anything. Anyway, I will leave you to rest. It’s been a long night. Tomorrow I will give you my friends details.”

“Sounds good, night Poki.”

“Goodnight, Y/n.” She waved goodbye and closed the door behind herself.

Smiling, you sat on the bed. It was such a good thing that she was here got you. But also Corpse was the catalyst that got you to actually tell Poki was what happening. He was sweet and it seemed he was looking out for you.

After changing into comfy pj’s, you brushed your teeth before climbing into the freshly made bed. Opening Instagram, you saw that Corpse has messaged you.

Corpse: I don’t like being too forward but hey here we go. Can I please have your number so we can talk more easily?

A smile made its way to your face. For a tough man, he surely had a sweet way of getting to you

Y/n: Yes you can. xxx-xxx-xxxx.

The nerves jumped when you sent that message. Less than a minute later, you received a text from an unknown number.

xxx-xxx-xxxx

Hey Y/n, it’s Corpse. Would you mind if I called you so we could talk for a little?

You liked this idea truthfully. It only helped to show how genuine Corpse was being.

Y/n

Not at all. Please go ahead and call me.

Your phone rang, displaying Corpse’s name.

“Hello?” You answered the phone while pushing away the anxiety.

A soft deep laugh filled your ear. “Hey sweet girl. How are you feeling?”

His words made you want to sigh in the most lovesick way. That never happened these days.

“I’m good. Poki had an extra room I could crash in and well I might just be her new roommate.”

“I love that. She’s so much better than your sister I assume.”

“She is. Here I won’t have to deal with the incessant pandemic partying Olivia likes to do.” That selfish bitch.

“Shit, is she stupid? She does know she’s risking a lot of lives, right?” You loved that Corpse had the logic you craved.

“So she is stupid, and her response was always that it’s not her problem and that the vulnerable people should stay home.”

“She sounds like the typical beauty youtuber these days.”

“Yes, she is. She has no morals.”

“Well that’s not good. I guess that’s why her name keeps popping up all over social media. She really needs to be careful, before she becomes the next Tana.” He was right but you personally thought she was past that point already.

“It’s too late. She’s already passed the point of return with all of this.”

“Yikes. It’s good you got out of there when you did.” A soft but deep laugh was heard through the phone. The sound made you giggle. Hearing such a tough guy laugh the way Corpse laughs, made you feel giddy. “So about what I said earlier, I meant it.”

“Huh, what are you talking about?” You truly were a little lost by this.

Corpse laughed again. “When I called you cute earlier. I meant it.”

Heat filled your face and a small smile made its way to your lips. “Thank you, Corpse. That’s really sweet of you. I don’t like to show many people who I am because they will immediately connect me to Olivia, and I don’t want that.”

“I get that. I don’t show my face for fear they won’t like me when I do. All my fans have built up this expectation of what they want me to look like and now I just don’t want to let them down. Plus it’s nice being able to stay anonymous if I go into public, but of course people will hear my voice and know. Shit, it’s hard.”

“Awe, I’m sorry. I saw what the attention has done to some people, but I think not everyone goes into that headspace. Also, I think you should stay faceless if it makes you feel better. There is no rule that says you ever have to show your face. People who push you to do it have no boundaries.”

Corpse was quiet for a while and you thought you had offended him. “I’m sorry if I said the wrong thing, Corpse.” You squeaked.

“No, you said the right thing. I was just thinking. You’re right. A lot of people have been on me to reveal my face, but I never intend to. I want to be able to live my life without being swarmed by fans, or god forbid, them judging me by my appearance.”

“Which is really fucked. When I first appeared in my sister video, the comments were awful. They couldn’t understand how she was related to me, but I never thought I looked bad. But I guess they expected Olivia to be surrounded by people in her genre. It was so hard to see those comments.” Thinking back to it, Olivia had even added to it. Telling you that you should have tried to look more like her for the video. You should have worn something more colorful and put-on way more make up then you liked. But you hated that. That wasn’t you.

“I can’t imagine the things they said. Is that why you deactivated your twitter?” How did he know about that?

“Oh, yeah. How did you know about it?”

“I remembered seeing a story about it on YouTube last year. They didn’t show your face, so of course I didn’t know it was you. But I figured it out when Olivia joined the game tonight and she blabbered on about being your sister. I’m sorry you received that hate. No one deserves that ever.” His voice was calming you now.

“Thank you. Olivia seemed to add to it, as well. Fuck, she’s just the worst person.” Family definitely had the ability to be shitty. “Meeting Poki last year really was the best thing. But also joining this Among Us group has been so good for me. Thank you for accepting me.”

“Of course. You’re a natural in the game but you also fit very well with the group.” Corpse really hoped you believed him because this was true. The group had a whole conversation about it when Olivia finally left

“I’m flattered. The Corpse Husband is telling me I fit in with him and his streamer friends. Wake me up, I must be dreaming.” You knew his words were genuine because it was just easy to tell.

“You better believe it, baby, because it’s true.”

You stopped short when you heard him call you baby. Of course Corpse had used that word before but right now it felt more intimate.

Letting out a yawn you realized it was nearing 4 am. “I appreciate it.” You mumbled, feeling the events from the day seep in.

“You’re tired, aren’t you?” His deep voice was lulling you closer to sleep.

“No.” Another yawn broke through.

“You can’t lie to me, Y/n. Get some sleep and we will talk tomorrow.”

The words made you smile. “That sounds good, Corpsie. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, sweet girl.” Despite wanting to stay on the phone, you hung up. Sleep was quickly coming in to claim you. You can happily say you fell asleep with a huge smile on your face.

**

Waking up was easier than it had been in a long time. Normally you woke up to Olivia screaming at you or someone else. So it was nice to wake up to silence. It allowed you to relax and wake up properly.

Your phone buzzed from beside you. A text from Corpse is what you first saw, so you opened it.

Corpse

Good morning, sweet girl. I hope the night treated you well.

Sweet and to the point. His messages made you think he had a thing for you. Well you hoped he did but he also could just be treating you the way he treats friends.

Y/n

Yes, I slept well and for once I wasn’t awoken by my obnoxious sister.

It would he good not to live with her.

Corpse

I bet. Hey I hate to be the one to show you this, but your sister posted this on her instagram.

He then sent a link to the post. It made your blood boil.

::::

There was a picture of her, she was holding up a ripped picture of you. A huge frown was on her face.

oliviaxoxo It’s a shame when family starts to treat you like you weren’t the one to give them money when they needed it. This is my sister and she’s a bitch. For the last few years, she’s been the one editing my videos. Well I found out she was trying to sabotage me, so I had to fire her and kick her out. What a shame it is when family stabs you in the back. 🙃🙃

1,454,787 people like this

oliviafan23 Is this true? Damn, f*ck fake people.

queenolivia Sueeee herrrrr!

lovinliv Family ain’t shit. Spill her info so we can drag her.

sykkuwu Whoa, why are you spreading lies about your own family?

   |

queenolivia Why would you defend someone like that?

valkyrea You’re such a sad human for doing this. Stop lying.

pokimanelol Let’s see, none of this is true. Your sister has done so much for you and you’ve never appreciated it. Get some help for this.

corpse_husband This is sick. No wonder your name is always blasted everywhere. Do your sister a favor and stop talking about her.

    |

oliviaxoxo I don’t know why you’re defending my stupid sister, but that totally makes you not hot to me anymore. Ugh.

   |

valkyrea Uh, that’s what you got from this. Wow, you’re not worth this.

    |

corpse_husband What can you expect? The covid must have gone to her brain.    |

corpseandlivfan Whyyyyyyy Corpse, why would you stand up for her. Do you not realize how horrible Y/n is? Please tell me this is a joke!?!?

   |

 corpse_husband Well, she’s a good friend of mine and I won’t let people make up lies. So it’s not a joke.

::::::::

You were mad that she’d even say this shit publicly, but you should have known she would. She was nothing without her group of misguided followers.

Y/n

Can’t say I’m not surprised. This is so on brand for her. Thank you for sticking up for me. It means a lot.

Corpse

I would do it any day. She shouldn’t be able to get away with doing that to you.

Sadly, growing up, she did get away with doing the absolute worst shit and you always received the brunt of it.

Y/n

With any luck, she draws negative attention.

You clicked the link to view it again but instead were lead to a page that said the content was unavailable.

Y/n

I believe she just deleted the post.

Corpse

Oh, she did. That’s awesome.

It was. Olivia was never one to swallow her pride and admit any wrongdoings. That means she would never delete a problematic post, but she finally did

Y/n

I didn’t really read any other comments besides you and your friends and the top comments. I can’t imagine what her fans are really saying.

Olivia was completely okay with letting her fans attack people. It was seriously a huge mess. She fell into the category of YouTuber with the worst most entitled attitude.

Corpse

It’s good you didn’t read them, because they were horrible. I can’t believe she would let her fans do that.

Y/n

She’s done a lot of shady stuff. This is even before she blew up on YouTube. There is a lot of issues between us.

There was a lot that could be said about your relationship with Olivia and none of them were good. Forever it seemed, you had tried to make it work and hoped your sister would grow up and change but it never happened.

Corpse

I think she’s a vile human. From what I have seen and her complete lack of human decency, I just can’t help but feel she’s just not a good person and she never will be.

He was right. She would never change.

Y/n

You’re right. Hey, I have to go thank Poki for letting me stay but I also need to go back to that apartment to get the rest of my stuff. Can I call you when I get back?

Corpse

Yes, of course. Good luck heading over there.

Talking to him was pretty natural feeling. It was clear now that you were getting a massive crush on him. You had a crush on a man who’s face you’ve never seen. You couldn’t help it though, his personality just meshed so well with yours. He’d made you feel safe and wanted.

After getting dressed, you found Poki in the kitchen making breakfast. She sent you a sweet smile when you entered the room.

“Thank you for standing up for me against my sister on Instagram.” You were truly honored this group of friends liked you enough to do something like this.

“You’re welcome. I couldn’t just let her say that and get away with it. She’s done a lot to you, that you don’t deserve. Corpse messaged all of us the minute he found it and we all jumped into action. Sean and Felix were getting ready to comment when she deleted it.” She explained as she set a plate in front of you.

“I’m so honored. Thank you!”

“Of course, you’re one of us now and we will never let her get away with this stuff anymore.”

You could just cry with how loved they were making you feel. This is what had been missing in your life. Friends who genuinely cared about you and wanted to protect you from the nasty stuff Olivia was capable of doing.

“Would you come with me to the apartment to get the rest of my stuff?” You asked once the two of you finished eating.

Poki nodded. “Of course I will. You shouldn’t have to go alone.”

**

An hour later, you exited the elevator on the floor where you once resided. Your sister wasn’t home, which would be good but there was a chance she could return while you were packing. But you would deal with that when it came down to it. The two of you quickly got to work, packing your life up into the boxes you’d brought with you. Luckily, you weren’t one to collect a ton of stuff. You mainly just had to make sure your clothes and makeup were packed up.          

You and Poki would fill boxes and pile them by there door, then you would take them down to the car when you acquired a good amount. In the end, you figured you would fill maybe 10 boxes which is actually not too many considering you’ve lived in that apartment for five years.

Poki had left to go take two more boxes to the car while you finished up packing up your last few items. The front door closed, and you assumed it was Poki, but it wasn’t.

“Oh look who’s here? My lovely sister.” Olivia’s voice was flat and emotionless.

You rolled your eyes and turned to find her standing in the doorway, glaring at you. “Hello, Olivia. I’m just packing my stuff and then I’m leaving.”

“Who said you were allowed to come back here?” She grumbled, eyeing the boxes.

“Well, this is my stuff and I have every right to come pick it up.”

“If it’s in my apartment, it clearly belongs to me.” She snarled.

You snapped. “Cut it out, Olivia. This was my apartment too, until you kicked me out last night. You can’t just claim my stuff as your because you’re salty about me having friends.” She was a spoiled brat, and you were done letting her get away with it.

“I’m not the salty one. Everyone can see it’s you.” God she was so annoying. You taped up the last box and turned to her. She held her phone in her hand. “Everyone say hi to my sister. You know, the one I posted about earlier before someone reported my post.”

“Are you live?” You asked, keeping your face expressionless. Olivia would do this.

“I bet some of you remember the few videos I did with her. Well of course that was before she turned against me and decided she was going to try and ruin me. Say hi, Y/n.” A sick smile played on her face.

“I never consented to being in your live, Olivia. Please stop.” You tried to keep your voice calm so that she wouldn’t have any way to make you look like the bad person. But regardless, she was already doing it.

Olivia cackled. “Well I think I’m free to do as I please in my apartment.” You could only imagine what her fans were saying. “You’re right, Andrea, she is an idiot, and I should have her arrested.” She spoke aloud making your blood boil.

“You’re so immature, Olivia.” You grumbled before grabbing the last couple boxes and moving towards the door. Olivia decided to swat the boxes out of your hand, and they fell tumbling to the ground. “What the hell, Olivia. I could have fragile stuff in there.” You growled at her.

Olivia was just laughing. “This is funny. What else should I do, guys?” She asked as she panned the phone around the room.

Her immaturity was giving you a headache. Poki walked in and saw Olivia.

“Oh hey guys, look who’s here. Pokimane.” She panned the camera to Poki who frowned. Olivia just laughed and started talking shit until she was cut off by the stream just ending. “What the hell.”

You gathered the last few boxes, and Poki came to help while Olivia attempted to start another live.

“What the fuck, it won’t let me go live.” She growled while stomping her foot like a child.

“That’s what happens when an influx of people report your live.” Poki spoke as you both had gathered the boxes.

Olivia was frowning. “What did you do, Y/n.” She wanted to pounce at her, but Y/n and Poki were already at the door.

“Y/n did nothing, but I got word of your little livestream and contacted some friends for help. It will be at least 24 hours before you can have another live. But with the amount of people who reported you, well you may be banned for a while.” With that, you and Poki left Olivia standing there is absolute shock.

You and Poki put the last boxes in the car. “Thank you, Poki. How did you get so many people to report it?”

“Well it was actually Corpse. He texted me and informed me that she was doing a live and bothering you. He had his fans go report it, but apparently Sykkuno and Rae also sent their fans. I was going to send mine, but they had it handled. So this was all Corpse.” She explained.

Hearing this made you feel so soft for Corpse. “Awe wow. That’s so sweet of him.”

The two of you entered the car. “Y/n, can I tell you something without you telling him I told you?”

You looked over at her. “Yes, sure.” Your heart rate kind of picked up.

“Well the other day, Corpse admitted he has feelings for you, but he wasn’t completely sure if you felt the same way for him. But I mean I can clearly see you do. Your whole face just lit up when I mentioned him. So do you?”

Heat filled your face and you suddenly felt shy. “I do, yes. Which is ridiculous because I just met the guy, and I don’t even know what he looks like. But gosh, I like him so much. When I talk to him, I feel happy. He’s been so good to me through this crap with Olivia.” You admitted, knowing she already knew.

Poki smiled and squealed in complete happiness. “You two are just the most adorable people! It’s not ridiculous. We pretty much knew from the first time you joined us, that Corpse was into you. But oh my god, you’re into him. You need to tell him!!!!”

You agreed, Corpse deserved to know. “I do. But how? It’s been a really long time since I’ve told someone I liked them. Shit, I feel like I’m in high school again!”

This made Poki giggle. “Calm down, Y/n. I have a plan. Let’s get back to the apartment and we will talk about this. Rae also wants to be involved in this.”

Back at her apartment, you had jumped onto a call with Rae and the three of you talked about what your plan was for you to tell Corpse what you felt for him. Rae and Poki decided to organize an Among Us game strictly for fun and no one would stream, they would also use Proximity chat.

“So we will get him to follow you around until one of us is imposter, then we will lock you into wherever you end up. Do it then” Rae explained sounding so excited.

“Okay, that can work. Let’s do this!” You were nervous but also excited to finally do something good for yourself.

You and Poki set up for the gane and Corpse sent you a text.

Corpse

Are you joining the game tonight?

Seeing a text from him, made you feel giddy.

Y/n

Yep I am. So I will see you in game?

Corpse

Yes you will, angel.

Cue the insane butterflies.

**

The lobby loaded and it was you, Corpse, Poki, Rae, Sykkuno, Karl, Tina, Sean, Toast, and Leslie. All streamers you had grown to like a lot in the time you have been playing with them.

“Y/n, I am so happy you’re playing with us!” Tina gushed as her little character ran around yours.

“I’m happy to be here.” You really were.

“You’re sister is a piece of work, Y/n.” Sykkuno said.

You giggled. “Don’t I know it.”

“What did she do this time?” Sean asked.

“Decided to film a live when we went to get Y/n’s stuff from the apartment.” Poki explained.

“Oh, that’s gross.” Karl commented.

“I have to thank Corpse for helping.” You stated to the group.

“Yeah Corpse was quick to text us.” Sykkuno added.

“You’re welcome, Y/n. I wasn’t going to let her get away with what she was doing. Truth is, I got a bunch of fan DMs that were telling me what Olivia was doing. So a lot of my fans were already reporting it, but the tweet helped.” Corpse’s deep voice soothed you.

“I appreciate it so much. She was just being an immature brat as always.”

The group laughed before deciding to start the game. Poki and Rae agreed to text you when either of them were imposter. Now it was a matter of getting Corpse to follow you.

The group was on the Polus map, which seemed to be a favorite for everyone.

Rae

We should lock them in weapons.

Rae had texted you and Poki through the group text.

Poki

That’s the best place for them.

Y/n

Okay but I still have to get him to follow me.

Rae

He will. Just wait, I have a plan.

You trusted Rae and Poki to help you. Now it was time to admit it all to Corpse and hope he genuinely liked you back.

Y/n

Let’s do this!

PART THREE  >>                                         

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober2021 - October 4th - Taken Hostage | Pushed

Gift fic to @fidothefinch <3

Fandom: Nightwing, Batman - All Media Types

AO3

Warnings: Near death experience, hostage situations, implies Bruce as a shitty dad but I don't go into detail on it.

---

If there’s anything in the world that Dick hates more than being restrained, it’s being held hostage. Especially if he’s being held hostage as a threat against Bruce or Batman. One thing they don’t tell you in the foster system is that if you’re adopted by a rich and famous to the Kardashian level man, is that you’re often the target of criminals who think snatching a kid on their way home from school is a surefire way to make a million bucks. It’s no better in the vigilante business either, because often any hero in Gotham is only seen as a stepping stool to getting to Batman.

Honestly, at this point Dick’s used to it. It doesn’t mean he enjoys it, though. Not so much because of the initial kidnapping part, but because he’s worked hard to become his own person, his own man with his own life. He moved to Blüdhaven to be anything other than the son of Bruce Wayne; to be his own hero that villains learn to fear. And then the second he sets foot back in Gotham, for whatever reason, suddenly it’s all about the reclusive eldest Wayne child returning home! Suddenly, when villains see him at night, it isn’t “Oh shit, it’s Nightwing!”, it’s “Shit, it’s a Sidekick! Where’s the Bat?!”

Anyway, long story short, Dick came back to Gotham for one weekend to visit family, and now he’s dressed as Nightwing, standing on a roof with duct-tape keeping his wrists together behind his back and a knife to his throat belonging to a shady businessman who’s finally caught the attention of Gotham’s heroes.

And it’s sorta pathetic how Dick ended up in this situation. It wasn’t like this was going to be a particularly difficult mission. Just sneak into the building, grab the evidence he needed to get this bastard behind bars, and then get out. Unfortunately, someone tipped the man off without Bruce knowing about it. When he went into the main office, he was met with a very strong guard hiding behind the doors, and after a hefty blow to the head and a few concerning minutes of blacking out, Dick opened his eyes—thankfully still masked—to find himself kneeling on the rough cement of a skyscraper’s roof, completely stripped of any of his useful tools. He has a small knife in one of his gauntlets, but it’s not exactly in an easy to reach position. It would take time to grab at it, and that’s not counting the high probability he’ll be spotted by Jerome McCoy--Gotham’s latest shady businessman--or any of his goons.

Besides, Tim is already up here listening to their demands to get Batman up here or Dick dies. It shouldn’t be long before Bruce gets here and kicks his ass. That’s not even accounting for the facts that Jason, Steph, Duke, Dami, and Cass are all in town.

These idiots have no clue how close they are with dealing with close to every single bat if something bad happens to Dick tonight.

And everything was going fine until Tim suddenly stopped mid sentence in reminding McCoy that Batman was on his way and brought his hand to his communicator in his ear. When Tim paled ever so slightly, Dick knew something had gone exactly NOT according to plan.

“What is it?!” McCoy demands, pressing the knife against Dick’s neck with worrying pressure. Dick leans his head back slightly to lessen the risk of his neck being cut and meets Tim in the eyes through their masks.

Tim swallows. “Batman is being held up-”

Dick resists sighing in both disappointment and lack-of-surprise as McCoy practically explodes.

“What?!

“Only for a few hours,” Tim rushes to explain. He’s lifted his hands in a placid manner and softened his voice, which can’t be good. “He’s… met an unexpected complication along the way that he cannot ignore. Please, just tell me what you want, and I can take my partner and be out of-”

“I don’t have a few hours,” McCoy practically screeches. “Either Batman makes it his priority to get here, or Nightwing gets it!” to make a point, McCoy lifts the knife from Dick’s neck and waves it in front of him. Dick slides his eyes over to the other goons on the roof; there’s only a few. Maybe… if Dick plays his cards right… “That was the deal!”

“I understand-”

“Tell Batman to get here now, or Nightwing’s blood is on his hands!”

“He’s busy- I can’t just-”

Dick slams his body back, pointing his elbow the furthest he can with the way his arms are bound and jamming it into McCoy’s stomach. McCoy lets out a startled, breathless gasp as Dick uses his surprise to escape from his grasp and jump to his feet.

“’Wing!” Tim yells at the same time McCoy wheezes “Get that fucker!”

Dick has just a second to notice Tim’s shock at Dick’s sudden attack before Dick’s having to defend himself with his hands literally tied behind his back. Sorry, kid, Dick thinks, ducking around a pair of beefy arms, but we’re out of options.

It was going well until it wasn’t. Tim was even about to step in. However, while waking up from his lovely whack to the head, Dick failed to assess just where he was on the roof.

All it took was for the back of his heel to tough nothing but air for his heart to jump to his throat. Instinctively, he tried to wave his arms to catch his balance, but was quickly reminded of his predicament when the tape tugged against his wrists. For a moment, pure panic filled his entire body, here, wobbling backwards off the edge of a roof dozens of stories above the ground. He could feel his heart pound, hands shake, breath catch, hair rustle in the wind, but he couldn’t do a thing to stop himself from falling backwards. He’s pretty sure he hears Tim scream his codename, but he’s not totally focused on anything other than his pending doom right now-

A heavy hand wraps around his upper-bicep, stopping his almost-promised journey to pancake town. Everything is silent on the roof for a solid moment, as Dick practically hangs over the ledge of the roof with his feet just barely still on solid ground, a goon holding him juuuuuust enough to make sure he doesn’t fall. Tim looks even paler than before, looking like he really did watch Dick go over the edge. McCoy looks a constipating mixture of smug and outraged while the other goons stand nearby like useless props.

Then, McCoy speaks with anger as heavy and level as stone. “Tell Batman I want him here in ten minutes.”

Tim meets Dick’s eyes, and Dick sees everything that he needs to. Whatever is holding Bruce up, it’s more important than Dick, and Tim knows it’s useless to even try.

“Please,” Tim says, voice wobbly. He’s a detective. He knows what’s about to happen. “Just give us more time-”

McCoy snaps a finger, and that’s that.

The hand on his arm pushes Dick away and opens it’s grasp. It doesn’t matter anymore that Dick had his feet on the roof, because the rest of his body is falling.

Falling.

Dick’s completely off the roof in a blink of an eye and he’s falling.

The air is rushing past his ears and through his hair, so loud he can barely think. That’s if he’s thinking at all, as story after story passes him by. He’s falling, and for the first time in a long time, he’s afraid of falling, because this time there’s nothing he can do to stop it. He doesn’t have any tools… he doesn’t even have his hands, nor enough time to even try and get his hands free. He’s falling, rushing to the ground. He can already see in vivid detail what his body will look like when it hits the pavement.

He’s falling. He’s standing at the top of a beam, watching his mama and papa fall. He’s falling. He’s screaming as the sound of their bodies landing and snapping reaches his ears. He’s falling and he’s going to die in the most Grayson way possible.

He’s going to die the same way his parents did, a way that he’s worked hard to not be afraid of ever since he first moved in with Bruce, but was always secretly terrified.

He closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to watch. He’s afraid, and Tim will watch from above and blame himself and he never wanted any of his siblings to blame themselves for his death like how he blamed himself for his parent’s for decades and-

And the wind is knocked out of him, but not from his body slamming on the ground. A strong arm wraps painfully around his stomach, and suddenly the world turns sideways and his eyes shoot open in shock.

“Fuck,” Jason grunts, holding Dick with one arm and the other wrapped tightly in a grappling line. “Fucking hell.”

And Dick… doesn’t know what to do. He feels muted, like a YouTube video playing at 144p and buffering still. The adrenaline is pumping so loudly through his entire body that the fact that Jason’s caught him doesn’t register until Jason’s landing roughly on the ground and lowering Dick to the asphalt.

“Started heading over the second that bastard said he wasn’t coming,” Jason explains. Dick nods numbly, his eyes locked on the oil covered road below him, his mind still trying to process. “Said he ran into some bastard working for Two-Face holding some rich family hostage. Said we could handle it. I can’t believe I got here just in time. Fucking fuck-face fucker.”

There’s a splash of two feet landing on the permanently puddled street beside them, and Dick can hardly contain his flinching at the sound, but thankfully Jason doesn’t notice. He just stands up and faces where Tim has landed quite suddenly from where he must have grappled down from the roof. Dick continues to look at the ground, wringing his knitting together in front of him. He… hasn’t noticed Jason undid the bindings.

“What happened to McCoy?” Jason demands, and Tim takes a gasping breath and shakes his head.

“They ran into the building while I… jumped after N.”

Jason growls, taking a step forward but Tim stops him. “Orphan said she’ll handle it, she sounded pissed.”

Jason backs off, but anger still curls in his stomach like an old friend. His fists clench to his side. “Once I see B, I’m gonna punch his teeth up to his brain.”

And it must be proof of how shaken Tim is, because he doesn’t argue.

Then, like a pin hitting tile, a small sound catches Jason’s ears. He looks down to where Dick is still sitting in the grime of Gotham’s street. His heart sinks to his gut.

“N?” he asks, and Dick doesn’t respond. “Nightwing, you’re… crying.”

That directs Tim’s attention down where tears are certainly streaming down Dick’s cheeks from under his mask. His lips are wobbling, and the second Jason kneels down to put his hand on Dick’s shoulder, a wounded sound escapes his lips.

“Dick?” Jason asks, his voice sounding shocked and unsure.

Dick looks up at Tim, looking one breath of the wind from falling apart. “You jumped after me?” His voice is small and brittle. When Tim nods slowly, Dick whimpers, dropping his head into his hands and letting out a sob. “You almost watched me die,” is all he says before he finally breaks down into mournful cries.

Jason looks up from where Dick’s now shaking and gasping into his hands and meets Tim’s eyes. Neither of them… has ever seen Dick get like this before. It feels wrong, like something in the world has shattered and can never be replaced.

“Lets… get him home,” Jason says, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” is all Tim can smartly bring to his lips while Jason scoops Dick into his arms and stands up.

Dick’s so out of it with his sobbing that he hardly reacts, just curls against Jason and continues to cry.

“You know,” Jason says quietly, “the scariest way to die, for me, is to overdose.”

And Tim understands.

“I… see.”

Jason nods, swallowing hard. “Yeah. So let’s just call it a night, get him some Alfred cookies, and just… let him take this at his own pace, okay?”

Tim nods, knowing that after years of Dick always going out of his way to help them with their trauma, their issues, and never asking for anything in return… it’s now their turn to return the favor. Dick looks so much smaller than Tim swears he’s ever seen him, curled up in Jason’s arms, trembling and sobbing. He silently promises to himself that he will do whatever it takes to make sure Dick gets through this, just like what he’d do for them, always. And Tim’s positive the rest of Dick’s siblings will do the same.

[maatryoshkaa]

young god | chapter 16

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 14.3k

warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, domestic & child abuse, sexual abuse of a minor, descriptions of mental illness, death, dark themes and foul language. once again, all information regarding psychiatric conditions or courtroom procedures are to be taken with a grain of salt.

description: Han Jisung wrestles with the demons of his past as Kim Seungmin faces his own dilemma in the present, with one last chilling threat from Prosecutor Kang forcing Seungmin to make a final, crucial decision. The clock is counting down as your last chance wears thin, and one unexpected declaration is all it takes for things to change—forever.

watch the trailer here!

16| the prisoner’s dilemma.

Jisung was still frozen in place long after the heavy doors had swung shut and erased your face from his sight. His own hand felt foreign as he held it against his stinging cheek, the dull throbbing drowned out by the words still ringing in his ears.

Your friends want you to stay alive. Your mother wanted you to stay alive.

I need you to stay alive.

Bang Chan was watching him from the side, the detective’s eyes filled with equal parts amusement and wariness. Finally, he spoke. “You deserved that, you know.”

Jisung was silent, but his mind was already replaying the scene over and over again. Your anxious eyes, your voice trembling with the effort to stay steady. The slap couldn’t compare to the pain that had etched itself into your features every time he had spoken harshly, trying again and again to push you away. I know I did.

Chan sighed. “How are you feeling?”

A soft laugh escaped from Jisung’s dry mouth. “Dizzy,” he deadpanned honestly. The adrenaline was beginning to die down, but instead of leaving him sick in the stomach and with a pounding headache like usual, Jisung felt almost...lightheaded with relief. “Like...like a kid that just got told off?”

The detective chuckled, letting out his low, signature whistle. “What’d I tell you? That’s love, mate.” 

Jisung looked at him now, incredulous. “Getting slapped in the face?”

“No,” Chan smiled, but for once, his eyes were serious. “Someone who cares about you enough to call you out when you’re wrong.”

Not knowing what to say, Jisung turned away, letting the ticking of the clock on the wall fill the strained silence. He could still feel Chan’s gaze on him, but it was no longer the look of a detective trying to dissect a case file. Instead, it held the same strange softness it had when Chan had pulled Jisung aside at the Third Eye, and asked if he was okay.

“I told you once,” Chan began slowly, “that everyone deserves to be loved, and that you’re no different. Of course, things have...changed,” he continued, and Jisung looked down, throat tight as he waited for Chan to finish. “But I still stand by what I said.”

Before Jisung could reply, the intercom crackled overhead. “The court hearing  for Han Jisung and the Miroh Heights Murder Cases will be resuming in five minutes. All attorneys, jurors, and participants in the trial, please report to the courtroom immediately—”

“Detective, you should get going,” a security guard spoke lowly to Chan, who sighed and nodded, pulling himself to his feet. As he passed where Jisung was standing, he stopped briefly.

“You’re a good kid, Han Jisung. Even if you don’t believe it yourself...you had better start to.”

“Chan—”

The detective had reached the door when he looked over his shoulder at Jisung. He had the same old mischievous smile on his face again, but his eyes were sad. 

“I hope we can grab another coffee together some time, yeah?”

━━━━━━━━

Seungmin’s head was spinning as he pushed through rooms packed with spectators and reporters until he finally stumbled into an emptier hallway. His eyes gleaned the plaques on the doors, searching for the room number the court clerks had given him after Seungmin had overheard their frantic conversation.

“We can’t just end the case here — the media and people’ll riot.”

“But we’ve lost a witness and the lead prosecutor of the case in one day — how the hell is the trial supposed to continue?”

The clerk wringed his hands. “We need to find out if there were any other prosecutors working with Kang on the case — call them in ASAP—”

And so, here Seungmin was — heart threatening to leap out of his throat, charging headfirst into a case that had been ripped out of his hands months ago. He had stepped into their conversation impulsively, and now a thousand warning bells were going off in his mind. 

Kim Seungmin was not impulsive. Kim Seungmin always calculated his plans perfectly, meticulously. It was one of the reasons why he had always been at the top of his class, graduating a year early with honours. Always praised for being levelheaded and thorough. 

Still, he thought, there had been one person that had seen right through him.

“You’re stressed,” you blurted bluntly, and Seungmin’s coffee cup froze midway to his lips. You were in his office, one of the many meetings you two had arranged in order to keep each other updated with information regarding Jisung’s case. 

“We’re all stressed,” Seungmin replied matter-of-factly, unsure where you were going with this, but you shook your head.

“But you try the hardest out of all of us to hide it. Tell me if I’m crossing a line here, but—” you looked at him, tilting your head. “You seem like the type who’s calm and collected on the outside to...hide the fact that you’re still wrestling with nerves, and insecurities, on the inside. Like a defense mechanism.”

Seungmin fell silent. Instinctively, he felt the urge to laugh it off, but in a fleeting moment, his mind wandered to his coworkers— their condescending gazes at who they thought was just a lucky amateur, a young imposter infringing upon a field with people twice his age. Since his first day at the law firm, Seungmin had felt an unbearable desire to prove himself worthy in their eyes, and the anxious feeling ate away at him every time he touched a case. 

Sensing the sudden change in mood, you quickly stammered, “I-I’m sorry, that was so unnecessary—what I’m trying to say is— it’s okay to be nervous. Don’t psyche yourself out with your own expectations for yourself. U-um—”

You trailed off, mortified, but Seungmin let out a small laugh, shaking his head lightly when your eyes widened in confusion. “No, no, it’s just…” You were smart and capable — anyone could see that — but always seemed to second-guess your own abilities. He found it almost endearing. “You really are a psychology major, Miss l/n.”

Seungmin rounded a corner and nearly slammed into someone that had just walked out of the men’s washrooms. Before he could apologise, Seungmin looked up into the man’s face and his gut twisted unpleasantly.

Prosecutor Kang seized Seungmin by the collar before he could walk away, his face livid. The younger man’s eyes darted down either side of the empty hallway, then back at his former senior. He had heard Kang was to be kept at the courthouse until the end of the trial, in case they needed anything from him. There were guards flanking every entrance and exit, so Kang couldn’t exactly escape, but seeing him walk around unsupervised still made Seungmin uneasy.

“S-sir, you can’t—”

“Do you remember what you said? What you promised?” Kang seethed, eyes wild as they raked Seungmin up and down. “‘I can handle it. I’ll find the culprit, and I’ll convict him. Death penalty, no less.’” 

Hearing his own words coming out of Kang’s mouth made Seungmin wince and shrink back. Kang caught his discomfort, grinning savagely before jerking his head in the direction of the holding cells, where Jisung was. “You’re taking over the case, aren’t you? Your culprit’s right there. Everything’s been laid out for you, it couldn’t be simpler.”

Seungmin let out a shaky breath, fists clenched by his sides. Before he could open his mouth, Kang pulled him in closer, voice dangerously low. 

“I always thought it was fishy, you know — someone your age, already entering the field? So I did my research.” Kang paused, smirking. “You’re a little prodigy, aren’t you? I didn’t know your parents were renowned lawyers, too.”

At that, Seungmin froze, shocked eyes darting up to meet Kang’s. It was true — born into a family of influential law enforcement officials, Seungmin had practically grown up reading about legal matters and judicial affairs. Despite his efforts to keep his parentage discreet as he grew older — hating the way their reputations always preceded his own — the expectations to follow in their footsteps had always remained suffocating. He loved law with all his heart, but his own family had become yet another reason why Seungmin had so much to live up to, and even more to lose.

The older prosecutor chuckled — Seungmin must have looked like a deer in headlights. “You can’t disappoint them, yes? You need to do everything you can to uphold the big family name.” Kang’s voice had a dangerous edge to it, like a blade. “My career might be over, little prosecutor, but I have far more power than you think. I can make sure you never step foot into this profession ever again. You want to prove yourself? To me, to your fellow prosecutors, to your parents? Here’s your chance.”

There was a snakelike glint in Kang’s eyes when he finally let Seungmin go, his words seeping through Seungmin’s mind like poison. 

Prove yourself. Prove yourself. A security guard had appeared at the end of the hallway, and without another word, Kang calmly turned on his heel, letting the guard escort him away. Seungmin watched his silhouette grow fainter, feeling sick to his stomach. 

Just how many cases...no, how many prosecutors had Kang manipulated for his own benefit?

He took a shuddering breath. Time was running out. Forcing his feet to move, Seungmin finally found the room, barely listening when the clerk quickly explained that the rights to the case were being transferred to him last minute. 

“Ten minutes, Prosecutor Kim. You have approximately ten minutes to prepare your case.”

The roomful of law officials were watching him with doubtful eyes — the same doubtful, scornful gazes that had followed him his entire life. Ten minutes. Picking up where Kang had left off would be the smoothest, most reasonable route. Preparing an entirely different argument, however, was suicide.

Seungmin glanced up at the clock, and his heart sank.

━━━━━━━━

The commotion in the courtroom sounded like the buzzing of an agitated beehive, the constant thrumming of hushed conversations and your own erratic heartbeat fueling the tense atmosphere. 

Hyunjin, Felix, Woojin, and you had sprinted straight to the courtroom after a rapid search for Seungmin had turned up futile — the prosecutor was nowhere to be seen, but judging from the murmurs you overheard around you, the case had been transferred into his hands with mere minutes to spare. You bit your lip nervously. This should have been good news, but you all knew that the odds — and time — were still against you. Looking the weariest you’d ever seen him, Bang Chan collapsed into the seat next to you. He tried to give you a reassuring smile, but as he turned away, eyes glued to the scene about to unfold, you saw that his features were strained and pale. 

With a creak that send a hush rippling through the courtroom, the doors swung open to reveal more familiar faces — the judge, the prosecution, the jury. Your eyes instinctively flickered to Jisung, whose expression was as guarded as ever, and instantly felt a pang of guilt in your chest. The rest of the room, however, had fallen silent before the judge had even spoken. All their gazes were trained on the new prosecutor that had entered the room.

Seungmin felt the stares on him before he even looked up, dozens of eyes weighing down on him as if he were a butterfly pinned to a specimen table. He should have gotten used to the stares by now — this was far from his first court hearing — but when he looked out into the faces of the audience, he still felt the same squeamish anxiety he had always tried so desperately to ignore. Their expressions were dubious, condescending, unconvinced — as if all to say, is this a joke? This kid is the new lead prosecutor?

The judge cleared her throat, pushing her half-moon spectacles back onto her nose. “Thank you for your patience. The court hearing for Han Jisung and the Miroh Heights Murder Cases is now back in session. You may be seated.” She turned to Seungmin, eyes narrowed. “What is the case the prosecution will be presenting?”

Seungmin’s mind was racing as he turned over the envelope in his hands — the envelope containing Kang’s case file — and slid out the papers with numb fingertips. As he did so, familiar words echoed in his mind — words he had been told since he had first chosen to study law, and words he had forced himself to live by ever since.

“You have a big heart, Kim Seungmin — too big. Learn to control your emotions if you want to make it in this field.”

“You have to be cold, quick, and rational. Kindness is a weakness.”

“There is no room for a wavering heart in prosecution.”

He had always taken the words like bitter medicine, beyond determined to prove to his older coworkers that he wasn’t just the incompetent young prosecutor they always made him out to be. Desperate to prove to his family that he was capable, that he wouldn’t tarnish their names. Every step he had taken had been careful, calculated, all so that Seungmin could win their approval, finally escape their suffocating scrutiny. 

“Your Honour,” Seungmin began, “as a prosecutor, I was taught that my duty is to defend the rule of law to ensure justice is served, no matter how harsh it may be.”

You watched the young prosecutor speak carefully, his grave expression making your gut twist. Kim Seungmin, Chan had told you once in passing, came from a family of established lawyers — a child prodigy with big shoes to fill, and everything to lose. And now, you realised with dread, his words seemed to be an exact echo of Prosecutor Kang’s.

Seungmin’s stomach was fluttering as if it were his first trial again, heart palpitating with each passing moment as he was seized with the sudden urge to run. Taking a deep breath, his gaze flickered up to meet yours in the audience — your blazing eyes, charged with emotion, your heart always written so clearly across your adamant features. You, who stopped at nothing in order to protect what you believed was right.

Prove yourself. Prove to everyone you’re good enough, strong enough.

He closed his eyes, knowing that he would regret what he was about to say.

“But I was also taught that a good prosecutor is one that uses the law to protect the people.” Seungmin swallowed hard, sliding Kang’s papers back into the envelope and dropping it onto the desk behind him. “Thus, the case I am presenting today is not one that intends to prove Han Jisung guilty of first degree murder.”

The entire room erupted in frantic murmurs, the judge hurriedly banging the gavel to maintain order. Seungmin caught a glimpse of Jisung’s expression — the boy was still looking down, but his face had paled in surprise at the prosecutor’s sudden declaration. Just then, the doors burst open, a red-faced clerk with a handful of padded envelopes ducking in and hurrying to Seungmin’s side.

“What you requested, sir,” the clerk explained quietly, handing him the envelopes, and Seungmin recalled the conversation they had had in the conference rooms, just before the trial had recommenced. 

“There are ten minutes remaining until we have to begin,” the clerk informed Seungmin worriedly, seeing the young prosecutor’s tense face. “Is there anything you need from the former prosecution? Since these are special circumstances, I can have them brought to you as soon as possible during the trial.”

Either ten minutes to gather the evidence he needed, Seungmin thought dismally, or ten minutes to build a strong argument from what he—no, Kang—already had. 

“Listen carefully.” Screwing his eyes shut, Seungmin continued, “Please fetch me Han Jisung’s camcorder footage — the memory cards — and Yang Jeongin’s Walkman tapes from Prosecutor Kang’s archives. All of them, immediately.”

The knot of anxiety in Seungmin’s chest finally began to unclench, the envelopes’ contents anchoring him in place with a reassuring weight. He turned to the judge, surprised at the newfound authority in his own voice. “The prosecution maintains that Han Jisung is not guilty of first degree murder. We will be presenting all the evidence Prosecutor Kang excluded, and examining the case from all angles so that the jury may form an accurate judgement and verdict.”

“That’s—an entirely new argument,” Hyunjin whispered incredulously beside you. “How did he come up with a case in ten minutes?”

“He didn’t. He’s building his case on the spot,” Chan realised out loud, a small smile spreading on his lips. He leaned forward with a glint of pride in his eyes. “Now that’s the Kim Seungmin I know.”

You watched as Seungmin called up his first witness, who was none other than Kang’s psychiatric expert. “You introduced yourself as the psychiatrist involved with this case — responsible for analysing the defendant’s mental condition, correct?”

The red-nosed man coughed nervously. “Y-yes, uh, well — the defendant was unwilling to speak during the evaluation, so we were unable to gain much personal testimony—”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Seungmin picked up one the envelopes, handing it to the court clerk and motioning for him to project the contents. “The following is recovered footage from a camcorder the defendant was gifted when he was six years old, and developed a habit of carrying around.” He turned towards the psychiatrist. “It’s raw, untampered footage containing experiences from the defendant’s childhood. I want you to watch it and answer a few questions. There is, however, graphic content, and I advise the spectators to view it with caution.” 

You saw Seungmin cast a worried look towards Jisung, and you knew how the prosecutor was feeling. After nearly thirteen years of Jisung hiding his past from even his closest friends, it was all suddenly being thrust under the harsh light — in front of a roomful of people who wanted to sentence him to death, no less — but you both knew that this was your last chance.

The projector whirred as the clerk inserted the first memory cards into the computer. The memory cards had been confiscated by Kang before you had gotten the chance to watch them yourself — what you did know about the footage came from the bits Chan had recounted for you after several insistent phone calls, and what Jisung himself had told you that fateful night. Uneasiness stirring in your chest, you watched as the screen came to life, blurry colours and pixelated outlines taking shape. 

There was nothing out of the ordinary at first — short clips of chipped action figures on dusty windowsills, or toy cars rolling idly across wooden floors. The footage was shaky, as if the person holding the camcorder could barely support its weight. Jisung had barely been six years old, you remembered, feeling a strange feeling of sadness wash over you. It was as if you were watching a movie you already knew the ending to, and all that was left in your gut was a sinking dread at what was about to come.

As the clerk flipped through the footage, a faint sound pricked at your ears, and you jerked your head up, listening to make sure you had heard right — and sure enough, there it was. Muffled shouting, like it was coming from another room in the house, something heavy shattering on the floor — and judging from the murmurs and faces of the spectators around you, they heard it as well. The camcorder was still pointed at the action figurines, but had frozen stiffly — as if the child holding it was listening, too. 

More scenes began to unfold, one after another. A birthday, six lopsided candles glowing on a small white cake. Jisung humming a familiar tune with a woman you assumed was his mother. And clip after clip where the camcorder was pointed at the ceiling of a dark room — Jisung’s childhood bedroom — as the sounds of arguing and yelling echoed through the walls. Slowly but surely, the scenes began to grow familiar. 

“February 22nd, 2005.”

The day Jisung had stumbled across another woman in his parents’ bed, and his father had terrorized him until he promised not to tell anyone.

“June 3rd, 2006.”

His face-to-face encounter with his father’s mistress, one that left scars in the form of cigarette burns, red-lipped smiles, and tainted touches.

“December 31st, 2009.”

The day everything had gone wrong.

Stomach lurching, you watched as everything Jisung had told you — his rough voice shaking in your darkened apartment, dark eyes holding nightmares of years long past — took the form of grainy camera footage. His father crashing through the doorframe, hands choking the life from the woman beneath him. Even though the camera quality was poor, the woman’s pleading eyes, rolled up towards the tiny crack in the closet where Jisung had been hidden, seemed to pierce directly through you. 

It all seemed to happen in a flash — in the blink of an eye, there were flames licking bloodstained floors clean, the camcorder out of focus as Jisung limped through thick white snow and finally collapsed on top of his mother’s cold body. The gritty screams of anguish and pain seemed to ring in your ears long after Seungmin stopped the footage, and you lifted a shaking gaze to Jisung’s face. His eyes had been cast downwards the entire time, but even from across the room, you could see his violently trembling jaw, the ragged heave of his chest. How many times had he lived through this footage himself — in his nightmares, through half-delirious flashbacks, every time he closed his eyes?

“Thirteen years ago, there was a massive fire on the outskirts of Miroh Heights. The Han house was burned to the ground and left a single boy alive, without any relatives to take custody. Unable to fathom what exactly happened, police filed it away as a gas explosion, and the boy was tossed around foster homes and orphanages until it was eventually forgotten,” Seungmin informed them. He thanked Woojin internally as he spoke — after mentioning several times that Jisung’s past sounded strangely familiar, the police captain had been the one to finally connect the dots between the two cold cases, thirteen years apart.

“There were initial speculations of domestic abuse, but they were never investigated thoroughly. The case was neglected, left cold, and when the statute of limitations expired, it was simply dismissed as another tragedy.” Seungmin nodded at the clerk again, who slid the next memory card in.

This card was filled with what sounded like endless psychological evaluations — disembodied voices introducing themselves as social workers, child psychiatrists, and the like, all mercilessly bombarding Jisung with personal questions. The first half was either entirely black or out of focus, as if Jisung had been holding the camcorder down and clutching it close to his body. They had all given up when the young boy could barely get his answers out, the lingering fear and untreated trauma having locked his voice in his throat. 

“He’s a lost cause.”

“Problem kid.”

“Impossible to treat.”

You clenched your fists every time a social worker left the room, muttering under their breath in annoyance. Then, as the clips grew clearer, a child with round, catlike eyes and a pale expression beginning to appear in several of the frames.

Lee Minho. 

“At the beginning of this decade, we all know that Miroh Heights went through an economic rift — workers were laid off, young children abandoned on the streets. During these times, child abuse and child trafficking cases also skyrocketed.” Seungmin spoke as the screen flashed, the scene now showing what looked like a filthy, unfinished basement floor.

“We witnessed a rise of ‘suicide killers’ — namely, perpetrators who would kidnap and murder their own family members or vulnerable strangers before ending their own lives. Many were acting on their anger and grief through violence; others saw it as a form of revenge.” 

With a wince, you remembered what Minho had told you on the rooftop of the hospital that evening — when he and Jisung had been lured into a man’s home by their own hunger, and woke up to him trying to kill them. The sound of approaching footsteps filled the speakers, the camcorder pointed at an awkward angle and shaking uncontrollably before it clattered to the ground, and the footage cut out.

When the next clip began, it was pointed down at wide-eyed, twelve-year-old Jisung.

“Ah, now this is jus’ perfect. The cops’ll love this, yes they will.” You shivered at the man’s hoarse voice behind the camcorder, flinching as the barrel of a gun was pressed to Jisung’s forehead. “Now, boy — I want you to beg for your life — go on.”

Frozen in your seat, you watched as all hell broke loose — the man pressing the trigger just as Jisung managed to cut the cords free, the camcorder smashing into concrete as Jisung fought for his life. When the lens finally focused again, what you saw made your blood run cold. A twelve-year-old boy kneeling before the mangled corpse of a grown man, cherub-like face drenched with crimson. You heard Minho’s shallow, terrified breathing behind the camcorder as Jisung turned towards him, the look in his eyes sending an icy chill down your spine. It was the exact same look he had given you when you had found him at the diner, screaming out his name as if trying to wake him from a nightmare. 

Emptiness.

Even through the grainy film, you could catch the moment Jisung’s consciousness returned to him, soft brown eyes shifting and focusing into a childlike, dazed expression once again. 

“Minho, can we go home?”

The footage sputtered to a stop. The visceral scene had been exactly as the coroner had described to you on the hospital rooftop, and yet nothing could have prepared you for it. You only realised how badly you had been shaking when Felix gently nudged you, peering at your face worriedly. When you forced yourself to unclench your fists, you winced at the red half-moon weals your nails had left in your palms.

“Both the defendant and coroner Lee Minho were involved in a kidnapping case, and subjected to extreme violence at the ages of twelve and thirteen. The perpetrator died in the incident. There was no culprit to catch. Once again, the case was buried, under the economic turmoil Miroh Heights was experiencing, by neglectful law enforcement.” 

Seungmin turned back to look at the psychiatrist. “Now, I’m no expert in analysing family matters, but I think we can confirm several cases of domestic abuse from this footage alone. Parental neglect. Repeated exposure to violence. Years of sexual harassment. How would you psychoanalyse a patient who has gone through these events?”

The red-faced man was evidently shaken, wiping the sweat from his brow as he stuttered out, “This — this is more than enough to cause severe cases of post-traumatic stress disorder.” His eyes darted around the courtroom nervously, as if the words were refusing to come out of his mouth. 

“He looks like he’s scared,” you murmured. “Like he’s still unwilling to talk.”

“Kang must have made some sort of a deal with him,” Woojin replied under his breath, shaking his head. “But it’s all over now — he’s got nothing more to lose.”

“You swore an oath before the trial began,” Seungmin pressed sternly, not taking his gaze off the nervous man. “‘I do solemnly declare that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.’ Tell me the truth, sir.”

Cowering under Seungmin’s hard gaze, the psychiatrist finally caved. “The...the fact that these events took place during the defendant’s childhood is even more significant. Children’s minds are—are molded from a very young age. The majority of your adult behaviour is shaped by what you’ve experienced as a child, you see.”

“Earlier, you mentioned the possibility of sociopathy. You reached this conclusion because of the defendant’s criminal records, and reported behaviour such as —” Seungmin pulled out Kang’s papers, quickly flipping through. “Theft. Pyromanic, destructive, and self-destructive tendencies.” He raised an eyebrow at the boys from the diner attack. “Bordering on multiple personas.”

“U-uh, well — using the information given during the previous trial, those symptoms did correlate strongly with antisocial personality disorder. But with this newfound context —” the psychiatrist lowered his head meekly, “th-the symptoms are actually closer to those of an individual suffering from extreme, untreated, PTSD.”

Exhaling slowly, Seungmin nodded at the judge. “Post-traumatic stress disorder. Let’s re-examine the defendant’s behaviour under this lens, then. How would PTSD explain violent tendencies in a child?”

“They’re a form of an exaggerated startle response — a sudden reaction triggered by something that upsets the patient. It’s a common long-term aftereffect of childhood abuse or trauma. Some patients fall unconscious, some experience panic attacks or seizures. In the case of Han Jisung...it came in the form of repeated violent outbursts.”

You thought back to the man Jisung had attacked, seemingly out of nowhere at the Yellow Wood — the dead man whose girlfriend, Chan had told you, had actually come to the precinct a few days before Jisung’s trial.

“She was crying real bad. I thought she would want him—Jisung—dead, that she would tell us to convict him, no matter what,” Chan had told you, the detective’s face still twisted in confusion. “And she doesn’t want to testify — she’s still dealing with the trauma, and doesn’t want anything to do with the trial. But y/n — the girl was crying for him. For Jisung. Said that the kid stepped in right when her boyfriend was hitting her, and — told her to go home.”

An exaggerated startle response. You remembered it from your classes, a sudden reaction triggered by something that upset the patient. Like domestic abuse. Unsolicited sexual approaches. Or, you shivered, little things — like the colour red. His father, his mistress, his mother, his kidnapper — did Jisung constantly see their faces in the shadows, in strangers that were repeating the same mistakes?

“The witnesses who knew Han Jisung when he was younger,” Seungmin continued, turning to the two injured boys from the diner, “also testified that he often changed expressions ‘like a mask.’ Assuming this is true, why might the defendant exhibit this sort of behaviour?”

“Abused children — or people who have experienced severe trauma — can develop dissociative habits. Disconnecting from past memories, information, or even present experiences as a defense mechanism...which is why the defendant might appear to change moods often, or show drastically different sides of himself in different situations.”

“In other words,” Seungmin said slowly, brow furrowing in concentration, “the defendant experienced so many traumatic events during his childhood, that the untreated aftereffects impaired his emotional development into adulthood. Which would explain why his startle response slowly morphed, on a larger scale, into something extremely violent and dangerous.”

The psychiatrist looked weary and defeated. “Correct.”

Motioning for the man to take a seat — which he did gladly — Seungmin pulled out the next envelope — the coroner’s photos from the Yellow Wood attacks. Wordlessly, he projected them onto the screen, eliciting small gasps of horror and disgust around the room. 

“Earlier, Prosecutor Kang argued that the violent mutilation of the victims was proof that the perpetrator performed these gruesome acts and mutilations out of personal enjoyment and depravity.” Seungmin turned to address the judge, voice firm. 

“Your Honour, under this new context, I would argue that the photos only serve as further visual evidence depicting the defendant’s mental state at the time of the crime.” He flipped through the images. “Multiple wound sites, messy blood spattering, extreme blunt force trauma. And—if the coroner was telling the truth—a stone from the scene of the crime as the murder weapon. All these signs lead us to believe that the defendant’s actions, no, his judgement, was acutely impaired. This response, these attacks, were triggered due to a pre-existing mental condition.”

The room shifted uneasily as his words sunk in, and the judge fixed her stern gaze onto Seungmin. “Does the prosecution have any evidence that directly refutes the previous claim of first degree murder? To prove that the murders were not premeditated, or intentional, beyond a reasonable doubt?”

Think, Seungmin, think. He racked his mind furiously, trying to recall every piece of evidence that you, Chan, and Woojin had gone through with him. Photographs, diagrams, testimony transcripts — Seungmin’s eyes trailed off to the pile of envelopes the clerk had brought, and landed on the packet containing Yang Jeongin’s tapes.

That’s it.

“Yes, Your Honour.” He cleared his throat, mind racing to connect the dots. “As we all know, the living witness of the Yellow Wood attacks, Yang Jeongin, was attacked at around three o’clock in the morning. He worked several late shifts for delivery companies around the town.” Seungmin nodded towards Jeongin. “What we did not know until recently, however, is that the witness had a hobby of recording himself during these shifts on his own Walkman.”

An alarmed murmur rippled through the crowd as Seungmin shook the tapes out from the envelope, handing them to the clerk. After several tense moments, there was a faint crackling, and the recording began to play.

The first tape held a medley of acoustic songs the delivery boy had mixed himself — just as you had remembered it.

The second tape was empty — the one Minho had stolen from the scene of the crime, and you had eventually recovered from his office.

When the clerk popped in the third, the soft sound of breathing and crunching gravel filled the room, and you shivered. This was the tape you had listened to with Seo Changbin — the tape that had turned your entire life upside down.

“I.N. here! It is currently...2:04 A.M.!”

You glanced at the faces around the room — everyone was on edge, and you felt no different. You could still hear Jeongin’s cry of surprise and pain echoing in your ears, the horrible crash as he hit the forest floor. What was Seungmin thinking? How was a recording of the witness being attacked going to prove Jisung’s innocence? If anything, it was incriminating evidence.

Jeongin’s cheery, oblivious voice continued until you heard the woman’s scream in the distance, muffled under the delivery boy’s distracted humming. Then, a man crying out in guttural pain — the man, you knew now, that had been killed by Jisung in the Yellow Wood. The sounds of leaves crunching and branches snapping under the bicycle wheels grew louder, and you knew that this had been the moment Jeongin had entered the Wood — heading closer and closer towards what would later become the scene of the crime. 

“Hello? Is everything okay over there?” There was a small gasp of horror as Jeongin caught sight of the body. “U-um. Is he—do you need help? I can call an ambulance. What hap—” 

It happened before you could flinch to cover your ears. The horribly familiar crunch of stone meeting skull, a cry of pain cut off by a deafening whump as the Walkman had slammed against the ground. The entire courtroom seemed to hold its breath as it listened, and only then did it finally hit you why Seungmin was playing the tapes. As the sound of another boy’s jagged, uneven breathing filled the speakers, you suddenly remembered what came at the end of the recording. The first time you had heard it, it had made your heart plummet straight down into the pit of your stomach, sending your entire world crashing down around you. 

This time, the fluttering in your chest felt almost like hope.

Han Jisung’s voice, choked with raw, horrified sobs, echoed through the room, and you saw everyone freeze.

“Who—why? Why is it you? Why are you here?” 

The crying was muffled by the sound of hands fumbling over Jeongin’s clothing, as if frantically checking for a pulse. Seungmin stopped the tape, turning towards the bewildered jury. “Do those sound like the words of a cold-blooded psychopath?”

The judge waved a hand towards Jeongin. “Can the witness himself attest to this?”

“I...I blacked out pretty quickly,” Jeongin answered slowly, furrowing his brow as if it still hurt to remember. “But the last thing I remembered seeing was...a boy’s crying face over me, trying to make sure if I was okay.”

“Can you identify this boy?”

Nodding, Jeongin pointed to Jisung.

“Furthermore,” Seungmin continued, tapping the cracked silver Walkman, “these tapes were found in Yang Jeongin’s clothing after he was admitted to the hospital. If the defendant had truly attacked Mr. Yang out of cold blood, he wouldn’t have left such incriminating evidence in the boy’s hands. And if Han Jisung had no idea he was being recorded, that rules out the possibility of him faking the recordings as well.”

“Even so,” the judge replied, stern eyes narrowed, “we cannot be sure that Han Jisung did not intend to leave Yang Jeongin to die. There are many murder cases where the perpetrator shows remorse almost immediately, but still attempted to cover up the crime.”

“Of course. However, Your Honour, you may also remember that Yang Jeongin was not found in the Yellow Wood where the attacks had initially taken place...but rather, the doorstep of Glow Cafe.” At this, Hyunjin looked up, eyes narrowed, and Seungmin motioned for the clerk to continue playing the clip. After several moments, you heard the rough sound of cloth scraping against the ground, growing louder and louder — as if something was being lifted and dragged. 

No. You could still hear Jisung’s broken breathing underneath the sound, and the realisation hit you.

Jisung was carrying Jeongin’s body.

You had thought the tape had already ended the first time you’d listened with Seo Changbin in his record shop — after Jisung’s voice had made you shove the Walkman away, not daring to believe what you had just heard. For days, it had sat, neglected in your apartment, until you had brought it into Seungmin’s office for him to look at. The next day, it had already fallen into the hands of Prosecutor Kang, but by some stroke of luck, Seungmin must have already managed to listen to it in its entirety beforehand.

“Yang Jeongin was found at around 4 in the morning, when Hwang Hyunjin, the owner of Glow Cafe, was awoken by the doorbell. The ringer of this doorbell was never identified, because any possible fingerprint evidence was already contaminated and rendered useless by the time Mr. Yang was safely transported to the ICU.”

The sound of dead leaves and dirt crunching under the soles of Jisung’s shoes gave way to hard concrete as he reached the main road. There was a soft thump as Jeongin was lowered onto the ground, Jisung’s laboured breathing filling the still night air.

Then the familiar chime of Glow Cafe’s doorbell pierced through the speakers, and you watched as Hyunjin jolted up, mouth falling open in disbelief.

“Yes. It’s exactly what you’re all thinking.” Seungmin turned to face the stunned spectators as the sound of Jisung’s footsteps grew fainter as he ran away, and the tape ended. “The defendant was the same person who saved him.”

The judge cleared her throat unsteadily, grim eyes flickering between Seungmin and Jisung. “Does the defense have anything to say to this?”

For the first time since the trial had started, Jisung lifted his head. He was met with a roomful of mixed stares — apprehension, curiosity, fear — and he felt his tongue immediately dissolve into dust, the words sticking to his throat like congealed poison.

When Jisung stayed silent, Seungmin spoke carefully, “A fair trial wouldn’t be complete without hearing from the defendant himself. In his own words.” His eyes were almost gentle, fixing a steady look on Jisung’s dark, wary face. “Would you like to testify?”

Your heart was hammering in your throat as the silence grew thicker and thicker. After what felt like an eternity, it was finally broken by the creak of the chair as Jisung pushed it back and stood up. To your utter surprise, he stepped up to the middle of the room, wordlessly turning to face Seungmin. Still, the look on his face held the same blank, guarded expression you had seen so many times when your sessions with him had taken a turn for the worse, and you gripped the edge of your seat uneasily, having no idea what to expect from this turn of events.

If Seungmin was as surprised as you were, he did a better job at hiding it. He muttered something to the clerk, who began to project familiar faces and photos onto the screen. The victims, you realised, and the crime scenes. A slim woman in her thirties, her thin lips a smudge of bright red, next to a photo of charred blood and bone. The prostitute.

“Do you recognise this woman?” Seungmin asked, pointing to her picture.

Jisung frowned, furrowing his brow at the picture. Something seemed to stir in the back of his mind, but there was a dull throbbing in his temples that made it difficult to focus. “I—I’m not sure.” 

Someone in the crowd made an unconvinced sound, and Jisung shrunk back. The pictures went on and on — a corpse mangled with chemical burns, a man’s body swinging from the rooftop, a bashed-in skull on the forest floor. Each image made Jisung’s head pound, the floor beginning to spin as if threatening to split open beneath his feet and swallow him whole. Did he recognise them? Glimpses of their faces flashed in the back of his mind like jumbled jigsaw pieces, but the more he tried to grab onto them, the more they fell apart. His fingertips tingled with the faint, itching memory of a stranger’s blood — strangers who, in a fleeting moment, had taken the shape of a former tormentor. Father. Mistress. Hurt. Pain. 

“I can’t — remember anything,” Jisung choked hoarsely. He remembered blacking out, and waking up. He remembered his nightmares, his flashbacks. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember the faces staring back at him from the screen. 

You sound insane, a voice in the back of his mind hissed. As he met the eyes of the jury, he could almost hear what they were thinking. 

You really are a psychopath. 

Sensing the doubtful whispering beginning around the room, Seungmin hurriedly moved onto the next question. “Let’s — let’s go back to the psychiatrist’s statements, then. Mr. Han, could you tell me what it was like growing up in your family?”

His question was met with silence again, Jisung screwing his eyes shut as the prosecutor’s voice echoed in his head. Family. It was a word that brought ugly memories bubbling to the surface every time, memories made of broken beer bottles and pale, bruised cheeks. His head was aching, a cold sweat forming in his palms as he clenched his fists, stomach churning. No. No. He couldn’t talk about it — wouldn’t talk about it — 

“Can you...tell me about your mother’s eyes?”

The abrupt, familiar question, carried by the prosecutor’s softened voice, was what made Jisung open his eyes again, the trembling in his hands stilling. The room around them was shifting with confused murmurs at the strange question, but Seungmin didn’t break eye contact with the younger boy. 

The prosecutor watched Jisung’s fists slowly unclench, brow furrowing slightly as he recognised the question, and Seungmin thought back to the conversation he had had with you over the phone after you had woken up in the hospital.

“What’s this?”

“A psychiatric analysis — on Jisung,” you explained, referring to the report files you had sent the prosecutor. “I know it’s not — not much, but...”

“For all we know, it might be the only existing verbal testimony that Jisung has,” Seungmin assured you. “From what I’ve heard, he’s never opened up to anyone before. What I meant was, why are you sending it to me?”

You bit your lip. “Chan isn’t allowed to stand trial, and I — I haven’t graduated yet, so my thesis won’t be taken seriously as evidence. I can’t testify as a psychiatric expert, either. But I thought that — I could at least tell you all the questions that lead me to his diagnosis. In case you get to question him at the trial — he’ll know they’re my questions. Maybe...he’ll finally change his mind.”

Seungmin sighed wearily. “I was removed from the case this morning, Miss l/n. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to step foot into the courtroom, let alone question him.”

And so the questions had been left, buried and forgotten in the back of Seungmin’s mind — until this exact moment, when he had remembered them just in time. 

What comes to mind when you think about your mother’s eyes?

Jisung’s vision went black as his senses were flooded with memories, nearly sending him doubling over. His mother’s eyes. The last time he had looked into those eyes, they had already been glazing over, the life in them seeping away as her blood pooled over the broken floorboards of his childhood home. His mother’s eyes. Suddenly, it was as if he was ten years old all over again, shrouded in the shadows of a cramped closet as his father strangled the life out of his mother right in front of him. 

Guilt, he wanted to say. Pain. The kind that never goes away. Blinking feverishly, Jisung’s gaze darted around the room — and when he finally found your face in the audience, he felt his heart stop.

You were looking at him with the exact same eyes his mother had, that day. 

From your first date to this very moment, Jisung never knew why you had always reminded him so much of her — you two looked nothing alike, after all. Wherever he went, he had always been chased by fragments of the nightmares he wanted to forget, demons of his past that had taken the forms of the man at the Yellow Wood, the red-lipped hooker, Na Jangmin, Park Beomsoo. And yet every moment he spent with you, he caught familiar glimpses of her instead — pieces of the only warmth, and happiness, and home he had ever known before it had all been cruelly ripped away.

For years, the only thing he had been able to remember was that day. How his mother’s eyes had been wide and pleading as she bled out on the floor, desperately shaking her head at him before finally falling limp. The flames and endless smoke seemed to eat away at his happier memories until there was nothing left but ashes and tar. 

But you made him remember a time before everything went wrong, when things had been peaceful, when he still had somewhere — someone — to go home to.

For thirteen years, he had been running from the memory, from the feeling, afraid that confronting it would make him relive the pain all over again. But now, for the first time, Han Jisung wondered if he had missed something else among those repressed memories all along.

His mother’s eyes as she shook her head one last time had been warm, not just because they had been filled with pain and tears — but because they had been blazing with one last, unspoken message. The same one he saw reflected in your own eyes now.

When you shook your own head gently, pleading eyes brimming with tears, the message finally rang clear in his mind.

Don’t blame yourself for what happened. Han Jisung, you have to keep on living.

Stunned, he tore his gaze away, only to see Bang Chan watching him with the same expression — then Woojin, Seungmin, Felix, Yang Jeongin. Even Hwang Hyunjin had worry written all over his face — worry for him — and it all suddenly hit Jisung like a punch in the gut.

Why did all these people fight for him?

Why had his mother died for him?

What comes to mind when you think about your mother’s eyes?

“Love,” Jisung breathed, his soft voice filling the empty silence. “Love.” The memories were coming back to him now — not in jagged, gut-wrenching flashes, but slowly. Steadily.

For the first time in his life, Han Jisung was in control.

“Can you tell me about your parents?” Seungmin pressed gently, seeing the tension slowly leave Jisung’s body.

“My parents,” Jisung repeated. His mouth felt like it was trying the words out. He remembered once, when you had asked him the same question, his head had felt like it was on the verge of splitting. Now, the memories felt strangely detached, as if he were telling someone else’s story. “They were happy once, or at least that’s what I’ve heard.” He paused. “My...father...never wanted to get married. They never planned to...have me, but my mother refused an abortion. They — it was a shotgun wedding,” Jisung finished quietly. “And then things got worse from there.”

“What was it like growing up in your family?” Seungmin tried the question again, watching Jisung carefully.

“My old man’s favourite thing to tell me growing up was how I was never wanted,” Jisung gave a weak smile. “I think you can imagine.”

You watched as Seungmin continued asking Jisung your questions, as if slowly coaxing the answers out from the darkness and painting the cold courtroom with the scenes of Jisung’s past.

“My mother was a waitress. The work was tough, but it didn’t pay much. My father convinced her to work more shifts, so that she was around as little as possible. During that time, he…” Jisung swallowed hard. “He had his affairs with other women when she wasn’t home, and beat her bloody when she was. She always tried to hide it from me, too — said the less I knew the better, but I was getting older, and my father’s anger was slowly shifting over to me. And when his...mistresses stayed over, they started noticing me, too.” Jisung fell silent then, and you suddenly thought back to the white burn scars on his arms and legs, the numerous unexplained markings on his stomach bringing tears to your eyes. How many more did he have hidden on his body, painful reminders binding him to a past he tried so hard to forget?

“Your Honour,” Seungmin finally broke the hushed silence, “with all the information taken into consideration, I think we can confirm beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant has witnessed numerous traumatic events during his childhood — and that they more than likely worsened his mental condition as he grew older.” Seungmin turned to Jisung, remembering another question you had written in your report. “How...do you cope with the past?” 

Jisung was silent for several moments before answering, his words echoing your last therapy session. “I...don’t….like to think about it, or remember it. Every time I do, I…” he trailed off unsteadily, and he tried again. “E-every time, I...I…”

His throat was closing up again, the words echoing in his mind as if mocking him. How was he supposed to explain the headaches that never truly went away, the dizziness that hit him like a punch in the gut? Or, worse, the gaps in his memories when he blacked out, making him feel as though he were slowly going insane?

Stay silent, whispered a voice in the back of his head. Who will understand you? Who will believe you? He looked back at the roomful of faces, their cold, wary stares piercing through him like knives. You were never meant to live. You should have died on that day, thirteen years ago— 

“Han Jisung, you are such an idiot.” 

The sudden memory of your voice cut through his thoughts and made him jolt in surprise— but it didn’t stop there, all the things you had once told him slowly growing louder and louder and jarring him awake from his own thoughts.

“You’re not the psychopath they’re making you out to be. I know you.”

He remembered the way you had relaxed and fallen asleep in his arms, even after you had found out they were stained with blood, because you trusted him completely.

“I don’t want you to show me. I want you to tell me. I want to hear it from you, in your own words, Jisung.”

He remembered your face every time he had tried to tell you about his past — your soft, patient eyes and gentle voice, the worry and genuine concern on your face that he had always mistaken for repulsion and fear. You had been shaken, definitely, terrified, even — but you had always been willing to listen to him speak, even when Jisung had been too afraid to try.

“I like you, Han Jisung. I. Like. You.”

He met your eyes across the room then, and felt a small, incredulous breath leave his lips. It was you — it was always you, who had the power to make the walls he had built around himself crumble to dust with a single touch; you, pulling him out of the darkness he had always succumbed helplessly to; you, who had finally woken him from the living nightmare he had been trapped in his entire life. 

You reminded him what it was like to live again. You made him want to live again, without fears, without regrets.

“Mr. Han? Could you please describe how these memories make you feel? How you usually deal with them?”

“I don’t know how to,” Jisung breathed out at last. “Every time I try to remember, my...heart starts racing like my chest is about to burst. My head pounds until I can’t see anything, and — it’s like something in there...snaps. And then I...black out completely.” 

Seungmin nodded, glancing back to the nervous, red-faced man. “Do you have...anything to add or deny regarding the psychiatrist’s diagnoses?”

“You were right,” Jisung replied simply, but he wasn’t talking to the psychiatrist. He was looking straight at you, and to his own surprise, a smile tugged at his dry lips. It felt like the simple sentence had somehow set him free. “I have trouble sleeping, because I always end up having the same nightmares. There’s missing blank spots in my memories when I wake up in a place I don’t recognise, with no idea how I got there.”

Jisung watched as your eyes widened, recognising his words — he was echoing the same symptoms you had confronted him about during your last therapy session, the ones he had coldly denied out of panic and fear. “I’ve always been afraid to let people get close to me. But sometimes, there are things that — that remind me of times that I’d rather forget, and before I know it, everything begins to spiral out of control.” He gave a small smile to Seungmin, who had stayed silent, surprised at Jisung’s sudden honesty. “That’s it, then. The whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

You watched as Jisung’s eyes flickered around the room, face as open and tranquil as a child’s — and that was what nearly broke your heart. Knowing that somewhere, beneath the prison uniform that was too baggy for his lean, tired frame, was the shell of a child the world had failed, a child that had given up asking to be saved.

“No further questions,” Seungmin said quietly, and Jisung walked back to his seat as the young prosecutor turned to face the judge. “Your Honour,” he began slowly, as if momentarily unable to find the words. “I think we have reason to believe that the attacks were provoked — not exactly by the victims themselves, but from past traumas that were never dealt with properly, and triggered again and again until they spiralled out of control.”

Seungmin raised his voice then, for the entire courtroom to hear, forcing his voice to remain steady despite the fluttering nerves in his body. “The scattered killing patterns were never planned. The correlations between the victims and causes of death don’t show a serial killer’s M.O., they show triggers.” He took a shaky breath. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, this isn’t a serial killer case. It isn’t the case of a psychopath on some nonsensical, murderous rampage. This is the aftereffect of a domestic violence case gone cold and swept under the rug over a decade ago — and we can’t afford to let it slip away again.”

The judge fixed Seungmin with a cold, steely look over her glasses. “Prosecutor Kim. Remember that you cannot — should not — let your emotions get in the way in a court of law. You are supposed to assess the case with cold reasoning and logic.”

Seungmin looked down, heart hammering in his throat. The Kim Seungmin he knew would have been ashamed, and apologised immediately. The Kim Seungmin he knew would have thought he was crazy for crossing the line.

He realised, in that moment, that he hated the old Kim Seungmin with a passion.

“Emotions don’t always get in the way,” he found himself saying, eyes flickering to you in the audience, “and they don’t always make you weak.” Seungmin thought of Prosecutor Kang then, and his voice grew stronger. “If anything, they keep you human.”

He looked back up at the judge now, whose face had frozen in surprise. “When did justice become so cold? We’re taught that the law is supposed to protect the vulnerable, not prosecute them.”

The judge looked visibly shaken, mouth opening and closing wordlessly as her eyes darted wildly between Seungmin and Jisung. Finally, with an unfathomable expression on her face, she turned towards the jury, clearing her throat unsteadily. 

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that concludes the evidence to be presented on this case. You are now to deliberate, and determine whether or not Han Jisung is guilty of nineteen counts of first-degree murder, assault, and arson. 

“If you believe that this has been proved beyond a reasonable doubt, then you should find the defendant guilty, and eligible for capital punishment.”

Capital punishment, you thought, the words sweeping a breath of cold across the room. The death penalty.

“The court stands adjourned until the verdict of the jury.”

━━━━━━━━

Over an hour had passed since the jury had stepped into the deliberation suite, and each tick of the clock on the wall made you more and more nauseous. You put your head down, hands buried in your hair as if that could calm the anxiety thrumming through your veins. A few times, you had heard shouting and angry, raised voices coming from the room the jury was in. Each passing minute seemed to make the weight of the situation more obvious, the tension in the courtroom thick and suffocating.

Felix was rubbing your back as soothingly as he could. “y/n, hey, look at me — deep breaths, okay? You’re okay—”

He was cut off when you lifted your head to look at him, cursing the tears already welling in your eyes. You hated feeling this way — you felt so weak and powerless, and just imagining how much of a mess you must have looked made it even worse. You promised yourself you would stay calm, but every thought that crossed your mind kept leading to another until you were exhausted and overwhelmed.

“They could walk out any minute, ‘lix,” you told him, voice wavering as the weight of your own words sunk in. “They could walk out any minute, and end his life.”

You couldn’t even say Jisung’s name out loud, let alone look him in the eyes. Felix watched as you wiped furiously at your own tears, the sight of you so distressed rendering him speechless, and he did the only thing he could think of. Grimly, your best friend pulled you into a hug, and his reassuring warmth in the cold courtroom made you want to break down all over again. Around you, you could hear mixed opinions being exchanged.

“That poor boy.”

“Who could have guessed the case would take a turn like this? But do you believe him?”

“A murderer is still a murderer — he’s too dangerous to be left alive, don’t you think?”

You were beginning to wish you had taken Hyunjin and Woojin’s offer to step out of the room for fresh air when the heavy doors swung open, making a hush fall over the room. The jury filed in just as Hyunjin and the police captain returned and took their seats.

“Order in the court,” the clerk called, and the judge cleared her throat.

“Has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?”

The forewoman nodded grimly. “Yes, Your Honour.”

“Those in favour of sentencing the accused, Han Jisung, to capital punishment, please rise.”

The words sent an icy shock down your spine, the entire room seeming to hold its breath as they watched the jury. You didn’t dare move, as if by doing so, you could prevent the next moments from coming crashing down on you, as if somehow, you could stop the horrible verdict from coming true. It was as if everyone had frozen still, time stopping for what felt like the longest moment of your life.

The ticking of the clock pricked your ears, and you suddenly realised that time hadn’t stopped. 

No one in the jury had moved to stand up.

“The jury returns a verdict of not guilty, despite believing that the accused committed the crimes he is charged with,” the forewoman standing at the front of the jury said, and the members behind her nodded. “This verdict was unanimous.”

“They all agree that Jisung killed those people,” you heard Hyunjin’s stunned voice behind you, “but they’re returning a verdict of not guilty? What does that mean?”

“Jury nullification,” both Chan and Seungmin spoke at the same time, and the room turned to look at the younger prosecutor as he spoke up. 

“The jury has the right to overturn the law, if they believe the law was used incorrectly—”

A reporter behind you blurted out angrily, “Are you suggesting that the murders were delusional, Prosecutor Kim?”

“Or,” Seungmin continued, his voice growing stronger than ever before as he saw the eyes of the judge and his coworkers widen in disbelief. I must be insane, he thought, but he couldn’t stop the words coming from his mouth. “Or, the jury disagrees with the law the prosecution has chosen to charge the defendant under.” He picked up Prosecutor Kang’s case file from the desk, flipping over the papers. “First degree murder.”

The forewoman nodded. “The law Han Jisung is being tried with was immorally and wrongly applied to him in the first place. We believe he caused the killings, without a doubt, but with the circumstances presented, we cannot convict him of serial first degree murder.”

“The previous prosecutor claimed these charges without making any effort to consider Han Jisung’s past,” one man on the jury added, “All the evidence proves a history of abuse and trauma that lead to an unstable mental condition.”

Their words sounded strangely familiar, and your eyes immediately widened when you realised why. “Those — those are the words from my psych report,” you whispered breathlessly to Felix, “Quoted, word for word. They must have all read your articles — we did it, ‘lix, it really worked.”

“But murder is murder. He should be held accountable,” a spectator protested across the room. He was immediately silenced by the bailiff, but not before Seungmin turned to him with a steady stare.

“‘Murder is murder’,” Seungmin echoed, “‘The world of law is cold.’ ‘The law is harsh, but it is the law.’  Those are the phrases you always hear in court. And those are the same beliefs that cost vulnerable people their lives.”

Hyunjin looked at Jeongin, whose gaze were cast to the floor, eyes stormy. 

Seungmin continued, “You lose your empathy, and mark complex cases like these under ‘mass murderer’, or ‘psychopath’ without bothering to truly investigate the gray areas, because you think doing so would be—” his mind flashed to Kang, “a waste of time.” He looked at Jisung now, a boy who had been confined by labels his entire life: problem child, delinquent, murderer, monster. “Han Jisung is worth more than that. There’s more to him than his past, than his abusers, than the mental torment he’s suffered through for years.

“He’s a boy who never got the chance at life he deserved. The system has failed him once, and we cannot — should not — hold his trial like this.” Seungmin turned to the judge one last time, eyes burning with sincerity. “Your Honour. Will you end this vicious cycle of use and abuse, once and for all? Or will you choose, once again, to sweep it back into the shadows?”

She was staring back at him with a look that should have petrified Seungmin on the spot, but he swallowed hard, forcing himself to stand his ground. There was a long, weighted silence. Finally, the judge shook her head slowly, and Seungmin swore he saw the smallest of smiles tug at her taut mouth as she turned to face the rest of the courtroom. 

You felt your heart nearly leap out of your throat when the verdict finally fell from the judge’s lips.

“I hereby pronounce Han Jisung...not guilty.”

If you hadn’t been sitting down, you were sure you would have collapsed onto the floor.

The world was spinning around you, the sheer relief washing over you in overwhelming waves and turning your limbs to jelly. In your peripheral vision, you saw Hyunjin’s mouth drop open in astonishment, Felix turning to you with an incredulous smile on his face, Chan and Woojin completely frozen. 

You barely registered the judge’s voice as she continued speaking, the rest of her words passing through you as if you were made of thin air. Pardoned on the death of his father and the arson of his childhood home by reason of self-defense. Regarding the Miroh Heights killings, the defendant was unable to understand the significance of his criminal actions due to a pre-existing mental condition. He is acquitted from the death penalty, and will serve no prison time.

However, he will be transferred to a psychiatric institution and closely monitored for the time being. The suitable amount of time he is to spend there will be prescribed on a later date after the case is properly re-examined...

People were talking around you, one of your friends was calling your name, and you swore you even heard a few people clapping, but you weren’t listening anymore. There was only one other person on your mind.

When your eyes found Jisung’s face, he was looking straight at you — with the same look in his eyes that had given you butterflies the first time you met him, and the same look in his eyes you had seen before you had fallen unconscious, bleeding out in his arms.

He was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

━━━━━━━━

“You had some nerve back there, Prosecutor Kim.”

The courtroom had been emptied out, and Seungmin had been collecting his files and notes when he heard a voice from behind him. At first, he thought he had misheard — people were buzzing outside in the lobby, the commotion so loud it seemed to be humming through the walls — but he turned around, and saw the judge walking up to him.

Bits and pieces of the trial came back to him, and Seungmin cringed inwardly as he met her hard gaze. Just how many lines had he crossed? Years of being careful, meticulous, completely down the drain— 

“You had some nerve back there,” she repeated, and Seungmin lowered his eyes. He heard her sigh deeply. “But you’re a fine prosecutor, Kim.”

Stunned, Seungmin raised his head, and realised with a start that she was smiling at him. “I haven’t seen your kind in a while. It was refreshing, to say the least, and it puts me at ease to know that this field still has people like you.”

She tucked her glasses into her robes, turning to leave.

“Never change, Prosecutor Kim.”

━━━━━━━━

“Prosecutor Kang, look this way!”

Kang was blinded by flashing cameras the moment he stepped out from the holding cell. The older prosecutor’s eyes were dark as he was pushed through the mob of reporters and citizens, the guards flanking him making no effort to be gentle.

“Is it true you hid crucial evidence from your own prosecution?”

“Did you bribe your own witnesses?”

“How many other cases have you tampered with?”

“None!” Kang snarled at the reporter, desperation rising in his throat like bile. “Lies—I’ve never wrongfully convicted a single person. These are all—” 

“You’re the liar.”

The crowd stopped, turning towards the voice that had shouted over them. Yang Jeongin was standing at the end of the hallway, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Just the sight of Kang was enough to make him tremble like a young child again, words stuck momentarily in his throat. This was the same man he had met in court all those years ago, the man who had mercilessly delivered his father’s life sentence with a snakelike smile on his pale lips. Taking a shaky breath, Jeongin mustered up his courage, and ran up to him.

“Please stop this already,” Jeongin pleaded, eyes searching Kang’s bewildered face for signs of guilt, remorse, anything. Kang didn’t seem to recognise him, and the young boy’s voice was breaking as he fought back tears. “Please tell the truth, just this once. I-I don’t know why you’re doing this, but—it doesn’t have to be this way—”

There was a gasp as a few reporters stumbled, and the crowd rippled forward. Kang was knocked off-balance, tumbling to the ground. He cursed, fumbling to get back on his feet — and saw a hand, outstretched towards him from a hoodie sleeve that was clearly too large for its owner. He looked up into the young boy’s face again, his fox-like eyes widened in concern, and finally realised with a jolt who he was talking to.

Nearly a decade ago, Kang thought — an old fool who had picked a fight with high-ranking company officials, no? And then the crackpot had pleaded with Kang, saying something about a son he had to take care of — a young boy— 

Jeongin put his hand on Kang’s arm when the prosecutor didn’t move, and pulled him up. “Mr. Kang, my father—”

Feeling a sudden rage surge through his body, Kang drew his fist back and punched the boy across his jaw. 

Jeongin crumpled to the ground, the side of his face already blooming with red. “You brat,” Kang seethed as cries of horror erupted from the crowd, guards seizing him and trying to pull him away. “What do you understand? Han Jisung, your old man — people like them don’t deserve to walk free.”

You had just stepped out of the courtroom when a commotion in the hallway had made you look over, the scene that had greeted your eyes making you freeze. Jeongin had been clutching Prosecutor Kang’s arm, looking up at the older man imploringly — and his expression had been genuinely kind, almost pitying, his mouth opening and closing frantically as though he were pleading with him. You had shaken your head in disbelief, trying to push through the throng of shocked citizens — only Yang Jeongin’s heart was big enough to look his parents’ tormentor in the eyes, and help him. 

Then Kang had suddenly struck Jeongin, and now the delivery boy was curling up in pain on the ground as the prosecutor screamed at him.

“They were foolish enough — depraved enough  — to violate those laws, and I charged them with what they deserved. It’s as simple as—”

The next thing you knew, you were in front of Kang, palm outstretched, and you had slapped him hard across the face.

The entire crowd fell dead silent, Jeongin looking up at you from the floor in dazed disbelief. Even Kang was speechless as he looked back at you, holding his jaw, eyes about to pop out of their sockets.

“It seems like you know everything about law, Prosecutor Kang,” you said, voice shaking with anger, “but you know nothing about being human.”

Kang opened his mouth, but for once, nothing came out. The hallway was erupting in chaos again as cameras clicked and flashed eagerly. The guards began to drag Kang away before it could get more hectic, your last glimpses of the corrupt prosecutor disappearing behind the reporters’ bobbing heads. As you helped Jeongin up, checking his head worriedly, you felt a hand pull at your own arm. You turned to see Hyunjin, and judging by the look on his face, he had seen everything.

“Is this just going to be a thing now?” The barista asked, side-eyeing you wearily as he held onto Jeongin protectively, “Are you just going to start slapping everyone who crosses you?”

“Maybe,” you muttered mutinously. “It’s faster, and less emotionally draining than negotiating.”

“You’re studying to be a therapist, y/n,” Hyunjin reminded you exasperatedly, and you let out a small laugh, pouting slightly. The barista smiled too, despite himself, and you both looked over at Jeongin. The boy’s eyes were staring over the crowd’s heads, through the lobby doors, and you realised he was watching the officers push Kang into the police cruiser — the man who had ruined his parents’ lives, finally handcuffed and headed where he was supposed to be.  

You turned around, and caught sight of another familiar face further down the hallway, standing perfectly still despite the crowd of people rushing past around him. 

Lee Minho’s face was turned away from you, his catlike eyes staring at something with the same, unfathomable expression you had come to grow so accustomed to. You remembered how you had once been afraid of the coroner and his strange, standoffish manner, but now, as you watched him from afar, you felt a small pang of sympathy. Minho always carried himself like a ghost, you realised — a shadow lingering in the corners of rooms and corridors, unsure if he was ever wanted.

You quickly excused yourself from Hyunjin and Jeongin and you began to push through the crowd towards the coroner. As you followed his gaze to the holding cell doors, they suddenly swung open, and Jisung stepped out into the hallway. Your steps slowed. The two stood facing each other for several long moments — two childhood friends, two lost children who had found their only sense of family — twisted though it had been — in each other. Minho’s face was hesitant, as if about to turn away, but Jisung had already begun walking up to him. You were too far away to hear what they were saying, Jisung’s back turned to you and Minho awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other. 

Then Jisung suddenly closed the gap between the two of them, and pulled Minho into a hug.

You watched as the ex-coroner’s mask finally shattered, the older boy’s face scrunching up like a child’s as he buried his head in Jisung’s shoulder. His entire body shook with silent sobs, as if something in him had finally been let go, a burden he had carried his entire life lifted off his chest. 

Eventually, the guards stepped forward, and Minho pulled away. He looked at Jisung with a small smile on his face — the first genuine smile you had ever seen from him — and you managed to catch the words forming on his lips. 

“Goodbye, Han Jisung.”

“He’ll probably need to go through a trial of his own.” Chan’s voice made you jump in surprise. He had come up beside you while you had been distracted, Felix and Woojin close behind him. He nodded at you by way of greeting before turning back to where Jisung was standing. “The coroner, I mean. But he’ll likely get around five years in prison, more or less.”

You watched as Minho was ushered away into another corridor, Jisung staring at the empty spot where he had once stood. Before you could reply, he turned around, eyes landing on yours — and all of a sudden, you forgot about the security guards flanking every doorway, the law officials and reporters brushing briskly past you. For a moment, it was as if it were only you and Jisung in the hallway, the entire world standing still around the two of you.

Since the last time you had spoken to him had ended with you slapping him in the face, you decided that it was only right for you to take the first step towards him. Slowly, feeling as if you were in a dream, you made your way towards him, Jisung walking the rest of the way to meet you in the middle.  

“Hey, you.” Jisung’s voice was soft, nearly inaudible, not taking his hazel eyes off yours.

You heard Chan chuckle behind you, shaking his head as he threw his arms around Felix and Woojin’s shoulders to steer them away and leave you two in private. The hallways had nearly cleared out, and for the first time in what felt like forever — if you ignored the guards watching a little ways off from the holding cells —  you and Jisung were alone together.

There were a thousand things racing through your mind right now, but you couldn’t seem to find the right words to say. 

“Five years,” Jisung tentatively broke the silence again, and when you looked back at him in confusion, he continued, “in the psychiatric institute. They told me five years minimum, on watch. But I heard...it’s a nice place.”

His lopsided, sheepish smile was as infectious as ever, making one tug at your own lips. When Jisung saw you smile, he relaxed just the tiniest amount.

“Y-you’re going to be okay?” You finally asked, feeling your voice waver. 

Jisung’s gaze softened, nodding. “You saved me.”

“No.” You shook your head firmly. You knew he was talking about Seungmin’s arguments, Jeongin’s witness statements, the article you and Felix had published — but it all might have been for nothing, you thought, mind flashing back to the courtroom, if Jisung hadn’t finally stepped up from his chair and faced his lifelong traumas in the form of one last, truthful testimony. “Han Jisung, you saved yourself.”

He fell silent at that, and you saw his hand instinctively move towards yours for a split second before he quickly stopped himself. Jisung’s arms were floating by his sides, as if wanting to pull you close, but he was holding himself back. He was afraid, you finally realised — afraid that you would push him away, afraid to ever hurt you again. And for some, inexplicable reason, the idea of a rift between the two of you that could never be repaired seemed to hurt even more than a switchblade to the heart.

“For some reason, I’ve been thinking back to our first date,” Jisung cleared his throat, one hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. He probably looked like a nervous schoolboy in front of his first love, Jisung thought, cringing at himself as he looked away from your curious gaze. Well, he added as an afterthought, that wouldn’t be too far off.

You were his first love, after all.  

“I...I didn’t know how you felt that day,” Jisung continued, “or even the days after that, to be honest. I didn’t know if I was doing things right, or—”

“You took my breath away,” you cut him off, the honesty in your own words making your cheeks heat up. You thought back to the diner, to the blond boy who had rendered you speechless with a single heart-shaped smile. As an afterthought, you brought a hand to your rib cage, where a switchblade in that same boy’s hands had once punctured through your lungs, and you deadpanned, “literally.”

Eyebrows raising in disbelief, Jisung gave an incredulous laugh, but his gaze was fixed on the site of your wound. You could still see the deep guilt in his eyes, and, taking a deep breath, you reached for his hand, gingerly placing it where the knife had been. His skin was cool against your fingers, palm rough but familiar. “I’m okay, Jisung. It’s okay. But...why bring that up, all of a sudden?”

“I feel like that now,” he admitted softly, “the same feeling, but with a whole new set of butterflies. Always thinking about you, worrying about you. Wondering how you feel about…”

“Us,” you finished for him, and Jisung nodded slowly. Us. The word hung between the two of you for a long moment, and you took a shaky breath. A part of you wanted to reassure him, to pull him into your arms as if nothing had ever changed. But another part of you pushed that feeling away, knowing deep down that it was too late, that too much had already happened between the two of you to just ignore.

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully, and you looked down, afraid to see the expression on his face. “I woke up that morning, and you were just...gone. I was so scared for you, I went looking for you...then one thing lead to another, and before we all knew it, the world had turned upside down. I-it might sound selfish, but after all...this, I think I’m going to need some...time.” You finally lifted your eyes up to his face, heart pounding. For a terrifying second, you thought you saw a flash of pain skip across Jisung’s pupils — but before you could be sure, his face broke into a relieved smile. 

“You’ve always been like this, you know?” He sighed, one hand reaching up to gently tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. Then, contrary to what you had expected, Jisung visibly relaxed. “Worrying about other people before taking care of yourself. You’re not being selfish, okay? Don’t...worry about hurting me anymore.”

You stared at him, the genuine warmth in his words suddenly making your throat close up with stunned tears. Jisung’s eyes, you remembered, had always seemed glazed over and unfocused — as if his mind was trapped somewhere else, far, far away. But as he looked back at you now, you were suddenly hit by how...clear they had become. He was here, perfectly focused on you, eyes filled with what you could only describe as pure adoration.

“I need time, too,” Jisung continued quickly, “I have...so many things I need to fix, to work on, and get better at—”

You shook your head furiously then, tears spilling onto your cheeks as you held onto his wrist. “W-want to love every part of you,” you whispered, forcing your voice to remain steady. “Don’t...don’t hide any parts of yourself, ever again. Okay?”

Jisung watched you for a long moment, brow furrowed as he gingerly wiped your tears, and finally gave a small nod. He cradled your face in his hands, eyes trying to memorise your features as though you were the most beautiful thing he would ever see. To someone else, you thought vaguely, you might have looked insane. A killer’s hands, they might have said, bloodstained hands. But as you gazed up at Jisung, all you saw was a boy who had gone through hell and came back smiling, a boy who loved you more than life itself.

You heard footsteps approaching, and looked up to see several security guards making their way towards Jisung. “Mr. Han,” one called gruffly, “it’s time to go.”

The sudden interruption made your mind go blank momentarily as any reasonable words — goodbye, take care — immediately dissolved on your tongue. The guards were getting closer and closer, and Jisung turned back to you, stammering. 

“If you ever want to—to do this whole...love thing again, start over properly, I—I promise I’ll try not to screw it up. I mean, if you’re sure—and only if you’re sure,” he paused then, sounding suddenly flustered, and for a second, he was your tousled-hair, golden boy from the diner again, soft cheeks flushed like windblown peach roses, eyes unsure yet hopeful as a child’s. This was the boy you had fallen in love with, over blueberry pancakes and Chinese takeout, on seemingly endless nights and through the darkest thunderstorms. Ever since you had made that promise, in a children’s playground beneath the setting sun, you knew that somehow, no matter what fate had left in store, you would always find your way back to him. 

Jisung was already being ushered away, the sudden absence of his touch on your skin leaving you feeling empty — but his last words brought a smile to your tearstained face.

“...I’ll be waiting.”

ryu says:

thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who made it to the end of this series; to everyone who came on this long journey with me, you made it possible and amazing every step of the way. at times, as my first ever series and long-term project, it was both daunting and terrifying, but i am beyond happy and honoured i could experience it with you.

i’ll see you in the epilogue.

[swordsandshields99]

Chapters: 1/7 Fandom: Mass Effect Trilogy, Mass Effect - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Additional Tags: Friendship, Friendship/Love, Romance, Fluff and Smut @cactuarkitty - thanks! :)  Day 1 - Beach Day (Tried to give it a Citadel DLC vibe) Smut in Italics and sectioned, feel free to skip :)

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

“Yo, Shepard, can we talk to you for a second?” Jack’s voice came across the comms. “Sure thing. Did someone break something?” Shepard tried to tease the biotic. “Not yet, but I can’t promise not to break the cheerleader's arm if she doesn’t stop tapping her fingers on the console in a condescending way.”

Shepard sighed and put down the armor she was cleaning. She made her way to the elevator. “Hey Edi, if anyone is actually about to kill each other, let me know.”

“Of course, Shepard. If I were to inform you each time Jack complained about Operative Lawson, I believe you wouldn’t have any free time.”

“True enough,” Shepard chuckled. The AI was really growing on her.

Shepard exited the lift and turned into the mess hall, and was surprised to see her entire ground crew sitting around the long table. She glanced at Garrus, but he gave nothing away, other than popping a mandible out to the side in a sarcastic half-grin. “What’s all this about?”

“Shepard, it seems the crew have been discussing our current course of action,” Miranda started.

“You mean, our current course of non-action?” Shepard cut in.

“Yes,” Miranda said slowly. “Garrus has been adamant that he has tried to persuade you not to return to the Alliance.”

“He has, and as I told him, I’ve made up my mind. It’s something I have to do.”

“You don’t have to do shit,” Jack countered.

“You could go to the Council, Shepard. You’re a spectre, with spectre authority. They’ll be just as displeased as the Alliance, but they can use that authority to ride out the storm. The Alliance is just going to lock you up. Or worse. You don’t deserve that.” By the time Tali finished, she was wringing her hands and bouncing slightly on her feet.

Shepard looked down, “Listen, I appreciate your concern. But if I don’t go and take the fall, the political fall out will be detrimental to the Alliance. I might be a Spectre, but everyone in the galaxy knows where I came from.”

There was a horribly awkward silence in the room.

“I promise, I won’t let it affect any of you. Your names will all stay out of the report, and I will be adamant about the fact that I went there alone.”

“I could give two shits about what other people think. I still think you should take me up on the piracy thing,” Jack said, crossing her arms and nearly pouting. Shepard nearly laughed at the stance. Jack looked back at her. “It’s a nice ship. Stealth drives and all. Perfect opportunity wasted.”

“She’s not wrong,” Kasumi said, appearing out of thin air next to Jack.

“FUCKING SHIT!” Jack said, “God damn it I hate it when you do that.”

Kasumi blew her a kiss as she disappeared.

“Siha, it appears you are not willing to change your mind,” Thane said as calmly as ever.

“I find it admirable,” Samara nodded her head.

“I think falling on your sword to protect the very people who put you in the situation, the same people who expect you to follow orders blindly and not take responsibility for their own actions, isn’t exactly admirable,” Garrus said darkly, still leaning back in his chair.

Shepard knew he was angry. She didn’t blame him. But she kept a cool mask of command on her face. “I’m not changing my mind.”

“Then we would ask for a few days dry-docked. For repairs,” Miranda said slowly.

“Repairs? I thought we were nearly done with repairs. You all have been working around the clock on the Normandy.”

“Yes, well, there’s a few things we could take a look at on the outer hull. It’d be safer on the ground. We thought perhaps, since we’re close, we could stop here.” Miranda pulled out a map and pointed to a spot on the planet below. “We’ve actually been planning this since we left the Bahak System.”

Shepard blew out a small stream of air.

“The crew needs a break, Shep,” Garrus said.

“And time to say goodbye,” Tali added.

“Fine,” Shepard said. “You have anything to add Joker?”

“Not since you ever so reasonably agreed, no. Setting a landing trajectory now. Ready EDI?”

“Ready, Jeff.”

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

Shepard was sitting at her desk, finishing the last of the reports she had. She’d always hated filling out reports. Now though, she thought she might end up missing even this. She wasn’t sure what the Alliance had planned for her. A trial? Jail time? A harsher sentence? She didn’t think they’d hand her over to the Batarians, but the thought was still there in the back of her mind. When she had mentioned it to Garrus, he said he’d be there breaking her out before she even reached a Batarian system. And she hadn’t argued.

Just as she thought of him, he walked through her cabin doors. “Done with those reports yet?” he drawled.

“This is the last one,” she said as she signed off and sent it. “Done.” She blew out a breath and stretched her arms above her head. She looked over at Garrus, and saw he was carrying a duffle bag, and was dressed in shorts and a Turian style t-shirt. She couldn’t help but chuckle, “I know you’re not on duty, but that’s a little informal. Aren’t you freezing?”

“I am freezing my ass off Shep, but I won’t be for long. Let’s go.”

“Onto the surface?”

“Yeah, where else? I’m not letting you spend your last shore leave in this cabin.”

“Hmmm,” she said suspiciously.

“Here,” he said as he threw the duffle at her. “Put these on.”

Shepard opened the bag and rose her eyebrows at him, “I can’t tell if this is practical, or if you just want me in a bikini.”

Garrus laughed, throwing his head forward and shaking it slightly. “Maybe it’s both?” He took out the sunscreen from her bag. “And don’t forget this.”

“Do you need some too?” she asked as she started spraying it on.

He shook his head. “The sun and radiation would have to be a hell of a lot stronger for me to need something like that. Palaven’s sun throws a lot more than this one.”

She nodded, “All right, all right Mr. Tough Guy, I got it.” She stripped off her civvies and threw on the bikini and sun dress. She put her hair in a braid that came over her shoulder. “All right, let’s do this.” She wouldn’t have planned a vacation. It wouldn’t have felt right. But her crew planning it, or needing it? That was a different story. And she was grateful.

They walked throughout the empty ship towards the cargo bay doors. “Where is everybody?” she asked.

“Already down there,” he said. “I think they were excited.”

Shepard stepped off the ship and was shocked. It was stunningly beautiful. It reminded her of when her parents had taken her to Jamaica once when she was young. “Wow,” she said softly. There was nothing within many kilometers of them. Not a soul in sight other than their ship and crew. “A private beach?”

Kasumi walked up to her with a small cooler, “Take your pick, Shep,” she said with a smile. There were beer and wine coolers. Shepard took one and thanked Kasumi. “The Dextro beers are all over by Tali,” Kasumi said before she skipped away.

"She’s even in a cloak on beach day,” Garrus rumbled, wiggling his brow plates at her.

Shepard laughed and walked towards Tali, “Go get a beer, big guy.”

“SHEEPPHHEEERRDD,” a loud voice boomed from a ways down the beach. Shepard looked down and saw Grunt splashing through the water with a small pistol, shooting at fish. “This is fun, heheh,” he said to himself as he picked up a fish he had somehow managed to shoot.

“Aww,” Zaeed said sarcastically before rolling his eyes. The man was sitting on a lounging chair with 5 beer cans on the sand around him. He laid back, closing his eyes before saying, “Good day Shepard. Good day.”

Joker was sitting next to the man with his eyes shut as well. “If I get a sunburn, I’m blaming you.”

Shepard threw her sunscreen at him. “If you get sunburned, you’ll worry EDI.”

“Har-har,” he said grumpily as he started spraying the sunscreen.

Thane was down the beach further, on the opposite end of Grunt Shepard noticed, showing Samara something that resembled Tai Chi. Actually, Shepard was pretty sure it was Tai Chi. She could still remember all the moves from when she took classes aboard her mother’s starship as a kid. She joined them silently, and allowed herself to meditate peacefully.

Once she’d had enough, she stopped, unsure of how much time had passed. Samara and Thane gave her small smiles as she walked away. She found Garrus was shooting blanks with a sniper rifle into the trees. Suddenly, Shepard saw the shimmer of failed shields and Kasumi’s cloak came down. “Damn!” the thief swore. “How in the hell did you know where I was that time?”

Garrus shrugged, “A gentlemen never tells.”

Tali swooped in from behind and jumped up to grab at his visor. “I’ll give you two guesses,” she said as she inspected it.  

“Hey!” Garrus said, in a more shocked tone than Shepard would have expected. “Give that back,” he said as he pushed down on the Quarians helmet, reaching up so the visor was far out of her reach.

“Alright Garrus, no visor,” Kasumi said as she disappeared.

Garrus held the visor in one hand and aimed with the other. It took 10 seconds before he placed his next shot, and Kasumi’s shields went down again. Kasumi grumbled and switched on her cloak again.

Garrus’ eyes went wide and he hunched over his weapon slightly. Shepard heard him make a small noise of satisfaction before pulling the trigger.

“Oh, you’re good, Archangel,” Kasumi purred as she sauntered up to him. “I can see why you’re into him, Shep,” Kasumi called over to her.

Shepard just waved back with a grin and kept walking down the beach. There was a slight bend and suddenly she could see Mordin by the water, bent over looking at something. As she approached, she realized he was poking around some kind of sea creature with a stick. She stood next to him quietly as he observed it. “At first, wasn’t looking forward to ‘beach day’,” he said with air quotes. “Looked forward to comradery of course, but can get that on ship, or in lab. Surprising results. Thoroughly enjoying discovering new marine wildlife.” She saw his eyes flick back towards the sand. “Perhaps will try hand at fossils and shells next.”

Shepard smiled. As Mordin continued searching the shallow waters, Shepard started searching for shells on the beach. When she found what she thought must be the most beautiful one on the beach, she walked back over to him and handed it out to him.

“Ah!” he exclaimed, turning towards her and taking the shell. “How interesting! Gastropoda, free of inhabitants. Periostracum still slightly spongy, not old. Whorl, apex, aperture all typical. Extremely symmetrical. Red and orange in color, unsure of internal structuring.”

Shepard waited patiently as he continued his analysis until he stopped suddenly. He looked down at her and took a deep breath. “Beautiful. Thank you, Shepard.” He put the shell in one of his lab coat pockets.

She rose a brow, “That’s rather sentimental for you, isn’t it doctor?”

He shook his head, “Sometimes, sentimentality - appropriate. No point to life without the enjoyment of it.”

Shepard smiled at him. “Some friends make that exceedingly easy to do so.”

Mordin seemed genuinely taken aback, but nodded enthusiastically. “Indeed, they do.”

Legion walked up behind them, “Shepard Commander, are you searching for marine wildlife? This unit believes it can be of assistance.”

“Doctor?” Shepard asked.

“Hmmm, could prove useful in cataloging findings. Legion, please assist in cataloging findings of new marine biology.”

“Nice, thanks Legion,” Shepard said with a smile.

The Geth’s brow plates rose and fell quickly, “This unit enjoys being useful.”

Shepard rose her brows at Mordin. Before their adventures, she doubted Legion would have used the word “enjoys” at all. “I’m glad,” she said back before turning around.

She let them continue their search in the waters as she made her way back to the group. She came around the bend, and saw Jack, Jacob, and Miranda teaching Garrus and Tali how to play Volleyball. “Shepard, we need another player!” Jacob yelled out.

“I’m in,” she said as she ditched the sun dress and dug her toes into the sand to run towards them. “I grew up on a ship, but I managed to learn how to play. They know the rules?” she asked, pointing towards Garrus and Tali.

“I think we’ve got it,” Tali said.

They played for nearly an hour before they tired themselves out. “Forgot you had about a ½ a meter in height on us Vakarian,” Jacob grumbled as he and Miranda walked off towards the drinks.

Garrus shrugged with a grin, “What can I say.”

“Want to cool off in the water?” Shepard asked.

Garrus looked out at the ocean apprehensively, “Uhh… yeaaah, I’m not so sure about that.”

“Look, we don’t have to go in too deep. Mordin found a nice quiet spot around the bend a ways, there are hardly any waves at all. Just go in to your waist and get cooled off with me.”

Garrus sighed heavily. “Fine.”

They walked till they were just past Mordin and Legion. “Alright if we swim here?” She asked him.

Mordin came up from his studies. “Of course, Shepard.” Then he rose his brow at Garrus. “Aware of Turian aversion to submersion in waters. Interesting. Found a cove 20 meters that way. Completely shallow and secluded from waves and wildlife. Should be more comfortable.”

Garrus looked at Shepard and she could tell he was about to say no to the whole thing. “Alright, thanks Mordin, c’mon scaredy cat. Let’s go to the cove.”

“Shepard, I have no idea what a scaredy cat is. Is it some kind of pet?”

She laughed and marched forwards.

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

The cove was beautiful. There were trees above keeping it mostly in the shade, and the water was calm and shallow. Shepard waded in and it only went up to her chest. “C’mon Garrus, look, it’s not deep. It won’t go up to your cowl, for sure.” He looked at her with a look that said he’d rather jump in a varren pit. “I’ll make it worth your while?”

He rose a brow plate, and dipped his feet in. The water was warm at least, so he continued until he stood next to Shepard. She took a step into him so that they were touching and wrapped her arms around him. “Alright, it’s not so bad,” he said reluctantly.

She gazed at him with a look that could melt metal, and took a deep breath in, before slowly sinking below the water. “Shepard,” he said nervously, although he knew she couldn’t hear him.

Shepard held onto his hips to stay below the water with one hand, and started moving his shorts aside with the other. Garrus’ breath hitched. He couldn’t help the rush that went straight to his groin, and he also couldn’t help but still feel nervous in the water. Shepard pushed him back and he took a few steps backwards until his legs hit something when they were nearing the edge. A rock. She pushed him again and he stumbled awkwardly, sitting on the rock. She came up for air and kissed his mandible, sucking on the tips. Garrus groaned, digging his talons into her waist. She submerged again, and he held his breath, partially out of anticipation of what she might do next and partially out of nerves for her being under the water. He knew humans were better with that, but it was ingrained.

He suddenly felt a small tongue lick up the seams of his pelvic plates and he groaned again, digging his talons through her hair. He felt small fingers dig between the plates in his waist. She came up for air again, straddling his lap to kiss him. She ground her hips against his. She was weightless, floating above him, ghosting over his plates, until she pushed herself down into him and began grinding harder into him. “Shepard,” he growled as he nipped at her neck. She suddenly went back under water and nipped at his pubic plate quickly, and licked all the way up and down his seam slowly. He felt his seam part as he groaned loudly, bucking his hips into her as his erection began to grow, emerging from his seam. He felt her lick at it until it came all the way through, and she sucked his cock into her mouth as it grew.

“Fuck,” he said as he threw his head back and bucked his hips. She sucked hard, head bobbing up and down twice before she had to come up for air. She was panting hard and she straddled his lap again, slowly lowering herself onto him, until  his tip was hilted within her.

Shepard moaned loudly and rocked back and forth slightly with her hips. He felt her muscles contract around him a few times and he groaned. Shepard grinned at him before lifting up and moving back down. He could tell it was harder for her in the water, and he placed his hands on her hips and began lifting her up, and slamming her down onto him. It didn’t take long before they were both panting, and it just wasn’t enough. He put her legs around his waist and stood, walking to the back of the cove, he pressed her back against the stony wall and pushed himself into her with a grunt. Shepard squeezed her legs around his waist, one arm holding on around his back, the other wrapped around his neck with her hand massaging under his fringe.

She was so tight, and he hadn’t yet been fully inside her. He took his finger and massaged the nub he knew drove her wild. Shepard began moaning loudly. “God, yes Garrus, fuck,” she groaned. Slowly, with each thrust he pushed further and further inside of her until even the bulge of his base slipped inside of her with a pop. Shepard screamed at that and held on tighter. “Don’t stop,” she screamed, and he didn’t, couldn’t really. He felt her come hard, her walls squeezing him. “Garrus,” she panted. Garrus couldn’t speak, he was too far gone. He merely groaned against her neck as he continued pounding into her, faster and harder.

“Come inside me, Garrus,” she moaned, and he lost control. He came hard with a roar, continuing to pump inside her in erratic thrusts. His body completely enveloped hers against the stone. She was so small, wrapped up in his arms, and he curled around her, willing himself to stay standing. He felt her kiss his mandible lightly. “God, you’re sexy.”

He chuckled, kissing her forehead, “So are you.”

Shepard slipped down and swam in the water to cool off before they headed back. Garrus sat back on the rock and watched, enjoying the view and surprisingly, the cool water around his waist.

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

Shepard and Garrus walked back along the beach, hands brushing often. The sun was setting, and it was creating a beautiful glow around them. The whole team was sitting, watching the sunset when the pair joined them.

The group was quiet, reflective. Even Grunt, to Shepard’s surprise. He was growing up, after all. Shepard leaned against Garrus’ shoulder, and they sat there until the sun dipped below the horizon.

“Alright you bunch of pussys,” Zaeed said, elegantly as ever. “Round two.” He started throwing beer bottles at everyone.

“That’s more like it,” Jack huffed.

“Bonfire’s made!” Jacob said as he got the largest bonfire Shepard had ever seen lit using driftwood from the beach.

The team drank under the numerous stars. There were drinking games and songs, friendly wagers and shoot-the-bottle competitions. It was 3 in the morning before they packed up and headed inside. Shepard held Garrus’ hand to pull him back behind the crew and gave him one last kiss under the stars.

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

Habanero

You're a good girl, well behaved.

Absolutely not the type to rail random guys in nightclubs.

Until you are.

Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Erasermic, Aizawa x Reader, Present Mic x Reader and eventual polyamorous Erasermic x Reader

Rating: Explicit, MINORS BE GONE

Trigger Warnings: This chapter is angsty as fuck and there’s quite a lot of references to death. Aizawa wishes he was dead etc

AO3: Here | Want to support me? I have a Kofi

Chapter: 14/16 (all chapters)

15-ISH YEARS AGO

KREEK

KREEK

Shouta stretched his hand upwards and grabbed onto the fabric, using his legs and fist to get a firm hold before climbing higher. His hands were bandaged and worn, the capture device stained with blood, but he pushed himself harder and faster, grimacing at the friction against his broken skin.

It ended as it always did. He stretched too high and the hand he had used to secure his weight buckled under the strain. He lost his grip and plummeted to the safety mats piled across the floor, the capture device slipping from his hands.

Hizashi winced at the sound of his body hitting the mats. He knew they were designed to break falls, but had used them often enough himself to know how much they still hurt.

Shouta repositioned himself at his original starting position and reached for the fabric, the same determined expression across his face that he always wore, no matter how many times he landed on his face.

KREEK

KREEK

Hizashi watched as he took hold of the fabric and tightened his grip before reaching higher, slower this time, a telltale sign that he had cut his hand again. He sipped his soda, taking in the sweat that layered Shouta’s forehead, the blood on his lips from where he had bitten too hard.

The first few months after Shirakumo’s death had passed slowly: a haze of visits to the guidance counsellor that eventually faded into one. He remembered very few individual details of that time and they assured him it was normal, even if it felt anything but.

He remembered the whisper of rainfall; remembered the way it had soaked his hair. He remembered his mother grabbing his face in her hands and begging him to say something...anything and slowly realising not only was she crying, but he didn’t remember coming home.

After several months of counselling, both after school and during free periods, he had adjusted to a life without Shirakumo in it. A year had passed now and it still hurt, but he no longer had a knee jerk response to his empty desk or the mention of his name. No one handled him gently anymore. They didn’t choose their words carefully as if afraid he might explode.

Shouta was different.

He didn’t go to any of the guidance counsellor’s appointments. He slept through class, he stopped studying. He had the same glassy look in his eyes Hizashi had when he returned home, only the light never really returned. He continued to come to school though committed to none of it, as if it wasn’t real and he wasn’t there, simply passing through a dream.

He had never been a chatty sort of person, but Hizashi felt his silence now more than ever. Any time he brought up Shirakumo it was like he’d poked a bruise, which in many senses he supposed he had.

He didn’t remember when exactly Shouta had started booking out the gym, only that he had been following him there for the past three months. He positioned himself in the doorway, back straight against the frame, finishing up his homework and pretending he wasn’t there.

Shouta didn’t speak about Shirakumo. He didn’t speak about that day. Instead he bled through bandages and skipped meals.

He made it only a quarter of the way up the rope this time, slipping on a part of the fabric that was still slick with blood before toppling back to the mats. He didn’t get up, instead sprawling across the mats as exhaustion finally caught up with him. His chest heaved, his eyes blurred with tears.

“Shit,” he murmured at first, though his voice grew louder as he got to his feet. “ Shit !!”

Hizashi got to his feet when Shouta did, taking a moment to perfect a convincingly wide smile before stepping forwards.

“Say, Sho,” he said, as Shouta wobbled on his feet. “I brought you something!”

Shouta turned to him, gaze drifting from his smile to the bottle of water in his hand.

“Look, I filled it up at the water fountain,” said Hizashi, holding it out. “It’s all nice and cold and refreshing!”

Shouta reached out to accept it with a nod of thanks before downing it in one. Hizashi watched, wringing his hands, pretending he didn’t see the tears in his eyes. It never ended well when he acknowledged them.

“Listen,” he said, “I was talking to some of the girls and we were thinking of going to the movies t-”

“I’ll pass.”

“Are you sure? They’re showing vintage movies! Beast Man vs-”

“I’ll pass. Thanks.”

Shouta passed him the empty bottle and turned back towards the mats, stretching out his arms and legs ahead of the exertion.

“You know…” Hizashi started, willing himself to speak, “the reason we’re going...it’s because it’s been a year...since…”

Shouta froze in place, still in the process of stretching.

Say something, Hizashi willed himself, though if he meant it for himself or Shouta he wasn’t sure.

Say something.

SAY SOMETHING.

“I’ll pass,” said Shouta at last, relaxing his body and walking back to the rope.

Hizashi watched, squeezing the empty water bottle until the plastic began to buckle.

“I, uh,” he said, smile fading, “I’ll get you some more water!”

“Don’t need it.”

He went anyway, closing the door to the gymnasium with a sigh and pressing his back against it. He stared down at the water bottle in his hands, at the condensation coating his fingers and the plastic, before squeezing his eyes shut.

~~~~~~

PRESENT

“We’re going to take a short break now, listeners! Take the time to get yourselves a glass of water and hydrate! It’s good for the skin, ya know?”

He muted his microphone and queued up several tracks before switching on his phone to check his social media. Sometimes his listeners posted questions or sent him interesting articles while he was on air, which made for good talking points when he returned.

He raised an eyebrow when well over a dozen missed calls and voicemails came through in swift succession. He scrolled through them, heart sinking when he realised most of them were from you. Ordinarily he would have been happy to hear from you, but it was difficult under present circumstances.

He wondered if this was it; if you were calling him to announce you and Shouta were finally a couple. He had been on the edge of his seat ever since Nemuri confirmed she had successfully gotten you to go in her stead, waiting for the inevitable.

His finger hovered over your name and his stomach churned. He wondered how you would break the news.

He took a deep breath and opened up the voicemail, preparing himself for the worst.

He had expected for you to be happy and laughing, every word overflowing with joy at this new development in your life. His blood ran cold, though, at the reality.

There wasn’t a shred of happiness in your voice, only desperation. You sounded drunk, as if enunciating every syllable took every ounce of strength you had.

Hizashi...I don’t know when you’ll get this...but something’s happening at the camp. I think it’s the League of Villains...they’re here! They have one of the creatures from USJ. Please, even if you can’t call me back, let the authorities know!

He got up from his chair and loaded up your next voicemail with shaking hands.

Your words were even slower this time.

Hizashi. When you get this, please call me, okay? There are three villains here so far and one of them is Moonfish. The students don’t know. They’re in danger!

He had heard of Moonfish. Everyone had. The details surrounding his arrest were considered too gruesome for public knowledge, so naturally everyone knew them.

He wondered how you could possibly have known Moonfish was present without seeing him; how you could have gotten close to one of the USJ creatures without being seen yourself.

He loaded the third and final voicemail, praying you were about to tell him you were fine, that you had gotten to safety and the pros were dealing with it. He swore he’d forgive you if it turned out to be a prank.

He sank to the floor, though, when you finally began to speak.

Hizashi, I think...I’m dying. Everything’s going dark. When you get this, please, just remember this address. Give it to the police...it’s-

Your phone cut out then and for a second he couldn’t breathe.

“No, no, no,” he said, frantically going through his phone in search of another voicemail, anything from you, any proof you were alive.

You hadn’t called him after that. You had sent him multiple text messages of the same address, though nothing after that final voicemail.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” he said, dialling your number and chewing his thumbnail as it began to ring.

Your phone did ring, though no one answered.

It lay forgotten in the corner of an ambulance.

~~~~~

TICK

TOCK

TICK

TOCK

Shouta stared blankly at the clock on the wall, thoughts fuzzy and mouth dry. He couldn’t settle on a singular train of thought, staring into space even as the doctor lifted a pen torch and shone it in his eye.

Due in part to its remote location, the incident in the forest was an even bigger rescue effort than the Hosu attack not long before it. Police and medical teams were called in from all nearby cities, the former spending the night scouring the woods for stragglers and forensic evidence while the latter tended to the wounded. Several interns from Musutafu’s own hospitals were shipped in to join the effort and, while the more experienced doctors tended to the critically wounded, they checked for broken bones and signs of trauma, ran errands and lab tests for their superiors and in some cases even offered up an extra pair of hands during the more complicated procedures.

The moment he arrived at the hospital, Shouta was sent for a onceover by one such doctor, who was dressed in the tell tale embroidered scrubs of Musutafu’s university hospital. He introduced himself briskly before running through a few basic tests on his motor functions and rapid fire questions about his overall health.

Shouta barely remembered getting to the hospital. He couldn’t think of anything other than your bloody lips. Vlad had had to hold him back when the EMTs arrived because he had tried to stop them, convinced beyond reason that they would injure you further. He had a sneaking suspicion that that was why they had assigned such a freakishly tall doctor to give him a onceover.

Someone knocked at the door and the doctor slipped his pen torch back inside of his pocket.

“Come in,” he called out, getting up to reach for his clipboard as Tsukauchi let himself into the room and gave the young doctor a polite bow. Shouta noticed his eyes lit up when he saw the doctor’s name tag, though didn’t question it.

“Good evening,” said Tsukauchi, “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“It’s fine,” said the doctor, “I’m finished here.”

He turned to Shouta with the telltale stern expression of medics the world over.

“You don’t have any long lasting injuries,” he said, “but it’s crucial you rest.”

Tsukauchi laughed under his breath as the doctor gave him a nod and dismissed himself from the room.

“How are the students?” Shouta asked, thinking of the fear in their eyes.

He had arrived at the hospital long after them, when both the police and pro heroes at the scene agreed to postpone the search for Ragdoll until daybreak. What’s more, due to his own admission and examination, he hadn’t had the chance to properly check in on them, which he bitterly regretted. They needed familiar faces at a time like this, someone in a position of authority who knew what they needed to hear.

They needed you at a time like this.

“(Name),” said Shouta. “Is she…”

The last time he had seen you was when the EMTs bundled you into an air ambulance and no one had been able to give him an update since. Tsukauchi’s face fell at the mention of you and he instantly feared the worst.

“She’s in critical condition,” he said at last, choosing his words carefully. “The last I heard, they were still operating on her. Actually...that’s why I came to speak to you.”

“Oh?”

“I spoke to Vlad,” he said. “He tells me you received a text message from her before…well.”

Shouta stiffened, remembering the multiple messages that had come through the moment he returned to the classroom; messages you had almost certainly typed with bloody fingers.

“I wanted to ask,” said Tsukauchi, “this address...does it have any personal significance to her?”

“She conducted interrogations with you after USJ,” said Shouta. “You’ve seen her quirk in action. Surely you understand its value as intel?”

“I do,” he said, “but…”

He paused, both of them knowing what he meant to say.

People did strange things on the brink of death. Perhaps that address had nothing to do with the attack, but a deeper significance.

“It’s intel,” he said, refusing to accept the alternative. “We’ll be able to ask her tomorrow.”

“Of course, of course,” said Tsukauchi, getting up from his chair and giving him a polite nod. “We’ve postponed taking statements until tomorrow morning. Rest up for now. The doctors will have my head if you don’t.”

Shouta watched him leave, before leaning back against the pillows and closing his eyes.  

TICK

TOCK

TICK

Shouta...I need to talk to you.

TOCK

We’ll be able to ask her tomorrow.

TICK

TOCK

It’s crucial you rest.

At some point, though he didn’t know when, he had convinced himself that you would be awake by sunrise.

In a few hours you would be able to tell them what happened to Ragdoll. You could tell them the significance of the address.

He couldn’t rest until then.

~~~~~

You weren’t awake by sunrise. As a matter of fact, you were still in surgery and blissfully unaware of the chaos erupting around you.

You were asleep when the hospital called not only your next of kin but those of the first year students; you were on the operating table when All Might and Nezu received the news.

You didn’t find out until much later about Bakugo’s kidnapping, nor the true extent of the damage.

You never found out about Nezu’s immediate safety protocol to slow the inevitable hordes of press. While Nemuri and Hizashi had both received missed calls and knew about the incident, they were instructed to continue as if nothing had changed. Nemuri returned to her television interview, a fresh layer of makeup to disguise the fact that she had sobbed in the bathroom ten minutes beforehand. Hizashi greeted his listeners and continued to play tracks, though his happy tone didn’t meet his eyes and he took far fewer chat breaks than normal. Every time the music faded, he listened to your voicemails, wondering if that would be the last time he ever heard your voice.

You had no idea Shouta spent the night wandering the corridors and checking in on his students, calling your number whenever he was alone. He never left a message, just listened to the joy in your voice.

Hello, this is (Name). I’m not around at the moment, please leave a message!

He didn’t want to think about what you had actually said to him before being taken away.

...it’s unfair...unfair...un...fair.

What was unfair?

That the first year students had faced so much danger so soon?

That you had most likely sustained such a serious wound trying to help the investigation?

That your body lay bruised and broken and not-

He thought of body bags and bloodied gravel before he could stop himself; another body at a different time. He dug his nails into his palms, into well worn scars and calluses, and dialled your number again.

~~~~~

It was only a matter of time before journalists caught wind of the blood in the water and flocked to UA for answers. Much like the Hosu incident, Nezu summoned several of the remaining members of the faculty to discuss recent events. Not only was there a lot of ground to cover and decisions to be made, but very little time to do so.

Everyone was restless for different reasons; Nemuri picked at her nails, Hizashi toed the floor with his boot, All Might fidgeted in his seat. The only remotely composed one was Nezu, though every so often his gaze drifted to the newspapers in front of him.

“We’ll hold a press conference tomorrow,” he said, thoughtfully. “After Aizawa and Vlad have given their statements, I’ll brief them on a plan of action. For now it’s important we cooperate with the police and prepare for the worst case scenario.”

“This is my fault,” said All Might. “I should have never come to UA this year.”

“This isn’t the time for blame,” said Nezu. “Right now we must deal with the immediate problems at hand. The students will require not only medical care but a full psychological review before they return to classes next semester… we will have to organise a replacement counsellor.”

Everyone grew tense at that.

“Temporary,” said Hizashi.

“Hm?”

“ Temporary counsellor, not a replacement. We have a perfectly good one already.”

Nezu sighed.

“(Name) suffered heavy blood loss and remains in critical condition,” he said. “You must forgive me for taking into account the worst case scenario. If (Name) survives…”

“She will.”

“... if she survives, it will be at least a month before she returns to her duties. We’ll need a replacement until she is recovered.”

Hizashi shook his head at the mental image alone of your injuries. You should have been there with them, not bleeding out on an operating table.

“Don’t misunderstand my actions,” said Nezu, far more gently than before, “I don’t want to entertain the idea of losing one of our own either. It’s not something I take lightly. I’m wishing for (Name)’s recovery as much as any one of you, but we should not ignore the facts. We cannot allow UA to fall. We cannot allow our society to fall into chaos. Her sacrifice and that of so many others must not be in vain.”

~~~~~~

While Nezu and the other teachers discussed tactics, Shouta and Vlad were at the police station and arguably just as tense. It certainly didn’t help matters that the room Tsukauchi had chosen to take their statements was just as silent and sterile as the hospital, a fact he tried to downplay by offering them strong coffee and a sympathetic ear.

Vlad stole glances at Aizawa as he described the events of the night before, taking in the ever present bags under his eyes. He had gone through not one but three cups of black coffee since their arrival with no sign of slowing down any time soon. Vlad knew all too well that Aizawa was a night owl, but today it stood out to him in ways it never had before.

He remembered the way you had knocked at Aizawa’s bedroom door; your bright blush and panicked expression when he caught you. He remembered your conversation at breakfast the day before- how desperate you had been to talk to him.

There was only one rational explanation for both your behaviour and Aizawa’s own, an explanation that up until recently he had found interesting, though now struck him as tragic.

He wondered how composed he would have been in Aizawa’s position. He didn’t have a lover and couldn’t imagine how it would feel to find one on the brink of death. He wondered what it was you meant to say to Aizawa that day.

As Tsukauchi stepped out of the room to speak to his subordinate, Vlad stared into his own neglected cup of coffee, wanting to break the awkward silence but unsure how to do so. This wasn’t the time for idle chit chat or jokes, but he was tired of talking about the incident.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last, “for back then.”

Seeing you hurt had shaken Aizawa so badly that Vlad had had to hit him in the face to bring him even slightly back to earth. He felt guilty for it, especially as Aizawa was clearly suffering the ill effects of a panic attack, but in that moment he had little choice. You weren’t dead yet but you would be if they didn’t act quickly and he wasn’t capable of giving both of you his undivided attention.

“S’fine,” said Aizawa before downing the remnants of his fourth plastic cup of coffee. “It was the best course of action under the circumstances. I would have done the same.”

Vlad chuckled under his breath, knowing he absolutely would.

Tsukauchi returned to the room a matter of seconds later, clutching a file under his arm and grinning widely. It was as if he had had a new lease of life and Vlad was more than a little intrigued about what had caused it.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting,” he said, as if he had been gone for an hour as opposed to a few minutes. “There’s been a development.”

He sat back down and opened up the file, revealing a typed report and black and white photographs of a shabby building.

“I had my team run a check on the address (Name) sent out,” he said, pushing one of the photographs across the table. “It’s a building in Kamino ward, mostly abandoned. A while ago, one of my team investigated a tip off about suspicious looking people in that area, though ultimately it didn’t amount to much of anything because there was far too much ground to cover. Among the witness statements was a description of a man with a patchwork face.”

Aizawa tensed, realisation sinking in.

“You mean…”

“I think,” said Tsukauchi, “that the patchwork faced man in this report is the same one you encountered at the lodge. The address (Name) sent so many times…”

“It’s their lair,” said Vlad. “It’s got to be.”

Aizawa rubbed his temples, face crumpling with the smallest of smiles.

“What are you planning to do next?” said Vlad. “If this really is the lair of the League of Villains…that’s where we’ll find Katsuki Bakugou.”

“We need to think carefully before we act,” said Tsukauchi. “If we attack too slowly, they’re more likely to shift bases, especially after making such a dramatic move. That said, if we move too quickly and without all of the facts...it could be dangerous for all involved.”

He laughed under his breath and turned to Aizawa.

“You were right,” he said. “This is valuable intel.”

“You can thank her when this is over.”

Tsukauchi smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He knew all too well that there was every chance he’d be thanking your gravestone instead of you.

“I will.”

~~~~~

“Nemuri?”

Hizashi turned away from the desk.

“Nemuri? Where did you go?”

Instead of attending the emergency staff meeting, Recovery Girl had gone to the hospital, where her efforts were most needed. She kissed away broken bones and bruises and greeted more than her fair share of distraught parents, as well as scolding any badly injured students she happened to catch out of bed.

She also took the opportunity to update Nezu on the state of the injured, from the ill effects of gas to who was conscious and who would need a little longer to recover. She was the first to know when you were released from surgery; the first to pass on the message that you had been moved to the ICU.

Nemuri, Hizashi and All Might had immediately insisted on visiting the wards, all three overwhelmed with guilt. If All Might or Nemuri had been present, the night might have ended differently.

All Might turned down any offer of a ride to the hospital, instead making a pit stop to catch up with Tsukauchi, leaving Nemuri and Hizashi to arrive without him. It was a decision that paid off in the long run, for nobody recognised the pair in their civilian clothes as they would the Symbol of Peace.

After they showed their hero licenses at the front desk, the receptionist had picked up the phone to call in for someone to escort them to your room and somehow, in the middle of everything, Nemuri had disappeared.

Hizashi wondered if she’d gone to the washroom, only for his heart to sink when he saw her.

She was standing outside of the gift shop, staring into the glassy eyes of simultaneously the tallest and ugliest teddy bear he had ever seen.

Hizashi left the reception desk and walked towards her, eying up the bear.

“Thinking of treating yourself?” he asked, prompting her to sigh and fold her arms.

“I’ve never understood it,” she said.

“Teddy bears?”

“No. Gift shops in hospitals. Who would want a souvenir of something like this?”

“It’s not only bad stuff that happens here.”

“Right now it doesn’t feel that way.”

He wanted to tell her that it wasn’t her fault and no one could have predicted this, but it felt hypocritical.

“I promise,” he said, wrapping an arm over her shoulder, “something good will come out of this. Somehow, in ways we don’t know about yet. In the future we’ll look back on today and...well, maybe not laugh, but smile at least.”

“If that ever happens, I’m buying this bear.”

~~~~~~

Your room was in a secluded area of the hospital, far from the prying eyes of not only the public, but injured students. Nezu had insisted on it, for the scope of your injuries were not public knowledge and certainly not known to the students. They had not seen you taken away in an ambulance, nor had they seen you pinned to a tree. They had been told you suffered injuries, but nothing that would add to the trauma of that night.

Perhaps it was the echo of their footsteps against the floor, combined with the sterile walls and shapeless furniture, but it felt like they were entering forbidden territory.

“In here,” said the nurse, tapping at one of the doors a couple of times before guiding them inside.

Hizashi had tried to prepare himself for the worst. He had listened to your voicemails, imagination twisting and turning. Nothing, though, prepared him for what greeted him on the other side.

You looked small , tubes connecting you to multiple machines and cuts and bruises still visible underneath the oxygen mask. Perhaps the worst part of it all was how peaceful you looked, just the same as you had when you had rested in his arms, dressed in nothing but a t-shirt with his face on. Back then he could think of nothing worse than waking you; he had held himself so still that he had a crick in his neck for days afterwards.

He would have given anything to go back. If he knew then what he knew now, he would have nudged you awake and chatted the night away. He would have offered up that round two, taking you so hard in the bathtub that water spilled out and soaked the tiles. He would have kissed you at your kitchen table instead of saying he didn’t want you as you were.

“You okay?”

Nemuri poked him. He took a deep breath and walked towards the bed, setting himself down in the chair beside you and dragging it closer until he could lean over and rest his head against yours, relishing the warmth of your forehead. You weren’t dead. Not yet.

“What do you think she’d say if it was one of us?” said Nemuri, stepping closer and running her fingertips across the back of your hand. “If the roles were reversed and you, me or Eraser were here instead.”

“Hmmmmmm.”

Hizashi sat up and scratched his chin, thinking back to the sports festival, the sushi bar, Les Papilles . He remembered the night of the Hosu incident; the way you had looped your arms around Shouta’s middle; the way you stood up onto your tiptoes; the words that left your lips.

“I have to go,” he said at last, leaning over to kiss you on the forehead before getting to his feet.

“But we just got here,” said Nemuri, “why w-”

“There’s something I have to do,” he said, hurrying out of the room. “Something I should’ve done a long time ago.”

Nemuri watched him leave, a bewildered expression across her face. She turned back to you, searching for the answers in your sleeping features and ultimately giving up, sinking down into a chair and taking your hand in hers. She stroked your palms and linked her fingers through yours, breathing a heavy sigh at your chipped nail polish.

She reached into her purse and pulled out one of the several bottles she carried everywhere for when she scuffed her own.

“Now then,” she said, unscrewing the lid and stretching out your fingers, “let’s fix you up.”

~~~~~~~

Shouta returned home after leaving the police station, though not out of choice. He wanted to go back to the hospital, but had been advised against doing so, leaving him little choice but to accept the ride.

He understood the logic of it, but spent only about five minutes at home before leaving again. He didn’t go to the hospital, or anywhere the press might be lurking, instead heading for the 24 hour store a couple of blocks from his house. He genuinely did need to stock up on eyedrops, aspirin and cat food. It was a reasonable excuse to be out and about.

He was fine until he got to the counter and happened to notice a display of fresh peaches. Within seconds he remembered Yamanashi- remembered that you had been planning to go.

He came home with two punnets and placed them on his coffee table. He had no intention of eating them, but couldn’t stand the idea of leaving the store without them. In many ways, leaving without them felt like leaving without you.

He laid back on his couch, Sushi taking the chance to curl up on his stomach and purr. Normally this was the perfect recipe for an afternoon nap, but the peaches sat in his peripheral vision and he kept his eyes wide open.

He wasn’t sure how long he stared at the ceiling, only that Sushi darted under the table at the sound of heavy knocking at the front door. Shouta winced at the sudden, sharp pain of paws digging into his ribs, wondering if the presses had figured out where he lived.

Maybe they’d leave if he stayed still enough.

He ran his fingers over his middle and wondered if he’d bruise, breathing a sigh of relief as the person outside stopped knocking. The peace and quiet didn’t last long, though, for a matter of moments later a key turned in the lock. He jumped to his feet just as quickly as Sushi had and stumbled towards the kitchen, pressing his back against the wall as the intruder stepped inside.

“Sho, are you here?”

It was Hizashi, which retrospectively shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise. Shouta only had two keys and had given him the spare so that he could feed Sushi while he was away at camp.

“Sho-”

“I’m here.”

Hizashi clutched a hand to his chest, plainly not expecting him to be standing so close.

“Why are you hiding around the corner?”

“I thought you were a journalist.”

“A journalist who has a key ?”

“You never know,” sighed Shouta, turning back to the couch. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I came to check in on you,” said Hizashi.

“You didn’t have to.”

“No, but I wanted to.”

Shouta faced him, willing him to leave. He hated the way he was looking at him, as if he deserved any sort of sympathy or pity. He remembered it from high school, after Shirakumo’s funeral and subsequent obituary. He hadn’t deserved pity then, either.

“Well,” he said, raising his arms, “as you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care if you believe me or not, it’s the truth.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Shouta,” said Hizashi, rubbing his temples, “you can lie to me all you want, but stop lying to yourself.”

“What do y-”

“Don’t you see? We’ve been here before,” said Hizashi. “This is what happened to-“

“Don’t say it.”

Shouta didn’t want to hear Shirakumo’s name. Not now. Not ever. Hizashi refused to back down, though.

“You weren’t fine then and you aren’t fine now,” he said, “and I can’t do this again.”

Hizashi squeezed his hands into fists and braced his body. Shouta watched, more than a little bit curious. This was the first time he had ever seen Hizashi so angry and without even the slightest hint of a smile.

“I should have told you back then,” he said, trembling, “but I didn’t...and you were gone for so long …”

“Gone? You mean when I went underground? Before UA?”

“No...yes,” Hizashi turned away and tangled his fingers in his hair. “No. When you started sleeping through the day...when you didn’t pay attention in class anymore…you were gone and it took years for you to come back.”

“I still sleep during the day,” said Shouta, “I don’t-“

“It’s not your fault,” said Hizashi. “It was never your fault. What happened to Shirakumo...what happened to (Name)...it’s not your fault.”

Shouta remembered the rubble; the sound of Shirakumo’s voice in his ear. If he had moved just a little faster...if he had been just a little more aware of his surroundings...

“You wouldn’t understand,” he said, shaking his head as if to shake away the memory.

“I wouldn’t understand?” Hizashi laughed in disbelief. “My quirk was one of the ones that killed him, Sho! (Name) wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for me.”

“Wait... what ?”

As far as he knew, (Name) had been a substitute chaperone. What did any of that have to do with Hizashi?

“What do you mean she was there because of you?”

“Nemuri was completely fine,” said Hizashi, “she dropped out so (Name) would go instead…she did it for me . Nemuri should have been there. (Name) should have been home.”

Shouta froze in place, absorbing this new development.

“I know everything,” breathed Hizashi, stepping closer. “I know that you slept with (Name) before any of us met her. I know that you kept it from us to protect her. I know that you pushed her away because you loved her and she let you do it because she loved you too.”

“I…”

Shouta didn't know what to say; he felt exposed.

“Ask me how I know, Eraser,” said Hizashi, grabbing him by the shirt. “Ask me!”

“Hizashi, you’re being-“

“I know because I did too,” said Hizashi, pulling at the fabric between his fingers. “I slept with her too, on the night of the Hosu incident...I didn’t say anything either, but then I found out about Ego and…” he smiled sadly, “you’d be so good together.”

“That’s not something you get to decide.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” said Hizashi. “But you don't either. Do you think I’m an idiot? Do you think I wouldn’t piece it together? If (Name) was really the girl from Ego ...if you really did care for each other that much...why did she sit there and hit on me ? Could it be that someone had already put the idea in her head ?!”

“Hizash-“

“It’s unfair, Shouta,” said Hizashi, “we’re completely different people, but we both made the same mistake. We both decided we knew better for (Name) and each other without askin’ first.”

Unfair …

Shouta remembered that word crossing your lips and felt sick.

“You shouldn’t punish yourself over this,” said Hizashi, quietly, “don’t offer yourself up as someone else’s scapegoat. If you’re going to blame someone-“

“Why shouldn’t I? You weren’t there. I was,” said Shouta, the words leaving his lips before he could stop them. “I could have saved her.”

“No, you couldn’t have,” said Hizashi. “Even if you kept her with you, there’s no telling what would have happened.”

“Shut up.”

“No, I won’t! I stayed quiet for years. I pretended I didn’t see because I didn’t know what to do. I-“

“Shut...up…”

“I won’t!” Hizashi cried out, so loudly that the furniture began to rattle. “I’ll keep saying it until you believe it. It wasn’t-“

“Shut up.”

“-your-“

“Stop!”

“-fau-“

Hizashi never got the chance to finish, because Shouta shoved him in one last ditch attempt to get out of his grip, leaving both of them tumbling to the floor, Hizashi landing flat on his back and Shouta taking the chance to straddle his waist.

“Shut up,” said Shouta, taking hold of Hizashi’s collar and squeezing his eyes shut. “Shut...up.”

Hizashi lay perfectly still, watching as one tear landed on him and then another.

“It was my fault...my fault...my fault. How can you say we’d be good together? I don’t deserve to look her in the face. She’s a civilian...I’m a pro.”

He didn’t say what he was thinking, what he had been thinking ever since he and Hizashi stood in the rain well over a decade ago, surrounded by ruined buildings and shattered dreams.

It should have been me.

He had been thinking it since he first saw Shirakumo being taken away in a body bag; he’d been thinking it ever since the EMTs took you away.

“You forgot, didn’t you?” said Hizashi. “What she said on the night of the Hosu incident.”

Shouta squinted, thinking back to then.

He remembered watching as you and Hizashi arrived, both smelling of tangerines. He remembered how angry he had been that evening, how he had decided to sneak in an early morning patrol to burn off both the adrenaline and jealousy. He remembered finding you there in floods of tears and embracing both Hizashi and Nemuri. He remembered what came next.

He had turned to leave, only to hear the clack of heels against the pavement. He knew it was you and didn’t bother to flinch when you stood up onto your tiptoes and wrapped your arms around his middle. He remembered peering over his shoulder and into your face, taking in your enormous smile.

Thank you.

What for?

You looked him in the face, determined smile transforming into a gentle one.

Tell me...tonight, with Stain, was there anything more you could have done?

His skin prickled from your quirk, but he didn’t erase it.

No.

He hadn’t expected that to be the answer. He hoped it didn’t show on his face, but it plainly did, for you had giggled and squeezed him harder.

You should be kinder to yourself. No one likes living with a bully.

Shouta stared down at Hizashi, who still hadn’t moved.

“Stop it,” he murmured. He couldn’t stand the idea that you’d forgive him.

“Sho,” said Hizashi, looking down, “if she d-“

“Don’t…”

Hizashi placed his hands over the ones that clutched his collar.

“Shouta,” he said, “she wouldn’t want you to beat yourself up over this. She’d tell you you did your best! The only thing she’d be mad at you for is blaming yourself for something out of your control.”

Shouta couldn’t look at him. He couldn’t stand the way he held onto him; couldn’t stand thinking of him as an anchor.

He couldn’t stand acknowledging he was right.

He had gotten used to bottling his emotions; had accepted his fate of sealing off the cracks. He had resigned himself to squeezing onto them, contorting them and resculpting them to keep them from spilling out, but seeing you had broken the glass and set them free. He felt everything all at once, grief to love to anguish to joy. He couldn’t hold onto any single sensation any more than he could hold water in his hands.

He didn’t want to think about anything; didn’t want to feel anything.

No, that was wrong.

He felt like he was drowning and longed for anything else.

“Sho,” said Hizashi, “say something.”

Shouta’s hands shook. He didn’t know what to say. He never had.

“Say something ,” said Hizashi before falling silent, lips crushed under Shouta’s own.

Hizashi’s lips tasted of tears, though whose Shouta couldn’t say. He wished he could stop time and absorb every detail: the softness of Hizashi’s lips and sweet scent of his hair; the tickle of his moustache; the warmth of his breath as the shock faded and both of them realised what was happening.  

Shouta sat up with a start, heart racing and reality sinking in. Hizashi lay wide eyed on the floor, mouth opening and closing.

“I,” said Shouta, instantly worrying he’d gone too far, “I should-“

He moved to get up but Hizashi grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him back down.

“Oh no you don’t,” he said, lifting his head until his lips met Shouta’s.

Shouta had never kissed another man before; he hadn’t kissed very many people in general. He had expected it to feel wrong somehow, yet it came as naturally to him as breathing. He caught himself wondering why he’d never kissed Hizashi before. It wasn’t as if he’d never thought about it.

“What are we doing?” he murmured.

“Do you want to stop?”

“Fuck no.”

He reached down to slip his hand under Hizashi’s shirt, relishing the gasp he got as he brushed his fingers over exposed skin.  He had always been quietly jealous when Hizashi mentioned sleeping with complete strangers. They never had to worry about what he’d think about them afterwards. Right then, Shouta was too exhausted and emotional to care either and it felt strangely liberating.

“Sho,” said Hizashi as he dragged off his shirt and tossed it aside, “have you ever...with another guy?”

“No. You?”

Shouta shrugged off his own shirt and threw it halfway across the room, narrowly missing the door to the balcony.

He had seen Hizashi naked before. This wasn’t the first time they’d helped one another out of their clothes. It was different now, though. This time around, it wasn’t because one of them was injured. They weren’t in public baths or the locker room. This was new and all consuming and Shouta wanted to lose himself in it.

“Yeah,” sighed Hizashi, “once or twice. Sho-”

“Mmm?”

“How far were you thinking of going?”

Shouta took in his shaky voice and glanced down at him, taking in the tears trailing from his eyes to the carpet.

“Did you not want to?”

“It’s not that,” said Hizashi, flushing scarlet, “it’s just that if you wanted to...y’know...you should probably let me take the lead.”

Shouta nodded and shifted his weight, giving Hizashi room to sit up. He was only too happy to hand over control- beyond kissing he didn’t really know what he was doing. He’d never touched any other dick but his own and under ordinary circumstances would have talked himself out of it by now.

Hizashi ran his hands from Shouta’s shoulders to his chest and pushed him over onto his back, crashing his lips against his as he linked his fingers in Shouta’s belt loops. Shouta yanked at his hair tie in response, relishing the way it cascaded forward and enveloped him in sunlight.

He would never admit to it, but he’d always been a fan of long hair and almost all of it stemmed from Hizashi.

Hizashi dragged away his belt and fiddled with Shouta’s fly, lips never once breaking contact.

“Off with these,” he said, gripping onto Shouta’s waistband and easing off his pants and boxers, eyes widening at the sight of his fully exposed body.

He was covered in leftover bruises from the attack at the lodge, as well as old scars from other incidents, such as the attack on USJ. Normally he didn’t pay them much heed: they were as much a part of him as his arms and legs and other people rarely saw them. Right now, though, they were all he could think about.

“Damn Shouta,” Hizashi chuckled, “I never noticed you were packin’.”

“Shut up,” he said, heat rising in his cheeks and making Hizashi laugh even harder.

They had seen each other naked before but never looked any more than was polite. There was no room for modesty now, yet Shouta’s instinct was still to cover himself up. He moved a hand to cover his dick, though Hizashi caught it before he could, laughing as he coaxed his hand away.

“Seems a little unfair that I’m the only one who’s naked.”

“All in good time.”

Hizashi’s belt jingled as it hit the floor and Shouta watched as he reached for his zipper. He stopped before unfastening his pants and looked up, tilting his head to the side in confusion.

“What is it?”

“You don’t want to undress me?”

“I…”

Shouta both did and didn’t. He wanted to relish this moment and drink in every inch of Hizashi’s naked body...but he wanted to touch it too. His silence proved enough of an answer, though, for Hizashi swiftly grinned.

“So you like to watch, eh? Interesting…”

He loosened his zipper and kicked off his pants, taking care to stretch out each movement as much as possible. Shouta stared unapologetically, taking in the shape of his body and bounce of his hard dick as he dropped his underwear to the floor.

“Like what you see?”

He didn’t know what to say, so nodded instead, watching as Hizashi lowered himself down onto his elbows. Shouta inhaled deeply, taking in the warmth of Hizashi’s body against his, the sweet scent emanating from his hair, the hardness of his dick against his own.

“Say something,” said Hizashi, so softly that Shouta barely heard him.

Everything was going to be different after this and he tangled his fingers in Hizashi’s hair.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

And he did.

He kissed him so hard that at first he couldn’t breathe, only letting up when Shouta grazed his teeth over his bottom lip. Hizashi moaned and Shouta sucked at his throat, hands trailing down Hizashi’s chest and over his nipple, taking care to slow his touches as he crossed over the stud there.

Shouta remembered when he got that nipple piercing. They were still teenagers at the time and Hizashi had gotten into an argument with his mother over it. She let him grow out his hair, she let him wear the most obnoxiously bright glasses he could find, her only condition to letting him stay up until the early hours of the morning working on his radio show was that his grades didn’t suffer and he only did it once a week. The piercing, though, was where she drew the line.

He scoped out pretty much every piercing shop in Musutafu, desperate to find one that wouldn’t ask too many questions, much less demand parental consent.

The one he settled for in the end was more than a little bit seedy and almost certainly at the epicenter of criminal activity. Shirakumo insisted on bringing a camera and perfectly captured the exact moment the piercing gun punctured Hizashi’s body and he regretted everything.

It was as sensitive now as it was then, leaving Hizashi moaning into his open mouth. Hizashi ground his hips against Shouta’s, bare skin colliding with bare skin. Shouta’s mind fell blank at the feel of Hizashi’s hard dick against his own, the sudden stimulation sending shivers down his spine.

He had never felt anything like this before. He ran a hand down Hizashi’s back, gripping onto his bare ass as he thrust his hips against him.

“Shouta,” said Hizashi, “do you trust me?”

It was a weird question and Shouta laid back, taking in his flushed face and tousled hair.

“What kind of question is that?”

“But do you?”

He nodded.

“Okay,” he said, taking hold of both of his hands and laying them on the floor, one on either side of his head. “Put your hands up.”

Shouta watched, bewildered, as he let go and sat up onto his knees, spreading Shouta’s legs and maneuvering himself into the gap.

“What...are you…”

His stomach fluttered, imagination running wild with possibilities.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it,” said Hizashi sheepishly. “Ever since I found out what happened at Ego ...I know what (Name) feels like...I know what she sounds like...but I don’t know that about you .”

He scratched his chin and took a long look at Shouta’s body.

“Sho,” he said, “I want to know what you sound like.”

Shouta recalled his own dreams; the numerous obscene scenarios that had entered his imagination after he realised you and Hizashi had slept together. He and Hizashi couldn’t have been any more different, but when it came to the important things they were the same.

He nodded, taking note of the gleam in Hizashi’s eyes, heart skipping a beat as he spat in his open palm and took hold of both of their cocks.

Hizashi jerked him -both of them- hard and fast, so quickly that Shouta couldn’t keep track of his movements, only the shuddering it sent through his body. The last time he had had sex with another person was with you. Any time he came after that had been purely accidental.

It didn’t take much for him to moan in desperation, for him to dig his fingers into the carpet above his head. He sucked in a deep breath, close to the point of no return, only for Hizashi to stop. Shouta glanced up at him, wondering if he’d done something wrong or Hizashi had changed his mind.

The truth couldn’t have been more infuriating. Hizashi gazed down at him, mischief in his eyes.

“Oh, you,” Shouta said, realising the situation he was in, “you fucker .”

“I mean, if we’re going to be technical,” said Hizashi, pointing down at their hips, “you’re just as guilty as me on that front.”

Shouta lifted his hands, wanting nothing more than to drag Hizashi to the ground.

“Ahhh, no,” said Hizashi, “hands up, remember?”

Shouta cursed under his breath, but obeyed, laying his hands flat against the carpet.

He couldn’t believe he’d fallen for this. He knew Hizashi was into edging. Hizashi was into anything that left his partner a shuddering mess.

After a few more seconds of torture, Hizashi took hold of their dicks again, jerking them slowly this time. He took the time to run his fingers along the underside of Shouta’s cock, along the sensitive spot right underneath the tip and giving it a perfectly timed squeeze. Shouta bucked his hips into his touches, willing him to go faster, but Hizashi did quite the opposite. He slowed down to an infuriatingly slow pace, watching in satisfaction as Shouta’s hands twitched, eager to finish the job.

Truth be told, Shouta really did trust him. That was the only thing keeping him still. He could have kicked him off at any moment, could have escaped his grip without breaking a sweat. He didn’t want to, though. Every second he spent there, moaning and frustrated, he wasn’t thinking about his failures. Right then that was all he needed.

Only when Shouta had gotten used to this new pace did Hizashi go faster, jerking at both of their cocks just as quickly as before, only this time squeezing tighter. Shouta dug his nails into his palms, tracing over the familiar calluses and holding his breath, stomach clenching and body tensing in anticipation of the pleasure to come. Just as before, though, Hizashi slowed down.

“Not long now,” said Hizashi, “just a little more.”

Shouta prepared himself for another round of slow, gentle touches, only to be completely taken off guard. Hizashi jerked them both fast and hard, so hard that it sent Shouta over the edge with only a couple of minutes. His mind fell blank and he called out in pleasure, wriggling in place as he spilled all over Hizashi’s fingers, liquid pleasure seeping from Hizashi’s fist and onto his stomach, all while Hizashi continued to pump. Shouta cried out from overstimulation; Hizashi whined as his own climax came, leaving his own cum to escape his fist and mix with Shouta’s until the pair of them were a sweating mess.

Hizashi let go and gasped for air, covered in a sheen of sweat and the occasional drop of cum on his chest. He looked down at Shouta, who was just as breathless, body still twitching from release.

Shouta barely noticed as Hizashi moved to lie down next to him. He was too far gone to pay attention to anything other than the pleasure rushing through his body.

“You know,” panted Hizashi, “you can’t do that every time you want me to shut up.”

“Why not? Seemed to work.”

Shouta glanced around the room; at their discarded clothes and dirty bodies. He knew it would bother him later, but right then he didn’t care about very much of anything. He looked over his shoulder, taking in Hizashi’s flushed face beside him. The softness was fading from it, back to the one of concern from when he arrived.

“Shall we talk about it?”

Shouta sighed, looking away.

“We really should talk about it,” said Hizashi, reaching for his glasses. “We’ll need to-umph!”

Shouta had reached for one of the peaches on his coffee table. The same one currently stuffed in Hizashi’s mouth.

“Later,” said Shouta, to which Hizashi sighed and sank his teeth into the peach.

They lay there in silence for quite some time, Hizashi making it about halfway through the fruit before Shouta began to speak.

“With my life,” he said.

“Hmm?”

“I trust you with it,” he said, grabbing a peach of his own and taking an enormous bite before he could say anything embarrassing.

Well, he thought as Hizashi squeaked through a mouthful of peach, visibly delighted by the revelation, even more embarrassing.

~~~~~

The rest of the day passed quickly.

Shouta frowned through the bathroom door as a towel-clad Hizashi rifled through his wardrobe in search of a suit for the upcoming media interview.

Visiting hours came to a close and Nemuri planted a kiss to your forehead before returning home.

Tsukauchi stayed awake long into the night, going over strategies and making phone calls.

Nezu lit a cigar and stared into the smoke as it hit the night air, contemplating potential futures and outcomes.

You slept through all of it, completely unaware of the struggles of everyone around you.

Night fell and your room remained untouched by the world outside. You stayed asleep as police guarded the corridors; as media outlets scrambled for answers. You didn’t move as midnight struck and someone climbed through your bedroom window. Someone who, realistically, should have known better.

You stayed still and oblivious as they stood at the foot of your bed, taking in your freshly painted fingernails and tranquil expression.

They came and went from your room like a ghost, whispering an apology in your ear and planting a kiss on your forehead, willing you to remember it.

You didn’t remember it.

When you woke up, in fact, quite some time later, you didn’t remember much of anything. You didn’t know where you were, didn’t know how you’d gotten there.

You were sure of only one thing: that the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes was a punnet of fresh peaches.

[honeyandhondewberries]

Fake dating au w Leon plsss

alrighty confession time even though i write fanfics almost for a living now i’ve never actually read a fake dating au hurk so hopefully this fits the bill of what you want?? mayhaps a fresh set of eyes into the dating au world will be refreshing to you, dear anon. OR maybe it’s just like all the rest?? you decide 😎

~~

Should We Kiss? (LeonxReader)

“Should we hold hands?” you whisper to Leon. 

He nods quickly, brushes his fingers against yours, between yours, hesitates for a second, then laces them together. Your fingers are barely hooked together, loose enough so your palms bump as you walk. You try to discreetly clear your throat, as if to expel these strange feelings inside you, as you walk hand-in-hand with your best mate through downtown Wyndon.

This isn’t a normal occurance for you, not in the slightest, you holding hands with Leon. You had never in your life thought about it until he came to you a few days ago with the strangest request. He had barged into your apartment as he usually does (despite your insistence that he knocks like a normal person), but his frazzled expression left no room for scolding.

“I need your help,” Leon had spluttered as he raced to you on your couch. He didn’t even close the door, but he was talking too quickly for you to even get a word in about it. “You know that magazine in Sinnoh, the one that’s raunchy but is super popular with that editor in chief who’s also that photographer and also that column writer and also that designer?”

“Uh,” you had grunted. “Maybe?”

“You know the one who does all of those risque photoshoots with Pokemon and gym leaders in Sinnoh but recently they’ve been expanding to other regions to try and get suggestive photos of all the leaders and people in the league and stuff?”

“I… I guess?”

“Well she keeps contacting my agent and won’t take no for an answer but I don’t want to do any suggestive photos for her rubbish magazine because I’ve got a good reputation of being family friendly and I don’t want Hop or my mum to see me in pictures like that but she somehow got my number and keeps calling and leaving weird voicemails and I think she actually wants me beyond like just for photoshoots and stuff but I don’t want to talk to her and I don’t know how to get her to stop.”

You blinked a few times. You opened your mouth, closed it, opened it again, and when it seemed Leon had finished his explanation, you motioned for him to sit on the couch. He sat beside you, but his wide eyes were still searching yours, as if by staring hard enough, the strange and uncomfortable Sinnoh editor-in-chief designer lady would stop propositioning him.

“What can I do?” you asked, since that’s all you could think of to ask at the time.

And that is what led you to where you are now: holding hands with Leon in downtown Wyndon. You’re not sure why something is pulling in your stomach as he bumps shoulders with you - you’ve bumped shoulders before. You’ve walked closely before. You’ve never held hands before, though, and it seems your body doesn’t know how to respond.

He had mentioned that Sinnoh designer would leave him alone if he were dating someone, you asked who he’d even want to date, he said he didn’t know, so you, being the good friend you are, had offered your services. Leon had perked right back up - no one would suspect a thing! You’re together all the time anyway, and if Leon were romantically involved with someone, perhaps that lady would back off.

It was working, so far, and it only took one post on his social media with him kissing your cheek for her risque voicemails to stop.

It also meant, however, that a blast of texts, calls, and comments from his family, friends, and Rose himself started pouring in.

You and Leon had explained yourselves well enough to everyone, and it mostly took a few sentences of clarification. It seemed everyone was already aware of the Sinnoh designer, and after getting your insurance that it was all just pretend and you’d ‘break up’ soon anyway, everyone went happily on their way. There were a few bumps in the road (particularly when you both told Sonia and Raihan), since they both glanced at each other, raised an eyebrow, then for some reason Leon couldn’t stop stuttering. 

“Maybe we could get lunch,” Leon offers, and you nod vigorously. “At a public place, so everyone sees.”

“Good idea,” you say, and you begin scanning the shopfronts. Leon is already pulling you along somewhere, and before you know it, you’re stepping into your favorite restaurant. How did he know that? Perhaps just because you’re best mates.

You pick a booth that’s public enough, yet private enough, and Leon doesn’t bother looking at the menu. He mentions you should share your meal since that’s a thing that couples do, and you agree. He mentions he should feed you a bite, and after a bit of blushing on your end, you let him. It makes you squirm, how he stares into your eyes, how he rests his cheek on his fist when he holds the fork out to you. He’s definitely a good actor - anyone passing by would probably say he’s even in love with you.

That’d be silly though, since this is all just a favor, just pretend.

He tries to pay, you insist you pay, and you bicker while the waitress awkwardly waits for you both to decide. Leon insists that since it was his idea for a date, he gets to pay. You pout for a moment and let him, just like a partner would. While he chats with the waitress, you wonder why your heart flutters at the word ‘date,’ and why you can’t get that image of Leon’s eyes out of your brain.

After being out in public enough, you and Leon head back to your apartment. He’s holding your hand again, though instead of loosely tangled fingers, your hand is secure in his, and he even rubs his thumb over yours.

You wonder why you like that motion so much.

When you make it to your apartment you flop onto your couch. Leon is chatting with you again, just as you normally would as friends since you’re not in public, but you can’t get an itch out of your mind. If that designer comes back, she might want more ‘proof’... You bite your lip anxiously.

“What’s up?” Leon asks. Why are you now so much more aware of the color of his eyes? “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter. “It’s… it’s nothing, it’s stupid.”

“C’mon,” he teases. “We’re dating now, you can tell your boyfriend anything. Well, I mean you could tell me anything before too, but even more so now.”

You wring your hands together. It’s a stupid request, much too embarrassing, too. Leon pokes and he prods, until you swat his hand away.

“Okay,” you huff. “I was just…. Thinking…. We should practice… you know…”

Leon raises an eyebrow.

“...kissing.”

Leon raises both eyebrows.

“J-just so it looks natural if we have to in public!” you splutter. “I don’t think people would buy it if you were the type of guy to only kiss in private, s-so I was just… thinking…”

Leon is still staring.

“We don’t have to!” you blurt again. His silent shock is making your heart thump - augh, you knew you shouldn’t have said anything. Nonetheless, you try to save yourself from the hole you’re digging. “I just thought if that designer lady comes back she wouldn’t believe we were dating until we kissed in public at some point! But we can’t make it look like an awkward first kiss!”

Leon is frozen in place, staring at you, and you bite your lip when he finally breathes a response.

“Yeah,” he whispers. He seems a little dazed, for some reason. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

“Okay,” you say. “Okay, yeah… so… um.”

“Right, right,” Leon says as he shakes his head into focus. He adjusts how he’s sitting on the couch, you stand, then straddle his hips. You settle yourself into his lap, and Leon’s eyebrows raise again. You quickly jerk back.

“I-I, sorry!” you stutter. “You just, you moved so I… I um…”

“No, no this is fine!” Leon blurts in return. When you motion to slide off his lap he quickly grabs your hips to pull you back. “This is fine, it’s more realistic.”

“Yeah,” you say. His hands are resting on your hips, though it seems he’s not sure where to put them. He trails to your thighs, just for his fingers to twitch, and he curves around your hips again. “Yeah that’s true.”

“So, um,” Leon whispers. His brow is furrowed as he scans your face, and he’s still trying to figure out where to put his hands.

“Right,” you say. “Let’s… yeah, okay.”

Your conversation isn’t much of a conversation anymore, but rather awkward and embarrassed half-statements as you both adjust to you being on his lap. He’s finally settled his hands, and you lean in and inch. He leans in an inch, you lean in an inch, until you’re both a nose bump away. The tension in the air forces an awkward smile out of you, and the sight of your smile draws out a breathy laugh from Leon too.

“Okay,” you whisper. “So…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Leon breathes. “I’ll just…”

“Right,” you whisper, again unimpressed by this lack-of-conversation.

Leon’s eyes flick to yours, then down to your lips, and he leans in another inch. He gently presses his lips against yours, soft and sweet, and pulls back. It was a simple kiss, something small, closed-mouth and devoid of any heat, and yet it makes you giggle again. You can’t hide your awkward laugh, so you thunk your head onto Leon’s shoulder.

“What?” Leon asks, but now he’s laughing too because of how you can’t hide your embarrassment. “Was it bad?”

“No!” you say into his shirt. “It was weird! Kissing you is weird!”

“Weird how?” Leon retorts. “I’m a good kisser!”

“I don’t know,” you laugh again, and your groan is muffled by his shirt. “It was just weird.”

“Do you not want to practice again then?”

“Well no,” you mumble. “We still should because I can’t giggle like mad if we have to kiss in public.”

“Get it together,” Leon says, though his laugh is rumbling through you. He pulls your head off his shoulder and squishes your cheeks. “We can do this.”

“Yemphswecan,” you say with a serious nod, and Leon snorts. He pushes you off his lap and you slump to the couch like you were a bundle of laundry, and Leon crawls over to you. He’s laughing just as much as you are, and now his hair is draping over you as he threatens to squish your cheeks again. “Okay okay, I’m done, come kiss me.”

You’re not sure why your request shifts something in the air, but Leon’s giddy grin shifts into something softer, thoughtful almost, but definitely still bashful. Your eyes zigzag over his face, at how the corners of his mouth twitch, as if he’s still deciding on what this position means to him. 

He cups your face this time, leans in again, and still pauses. There’s less giggling, none at all, actually, as your eyes stay trained on his lips.

You’re not sure why he so gently brushes his thumb over your cheek, or why it blooms something deep in your stomach.

He kisses you again, a little longer this time, enough for you both to figure out how to move your lips in tandem. Soft sounds waft when he kisses you again, then again after that, as he adjusts himself on top of you. He’s pressing his chest against yours, and his weight is strangely soothing, though you can’t focus on it much when Leon opens his mouth just a sliver, just enough of an invitation for you to do the same.

Your single, chaste, closed-mouth kiss is shifting, growing longer and warmer as each second passes. Leon is curling closer, shifting his other hand to your waist, curving it under your back. You adjust slowly, arch your back to give his hand room between you and the couch cushion beneath you, and Leon almost melts against you. 

You’re not sure how long you’ve been practicing, but it’s gotten to the point where it’s hard to breathe. Leon is strangely in-sync with you, and you break off at the same time.

“A little longer?” he breathes, and you nod.

His next kiss is harder, tinged with heat, and you try to match it. His tongue slides across your bottom lip, and a squeak of shock slips out of your throat. Your cheeks are heating up, as is the rest of your body, when Leon starts kissing you harder, faster, and a little more desperately. You practice and you practice and you practice, long enough to where you’re both breathing hard, long enough to know exactly how to kiss Leon in a way that makes a moan slip.

He moves to your cheek, to your jaw, to your throat, kissing and sucking in a way that makes your heart pound. It isn’t until you let out a sigh, furrow your brow, and whisper his name, that he pauses.

“Leon,” you breathe.

He freezes, and after a second, he lifts his head to meet your gaze. His cheeks are flushed, his pupils dilated, then his expression melts into something bashful. He quickly crawls off of you and you both sit up, trying to discreetly catch your breath, but neither of you do a good job of hiding how dazed you are.

“Sorry,” Leon says as he breathes out a laugh. “I… uh… might’ve gotten carried away there at the end.”

“Yeah, yeah that’s okay. But did we… did we just…” you whisper. “...snog?”

“I think so,” Leon replies.

“We probably could again,” you whisper. “Just to be sure we’re good at it.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Leon whispers in return. “Just in case that Sinnoh lady gets suspicious.”

“Definitely.”

The Sinnoh designer never called back, but you and Leon figured you could ‘pretend’ date just a bit longer, just in case. You pretended to kiss each other in public, and you definitely pretended to kiss each other in private. You picked a few different spots to practice - your couch, his couch, on the floor, on your kitchen table, in his bed - you both certainly got much better at it, too. No one would ever suspect a thing.

[benditlikepress]

texted you a picture where you looked pretty

@indestinatus @coffeedepablo @ncisjes

all day long I waited for my phone to ring

I counted every glow star on my ceiling

texted you a picture where you looked pretty

and wondered if you saved the ones you had of me…

[illuminati hotties – (you’re better) than ever]

The first time Tony sent Ziva a picture, she’d only been gone a week.

He hadn’t left the apartment for anything other than work since getting back - first because of jetlag, and then out of plain exhaustion. It didn’t help that both work and home were full of things that reminded him of her, of them, so much so that it was beginning to feel like a strange form of self-flagellation to stay cooped up there.

It was easy to convince himself he wasn’t thinking about her, talking himself into thinking about any and every other topic on the planet until he was lying in bed wide awake staring into space wondering where it had all gone wrong. It was then, and only then, that he allowed himself to obsess: to think over things he should’ve said, things he never said, or ways he could try and fix what he knew deep down was unfixable.

This particular night was worse than most – someone at work had stopped him in the elevator and asked him what was happening with Ziva, and if she was coming back – and he’d found himself seeking out reminders of her rather than pretending he wasn’t hyper-fixating on them. His phone was a great source for that: text messages and phone records and her name, over and over and over. His photos and videos, too, were full of her, and his tired fingers paused on one she’d never known he’d taken. The most recent one he’d taken of her - asleep, wrapped in sheets, the Israeli sun hitting the bare skin of her shoulders and back. Her hair was spread out over the pillow and her hand was spread over the vacated side of the bed, as though reaching out for him.

He couldn’t bring himself to scroll past it even when it caused a ball to form in his chest that made it hard to swallow.

It was 2am and he found himself opening a conversation thread and dropping the photograph into it, pressing send quickly.

“I really miss you”

He typed the words with nervous fingers and pressed send even quicker still before throwing his phone in a drawer and turning away from it.

He woke up three hours later and saw she hadn’t opened the message yet. He deleted it, and thanked the gods of modern technology that she never would.

———————–

The next time was a month later, and he thought he’d been doing better until he found a stack of old photographs piled at the back of his top desk drawer. They had been collected over the years and though some pre-dated her arrival in the States, she was a prominent feature in most of them.

Though they still hurt, he was finding himself increasingly able to appreciate them for what they were. He found one, near the bottom of the pile, that even had a smile threatening on his lips. A doctor-themed party from a lifetime ago that had to be up there with the more ridiculous ideas of his life.

The picture had been taken not long after Gibbs had left for Mexico and Tony had relented into Abby’s plans for a surprise party for Jimmy’s birthday, still keen to make sure that people didn’t stop seeing him as a friend instead of just a boss. It was him and Ziva, posing, with Jimmy’s drunkenly sleeping head face-down on the table inbetween them.

He remembered everything about that night: how her hand kept brushing his leg under the table, and every time he’d snapped his neck up to look at her but found her looking in a different direction. How they’d shared a cab home and he’d insisted on walking her to her door, in spite of her drunkenly listing a handful of ways she could kill any man who approached her with only the costume on her back. How she’d invited him upstairs and there was no pretence but he’d said no, trying to be diplomatic, though they’d only lasted another week of summer before that had all came tumbling down.

He opened a message again and snapped a photograph, the edge of his fingers visible holding it up to the camera.

“Remember this? Do you still have that picture of me piling stuff on top of him?”

He didn’t get a reply. Then again, he hadn’t really been expecting one.

He flipped the photograph over and placed it back on the pile.

———————–

The next time he sent her a photo, it had been over 9 months since he’d last seen her and she’d been on his mind all day.

It wasn’t unusual for him to get wrapped up in thoughts of her but it had been plaguing him in a way it hadn’t in a while – starting with a dream in the middle of the night that woke him up startled and coursing through his brain all morning. When it wasn’t better by night-time he’d gone for a drink with the team to take his mind off it, and when that hadn’t helped he’d found himself scrolling through old messages and photos and videos that he’d sworn he was going to delete (or at least put on a flash drive, out of sight out of mind).

When he still had that feeling that something was missing, that he was categorically in the wrong place right now, he got out of bed and walked into the living room in search of a cure.

He remembered, later, one photograph he’d never been able to take down. He lifted his head upwards to the top of his DVD shelves and grabbed for the card, bringing it down and sitting on the sofa with it in his hands.

A Paris street. Years ago now. She looked like a 50s movie star, frozen in time, and he could remember how enraptured he’d been as he’d approached her - watching her in her own world, flicking through postcards and wrapping her coat tighter around her.

Him capturing it in a photo had been what alerted her to his presence, but instead of asking him to delete it like he’d expected she’d simply rolled her eyes and told him with a smile that he was late.

He thought so fondly of that weekend even now. They’d both been overcompensating in the dust of everything that had happened, nervous and eager and hurting deep down, and Paris had come along at the perfect moment to show them both that the thing they’d been orbiting around for four years wasn’t lost. Could be stronger, even. And it was.

Before he could change his mind he went to grab his phone and snapped a photo of the image, opened the long-gone conversation thread and ignored his previously unanswered message.

“Weird day - you’ve been on my mind. Hope everything’s good. Open invitation: call if you need me.”

———————–

Almost two years down, he got a social media reminder of something he tried not to think about.

He didn’t have a photograph of the actual day Ziva became an American citizen. In spite of his promises he’d be there, he’d ended up in another country entirely as she swore her loyalty to his.

He’d felt sick even now that he’d missed her ceremony, knowing how much it had meant to her, even if she tried to play it down when he’d told her. He looked at the photograph that had popped up in his notifications, the two of them smiling with her certificate, and ran his hand over it. Her eyes were so bright and he could barely remember her looking so young.

He remembered how proud she’d been. Wondered if she still was, after how it had ended.

He found himself wondering, selfishly, if he still crossed her mind sometimes too.

“Happy anniversary Miss America”

Part of him was worried it would sound spiteful, but hoped she still knew him well enough to see the good meaning behind it. He pressed send and turned off his phone.

———————–

The first time he thought about sending a photo but didn’t, he was holed up in a small Paris apartment wringing his hands.

He’d known he wasn’t going to hear from her often – she’d took great pains to explain that, voice shaking, reminding him over and over that it was for his own safety. But Tali had been asking for her for days and Tony couldn’t stop looking at the photo they’d taken in Cairo, the one he swore he’d destroy soon, where Tali was curled up in Ziva’s lap and Ziva was looking down at her like she’d hung the moon and stars.

It was the same night, as if by magic, that his phone beeped. He scrambled around for it in the dark, heart in his mouth. A  withheld number flashed on screen.

“Checking in. Everything is OK. On my mind tonight and always.”

———————–

The first and last time Ziva sent Tony a photo, he hadn’t been able to sleep all night.

When Ziva had been away he’d been non-negotiable on work trips and conferences. Now she was back he’d considered it a miracle he’d managed to get 18 months out of the way before being offered a spot on a 3 day conference that was taking place in London. Two hours in it became clear that nothing being shared was particularly relevant to his role, and any number of other members of staff could’ve been sent in his place. He knew he had no more right to be at home than any of them, but it made being away that much harder.

It was 3:18am in London and he knew it was even later in Paris but he couldn’t help himself as he flicked his screen on.

“Still awake? x”

“You sound like a teenage boy.”

“Take that as a yes”

The photo she responded with was a simple one from her slightly pixelated front-facing camera on the phone she refused to upgrade. She was sat up in bed, hair tipped over one shoulder. Wearing one of his t-shirts.

“How is it possible you’ve got even more beautiful in my absence?”

“Hush.

We missed you today”

“Never leaving again. Can’t wait to be home.”

“Pizza and movie night. Your pick.”

“Marry me?”

“Maybe the gigantic block on my finger in that photo did not give it away, but unfortunately I am already getting married 3 months from now.”

“That’s too bad. Lucky guy.”

“Yes, he is.”

“(Just so you know, it’s a rock. Not block.)”

“Goodnight, Mr DiNozzo. X”

“Night Mrs DiNozzo”

[myheroacademiashorts]

Tokoyami x reader where the reader gets suspicious of the fact that Tokoyami and Tsuyu are hanging out often? She gets jealous and confronts Tokoyami about it? Ends in fluff, please. Thank you!!

HI AGAIN IM SO SORRY THAT THIS TOOK SO LONG AND THANK U FOR YOUR PATIENCE!!! I struggled a lot with this piece because I really didn’t wanna see the birb boi sad or struggling, he’s baby. (But Jody, you make the y/n character and others sad so why does-) OKAY ANYWAYS SORRY AGAIN, and I love you

Title: Rip It Off Like A Bandaid

Pairing: Tokoyami Fumikage x Reader

Rating: Fluff, Slight Angst

Words: 2,491

——————————————

You knew Tokoyami still liked you… At least, you were pretty damn sure he did.

You glanced over at the scene again, brows furrowing as you watched your boyfriend duck his head closer to Tsuyu as the pair whispered. The two had been spending a lot of time together, and while you knew they were friends long before you came into the picture, their abnormal closeness over the last few days was starting to rub you the wrong way. Tsuyu was sweet; a bit blunt sometimes, but there wasn’t anything wrong with that. Tokoyami also wasn’t the type to cheat… So why did that thought keep rising to the front of your mind?

“Are you alright? You look like you’re ready to wring someone’s neck.”

You heaved your attention away from the pair to meet the familiar gaze of your friend Jiro, and plastered on a smile. “Is it that obvious?”

“Honestly?”

You sighed, running a hand through your (H/C) locks as you stared at the surface of your desk. “Am I overreacting? I feel like I am.” You skipped your eyes over to Tokoyami and Tsuyu once more, this time with a glare.

“Maybe. Why don’t you just ask him?”

“No!”

Now Jiro was sighing. “This is why I’m still single.” She grumbled, directing her attention back to the front of the classroom. You rolled your eyes at her comment. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t jump Momo’s bones if she gave you the chance.” You whispered with a devious smirk, and Jiro snapped her attention back to you quickly.

Before she could retort, the bell sounded overhead, signalling lunch. You were still smiling when you stood up, but your joy quickly evaporated when you noticed Tokoyami scamper out behind Tsuyu, not even bothering to try and invite you to eat lunch with him. Your frown deepened with a sinking heart. You weren’t the only one to notice your boyfriend’s quick escape, and Jiro’s gaze was heavy on your shoulders. “C’mon, let’s grab grub.” She said, grabbing your arm and leading you out of the room. Her words went, unresponded, as you let your thoughts cloud with jealousy.

—————————————

You ended up isolating yourself at lunch, leaving Jiro in the cafeteria and meeting up once more for class. She didn’t question your disappearance, and a part of you was glad that she didn’t; Jiro understood that you needed some time to yourself. Especially with All Might’s class coming up, and the energy it’d take out of you.

“I AM COMING THROUGH THE DOOR!” The booming voice was followed with the hero, who posed in the front of the room. “Young heroes! Today, we shall be sparing with one another! To the training grounds!”

Everyone filed out of the classroom, Uraraka and Midoriya on either side of you as you walked. Ahead of your group was, just as you guessed, Tokoyami and Tsuyu together once more. They weren’t clinging to one another, but every time his shoulder brushed hers, you felt yourself tense up. Uraraka noticed as well, and you could feel her gaze brush over you every so often as Midoriya continued to jabber on about the newest heroes that had hit the media. 

“FOR TODAY, YOUNG HEROES, WE WILL ACT OUT A HOSTAGE SITUATION.” The familiar booming voice was back, this time louder as ever as he zoomed in front of the students. “One student shall act as the hostage, one as the villian, and the last as the hero! Heros and villians, move to change into your hero costumes as you are split into your groups! I shall choose your teams!”

Uraraka turned to you with bright eyes! “Wow! I hope I get chosen as a villain! Remember when Iida was paired up with Bakugou, and did that creepy laugh?” You cracked a small grin at the memory.

“I was simply getting into character!” The boy approached you from behind, arms hanging stiffly beside his body as his glasses gleamed.

“Yeah, but you took it to another level!”

“It was called acting!”

The two bickered back and forth, with you and Midoriya staring at them with amused faces. The green-haired boy turned to you with a smile. “What about you, (Y/N)? Do you have a preference?”

“Not really. Hero, of course, but I’ll have fun either way. What about you?”

He blushed. “Ah! Hero, of course! Just like our teacher.” He cast a glance at All Might, nothing but adoration in his eyes as he stared at the pro-hero. You could practically see the fanboy hearts in his gaze. You grinned. “Wanting to mirror your idol, huh?” You voiced your thoughts bluntly, and Midoriya turned even redder, if that were possible.

Before he could reply, All Might called out your name, causing you to whip your attention to him. Behind him was a large screen, which displayed the names of you and your teammates. Your gaze darkened.

“For Team F, we will have Y/N as the hostage, Tokoyami as the Villian, and Asui as the hero! Please wait for your turn patiently! Next we have…”

You tuned out his words, and looked towards Tokoyami and Tsuyu curiously. They hadn’t even turned to your direction, and instead were in deep conversation. Tokoyami looked nervous, his eyes straying to his shoes. The pair moved towards the changing rooms, picking up the familiar metal suitcases beside the rooms and disappearing through the lady’s and men’s rooms. Uraraka was by you in an instant as soon as they were out of sight, and grabbed your hand. She squeezed it reassuringly. “Are you okay with this? I can ask All Might if I can switch with you, if you want.” Her offer made you smile softly.

“I’ll be alright. Thank you, though.” You clasp her one hand, with both of yours, grinning before releasing her and squaring your shoulders. Soon after, your boyfriend and his frog-like friend came back out to the waiting area, still far too close for comfort and voiced hushed. You watched patiently as the groups before yours went by, eyes darting between the bright screen and Tokoyami. Uraraka was in the group before your own, and she did amazingly well as a villain; setting up traps and defeating Kaminari in record time. And soon enough, it was time to shine. As Team E stepped off from the training grounds, you moved forward, steps ahead of your other two teammates as you marched up the staircase and sat down in the fold-out chair, arms crossed over your chest protectively.

A few seconds passed by as you sat in silence, before the familiar bird-like head entered your view. Tokoyami seemed to avoid your gaze. He entered the room with quiet footsteps, his gaze flickering from the doorway to the legs of the chair that you sit in, or maybe your shoes; you weren’t sure, and a large part of you didn’t care too much. Just the fact that his amber eyes wouldn’t lift to meet your E/C ones left your heart with an ache. The draped cape of his hero costume swayed as he entered into the room a bit further with a few hesitant steps, and finally he looked at you.

And stayed completely silent.

You pursued your lips as he glanced away once more, instead focusing on the tips of his boots. “Hello, y/n.” His voice still held its usual coolness, and you frowned. It had been a handful of days since the last time Tokoyami had spoken to you, when he had bid you goodnight before disappearing into his bedroom. Even remembering that action had upset you, since it was a Friday night, meaning that you and Tokoyami usually spent the entire evening camped out in your bedroom watching B-rated horror films until one of you eventually fell asleep. You let it slide, though, not thinking much of it. From outside, you heard the loud alarm for the exercise to start; no doubt that Tsuyu was already on her way over to you.

Your eyes slitted into a glare as you stared at Tokoyami. You scoffed. “‘Hello’? After five days of radio silence, that’s the only thing you say?” A part of you hate to sound so bratty, but another part wanted him to know how hurt, how betrayed you felt because of him.

He kept quiet, only spurring you on further. “I mean, come on! What did you expect me to say? ‘Oh, hello my honey bunches! Have I missed you so! Wherefore art thou been?’” You tilted your head at the side and clasped you hands beside your neck dramatically, as if acting out a part in a play. Then, you were glaring again. “You’ve ignored me for over a week, and instead you’ve been clinging to the side of another girl, and you weren’t expecting any backlash, huh? I mean, come on. Were you even thinking about my feelings, or have you already replaced me with Tsuyu in your mind?”

You already felt shitty for bringing Tsuyu’s name into your argument, but the way his eyes narrowed made you feel even worse. “Tsuyu is a friend and nothing more. Also, I was unaware that you were feeling… Unhappy. Why didn’t you-”

“Go talk to you about it? Maybe because you’ve been avoiding me like the Black Plague.” You snorted, and now you were avoiding Tokoyami’s insistent red eyes as he stared at you blankly. You swallowed dryly, contemplating your next words. “… Look, if you want to break up with me, just do it now and get it over with. Like ripping off a bandaid.” Your voice cracked at the end of your sentence, eyes misty as you internally commanded yourself to get control of your emotions. First you were practically screaming, and now you were about to cry? You weren’t usually this flippant with your feelings. It made you feel weak, like you were back in middle school; not the student of a prestigious hero course.

Tokoyami sputtered, tripping over his own words. “Break- what- where did you get the idea that I didn’t like you anymore?” He was as still as a dead man, feet away from you with wide eyes.

“I told you why.” You looked up from staring down at your shoes.

He looked away, guiltily, but quickly redirected his attention to you once more. He was fidgeting, hands clasped in front of his stomach nervously. A part of you wanted to hear his explanation, whether it be good or bad, while the other part of you wanted to jump out of your chair and vault yourself out of the window. The latter option was beginning to look a lot more appealing the longer the silence stretched on. Finally, he spoke.

“I did not mean to ignore you, and it was not my intention to make you feel as though I’ve forgotten you. But there was something I needed advice on, and I trusted Tsuyu to help me with that aspect.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “This was… not the ideal way that I had wanted to do this. However, it was my mistake for making you feel inferior in my life, so I hope my actions will make up for it.”

He stepped forward, bending down on one knee in front of you. Automatically you froze in your chair. Oh my god, is he planning to propose? We haven’t even been together that long, let alone kiss, and we’re still in high school and oh my god. Your thoughts were jumbled, tumbling over one another in a panicked pace as you stared at your boyfriend, your E/C eyes wide and your hand trembling as they gripped down on your seat.

“Y/N, my love… My queen of darkness.” He pulled out a velvet box from inside of his cape. “I wanted this moment to be one that you would hold dear to your heart and remember for the rest of your life. I know we haven’t talked about it much, but… I love you. I love you with all of my existence. You are the light of my life, the sunlight that brightens my gloomy evenings every day… I love you. I promise to stay faithful by your side, from today until death takes me from you. Will you accept this promise gift, and me along with it?” He popped open the lid of the box, and sitting snugly inside was a ring. You breathed in a sigh of relief - you definitely weren’t going to say yes if he was proposing, nope, definitely not - but this was different.

A small grin grew on your lips as you nodded, and Tokoyami plucked the ring from its holster and helped to slide it onto your awaiting finger, where it fit perfectly. The band was a dark grey, onyx stones dotting its outside with a drop-shaped diamond in the center. It reflected your boyfriend perfectly. “It’s beautiful.” You voiced your thoughts aloud, and you didn’t miss the way Tokoyami ducked his head, no doubt trying to hide his blush, despite the fact that you couldn’t see it underneath his layer of feathers.

“So this was what you were planning with Tsuyu? You weren’t cheating on me?”

Tokoyami frantically shook his head. “I would never! In the words of Kirishima, that would be an unmanly thing for me to do. But yes, she did aid me with finding the perfect ring… And I had been planning to take you underneath the cherry blossoms to offer it to you, since Tsuyu had notified me that it would be a suitable setting, but that did not happen.” He smiled. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

A blush rose to your cheeks, all of your negative feelings gone as you stared down at the new piece of jewelry that decorated your hand in awe. Your heart was swollen with love, and you looked back to Tokoyami with all of your emotions. “I-I love you, too. And I’ll be by your side forever.” You leaned forward, hands placed on either side of Tokoyami’s cheeks, and placed a small kiss on the tip of his beak. While you couldn’t see the blush that adorned his cheeks, you could definitely feel it as his face quickly warmed underneath your small palms. 

It wasn’t until after the two of you had descended down the stairs that you forgot all about the camera in the corner of the hostage room, showing the live feed of you and Tokoyami’s interaction to all of your fellow classmates. You didn’t hear the end of it for weeks, especially from Tsuyu (who you immediately apologized to for your dark thoughts), yet you didn’t mind the chatter too much. Because whenever you glanced down at your ring, the symbol of love from the one man you held dearest to your heart, the only thing you could do was smile.

And smile, you did. 

[feistypaants-archived]

Between The Pipes [Chapter 14]

Rating: M Words: 2284 Pairing: Kristanna Summary: When a new owner takes over the Arendelle Ice Breakers, Kristoff isn’t sure about his future with the team. That is, until a PR nightmare throws the newest member of the media team, who also just so happens to be the daughter of the new owner, right into his arms. Kristoff and Anna can’t even stand the interviews they have to do together… how on earth are they going to fix this mess? Hockey!AU.

[Chapter Index]

Where To Read: [AO3]

Notes: Kristoff “god is testing me” Bjorgman, ladies and gentlemen!

Enjoy!

God damn it, what was that annoying ringing and why wouldn’t it stop?!

Anna blindly slapped at her bed, groaning loudly when her fingers grazed over the offending, vibrating device. She could tell by the sun peeking through the one window in her room that it was barely morning, and was immediately annoyed that anyone would call her this early on her day off . Glaring at the screen as she rolled over, she tried to make out the name blurred from her still focusing eyes before quickly giving up and just answering. “Hello?”

“You are dating him?”

“Elsa?”

“Anna,” her voice was low and hushed, as if she was trying to prevent anyone from overhearing. “You said you weren’t sleeping with him.”

“M’not,” she grumbled, sitting up against the pillows as she started to wake up. 

“ My favorite place to be ? With his hands … It sure seems like you are.” Anna could practically see the panic in her sister’s eyes and the wringing of her hands together as she paced the floor. 

She sighed and rubbed a knuckle against her eye, trying her best to form a coherent sentence. “Els.” A yawn. “S’not what y’think.” Anna paused for a moment. She didn’t know if she was allowed to disclose the truth to anyone. But… it was Elsa. She wouldn’t say anything, right? “It’s…” she bit her lip when she heard her sister practically whining into the phone. “It’s just for PR.”

“ What ?”

Rubbing a hand across her face, Anna blew out a breath. “I mean like, don’t tell anyone…” Elsa hummed at her, frustration evident. “We’re pretending. For his… y’know. To help with the Hans thing.”

She heard some shuffling in the background and could only assume that Elsa was trying to find a place to sit. They both stayed silent for a moment, hoping the other one would talk first. 

Anna sighed. “It’s a good idea, and we’ve got it all sorted. Just…” her fingers rose to her mouth, biting at a nail. “I don’t know if I should tell our father the truth or not.” She almost relaxed when she heard her sister sigh, too, as if she was taking some of the weight of it all away from Anna.

“I’ll talk to him. He’s not going to be happy.”

“I mean,” she bolted up, leaning forward in bed. “Should I tell him the truth or like… just tell him I was so moved by his defending me that… now we are dating…. or… like, just tell him that this is the best way to clear up the reputation of his player? Or try to convince him I’m really happy or…”

“Stop, Anna,” but it wasn’t mean or frustrated, as she laughed as well. “You’ve got enough going on there. I’ll… call Gerda and then talk to him, okay?”

Anna had never been more grateful for her sister. “Thank you,” she sighed, flopping backwards against her pillows.

“So…” She heard some mischief lacing her sisters’ words. “Do you want to sleep with him?”

Her cheeks flushed and she let out the most unconvincing “Uh… sh-yeah right, you’re crazy!” before deciding to try and turn the conversation onto Elsa. “But there is this girl who works here… Seems your type —���

“Goodbye, Anna!” 

She hung up with a laugh, knowing any talk of any sort of dating made Elsa run away, embarrassed. It was then that she was able to look at her phone properly, the overwhelming notifications smacking her in the face. A voicemail from Honey, simply a Nice job, good caption, they’re eating it up, about a thousand instagram likes, and a couple hundred comments and new followers.

And one text from Sven, that only said WHAT?!

—

-

—

Kristoff was already embarrassed before he walked into the rink. Aware of how quickly word traveled around here, the entire team was bound to already know that he and Anna were now dating . 

His suspicions were quickly confirmed when Sven tackled him and threw him to the ground, shoving his phone in his face. “What the fuck?! What the actual fuck !!!!” Kristoff groaned as he looked up, her instagram feed too close for him to really make out much detail. “Who allowed this? Did you guys fuck?! Did you take her to the back of your truck and —“

“Stop it, Jesus Christ,” Kristoff shouldered his captain onto the floor and moved to stand up. “I punched one asshole, I’ll punch another.” 

Sven flipped onto his back with a laugh and opened the picture again. “Dude. Look at her face. She’s obsessed with you.”

Dating. They were dating. He wasn’t even sure he could tell Sven the truth, so he put on his best act and shrugged. “I’m… obsessed ,” ew, “with her, too. She’s…” Amazing. “Really, really great.” At least that wasn’t a total lie. 

“I knew it,” he laughed, scurrying up to his feet. “Didn’t I tell you? You guys were going to get together.” He clenched his hands by his stomach and shouted. “I felt it in my gut!!! Dude!!!”

“You said we were going to fuck .” He felt gross just saying it. He wasn’t going to be crass about any of this. He wasn’t. 

“Same difference.”

“No.” Kristoff really didn’t want to be an asshole, but he needed to set a boundary here. “Look… I don’t want you talking about her like that. Not anymore. She’s…” was saying she was his too much, or a line he shouldn’t cross? “We’re dating . Not fucking.”

Sven immediately got serious. “Yeah, man. I got it.” But his smile came back quickly. “I’m really happy for you, man.” His palm smacked against Kristoff’s cheek, and he really thought he had to convince Sven to stop doing this. “‘Bout time you stopped being so serious about your already successful career and started letting yourself live a little.”

Kristoff felt like he had been punched in the stomach.

He’s never lied to Sven before.

—

Hours of practice, a long, long shower, and one phone call to confirm her address later, Kristoff’s truck was parked outside of Anna’s building. He shot her a quick text to alert her that he was there, but after five minutes of no response, he sighed and got out of his truck, resigned to doing this the old-fashioned way. Pausing for a moment to check the passenger seat of his truck, Kristoff shook out his worry and started climbing the steps to her third-floor apartment. After confirming the number, he knocked on the door.

He heard a crash and a curse come from behind it and couldn’t help but laugh. But when the door swung open and he got a good look at her, her soft pink bra out and visible as she was still sliding one arm through her dress, Kristoff felt his whole body tense. 

“Can I help —“ she finally looked up at him, hair pins cleaned between her teeth, clearly annoyed that someone was interrupting her. “Oh. You’re early.”

Kristoff swallowed the thick lump in his throat as she reached up to put a pin in her hair. “Do you always answer the door half naked?”

Anna simply shrugged. “Maybe one day a man will see my bra and decide to date me.” She turned, ignoring his reaction, and gestured at the back of her dress. “Can you zip me up?”

Letting out an awkward laugh, Kristoff reached forward to grab at the small zipper of her dress, tugging it gently until it started to move. “Careful. I think that bra is marriage material.” He tried his best to ignore how her back curved, how soft and pale her skin was beneath the smooth rose velvet of her dress, and he definitely wasn’t thinking about kissing every freckle on her small shoulders, the ones exposed by the sleeves that only rose to the middle of her upper arms. 

She turned quickly, ripping his fingers away from her zipper, and let out a laugh as she tugged at the neckline of her dress. Pulling it away and peering down with an inquisitive smile on her lips, Anna shrugged. “And this isn’t even my nicest one.” Dropping her dress back down, she continued “If you think this is wedding material…” She hummed and ticked a finger up under his chin. “Then you’ve got something to look forward to, honey .”

Kristoff stared after her as she disappeared back into the apartment, his mouth dry. He stood in the doorway, feet stuck to the ground, until she peered back around the corner. “You can come in, you know.” 

He stepped forward, flushed, and shut the door behind him. 

“Do you want anything?” Her voice echoed a little, and he could guess that she was in the bathroom. “I’m almost ready but, um… There’s… water or wine!”

He frowned, staying perfectly still in the middle of her living room. “I’m okay.” 

Kristoff wasn’t sure what he imagined for Anna’s home, but it really wasn’t this. Small and boxy, nothing on the walls, just a small loveseat, a bookshelf, and a little television hung across the way. His eyes took a risky glance down the hall into the open door, smiling when he could see some clothes strewn about. Had she actually… worried about how she looked tonight?

Taking a second to look at himself, Kristoff sighed. He was used to wearing suits, but he didn’t feel like this was a suit-worthy moment, so he had dressed in a nice pair of dark jeans and a button down, with a tie thrown in the back of his truck just in case. He was almost worried he’d look stupid next to her in that pretty, flowy dress.

When she emerged, her hair twisted up into some sort of intricate low bun, he really felt like he should have dressed up nicer. Until she started crudely adjusting the top half of her dress as if to make her chest look even more delectable. Then Kristoff felt his throat tighten. He may not have been a religious man, but at that moment he knew there was definitely some asshole sitting up there, testing him. 

He snapped out of it when she pushed her chest up again and frowned, mumbling something about definitely coming home with a bra full of crumbs.

“You always this lady-like?”

Anna’s head popped up with a grin on her lips. “Only for you, babe.” She was going to kill him one of these days.

“So many pet names,” he laughed, trying to hide how much they got to him. How much they made him want to put his mouth on her, made him want to pull those names from her lips as he bit his way down her exposed throat to the swell of her breast. 

She seemed to falter for a moment, a frown peeking out. “Is… that okay? I’m sorry… I… Was just teasing and,” her hands were twisting together in front of her hips. “If I’m going too far just let me know? I tend to… make jokes when I’m… I’m awkward.”

Oh no, no, no . He didn’t want to do that .

“They’re… they’re fine!” He started, his voice cracking slightly. “I just… wasn’t expecting it?”

It was small, but a smile returned to her lips. Thank god. 

“You look… um… nice dress.”

Anna twisted her hips a little to make the skirt flare out as she grinned. It was almost too cute for him to handle. “I think I might’ve overdressed. But I like it.”

“Yeah it’s… it’s good.” He coughed when she stepped closer, and gestured at himself. “I have… a tie. Uh, in the truck. If you think…” 

He watched as she grabbed her purse and smiled, hooking it over her elbow before she moved towards the door. “You look perfect, Kristoff.”

That was good enough for him.

Anna looked towards the door with a small tilt of her head, asking him silently if they should go, and he cleared his throat before nodding, heading out of the apartment and down to his truck. Kristoff felt his nerves running wild, higher than they had ever been for a real first date, and he wasn’t sure exactly what to make of it. He quickly got ahead of her to open the passenger side door, smiling when she moved to get into the truck. 

But she paused, and he remembered the stupid thing he had done.

She reached in quickly, snatching up the bouquet he had gotten her.

“You got me flowers?”

Kristoff stammered, blush high on his cheeks. “Well… I mean… It’s a date, right? That’s… what you do?”

Her small fingers brushed delicately over the petals, flattening out a few that had been crushed from laying on their side on his seat. “Daisies?”

“Well I thought roses were too, you know…” he flopped his hands back and forth. “And when the florist asked what they were for, I said a first date… and she suggested these? I guess… they’re… good for… that kind of thing.”

God why couldn’t he shut up? 

The soft, genuine smile on her lips was worth it, though. 

She climbed into the cab, eyes locked on the flowers as he shut the door and moved to the other side, hopping up and in with ease. He started the engine, pulled at his collar and sighed. “So… I guess Gerda already alerted the tabloids, so they’ll probably be at the restaurant when we get there.”

If he didn’t know any better, he could’ve sworn her smile fell, just a little. 

“Okay,” she set the flowers into her lap, her eyes moving to meet his. “Ready?”

He supposed he had to be.

[superfreakerz]

TDDUP 29

"Til Death Do Us Part"

Rated M for smut and heavy themes.

Reincarnation/Immortality AU

Summary: There are immortals and there are those who reincarnate, but it's best to keep these things hidden. Lucy is attending college and meets Natsu, a boy with pink hair, a mischievous grin, and a body that never ages.

Read earlier chapters on FF.net

Chapter 29

The Immortals

The car ride home was insufferable. Lucy could feel Gajeel's glare piercing the back of her head, Erza chose to sit in between her and Natsu- which she could only assume was to keep him away from her- and nobody had said a single word since the night before. Even the music that Gray so graciously played in hopes of lightening the mood did nothing to ease the tension. The negative aura was thick, and it felt like she was being suffocated with everyone's blatant stares.

All she had to do was show them the locket. Inside was proof that she wasn't just twenty years old. Still, part of her wondered if that was going to be good enough for them. Technically, she was still a mortal, and if Gajeel's dirty looks were enough to go off of, they had some pretty bad run-ins with mortals who knew of their secret.

A sigh slipped past Lucy's lips. All she wanted was to go on a ski trip with her friends. Couldn't she just have one day without some bad luck interfering with her plans?

Turning her head, she glanced past Erza to look at Natsu. As if feeling her stare, he turned towards her and gave her a show-stopping grin that somehow managed to chip away at her anxiety.

Her lips curled into a grin. At least there was one good thing that happened on the trip. The secrets that strained their relationship were now out in the open. She could finally be her true self around people. That is, being a girl who reincarnates. She didn't have to hold back on details, she didn't have to lie, and she didn't have to keep her lives straight anymore.

She was sure the same went for Natsu. Sure, he had a group of friends that shared his immortality, but he must've felt the same way about her. Now, he didn't have to lie to her about anything.

Everything felt so easy now.

Or at least it should have if it weren't for her overly skeptical friends.

Seriously, they were immortals for god's sake! Their bodies healed at abnormal rates and they never aged. Why was it so weird that she reincarnated? When they got to her apartment, she was going to make sure to rub it in their sorry faces and demand an apology. It was the least they could do after putting her through the wringer.

Reaching Lucy's apartment, the group stretched their legs outside. After being trapped in the silent car for the past four hours, they were relieved to finally be free of its confines.

"I'll go grab the locket and prove how ridiculous you guys are being," Lucy said, heading to the steps to her apartment when Gajeel blocked her path.

"Oi, remember our deal?" he asked, peering down at her. "We go together. Gotta make sure you ain't cheating."

"How in the world could I cheat? This isn't some contest, you know?"

"You could photoshop it or something!"

"How would I even have time to do that?"

"Doesn't matter! We're all comin' with you!"

Lucy rolled her eyes. Grabbing her suitcase out of the trunk, she rolled it behind her as she walked to her apartment, making sure to run over Gajeel's toes in the process.

"Fine. Come on then," she said. She couldn't deny that her feelings were hurt. After all they'd been through, they still couldn't trust her? The only thing that made her feel better was knowing that Natsu believed her, even without needing to see the proof that lied within her locket.

Waiting for everyone to finish putting their luggage aside, Lucy headed towards the bathroom. The group followed closely behind as if they were little ducklings trailing after their mother.

"The bathroom's small, so some of you might want to stand out in the hall," Lucy suggested.

"Nonsense," Erza replied. "We can all huddle together."

Lucy sighed as the whole group squeezed themselves into the bathroom with her. The seven huddled together, their elbows poking into each other while Lucy stood a foot away by the tub. Bending over, she swiftly threw open the drawer, slamming it into Gajeel's shin. The boy jumped away with a yelp.

"Oops," she said with a shrug.

Gajeel rubbed the sore spot, glaring at the blonde. "Didja really hafta do that?"

"You deserved it. In fact, if you ask me, all of you deserve it. Other than Natsu, of course."

Natsu grinned. "I've got your back, Luce! Now hurry up and show us what's in the locket! I've been dying to know for weeks!"

Lucy smiled at him. Grabbing the tampon box, she dumped it out into the drawer. Sure enough, the locket fell out with a thud.

"So that's where you hid it!" Natsu exclaimed. He tried to push everyone out of his way so he could get a closer look, but with how cramped the bathroom was, he was stuck in place. "Wait, but I checked there for other evidence and there wasn't anything in there!"

"Wait, you checked for evidence? When? And for what?"

"While you were visitin' your old man. I kinda thought that you were an immortal too, so I looked through all your stuff for any clues. I didn't find anything!"

"Oh. That's because the only hard proof that I keep with me is this locket," Lucy explained, dangling it in the air. "I don't have access to anything else."

Before she could say another word, Gajeel snatched the necklace out of her hand.

"How is this supposed to prove anything?" he asked, his crimson eyes piercing hers.

"Open it, idiot," Lucy answered, crossing her arms over her chest expectantly.

Everyone peered over Gajeel's shoulders, watching as he opened the locket to reveal a black-and-white picture of Lucy between an older couple.

"I don't get it," Gray said.

Lucy sighed, grabbing the necklace from Gajeel's hand and carefully removing the photo. Unfolding its edges, she handed it back to the boy. "Look at the date at the corner."

Natsu's eyes widened as he read the date. It was over sixty years ago.

"Ha! I toldja she wasn't lying!" he exclaimed, slapping Gajeel upside the head.

"This doesn't prove anything!" the other boy barked. "This coulda been photoshopped!"

"When would she have photoshopped it, dumbass?" Gray asked. Somehow during their time in the bathroom, he had ended up shirtless.

"Gray's right," Levy chimed in. "There would've been no reason for Lu-chan to photoshop a fake date onto it when she didn't know about us until yesterday."

Juvia shrugged. "Juvia believed her last night, so this doesn't change anything."

"You did?" Lucy asked, her mouth parting.

"Yes. Considering Juvia is an immortal, it isn't impossible for other kinds of beings to exist."

"Oh my god, yes! Thank you for saying that, Juvia! Seriously, the rest of you are all just a bunch of hypocrites!"

"Yeah!" Natsu agreed, pushing past the others so that he could stand by Lucy. "You guys shoulda trusted her!"

Gajeel scoffed, crossing his arms over his burly chest. "I still don't believe it."

"Seriously?" Lucy asked with a groan. "You need more proof? Fine. Follow me." Slipping through the group, she led the way to the dining room where her laptop rested on the table. Opening up a searching browser, she started to type her name.

"I already looked you up," Gajeel said. "I didn't find anything that proves you reincarnate."

"That's because you were looking up the wrong name. My first name stays the same whenever I am reborn, but I am always born into a new family, so my last name changes. You looked up Lucy Heartfilia. The first name I went by was Lucy Ashley."

Pressing enter, the page was reloaded with multiple links. Most of them led to the social medias of other girls that went by the same name. Muttering incentives to herself, Lucy narrowed the search with details of her death and tried again. This time, a link to her obituary popped up. Clicking it, she was led to a page that showed some of her pictures, a brief description of her life, and an explanation of how she died. In the back of her head, she noted how strange it felt reading about her own death, but at the moment, she was too spiteful to care.

"Holy fuck," Gray breathed out, pulling a chair out next to Lucy.

"So it is true," Erza added, her eyes wide as she cupped her chin.

"That's what I've been telling you guys," Lucy said, standing from her seat so that she could face all of them with a glare. "But you didn't believe me."

"I apologize Lucy, but can you really blame us?"

"Yes! I can! I believed you guys about your immortality right away!"

"Yes, but you were shown the facts first. It was impossible to deny it when you saw Natsu's body healing on its own. For us, we didn't see any proof that you reincarnate. We never believed in reincarnation before. It was just awfully convenient timing to confess such a thing, so it was easier to believe that you would say whatever you had to so that you could still be with Natsu."

Lucy crossed her arms, her glare never wavering. "Okay, yes. I can agree with you on that. I did see the proof, and maybe I wouldn't have believed that you guys were immortal if I hadn't seen Natsu's body regenerating. But did you guys have to treat me like crap because of it?"

Erza glued her gaze to the floor with a frown. "No. And we shouldn't have treated you like that. I am truly sorry for what we said last night."

"I am too," Levy added, wringing her hands together. "We've been best friends for a long time, I shouldn't have dismissed you so quickly, especially when you've been nothing but kind to me. I was a bad friend."

"Same goes for me and Jellal," Gray said.

"Juvia should've stuck up for you," the other blue-headed girl chimed in. "Juvia believed you, but she was scared of saying something last night."

Lucy glanced towards Gajeel expectantly. Part of her expected him to be stubborn and refuse to apologize. Instead, he rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. What he did next was surprising.

"Yeah, I'm sorry too," the boy said. "Look, there's nothin' I can say that's gonna change how I acted. Truth is, I've had some bad experiences with mortals who found out that I'm immortal- a lot of us have. I just wanna keep Levy safe. Guess I got a lil' carried away."

"A little?" Lucy asked, narrowing her eyes at him. "I'm glad you guys are apologizing and all, but that doesn't change anything. You guys made me feel horrible last night, and I warned you before that I wasn't going to be so quick to forgive you."

"Yeah, I know. So let us make it up to you."

"How?" Lucy asked, arching a brow.

Gajeel's face was serious as answered, "We'll take you to Fairy Tail."

The widening gazes of everyone else in the group went unnoticed by Lucy as she threw her arms in the air.

"You think taking me out for some food and drinks is going to make it up to me?" she asked incredulously. "That's the dumbest-"

"Fairy Tail isn't just a pub. It's home of the immortals. Taking you there could get us in a lot of trouble."

"Gajeel!" Erza hissed.

The boy turned to face her with a shrug. "We were gonna take her to see Makarov anyways if she was tellin' the truth. Why not bring her to Fairy Tail? We can make it up to her by telling her everything. There's no better way of showin' her that we trust her now."

Lucy glanced at Natsu, who grinned back at her with a nod. She couldn't deny that her curiosity was more than piqued. She finally knew where they lived! She just couldn't believe that she'd been there a million times without knowing.

"I can get on board with that idea," Lucy said. She knew that it was a big risk to them, so she knew it was a big deal and that they were really trying to make it up to her. "If you take me there, I will agree to put all of this behind us."

Erza glanced at the others to make sure they were on board. Receiving a bunch of nods and shrugs, she turned back towards Lucy.

"Alright," the redhead stated. "We will take you there. Just keep in mind that there are other immortals who might be wary of you. They will all be surprised to see you."

"Wait, there's more of you?" Lucy asked, her mouth hanging open.

"Yes. Fairy Tail is an organization built to support immortals. The pub is a way to bring in money while the basement houses all of us."

"That's so cool!"

"I can't wait to show you to everybody!" Natsu exclaimed, throwing an arm around the girl's shoulders. "You gotta try Mira's cooking!"

Lucy arched a brow. She remembered that name. "Mira? Isn't that the friend who moved away?"

"Oh, yeah! I forgot I sorta told you about her! Truth is, we aren't supposed to bring up anyone who lives in the basement, but it just kinda slipped out that one time. So then we had to tell you that she was our friend who moved away, but she's really living in the basement!"

"Wait, why is she living in the basement?"

"It's a long story," Levy said. "We'll tell you all about it when we get to Fairy Tail."

"Prepare to get groped," Gray added, leading the way to the door.

Lucy covered her breasts with her arms. "Groped!?"

"He means Cana," Natsu explained while she locked her door behind them. "She has a thing for big boobs. And yours are huge."

Growing red in the face, Lucy slapped the boy upside the head. "Natsu! You can't just say things like that!"

"Ow! But it's true!"

That got him another slap.

Arriving at Fairy Tail, Lucy's stomach was doing flips. Her fingers wiggled at her sides as she stepped inside the pub, antsy at meeting the rest of the immortals. Following the others behind the counter into an area that was restricted to the public, she watched them head down a flight of narrow steps. Not wanting to get lost, she trailed closely behind.

Each step made her stomach churn. When they reached the bottom of the staircase, she took a deep breath to calm her nerves.

The steps led to what looked like a lobby. There were multiple sofas, tables and chairs, and even entertainment centers. There was also a bar, where a stunning woman was drying off glasses. Her hair was snow white and fell in waves, her eyes a brilliant shade of blue. She turned to greet them, but the words died in her throat the moment she laid eyes on Lucy. The glass in her hands dropped to the floor, shattering and catching the attention of everyone else around.

There was another girl slouched in one of the stools by the bar. Her hair was also wavy, but it was a relaxing shade of brown. She was clad in a pair of khakis and a bikini top, clutching a barrel to her chest. Her cheeks were dusted pink, clueing Lucy into what could possibly be in the barrel.

At one of the entertainment centers sat a man even larger and more muscular than Gajeel. His hair was blonde, and he had a scar running down one of his eyes. Over his ears were two large headphones with spikes protruding from the sides. Surrounding him was a man with long green hair, a scantily dressed woman with glasses, and a man wearing the strangest outfit Lucy had ever seen before.

All of them had their eyes on her, and it was clear that her presence was unexpected, if not unwelcomed.

"Erza," the blonde man called out, jumping to his feet. "Who is this?"

The redhead gnawed on her lower lip. Well, there was no use in lying. "This is Lucy."

"Wait, Lucy? As in the Lucy?" the silver-haired girl behind the bar asked. A shaky hand flew up to her mouth. "You guys brought a mortal into the basement?"

"What the hell are you guys thinking?" the brunette asked, setting aside her barrel as she glared at them.

"It's a long story," Erza answered. "We need to speak to Master. Is he in his office?"

The brunette nodded. "Good luck. Seems to me you've got a death wish."

Erza turned back to the group. "I will go let Master know that we need to speak to him. Wait here and do not move. Understood?"

Natsu flinched under the menacing stare she directed at him. "A-Aye!"

"Good. I will return shortly."

Lucy kept her eyes on the ground. Perhaps they should've given the others a heads-up that she was coming. Now, she felt unwelcomed. Not that she could really blame the others. She wouldn't be too happy either if some stranger just let themselves into her home.

"Oi, mortal," a voice called out. Lifting her gaze, Lucy saw the brunette waving her over. "C'mere. Have a drink."

"O-Oh, I wouldn't want to be a bother," she replied, waving her hands in front of her face.

"Just have a drink already. I'm sure you've gotta feel awkward with all this."

Natsu nodded at her, gesturing for her to go mingle with the other immortals. Swallowing thickly, she took the empty seat beside the brunette while Natsu sat on the other side of her. At least he was there to keep her company.

"The name's Cana," the other girl said, pointing at herself. "Nice to meetcha, Lucy. We've heard a shit ton about you. Oi, Natsu, you're right! She does have ginormous knockers!"

"Toldja!" the boy replied. The two shared a high-five behind the blonde's back while she because a blushing mess.

"I-It's nice to meet you too," Lucy said. "So you are an immortal too?"

"Yep. Have been longer than most of these guys."

"Really? I didn't know that some of you could be immortals longer than others."

"Oh yeah. Immortality is way more of a complicated bitch than most people would think."

So many questions floated around in Lucy's mind. She had no idea how immortality worked. Were people born with it? Did it run in their genes? Was there any sort of limit to their immortality? Opening her mouth to ask one of her many questions, the girl was cut off as Erza entered the room.

"Master will see us now," she said.

"What did you tell him?" Jellal asked.

"I told him that there was someone here to see him. I did, however, leave out the fact that she is a mortal. I figured it would be best to explain it all together."

Lucy swallowed thickly. "I'm scared of meeting this Master person."

"Don't be," Natsu replied, nudging her gently in hopes of alleviating some of her anxiety. "Gramps is awesome! And you're a girl, so he'll definitely go easier on you. If anything, he'll just try to kill me for bringing you."

"Yes, because that definitely makes me feel better."

"Good! Let's go, Luce!"

Cana watched as Natsu dragged the mortal away by the wrist. The rest of the group followed behind them.

"You okay, Mira?" Cana asked, her gaze tearing away from the hallway where the others went in order to face the other girl. A frown immediately graced her face as she found tears welled in the blue orbs of her close friend.

Mira's shaky hand flew up to her chest, her eyes wide and glazed over with hot tears. Her breathing was heavy and ragged as she hyperventilated.

"Y-Yeah, I'm fine," she breathed out, rubbing her neck. "I-I was just a little surprised, but I'm fine."

Cana frowned, but she didn't bother arguing with the other girl. All she knew was that there had better been a damn good reason why Natsu and the others brought a mortal into their safe haven.

Lucy was a fumbling mess by the time they reached the door to what she assumed was Master's office. Natsu's warm hand slid into hers, lacing their fingers together and giving her hand a gentle squeeze, silently telling her that it was going to be okay. She decided to take his word for it.

Following Erza and the others, Lucy's eyes immediately landed on the tiny, elderly man that sat at a desk that was taller than him. The top of his head was bald, but the sides sported patches of silver hair. He had a white goatee and a fluffy white coat. At the sight of her, he cocked his head to the side.

"Hello, my name is Makarov" the man greeted, jumping onto his desk so that he could stand at the same height as her. "I heard that someone wanted to see me. That must be you."

"Umm, yes," Lucy replied, shaking his hand.

"You must be an immortal. Let me get some paperwork started and we can get you all situated to join our family!"

"Oh- uhh- I'm actually not an immortal."

"Oh, you must be a government official affiliated with immortals."

"Actually, I'm just a friend of these guys. My name is Lucy."

Makarov halted his movements, the uncapped pen in his hand dropping onto the desk and tainting some of the documents.

"I'm sorry, come again? I don't believe I heard you right the first time. Pardon my bad hearing, it comes with the old age," he said, cupping his hand around his ear.

"Umm, Master, this is Lucy. Natsu's girlfriend and our friend from school," Erza explained.

The man whipped his head towards Erza. "What!? Erza! What are you thinking bringing an outsider here!? You know better than that! Oh no. The school will probably have to be shut down, along with Fairy Tail. We'll all have to relocate and who knows what will happen to-"

"Lucy's not just some outsider," Natsu interrupted. "She's different than the other mortals!"

"Natsu, I understand she's your girlfriend, but that doesn't mean you can bring her here!"

"No, not just that! Tell him, Lucy!"

Lucy swallowed thickly. Her gaze was pointed at the desk as she was too afraid to meet the gaze of the older man who- despite his kind smile- had an air of authority to him that frightened her.

"Umm, I uhh, I…" she started, the words dying in her throat due to her nerves.

"Spit it out, dear," Makarov said. "I have to know what made these brats think it was acceptable bringing you here."

"…The truth is, I reincarnate every time I die."

Makarov's eyes went wide, his jaw slack.

"I know it's hard to believe," Gajeel began, "but she's got proof! She has a picture of herself from sixty years ago, and there are obituaries written about her past lives!"

"It's true," Erza chimed in, hoping to calm the monster that resided in the older man. He was a usually kind man, but if angered enough, well… That wasn't something anyone wanted to see. "I've seen the proof myself."

"I see…" Makarov said, stroking his beard. "That is why you brought her here. To ask questions about her situation."

"Oh, no," Lucy replied, shaking her head. "I came to learn more about Natsu and the others."

Natsu cocked his head to the side as he took another step closer to Makarov. "Wait a sec. You aren't as surprised as I thought you'd be. Gramps, do you know something about reincarnation?"

Makarov's face was serious as he mulled over the question. With a sigh, he nodded. "Yes. I am familiar with some of the history of reincarnation."

Lucy's hands went limp at her sides, her mouth trembling as she choked out, "W-Wait, what?"

She had gone there to learn about immortality, but there stood a man with the truth about herself. For lifetimes she had tried researching about reincarnation, only to come up with people's theories and misconceptions as to what it would be like. Hell, in her three lifetimes of searching, she had only found one other person in the world who shared her experience. And now she was finally going to learn about the curse that haunted her?

Natsu glanced over to Lucy. Her eyes were wide with surprise as she swayed. Looping an arm around her waist, he kept her steady.

Makarov's stare was serious as he asked, "Would you like to know more about reincarnation? The history is tied to immortality."

Natsu whipped his head towards Makarov. "It is? Then why haven't we heard about it before?"

The old man frowned, fiddling with his coat. "Lucy, please have a seat. I will do my best to explain." The girl nodded slowly, moving to sit in the chair that was in front of the desk. Only once she did, Makarov continued, "First, I shall start off by saying that I am a mortal, and everything that I tell you has happened long before I was born. In fact, it happened before all of us were born."

"Even longer than me?" Gray asked, having been the oldest immortal in the room.

"Yes. It was four hundred years ago. Reincarnation is much like immortality. Nobody can control it, and it isn't passed down through genes. It is much rarer than immortality, however. Long ago, there was an immortal- or I suppose I should say there is an immortal since he is still roaming the world somewhere. He is one of the oldest known immortals in the world. I have heard of him through Mavis herself."

"Who is Mavis?" Lucy asked.

"She is also one of the first to discover her immortality. She is also founder of Fairy Tail. She was around at the time it happened."

"It?" she repeated, cocking her head to the side. "What happened?"

Makarov's frown deepened. "A massacre. Around four hundred years ago, the first reincarnation was discovered. He is known as the Spirit King because of how many 'souls' he has had since he has died and been reborn numerous times. It was four hundred years ago when he was reborn for the first time. Immortals had already been around back then, and apparently he was familiar with one. His friend brought him to meet some other immortals, as it was such a strange finding. However…"

"What? What is it?"

"Among one of the immortals was a man named Acnologia. As you know, immortality isn't passed down through genes. It is completely arbitrary on who becomes an immortal. Acnologia had a daughter named Sonya. Because of his immortality, he was forced to watch his daughter grow up before his eyes and eventually die while he had to keep living without her. Because of this, he hated his immortality. All he wanted was to die so that he can be reunited with his daughter in the afterlife."

Makarov forced himself to meet Lucy's inquisitive gaze as he continued, "When he found out that there was a man who had his wish of dying and resented it, it set something off inside of him. He followed the Spirit King that night, sneaking up from behind him and killing him."

A gasp slipped past Lucy's lips, her hands flying to cover her mouth. "B-But it wasn't his fault that he can reincarnate!"

"I know. But in Acnologia's eyes, the Spirit King's existence was a great injustice. He gathered up some immortal followers with the same mindset and together they sought out those who could reincarnate. They massacred them all, searching for them everywhere across the globe and murdering them over and over again."

Tears ran down Lucy's cheeks as she imagined what it was like to constantly be reborn and murdered by such monsters. Not only were they cursed with reincarnation, they were also being hunted every life. Then it hit her.

"W-Wait…" Lucy began, her head spinning. "Immortals never die, which means…"

"Yes," Makarov said with a nod, his frown deepening. "They are all still alive, including Acnologia."

"B-But what if he finds out about me!" Lucy cried, glancing towards Natsu. Her breaths were staggered, her heart beating a mile per minute. "I-I don't want to be hunted down!"

Natsu smoothed a hand over her head, bringing the girl in for a hug as he tried to soothe her.

"Don't worry," he said, wiping away her tears. "I'm not gonna let that happen to you."

Lucy covered her mouth with her hand, trying to quiet her sobs.

"Natsu is right, you do not need to worry," Makarov said. "After the massacre, many of the immortals who were in on the killings were locked up. The immortals have a connection to high officials in the government thanks to Mavis. The officials are why organizations like Fairy Tail exist. They locked up most of the murderers. Acnologia and a few others did manage to escape, but the odds of him finding you are slim to none."

Lucy nodded slowly, but it didn't make her fear go away. Sure, maybe he wouldn't kill her in this lifetime, but what about the next one? Or the one after that? Acnologia was immortal and she reincarnated, he had all the time in the world to find her.

Natsu could feel Lucy shaking in his arms. Gently grabbing her face, he forced her to face him.

"I promise I'll protect you, Lucy," he said, his face serious. "I won't let anyone hurt you."

"Neither will we," Gray chimed in, ruffling the blonde's hair. "You're one of us now."

Lucy smiled at her friends, starting to regain some of her composure. "Thanks, guys."

"Lucy," Makarov started, "would you like to meet others like you?"

The girl whipped her head towards the man. "R-Really? You know more people like me?"

"Yes. Though, perhaps I shouldn't say meet. You've already met them before, actually. You all have."

"Wait, what?" Natsu asked. "Who?"

"A handful of professors at Fairy Tail are reincarnations. Aquarius, Scorpio, and Capricorn, you've had them this quarter, correct? They all reincarnate."

"What!? How come you didn't tell us this!?"

"After the massacre, the existence of reincarnations was swept under the rug and kept a secret from later immortals in case they had the same mindset as Acnologia. When Mavis first stumbled upon Aquarius and found out the truth about her, she wanted to make sure that she had a place to turn to in the world. So, she invited her, along with other reincarnations, to teach at the University whenever they are at an old enough age to return."

Lucy gawked. Finally, everything was starting to make sense. Her talk with Aquarius, why Capricorn was so interested in her story about reincarnation, everything. They were like her.

"Wait, but how did they know about me?" Lucy asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I think they know that I reincarnate. How did they find out?"

"I am unsure. Perhaps you can ask Aquarius when the new term starts."

Lucy nodded. She would definitely have to do that. But for now, all she wanted was to sleep. After the rollercoaster of a day she had, she was left winded.

"I-I think I need to be alone for a little bit," she said. "I should go home."

"Feel free to come down to the basement any time," Makarov replied.

Thanking him for everything, Lucy followed the others back to the lobby. She noted that the other immortals were gone.

"I'll walk you home," Natsu said.

"Thanks," Lucy replied. Saying goodbye to her friends, she followed Natsu up the stairs and back to the pub. Stepping outside the grand doors of Fairy Tail, she turned back and admired the building. This whole time, it had been the home of her friends, and she never even knew it. It was also home to other immortals, who she planned on getting closer to.

Though, that could wait until tomorrow.

[sodoyouknowbts]

Yoongi x Reader - Guardian (Four)

Part of the ‘Souls’ Series.

Summary: Min Yoongi is a cynical guardian angel assigned to look after you.

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (ft Hoseok)

Genre: Romance, fantasy, soul mates

Author: Pilot

Chapter Four

You sigh, rolling over. You had awoken to the sound of an email notification on your phone. You look around. You were in bed, surrounded by papers, your laptop laying next to an empty box of chocolates you had pigged out on last night.

You rub your eyes and pull your laptop towards you and open it up. You had fallen asleep last night in the middle of typing up your first proper journalist piece. The USB Yoongi had left with you last night contained folders worth of hidden documents, correspondence and receipts that indicated foul play and corruption at the company you had interned at.

You let your eyes adjust to the glare of your laptop and squint at it. Two documents are open, one is your article on the company and the other is a Word Document titled ‘Min Yoongi’. Confused, you bring your screen closer to you to read it.

Min Yoongi is a “guardian angel.”

Min Yoongi is good looking.

You peer at the document. Did you really type Min Yoongi is good looking? How out of it were you last night?! You groan and go to delete it but your finger pauses over the backspace. Who was going to read this anyway? You were one to admit to things and yes, you did admit he was good looking. His lips, his smirk.

God, even that stupid smug face…But how old was he? He seemed older than you but how old? Do I need to call him oppa? Min Oppa? You laugh out loud. You could already see the face he’d pull upon hearing it.

You look at the document. You guess somewhere in-between Yoongi saving your ass again last night and all the research you had done, that you had just accepted the likelihood that he was telling the truth. That he really was some kind of supernatural being.

You open another folder in your computer, of the research you had done on guardian angels and save the document there. Then you check your emails. It was an email from the company, advising staff that the premises had suffered severe water damage from malfunctioning sprinklers and would be temporarily closed.

Your mind goes back to last night. Seeing Yoongi there, suddenly appearing, holding a lighter in his hand as the managing director had begun to advance on you. He was the reason the sprinklers went off last night, not because they had malfunctioned.

You save your half-written journal article on the company. You planned on saving this information for when you started your journalism job in two weeks. You had lined it up to be done after the internship had finished but well, that was out of the window now.

You were still going to get paid your wages for the remaining two-week period but you figured it would be a good opportunity to work somewhere else in that time.

The new job was at a media and news company, as a junior journalist. You were quite pleased with yourself. This gave you time to test it out and see where else it could take you while you were still making your mind up about whether or to to take the bar exam.

You open up your internet browser to begin the hunt for jobs. You spot a job for a waitress at a café in the city. It’s not too far, the pay and hours are decent and they only wanted someone for two weeks to cover for a waitress on holiday.

Two weeks? It was almost as if it was meant to be.

//

Yoongi knocks on the door. He waits for a few moments and then it opens and an elderly lady with kind eyes greets him. Of all the times, she was the slowest today. She ushers him inside with a smile, one hand behind her back as she hits it.

“Painful?” he asks as he walks into the small home. He enters the kitchen and places some groceries on the table. He looks around. One of the light bulbs needed changing in the laundry and the tap was leaking in the kitchen. Yoongi rolls up the sleeves to his black turtleneck and begins to unpack the shopping, pulling out some carrots, potatoes and spring onions. He moves swiftly, easily around the house, putting them away.

“You know how it is Yoongi, when you’re my age, everything is painful.” The old lady responds, wringing her hands. “You don’t have to fuss, I can do that.”

Yoongi shoots her a look and she laughs. “Yes, I know. This is what you are here for.” She says, slowly easing herself into an old cane chair by the television.

He nods, smiling to himself and proceeds to unbox a globe from its box, pulling a chair over to the laundry. He changes the light and tests the switch to make sure it’s working. Next, he tightens the washers around the taps at the sink, preventing the water from dripping.

Mrs Song was one of his other assignments. Her children and her grandchildren had all died in a car accident. She had no other family members left. He was there to spend time with her, help her maintain her house and do things like change her lightbulbs. He kept her company. She was on borrowed time and part of his job was to help her pass on peacefully. To be honest, he had grown quite attached, given she reminded him so much of his own grandmother.

Once done, he sat down on one of the chairs and helped himself to a glass of water. They watch a show together. At the ad break, the old woman turns to him and smiles.

“Have you found yourself a special someone?”

Yoongi sips his water. “You know the answer is no.”

“Mmm. still, can’t blame an old woman for prying.”

He pouts and places the water back down on the table.

“What’s a young, kind, good looking man like you doing without someone?” She asks, smiling mischievously.

Yoongi narrows his eyes.

“Not a single person has caught your attention?”

When faced with the question, his mind goes to you first. You were different, intriguing. He didn’t want to admit to it, but you had caught his attention.

“Someone has!” she claps, “I can see by the look on your face. You’re thinking about them right now!”

Yoongi clears his throat and tries to change the subject but she doesn’t let him.

“When you’ve been around for seventy years you learn a thing or two.” She continues, “You can’t waste your life on your own, Yoongi. We weren’t put on this planet to be lonely souls.”

“I’m the guardian here, but why does it feel like you’re the one looking after me?” He asks, cocking a brow.

She says nothing, merely smiling to herself.

They watch one more old-fashioned game show together and finally, Yoongi leaves. Feeling thirsty, he decides to head to one of the local coffee shops. He always enjoyed their Americanos. It was a routine, to visit his assignment and then stop by the coffee shop for an Americano.

He opens the café door and the bell jingles.

“Welcome!” a somewhat familiar voice calls out. He doesn’t pay much attention, instead making a bee line to his regular spot. He takes a seat and rifles through a collection of newspapers and magazines on the rack next to him.

You stand there, stunned. Min Yoongi had just walked in to the café you were temping at.

You grab a menu and place it on the table in front of him.

“Hi.”

He looks up. You, again?! Why was it that everywhere he went, you were somehow there?

“What are you doing here?” He says, looking you up and down. He answers his own question, eyeing the brown apron, your hair that you had pulled into a messy bun on top of your head and stray chocolate dusting on your sleeves.

“Oh, I work here, temporarily.”

“Ah, if that’s the case… An Americano please.” He says, cooly.

You’re a little thrown. You had expected Yoongi to say something more to you than just request an Americano. You nod, heading back behind the counter. After all, you hadn’t seen him for a week and a half.

Once his order is ready, you take it to his table and place it down. He nods, saying nothing, instead flipping the pages of the newspaper. You notice he’s reading the obituaries.

You hover around him, wondering if you should thank him again for the information he gave you a week and a half ago. You go to open your mouth to do so but think better of it, instead tucking the tray under your armpit as you head over a nearby table to clear it and wipe it down.

Yoongi glances at you. Little wisps of your hair flutter around your face as you move. He smiles to himself and shuffles the newspapers, sipping on his Americano. Once he’s done he pays at the counter while you’re taking someone else order and he slips out of the cafe, back out into the cold winter air.

He looks up, breathing out steam. Should I stay and talk to her? Yoongi thinks a little bit more about what Mrs Song had said. Someone special? Her? He takes one more look behind him and leaves.

//

It’s almost evening and your shift has just finished. You take a look at your watch. 6pm. The bus should be arriving any minute.

You stand on your tiptoes and peek over the people standing among you. You pull your fluffy brown scarf tighter around your neck and use it to cover the bottom half of your face. It was getting really cold now and some ice had already started to form on the roads after some rain.

You begin to wonder what Yoongi had been up to all this time. He certainly didn’t seem keen to talk to you today. You scoff. He could have at least asked me what I was doing with the information he gave me. Or maybe even a smile? Didn’t he have manners?

You had submerged yourself into work and only until today after seeing him did your mind begin to go into overdrive. This just made you more and more annoyed. If I didn’t see him, then I wouldn’t have thought about him. I swear the next time I see him I am going to give him a piece of my mind. I’m going to teach him some manners and then -

Yoongi suddenly appears in front of you. He’s glaring at you, annoyance plastered all over his face. You jump backwards and let out a yell, almost slipping on the ice at the bus stop. Yoongi extends his arm and stops you from falling. He pulls you back and settles you easily.

No one else has noticed him there. You receive some weird looks and you look from him to the people around you, amazed. Why were you the only one receiving weird looks?! You stare at Yoongi, eyes wide. He’s wearing rollers and aluminium foil in his hair. A small towel is draped across his shoulders, fastened at the front of his neck with a hair clip. He looks pissed off.

“What now? I was getting my hair done.”

You bring a hand up and point at his hair.

He rolls his eyes. “Yes?”

“What are you doing to your hair?”

“Touching up my roots. Well I was, until you summoned me here.”

“I - I didn’t summon you!” Roots?

The lady next to you shuffles away. You glance at her and lower your voice, pulling your scarf further up to cover more of your face.

Yoongi watches, somewhat amused. Your nose is peaking out above your scarf, slightly pink in the cold and your cheeks are flushed. You remind him of an eskimo, the way you’ve bundled your clothes up around you. It wasn’t even the middle of winter yet, when it was the coldest. He was curious to see how you’d dress then, maybe you’d carry around a mini heater with you. You seemed like the type.

“Am I the only one who can see you? Again?”

“Yes. Now what do you want?”

Was this because I was thinking about him? You look at Yoongi, unsure what to say. At that point your stomach chooses the perfect opportunity to grumble and instinctively you place your hand over it.

Yoongi frowns at you and looks down at your stomach and then back at you. If he didn’t have hair dye in his hair he would have offered to take you for dinner to get to know you more. He clears his throat.

“If that was it, I’ll get going now.” He says gruffly and within a blink he’s gone.

You’re left standing at the bus stop, your mouth open.

//

Yoongi wakes up in the middle of the night, rubbing his eyes. He had been dreaming of when he had first met the Custodian. It was by far his least favourite dream and he hadn’t dreamt it for a long, long time. It was winter then, too.

He feels something heavy on his stomach and reaches out to grab it, his eyes not fully open from sleep. He grabs at it carelessly and squeezes. He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling. Weird, this didn't seem familiar. He tilts his head up, confused. Is this a leg?

He looks to his right and sees you, sleeping next to him. You had rolled over, kicking one leg over the body next to you, arm on his chest, unaware the body belonged to Yoongi. You scratch your nose lightly with your finger, still asleep. It takes a second for Yoongi to realise you’re laying next to him in bed, practically spooning.

Startled, he grabs your leg and arm and pushes them off him.

You jolt awake and your eyes meet. You let out a yell and move back, kicking your leg away from him, pushing yourself away from his body in the bed and you smack your head on the wall, quickly letting out a yell at the sudden impact. Your kicks at Yoongi had made him lose his balance and he falls off the bed and lands on the floor. He lets out a yell, rubbing his left butt cheek.

“What are you doing in my bed?!”

“I don’t know!”

“So you’re a pervert too now huh?”

“Your leg was on me!”

“How did you manage to teleport yourself underneath me then?!”

“How did I - I didn’t do it you must have rolled on top of me!”

He sits there, legs sprawled apart on the floor, leaning back on the palm of his hands.

“Were you summoning me again?!”

“I didn’t summon you!”

“Then how did I get here then? Were you dreaming of me?!”

“Get over yourself!” you yell, throwing a pillow at him. It hits him square in the face and bounces onto the floor. He picks it up and throws it back at you and it hits you in face, ruffling up your already messy hair.

“How long were you in my bed?!”

“I have about as much understanding about all this as you do.”

You both sit there, stunned and in silence. This had never happened to Yoongi before.

Finally, you clear your throat.

“Your hair looks good.” You say.

“Thanks.” You swear you can see the corners of his mouth break into a small smile.

You get up, off the bed and he stands up too, dusting himself off. You watch as he rubs his butt.

You start to laugh at him. He wasn’t as tough as he thought.

Yoongi narrows his eyes. “Are you laughing at me?”

You try again to stifle a giggle but fail.

“Seriously, it hurts!”

“What do you want me to do? Kiss it better?!”

Yoongi pulls a face and you exit your bedroom, going out into the kitchen. You place your hands on your cheeks and take a breath. You were getting flustered. Now that the initial shock was over, you realised that you were probably laying like that, together for hours. Your eyes go to his body, he’s wearing a thin white tee shirt and black baggy sweat pants.

He follows you out and sits at the dining room table, unaware that you had been perving on him.

“Well. We may as well get to know each other.” he says, tapping the table.

You nod, pulling open the kitchen cupboard.

"Tea?”

“Sure.”

You put the kettle on boil and begin to move around the kitchen, collecting cups. Do I have cookies? Should I put some out? Does he even like cookies?

You decide to grab some anyway and place a few on a small plate. He stands up and helps you, collecting the cups from the bench before you can go back. You’re taken aback by the action. He could be nice. Maybe you just didn’t know him well enough.

“So.” You say, wrapping your fingers around the cup as you take a seat.

“What’s your number?”

My number? Your jaw drops. Almost as if reading your thoughts, he continues on “So I can stop showing up, you can just call me when you need me.”

He examines your expression on your face and you aptly close your mouth.

“It seems like you’re unconsciously summoning me and it’s causing me to teleport to you randomly.”

He hands his phone to you and you accept it, entering your details in. Before you can save your name he takes it from you, typing something in on his own. Yoongi then proceeds to ring your phone and you hear it go off in the bedroom.

“So. Mr Min Guardian, what other powers do you have apart from teleportation?” you say, sipping your tea.

Yoongi takes a cookie between two of his fingers and dips it in his tea then quickly takes a bite.

“I’d prefer if you called me Yoongi.”

“How does Min Oppa sound?”

He stops mid chew and starts choking on the cookie.

“I’ll take that as an ‘it sounds great, you must always call me that!’”

He gulps down tea. “Hey don’t do that. Don’t call me Min Oppa.”

“It’s better than pervert.”

Yoongi quickly lifts his cup up to his lips to hide his smile. She has a point.

“I have a few other powers. I don’t get sick, don’t really feel the cold or the heat.  I suppose that’s more of a perk than a power.” He stops and thinks. “I can wave my hand and make things move, I can make myself invisible...”

“So what exactly do you do?”

“Support, guide, protect. Didn’t you Google this?”

You had but you wanted to hear it from him.

“How did you become a guardian?” You ask.

He touches the rim of the cup and picks up the tea bag, dunking it in and out. “I feel like I’m being interviewed.”

You raise your eyebrows and encourage him on.

“I was on the brink of dying when I was younger. The Custodian, the one in charge of the Guardians at the Angel Academy where I work, gave me a second chance at life.”

Your eyes are wide, trying to take it all in. You wish you had your laptop with you to write it all down. Angel Academy? Is that like a school for Guardians?

He notices you’re no longer paying attention and clears his throat. “The Academy is pretty much a consulting company, we get clients or assignments and we train there too before becoming ‘accredited’. So to speak.” he continues. “Like I was saying, I was dead for a few minutes, then walked through a door. Took a ticket and sat down. I was interviewed and given the opportunity to work as a guardian. I guess I took it.” Yoongi shrugs.

“Do you enjoy it?”

Yoongi stops playing with the tea bag and looks at you. No one has really asked me that before.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Not the most inspiring answer.

“So why have you been assigned to me?”

He rests his hand on the table and lets go of the string of the tea bag. “I don’t know. I thought my work with you was done but apparently not.”

“You mean when you saved me from getting hit by a car?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know when your mission is complete?” You didn’t mean to ask so many questions but this was the most you had spoken since you met.

“Assignment.” He corrects you. “I’ll know. The administrative answer is that a report will generate and I’ll be able to complete it and log it.”

He glances at your wall clock.

“You should probably get to sleep. Don’t you have work tomorrow?”

Yoongi gets up, takes your tea cup from you and puts them in the sink. You watch him, stunned as he moves around your kitchen and washes them up and places them on the dish rack.

“You didn’t have to.”

“It’s fine. Consider it thanks for the tea and the bed.”

You can feel yourself going red. You’d never had a man in your bed before.

He smirks to himself. “I’ll be leaving now.” He hangs the tea towel back on the door of the oven. You watch as he disappears in the blink of an eye.

//

You take a seat, absolutely exhausted. You lift your legs up off the floor. They were killing you. Thank goodness you only had two more days of this left.

The barista calls out to you, breaking through your temporary rest.

“The coffees are ready for delivery!”

“Yep!” You call back, reluctantly getting up off the seat. The delivery person was running late and you had offered to take them to the offices around the corner. Why did I volunteer? You think to yourself. You pull on your coat and wrap your scarf around you, pulling on your pompom beanie.

You take the carry tray of coffees in your hands and head out the door, looking at your hand, where you had scribbled the address. You head out and turn the corner, almost bumping into someone. You apologise, pulling the coffees closer to you.

Is that the a six or a zero? You think to yourself, squinting. You couldn't make it out. The ink had smudged on your hand. You guess zero and head there, going up the elevators to the office. Unfortunately it was the wrong one. You head back down and make your way to the right offices. At this rate, you were later than the delivery man.

You almost trip twice but manage to steady yourself. I need to buy new shoes. You think. These have no grip. You spot the office number and breathe a sigh of relief. You successfully deliver the coffees and head back out, stretching your arms up above you. Your shift finished in ten minutes.

You head back to work, collect your bag and bid farewell.

You hear your phone go off and you pull it out.

“I’m craving tteokbokki and dumplings.” Your friend whines.

“I’ll get the food. What drama are we watching tonight?” You ask into the phone.

“Hm, K2? You know I’m a sucker for Ji Chang Wook.”

You laugh, walking to the nearest restaurant. “I have something to tell you, you won’t believe it.” You say into the phone as you pull your bag back up over your shoulder.

“Okay, save it for when we have food.”

You laugh and hang up, entering the restaurant and order a serving of tteokbokki, dumplings and bibimbap to go. Once your order is ready, you take it from the counter and head back out to the bus stop. Wait. Did they remember the tteokbokki? You couldn’t decide between bibimbap or fish cakes and somewhere along the way you had confused the poor girl taking your order.

You begin to rifle through the bags, not looking where you’re going. Your hands close around a container. You pull it out of the bag and lift it up. It’s tteokbokki. You breathe a sigh of relief. You wouldn’t want to have to be subject to your friend’s wrath if she found out you forgot one of the things she was craving for dinner. You had been there too many times.

You’re too busy looking inside the bags and getting lost in your thoughts that you don’t watch where you’re going. You almost fall over again. A hand reaches out to you and grabs your arm, stopping you from hitting the ground.

“Why are you such a klutz?”

You look up. Yoongi. He’s wearing a navy blue coat today, a black turtleneck and glasses.

“Thanks.” you say, flustered. He looked really good today.

His eyes go to the tteokbokki container in your hands. “Be a little more responsible, you could have slipped and hurt yourself badly.” He says, letting go of your arm.

Your heart thumps hard in your chest.

His internal alarm had gone off again. He was on the way to meet Hoseok for dinner himself, when he had a vision of you falling over onto the sidewalk and decided to stop it from happening just in time.

“Hm.” he says, pulling out his phone. He edits your contact card and turns his phone around to show you.

You squint your eyes to see.

“Rice cake!?”

“Your new name.”

You’re busy trying to think of something witty to come back with but suddenly Yoongi’s expression changes.

“I have to go” and he disappears.

Yoongi transports himself to Mrs Song’s home. As soon as he’s there he knows. He sees her on the floor in her kitchen. He hurries over and grabs a hold of her hand. It was her time.

You stand there, alone on the sidewalk. Did he just call me rice cake?

To be continued

[chierafied]

Much Tweeting About Crushing

JILY CHALLENGE | @chierafied vs @tadasgay  Social Media AU

in which James has a hopeless crush on his neighbor and tweets about it, which is fine. Until Evans follows him.

My belated submission for September’s @jilychallenge. You know you’re in too deep when you make a secondary Twitter account so you can get screenshots to include in your silly one shot... >_>

James blinked at the grey cat curled in the middle of his bed.

The cat stared back at him, seeming to dismiss him at the same time.

Feeling confused and just a little surreal, James did the only fathomable thing: fumbled for the smartphone tucked in the back pocket of his jeans and pulled it out.

The cat studiously ignored him as he snapped a picture, then clicked to share it on Twitter.

James’ fingers skimmed across the screen to furiously type a tweet.

The cat yawned.

The doorbell rang and James hastily pocketed his phone; glared at the cat who didn’t as much as twitch.

James shook his head as he made his way downstairs, tugged at his hair as he pulled open the front door.

And then stared slack-jawed at the gorgeous redhead wringing her hands at his doorstep.

“Hi,” she said, flashing him a nervous smile.

“Hi,” James echoed, his fingers jumping to his hair again.

He was staring. Had she noticed he was staring? God, he hoped not.

“So… I just moved to one of the flats next door,” she said, “like three, four days ago…”

“Oh. Right. Cool,” James said, suave as ever as his attention wandered between her captivating green eyes and the full lip she was biting.

“And, well…” She sighed, shrugged her shoulders. “My cat’s gone missing. Have you seen him? He’s grey and –”

James held up his hand. “There was a cat on my bed when I came home. Pretty sure he’s yours. Must’ve left my window open or something…”

A true, brilliant smile bloomed on the woman’s lips.

James’ breath caught.

“Really? He’s here?”

James nodded and made room in the doorway. “Right here.”

He turned and started to go up the stairs, painfully aware that this fit neighbour was both in his house and following him to his bedroom.

She squealed as they reached it, quickly crossing over to James’ bed to scoop up the cat.

“Don’t you go wandering again,” she spoke sternly, wagging a finger in the cat’s disinterested furry face. “You had me worried sick!”

She turned, the cat in her arms, and gave James another heart-stuttering smile. “Thank you so much. And I’m really sorry about all this, I hope he didn’t bother you –”

“Ah, don’t worry about it. He wasn’t trouble, really, more like a source of confusion. I’m glad I could help.”

He grinned at her, hoping he managed to look charming.

“Welcome to the neighbourhood.”

The woman’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “Oh, I didn’t even introduce myself. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, you were preoccupied.” James held out his hand. “I’m James Potter by the way.”

She shifted the cat in her arms to free her hand, grasped his.

Her skin felt both warm and soft and something in the pit of James’ stomach fluttered.

“I’m Lily Evans. Nice to meet you.”

“Charmed,” he managed, vaguely aware that he was grinning again, probably looking more like a loon than a proper Prince Charming.

“Well, thanks again, and sorry for the trouble. We will just get out of your hair.”

She turned to leave and James followed her back downsairs.

“Yeah. Okay. See you around?” He winced at that hopeful lilt in his voice. She hadn’t noticed, had she?

She paused in the doorway and smiled, and James stopped caring.

“See you,” she said.

He lingered there for a moment, letting his gaze trail after her, until he realised he was staring again.

James shook his head and firmly closed the door.

His fingers trembled a little as he dug out his phone. He typed out another tweet while his mind was still busy playing over the encounter.

James went to put the phone away, then paused. After a second of hesitation, he typed out another tweet. 

James turned off the screen and put the phone away.

For the next two days, James found his thoughts straying back to his neighbour. She had been gorgeous, yes, but also so nice and sweet and… God, he was really pathetic wasn’t he?

“Smitten” was the word Sirius had gleefully flung in his face when he’d met his friends over a pint and told them about Lily Evans and her cat.  

And now, James had a sinking suspicion that was exactly what he was, because he’d wasted half the work day either thinking about Evans or trying to make up some believable excuse to go knocking on her door so he could see her again.

He sat himself on the couch, clicked Netflix on the TV and tried his best to immerse himself in an old favourite show because he really needed to not think about his neighbour for a while.

He was half-way into the episode when the doorbell rang. James jumped out of his seat and rushed to the door.

When he reached the door, cool irritation drowned and killed the eager hope bubbling within. Anyone could be behind his door so why had his thoughts immediately jumped to Evans?

He was still mentally chastising himself, when he pulled open the door.

The sight of his beautiful, red-haired neighbour offering him a hesitant smile was a jolt to James’ system. His heart jumped as he stared at her.

“Hi.” Her voice was as sweet as her smile.

His mouth had gone dry, and he had to clear his throat. “Hey there.”

“I’m sorry to bother you again…” she began, squirmed a little on the spot.

“I doubt you could be a bother if you tried,” James said, his brain too frazzled to even try to play it cool.

The corner of her lips quirked. Amusement flashed in those captivating green eyes. “Careful, I didn’t even plead my case yet.”

That sparkle of humour and teasing lilt in her voice had James’ stomach plummet all the way to his wobbly knees.

Blimey, how could she be so perfect?

“Go on, then,” James said. “I’m all ears.”

“Well, I got some new furniture earlier today. Had a friend help me get started putting it all together but she had to go and I’ve been at it for hours and am going cross-eyed at the instructions…”

A grin rose to James’ lips. He could just picture her, biting her lip while those green eyes darkened in frustration.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Assembling furniture has that effect on people.”

“Yeah.” She grimaced. “So, at the risk of sounding like a bloody damsel in distress… I could use some help.”

James was beaming at her. “Well, now, how could I say no to that?”

She returned the smile, her shoulders slumping a little in relief. “Great.”

James grabbed for his keys from a side table and was out of his door, following her to the neighbouring townhouse.

He returned several hours later, a goofy grin on his lips and a stumble in his step. It had been an interesting evening, he mused to himself as he stopped before his front door to fumble with his keys. 

Lily had managed to put together the dining table and chairs with her friend but had lost her patience with the bedside table. James had let out a few choice words himself as he had struggled between the instructions and the actual assembling. The bookcase had been much easier, though it had taken the both of them to finally prop it up against her bedroom wall.

James shut the door, tossed the keys back to the side table. He plodded through his house, raking his hand through his hair. He definitely was smitten like Sirius had said; no female he’d harboured feelings for had ever had him so neatly wrapped.

If only he could tell how she felt about him. She’d been perfectly friendly and they’d shared more than a few laughs and even two glasses of wine when the furniture was finally in one piece and in its place. But he just couldn’t glean if there was any hope for something more…

James grabbed his phone from the sitting room coffee table, then headed upstairs to his bedroom.

It was a very nice day, James decided as he deposited the rubbish into the bin. Warm, but not too warm; cloudy, but not in a gloomy way. He should go jogging later, if it stayed like this.

Lost in thought, he didn’t see her until she called out with a cheery “Hi!”

James turned, a smile immediately rising to his lips as he saw his neighbour.

“All right, Evans?”

She stopped beside him on the pavement. “I’m fine, how’re you?”

“Fine, thanks.” James scrambled for something more to say, and in a classic small talk fashion, defaulted to weather. “It’s a nice day.”

She flashed him a smile. “Yeah, I was getting sick of all the rain earlier this week. Glad to see the sun’s still up there.”

James laughed.

It might have been her appearance that had initially attracted him to her – and he still found her every bit as gorgeous as she had been when they’d first met – but now that he was actually getting to know her, little by little, it was her sense of humour that reeled him in, had him falling deeper.

He tried to adopt a casual pose. “How’s the cat?”

“He’s being his charming self.” Lily paused, and shook her head. “Woke me up at 3 AM last night. He was sick on my carpet.”

“Ouch.” James grimaced. “I’m suddenly very glad I don’t own a cat.”

She laughed, the lovely sound causing wild flutters to erupt in James’ stomach.

“They can be a handful,” she agreed, “but I wouldn’t know what to do without him.”

“Must be nice to have the company.”

“Yeah. It really is.”

James nodded down at the bags Lily was carrying. “Got some shopping done, eh?”

She glanced at the bags, then met his eyes. “Yeah. My wardrobe needed some updating. Moving is a real hassle, but it gives you the perfect opportunity to sort through your things, don’t you think?”

“Definitely. You never realise how all this stuff just accumulates in the cupboards you never open…”

“I know. I threw out so many useless things you wouldn’t believe.” Lily rolled her eyes.

“You’ve settled in all right?” James asked next.

“Yeah, yeah I have.” She smiled, and her green eyes sparked. “I love this neighbourhood. And the house is great, really beautiful. I mean I know I only have a basement flat since that’s all I can afford right now... But I just love the atmosphere, this historic vibe.”

“Glad to hear you like it here,” James replied.

And he was glad. Her enthusiasm was captivating, and he couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips.

“Well, I should go and put my new clothes away.” Evans grinned back at him. “See you around!”

“Yeah,” he called after her. “See you!”

He really, really hoped he would, as often as possible.

James went inside. Then fumbled for his phone and opened the Twitter app, punched in a tweet as he whistled off-key.

James had barely got through the door and shrugged off his coat when the doorbell rang. He turned with a frown, ran his hand through his hair and opened the door.

His heart jumped at the sight of his neighbour.

“Hullo,” Evans greeted him, smiling that gorgeous smile that stole James’ breath away.

“Hi,” he said, certain that the grin rising to his own lips was on the side of goofy.

Evans shuffled her feet. “I hope I’m not intruding…?”

“No,” James hurried to reply. “Not at all.”

“It’s September so I decided it’s time for an apple pie,” she said, glancing at the pie in her arms. “Only I realised I’m probably not gonna be able to finish it all by myself. And since you’ve been so great and welcoming and helped me with the furniture back in July… I figured I owed you baked goods.”

“You don’t owe me anything, but I won’t turn down baked goods.” James grinned again, and stepped aside. “Come in, please.”

“Cheers.” Evans came in, and James shut the door.

“Make yourself at home,” he said, glad he’d just cleaned up a few days ago. “I’ll go put the kettle on.”

Instead, Evans followed him into the kitchen, set her pie on the counter and then stood watching him putter around.

“Can I give you a hand?”

“I appreciate the offer,” James said, and glanced over his shoulder at her. “But my mum would skin me alive if I let a guest help.”

She laughed. “All right. I’ll have a seat then.”

“Please do.”

James got out mugs and plates and spoons, and set the table while the water boiled. He had to keep busy to distract himself from the fact that the woman he adored was sitting at his kitchen table, just a few sparse yards away.

He begged his racing hard to calm down as he filled the teapot.

And then there was no more stalling. The table was set, the tea brewed, the pie waiting to be cut.

He sat down at the table, hoping against hope he wouldn’t spend the whole time staring at her like a lovesick loon.

He poured her tea, while she sat patiently across from him.

She arched her brow, humour flickering in her eyes.

“You mum really did teach you well, I see,” she commented as he set in front of her the plate with the slice of pie he’d cut for her.

“I was not the best of students, but she was very particular about manners.”

“I find it a bit weird to just sit and wait and not help out… But I guess it’s also nice to be a guest, when the host is such a gentleman.”

“As long as you don’t tell anyone else,” he said. ”I’ve worked too hard for my troublemaker image to have it all ruined now.”

“Troublemaker? You?”

“Evans, you have no idea.”

She cradled the mug in her hands, her green eyes brilliant and trained on him. “Enlighten me, then.”

So he did, and they talked and laughed and ate and drank… and James couldn’t help wondering what it would be like, to share evenings at the small table with her, day after day.

After Evans left, he collapsed onto the couch and pulled out his phone, typing up a tweet even as his heart was close to bursting.

After a long and busy week, James was looking forward to a quiet Friday night at home. It was closer to six PM when he got home, his feet dragging a little as he trudged upstairs to his bedroom to change his clothes. He came back down decked comfortably in pyjama bottoms and an old worn t-shirt, and headed to the kitchen. He heated up yesterday’s leftovers, then grabbed the plate and walked right past the kitchen table.

He plopped on the couch, flicked on the telly and kicked back.

It was some time later, after he’d gone to take the dishes back to the kitchen but before he started on a new episode of the series he was intent on binging, when he grabbed his phone from the coffee table to quickly check any messages or notifications.

There was one routine Twitter notification in his email inbox that James barely glanced at – then stopped when the name registered in his brain. Heart leaping into his throat, he did a double-take… And swallowed thickly as his world screeched to halt.

“Shit,” he managed, staring helplessly at the e-mail.

“Fuck. Shit.”

James’ fingers were numb and trembling as he raked them though his messy hair. What had his latest tweet been again? Something sappy and stupid about her smile…

He squeezed his eyes shut, forced himself to remember.

Yeah… it had been sappy and stupid, as Sirius had been quick to point out, but at least James hadn’t mentioned Evans by name.

He zeroed in on that silver lining, his brow furrowed in concentration. He didn’t think he’d ever actually mentioned her by name. That was good. He could work with that.

Although early on he had made those tweets about his fit neighbour…

Shit. James grimaced.

Evans was quick and clever. She’d put two and two together in a heartbeat.

He was so busted.

Unless…

A wild sudden hope dawned amidst all the panic.

Now that James thought about it, he hadn’t mentioned even the neighbour-thing in a while. So unless Evans scrolled through months of tweets, his secret would be safe.

And she would have to be seriously invested to bother to wade through all that.

He doubted she’d go through the trouble, so she wouldn’t figure it out all those tweets were about her.

…Right?

The doorbell rang.

James jumped, clenched his jaw. His knees felt a little weak when he got up, his heart beating erratically in his chest as he made his way to the door.

His fingers clutched at the doorknob like a lifeline, dread pooled and built into a crescendo as he turned it.

James pulled the door open.

The panic was still bubbling at the back of his mind, but his face eased into a smile.

Evans looked the same as always, the dark red hair, green eyes, the bright energy stamping each feature.

A rush of warmth and giddy excitement flooded him as it always did at the sight of her.

He had just enough time to notice the gleam in her eyes. Then her slender hand fisted in the front of his T-shirt and yanked.

More than that sudden jerk of her hand, it was the feel of her lips crashing against his in a kiss as hot as it was demanding that staggered him.

His heart burst and he melted into the kiss, responded to it with great pent-up enthusiasm.

James panted for breath when they finally pulled apart, his hazel eyes glazed.

Evans watched him, her eyes dancing with the same mirth curling her lips.

“How hard would it have been,” she said, her amused voice just a little breathy, “to say something to me in between all that tweeting?”

James ignored her teasing question in favour of tenderly cupping her cheek.

Then, he smothered her smile by pulling her into another kiss.

[8bityeol]

Maude | 3

summary - A chance meeting with a mysterious stranger changes your life for the better or worse?

Crime - violence - adult themes   ||  smut in later chapters ||  reuploaded

"Have a drink, you look thirsty," Detective Oh pushed the glass towards you.  The liquid swished in the glass and threatened to spill over.

You shook your head, "It's alright; I'm not thirsty."

"That's alright," He said. "You know why we brought you in?"

You shook your head again; it seemed to be the only thing you could do. "No, not really." You replied forcing a faint smile on your face.

He raised is eyebrows in entertainment, "Really? Where were you last night."

You cleared your throat, "The Magio."

He clapped his hands as though he was congratulating a three-year-old. "Good girl. Pray tell, what happened last night?"

Your gaze shifted from his face to the glass. Staring at his face was too much. He had that gaze of a man hardened by his job, and to make matters worse his smile never wavered.  It was as if he had you already.

"The Magio reopened," You answered.

His hand made a continue motion, "What next?"

"Someone stole some pieces," You said. "Two pieces."

He nodded, "That's right, the Santa De Cruz and La Rose. You don't happen to know these do you?"

"I know of them," You answered. "They're very...beautiful, fine works."

"I know right," He said. "Too bad they got stolen, they're worth so much.A couple of millions I guess."

You nodded in agreement.

"When something like this happens, we look over any footage the museum has and believe me, there's a lot! About ten hours worth of footage, from different areas too," He leant back on his chair. "We'd been at it for nine hours when we found something...wanna guess what it was?"

"Listen, officer, I know what you saw but it doesn't mean anything," You said. "I have no idea who that man was, he just approached me."

"But isn't it weird you both looked at the two pieces that were stolen. Didn't you point at the La Rose sculpture?"

You nodded, "I did, but I just wanted information from him; he said he was into art."

"Don't you think it's suspicious, the two pieces you both looked at were gone in the next five hours."  

"Yes,  I know it's odd but-"

He narrowed his eyes, "Ok so, you didn't 'steal' the art but let's say you're the accomplice."

You could feel the tears pricking at your eyes, what if they put you in jail? Could you even survive a night in jail?

"Officer, I-I have no motive to steal art...I don't do things like this," Your voice was trembling as you tried to hold back the onslaught of tears. "I was just there at the wrong time. All I've ever wanted to do was write articles, not steal art."

"Boohoo, spare me the sob story," He said dropping the eerie smile for once. "We both know it's the money, with that amount of money you could move out of your shoddy apartment. Take trips to Paris for fun."

"Officer, I don't have anything to do with this," You said. "All I wanted to do was write my article."

He was not moved by slightest at the sight of your tears trailing down your face. He thought it's was an act you thought to yourself.

"Where are the pieces?"

"I don-"

"I said  where are the pieces!" He roared, slamming his hand down onto the table. The glass tipped over and sent a stream of water down the edge of the table. "You're looking at two years in jail miss."

"I want to leave," You sobbed into your hands. You were shaking like a leaf. "P-please, just..."

His laughter filled the room, "You can leave anytime you want, you're not arrested but best believe I'll be getting a warrant...you're going down and I hope you have a lawyer."

You felt Detective Oh's gaze running down the length of your body as you stood. He had you shaken and he loved it. "Don't leave town," He said, the moment you gripped the door handle. "You don't want your face in the media. You'll have your everyone own piece on the Chronicle."

"I won't," Your voice was meek and barely above a whisper.

You walked out the station feeling as though everyone's gaze was directed at you. Did they all think you were criminal? Your thoughts moved to the Chronicle, what would they think. Nearly everyone there knew you'd been at the museum, but to see you being escorted out of the premises by two officers? That was something else in it's own entirety. You'd walked between the officers, and kept your eyes glued to the floor in order to avoid the questioning stares.

You couldn't go back to the office, not when the when the building was creating theories. As you began the journey to the train station, you decided to look at your phone.  the screen was lit with a notification telling you about five new messages and ten missed calls. You promptly switched off your phone and threw it into your bag.

Maybe it was time for a new occupation you'd thought to yourself, a brand new start altogether. Surely the Chronicle wouldn't welcome a potential accomplice with open arms. Maybe you could write a book, you could write under a pen name that no one would trace back to you. You could move altogether and start a new life.

You'd hadn't the black Range Rover trailing behind you until the car stopped in front of you and the back door was swung open.

"Museum girl," The voice said.

Your eyes widened. How did he find you? You kept your head down and began to quicken your steps. You'd been weaving through the crowds when you felt a large hand grab your wrist. You attempted to wring your wrist free but he was much stronger.

"I know you're scared,  but I want to help you," He said.

You whisked around, "Help? You want to help me." The words flew like venom from a snake."You have ruined my life, do you know that? I can't go to work, I can't even think straight!"

"I'm-"

"Shut up," You hissed. "I've never hated anyone more than I've done now. Why did you choose me? why did you wake up one day and decide to ruin my life? Why me?"

To staring passerby's the conversation looked like a lover's spat. Noticing the attention, Chanyeol lowered the brim of his black cap, "Let's talk in the car."

You shook your head, "I'm going home, please leave me alone."

"You don't think they're there already, looking through your things, planting camera's around your apartment?" He said.

You remember the card, you'd placed it on your bedside in full view. "You're lying."

"I'm not lying," He said. "They had the warrant hours ago. Just let me help you."

"No...you're lying," Your vision was blurry and your voice was barely above a whisper. "You won't help."

"I'm sorry, I didn't think they'd hound you down like this," He said.

Somehow you found yourself being lead to the car. He opened the door and ushered you inside before closing it behind himself. In front of you sat the man you'd remembered from the museum, the one that had approached Chanyeol. The man's was illuminated by his iPad and he'd only looked up to glare at you.

"Next time you feel like talking to a girl, don't do it before we act," He said with his eyes trained on the screen.

"Shut up Soo, I know I fucked up," Chanyeol's voice is strained.

You peered at the front mirror in order to get a view of the driver, but all you could see was a pale skin. You were promptly back to staring at your hands when sharp eyes appeared in the mirror and you swore you could hear a chuckle.

Chanyeol leant forward and grabbed the water bottle next to Soo, who you're sure the name was a nickname.

"Water?" he offered.

You took the bottle from him, "Thanks," you said.

You twisted the cap open and placed the brim to your parched lips. The cool liquid flowed down your throat in record time. It felt good to drink it, you'd been far too scared to even touch the glass of water Detective Oh had offered you.

You screwed the cap back on and placed the bottle by your side.

"Where are you from?" Soo asked.

You were surprised, he didn't seem like the type to initiate contact with people. Especially you considering the look he'd given you.

"I'm from Eastbank," You answered.

"Hmm, I can't say I've ever heard of it," He said. "Is it nice there?"

You looked to Chanyeol for answers, but he was busy staring off into the window. His face was knitted with an emotion you couldn't quite put your finger on.

You turned your attention back to Soo. "No, not really. It's quite small, that's why I moved here."

Soo nodded, "I've never been one for small towns, too many people know each other."

A chill runs down your back at his comment. you knew it wasn't a light hearted comment and he'd definitely wanted you to know that too.

"Uh yeah ... you're right" You said.

As you stared at Soo, the outlines of his body began to blur ever so slightly. You'd thought you'd forgotten your glasses at one point but then you touched the frames.

"So how's the job then?" He continued.

You blink twice, and your tongue feels heavy. "It's...al..right."

Why is everything turning you asked yourself.

"Nice to know."

His words rang through your mind like bells. "What...did..you."

"Shh." He said.

A/N 

Good bless what would’ve been a great series if only I hadn’t forgotten what happened next.....

@catching-the-galaxies 

[skytsukki]

Chapter 3: Tied Together

cr to jungkook-gifs

College AU!Jungkook, Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 1.1k+ 

Summary: The name tattooed to your wrist was always your destined to be partner, whether you liked it or not. It was nothing new to anyone and though the results may be shocking, everyone still lived with it. What you didn’t expect was that you ended up with your ex-best friend, Jeon Jungkook.

A/N: I am so sorry for never updating this series. I am not very creative and I am horrible at writing a lot.

   Previously in Chapter 2: You heard the light jingle of the doorknob and your eyes turned into saucer plates. Quickly, you ran towards the bathroom as quiet as possible and waited for the person to disappear. Thinking that the person was gone, you slowly unlocked the door, but then a voice called out.

   “Is anyone in there?” Someone asked. You looked at the door in shock and immediately re-locked it.

   “Uh-uhm, yeah!” You yelled. “I am just fixing something, sorry.”

   “Okay. Well, I need the restroom, so please hurry,” The person said. You let out a sigh and fixed your appearance. You opened the door and looked down, making sure to hide your face as much as possible. “[Y/N]?”

   You stopped dead in your tracks, still keeping your head down.

   “[Y/N], don’t play dumb with me,” they said. “I know it’s you.” Suddenly, the person took their fingers and lifted your chin up and you were met with a pair of stern eyes that were owned by none other than Jeon Jungkook.

   “Oh, Jungkook,” you choked out. “Sorry about that. I was just fixing up in there.” All of the confidence which you had the other day had drained from your system. You felt like a mouse which had an eagle ready to capture it and take it whole. You hadn’t noticed how Jungkook was inching closer and closer to you until your back had hit the wall.

   “What are you doing here, [Y/N]?” Jungkook asked. “I thought you wanted to leave me?” You saw a smirk stretch across his face and you felt blood begin to boil in your veins. You were still incredibly scared of him and you wanted to leave as soon as possible.

   “I-I did,” you stuttered. “I did, and I still do. Now move.” Your hands began to tremble again. You looked up at Jungkook and analyzed his features. He was dressed in a simple white shirt matched with a black bomber jacket and ripped skinny jeans. His eyes stared directly into yours as you looked at him.

   “No,” Jungkook replied. “I don’t have to move if I don’t want to.” He pulled his arm up to the side of your head and rested his palm on the wall. “Answer my question and I’ll let you go. What are you doing here?”

   “I am here because of Sunghae, happy? Can I go now?” You lied. Jungkook’s eyes wondered over your face, searching if you were telling the truth.

   Laughing he said, “Don’t bullshit with me, [Y/N]. I know that’s not why you’re here.” His other hand grabbed your wrist. You watched as his hand wrapped around your wrist, gulping down hard. “Maybe you are hiding something… Perhaps it has to do with your wrist?” Your eyes widened as you snapped your wrist out of his hold and stared at him, eyes shaking.

   “Why must you be like this, Jeon Jungkook? You’re always trying to play games and it annoys me so much. Why can’t you just leave me alone like you did last time?” You exclaimed with your heart beating rapidly. Jungkook looked at you in shock, but quickly changed his expression.

   “I can’t leave you alone because I miss you,” he stated. Your eyes widened as you let his words process through your brain.

   “Excuse me?” You said. “What did you just say, I don’t think I heard you correctly.” You tried to calm down your ragged breathing while analyzing Jungkook’s features, searching for any signs of him lying. Jungkook stared at you as well, not knowing what to do.

   “You know what? Nevermind,” he muttered out, dropping his arm down to his side. “Go back downstairs, [Y/N].” Leaving you speechless, Jungkook walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. Your heart was shattered. It felt like someone was squeezing on your heart, wringing out every ounce of love and hope you had.

   “Why am I so fucking stupid?” You asked yourself, walking down the stairs and into the living room. Looking around, you found Sunghae on the floor with a couple of other people playing spin the bottle. Sensing that you were near her, she looked up smiling at you, but slowly noticing that you looked upset.

    “Hey, [Y/N]!” She said while getting up and walking towards you. “What happened to you?” You pressed your lips together and looked at her with glossy eyes. Sunghae frowned and pulled you into a hug, slightly understanding what was wrong. “Let’s get out of here.” She said, waving goodbye to her boyfriend and exiting the door with you.

   After arriving at the dorms, Sunghae walked you to your dorm and told you to rest because you both didn’t have any energy to talk. As you finished up your nightly routine, you turned on your phone to see if anyone had texted you. Sadly, there were only notifications from people you followed on social media, so you turned it off. You laid back on your bed, letting out a sigh. Why are things so complicated? You thought. You stared at the ceiling, slowly dozing off and into a deep sleep.

   The sound of your alarm woke you up and you opened your eyes slowly, then stretching your arms to grab your phone. Once you got up, you groaned at the obvious puffiness of your eyes. You ruffled your hair irritatedly and hopped in the shower to relieve your stress. Quickly, you left the dorm room and speed walked towards your class. The day went by smoothly and you were careful not to run into Jungkook or anyone close to him.

   In the afternoon, you decided to stop by the tea cafe to write your essay for class. Opening up your laptop on the table, you waited for your order to be called. As you were typing away, in the corner of your eye, you noticed someone staring at you. You lowered your head a little and continued to type away.

   “Chamomile tea, order 78!” Someone at the register called. You looked up from your laptop and got up from your seat, receiving your drink. Sipping from the tea, you stood still, your eyes wandering around the cafe. You looked at your seat near the window, then towards the area which you felt someone staring at you. Once you looked in their direction, a person’s head went down. You tilted your head to try and see the person’s face, but they had their hood on and their face was hidden. Sipping your tea, you approached the ominous person.

   “Excuse me,” you said. The person had no reply and so you tapped their shoulder. “Isn’t it rude to not answer to someone who is talking to you?” You raised an eyebrow at the person as they slowly looked up at you. You sighed, immediately identifying who the person was.

   “Sorry, [Y/N],” he replied. “Didn’t mean to be rude you.”

[jamespottervevo]

who ya gonna call (when you’re drunk off your ass) pt. 1

im jumping on the social media/group chat AU. this should be about 5 chapters and includes character perspective switches when there’s an actual scene opposed to a purely chat format the entire time. The emojis are able to be seen best on a web browser opposed to on a phone, and even better on ao3 but I’ve tried to get them readable here.

the primary ship of this fic is Sirius x Gasolina by Daddy Yankee who are we really kidding here

2k | ao3 

Remus Lupin to Lily Evans

Remus: room 347 right?

Remus: because I am at 347 right now

Remus: and the sign on the door says “paranormal studies”

Remus: but it’s written in eyeliner. maybe crayon. wtf.

Remus: and it looks like no one’s here.

Remus: Lily what the fuck is this?

Lily: no, you’re at the right place. Don’t know what’s up with the sign though…

Remus: so this isn’t the room for paranormal studies

Lily: no, like, there was a real sign the other day, not sure what happened to it       

Remus: Okay. But that still doesn’t explain why you told me to meet you here. You said this was a club for people like us.

Remus: was more under the impression you meant queer, not crazy.

Lily: just go inside you utter goblin

Lily: be there soon xoxoxo

What the hell had Lily gotten them into? Remus Lupin grimaced as he glanced down at Lily’s last text, the time blinking 11:56 pm. He slid his phone into his back pocket, rocked on his heels, bit at his lip. It was almost midnight and he’d broken into the Cooper Science building for some godforsaken reason, dragged his ass down the stairs- the elevator perpetually out of commission- wandered around the basement labyrinth, only to find out room 347 was for Paranormal Studies.

What the fuck did that even mean?

Lily couldn’t be that far off, but did he really want to stand in the hallway waiting for her, very much risking a security guard catching him? Remus sighed before pushing his way into the room, the door hardly even latched. Great. This wasn’t even in a decent room then.

“Uh. Hello?” Remus called out, letting the door fall shut behind him as he stepped inside a...well, he wasn’t entirely sure what if he was being honest. It looked as if someone had attempted to convert a storage closet into a laboratory, but had gotten bored half of the way through.

Paint was chipping off the walls, a few dusty tables were pushed into the far corners of the rooms, the ones nearer the center covered in some type of equipment. A half dozen chairs were in a haphazard circle away from most of the chaos next to a sputtering coffee pot and package of Chips Ahoy with a brown hand stuck inside.

“Yes, hi, hello. Wow, didn’t think anyone else was going to show up to his-“ the body attached to the hand paused as he managed to shake the package back onto the rickety table, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one hand, thrusting the other toward Remus with a grin. “James, Potter. James Potter. Founder and member of campus’s first and only paranormal studies group.” He said it as if he’d said it a thousand times before, no less proud each time. Remus shook his hand as he looked around, brows furrowed.

“Right. I’m honestly not even sure why I’m here, my friend told me about this and-“ Remus paused and exhaled, hard. What the fuck was he doing? Why had he stepped into the shitty 80s Ghostbusters?

But James lit up. “Really? So someone else is coming tonight? I know having the meeting this late was a risk but it felt much more in the spirit of things, you know?” Remus nodded, despite very much not knowing.

James moved back toward one of the cluttered tables as a small machine began beeping. “Shit, Sirius is gonna kill me if I blow this up,” he muttered, pushing a hand through his hair, only furthering the mess.

He hesitated for a moment before lowering himself into one of the chairs. Where the fuck was Lily? While James continued to fiddle with whatever screaming device he was tinkering with, Remus slid his phone out of his back pocket, glancing down to check his messages. She hadn’t texted, which either meant she was nearly there or she’d died. Considering she’d led him to a crazy person meeting in the middle of the night, he didn’t feel nearly as much sympathy as he should. He’d get lilies for her funeral. She’d hate that.

“Hey, mate, you okay? You’re looking a bit,” James started, breaking Remus form his funeral planning, “white.” He paused and ruffled his hair. “I mean, everyone here looks pretty white, but like, worse?” He was still fiddling with the now-silent machine.

Remus frowned. “Low blood sugar,” he explained as he reached over blindly to grope for a couple of cookies from the crumpled package. If Lily were there, she’d have already scolded him for letting it drop so low. But she wasn’t. She’d sent him to possibly get murdered in the basement of Cooper after the buses had stopped running. He could be as irresponsible as he wanted, thank you.

James bobbed his head in understanding and made a vague sort of gesture, seeming to tell him to take as many cookies as he wanted. And he did, shoving one in his mouth, chewing slowly as James wandered back over, hands shoved in the front pocket of his hoodie.

“So, you’re interested in the paranormal?” He swung himself into one of the chairs, leaning forward, eyes bright behind his glasses. Remus almost choked. He pounded on his chest before clearing his throat.

“Uh, no. Not really, wouldn’t say that I am.” James arched a brow. “My friend didn’t tell me what this club…” Was it a club? “Well, she gave me fuck all information.” Remus ate another cookie in an attempt to avoid the kicked puppy look that had settled onto James’ face.

Before he could manage to put his foot in his mouth any further, the door swung open once more and Lily-the-traitor slipped inside, hair plastered too her forehead, looking properly soaked. Great. Now it was raining too.

“Rem! Sorry I’m late, got stuck in the rain and my umbrella fucking gave out on me and- hi?” She paused, mid wringing out of her hair, eyes finally landing on James, who seemed to have gone rigid in his seat, mouth half open. “I’m Lily,” she said, seeming rather unsure of what to do as James stumbled up from his seat, shoving his hand out toward her.

“James. I’m James. Do you need a towel? Coffee? Dry clothes? I’m sure we’ve got something around here, Sirius’s always leaving his shit around.” Well, at least Remus wasn’t the only one with the inability to keep his foot from his mouth. Lily laughed, a bit awkward, as she moved to sit in the open seat next to Remus.

“No, I’m fine. I think. Thanks,” she said with a wave of her hand. “So, is this it then?” She glanced around the room, the very uncrowded room, her lips drawing into a bit of a line.

James seemed unbothered as he managed to somewhat compose himself, flinging himself down into an empty chair after grabbing a small cup of coffee for himself. “Well, not quite. Pete’s got work early tomorrow and Sirius just told me he wasn’t going to come, but other than that…yeah.”

Lily nodded, Remus ate another cookie, not quite sure what to say to that. What had Lily gotten them into?

“So, what about you then. Do you believe in the paranormal?” James asked, this time the question directed at Lily. He looked as though he was trying very hard not to stare, which only made it that much more awkward.

But Lily grinned, tossing her damp hair over her shoulder as Remus rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Got a bit of a gift, really. Mum says it runs in the family, being able to talk to ghosts.” Remus snorted, managing to very poorly hide the fact with his hand.

Without looking, Lily slapped his knee. James, on the other hand, looked positively delighted. “Wait, like, without equipment and shit?” If he leaned in farther forward in his chair, he would be face first on the ground. Lily nodded and swiped a cookie from the small stack on Remus’ thigh, ignoring his sound of protest.

“I’m dying, you know, and you steal my fucking food?” He muttered under his breath, sinking down further in the chair, frowning. He was tired and still shaky and was around to absolute nutters. Exactly what he wanted on a Thursday night, really, truly it was.

He loved Lily, he did. She was his closest friend and really the reason he’d ended up at the university. But ghosts. Honestly. He’d heard about her “gift” within the first hour of meeting her back when they were eight. He’d laughed at her then, and he’d laugh at her now, but James seemed intrigued as she went on explaining about the woman in her first-floor bathroom back home.

Remus pulled out his phone, planning on playing a round of some trivia game when Lily smacked his knee again, looking at him expectantly. “Well, tell him then.”

“Tell him about what, exactly? My astounding wit? 3.7 GPA? Criminal record?” Lily rolled her eyes and looked back over at an enthralled James.

“Don’t mind him. He’s always an ass if he’s up past his bedtime.” Remus glowered. “When he was a kid, his blood sugar shot up crazy high while he was asleep and sent him into ketoacidosis. Shit started flying around in his room and it woke him and his parents up. When he gets real drunk, he’ll admit he heard someone talking to him,” she said. Remus huffed.

“Lily, I was halfway to being dead. One foot in a coma. Of course I heard voices, it doesn’t mean a ghost saved my life,” he muttered, ducking his head down. It’s why they’d become friends, really. As a kid, yeah, he’d been much more willing to believe in all that shit. Not that the kids on the playground were too kind about it. Except for Lily.

Only where he’d grown out of that type of shit, she’d grown into it more, though, in her defense, she’d gotten a bit more discrete about it.

James looked downright delighted. “Holy shit, this is incredible. The guys are going to be amped over this. Here, uh, can I get your numbers to add you to our group chat? We don’t really meet up like this often.”

“At midnight?” Remus asked, plainly. James nodded, grinning.

“Like I said, I thought it would be fitting. Spooky shit and all that,” he said, as if that made it make perfect sense.

“Right. Spooky shit,” Remus repeated as Lily took James’ outstretched phone from his hand.

“There, added both our numbers in,” she said, seeming pleased with herself as Remus groaned.

“Really, Lil? You know I don’t believe in this shit- no offense,” he added, directed toward a slightly offended looking James.

“Well, I do, so suck it up, Buttercup.” And with that, everything seemed final and James seemed positively glowing.

“Cool. Great. Yeah, we can keep you guys updated about everything in the chat, meeting times and shit like that. It’ll be great. This is going to be great.”

 -

Remus Lupin and Lily Evans were added to Zak Baggins Is Gonna Fist Fight a Ghost

Sirius: yo who the fuk

James: these are the two who showed up to the meeting!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

Pete: wait people actually showed up

James: you have no faith in our organization wormy fucking none

Remus: I hate you @Lily

Lily: idk about you all but I’m ready to bust some ghosts

James: well, that’s not quite what we do but 

Lily: Bust. Some. Ghosts.

Sirius: I like her she can stay.

Pete: wait @James how did you get that emoji????????? is that a ghost parrot??? where are you finding these????

Remus: Can we go to sleep, it’s like 3 am and my phone won’t stop lighting up.

Sirius: git gud scrub

 -

Remus Lupin @notromulus: So I think I was just inducted into a cult????

Lily Evans @evansly: it’ll be fun!!!!! @notromulus

Remus Lupin @notromulus: not the reassurance I was looking for @evansly

Lily Evans @evansly: @notromulus ;) ;) ;)

[benegap]

11 Physical Challenges to Take This Month

Some people don’t need any help finding physical challenges. They naturally and intuitively figure out ways to engage physically with the world and test their prowess. But that’s not everyone, or else we’d see people sprinting down the street, hurdling park benches, climbing flagpoles, and swinging from tree branch to tree branch. It’d be a cool world, to be sure. It’s just not the one we live in.

In this world, where physical challenges are usually optional, we have to go looking for them.

What are some fitness challenges to try? I’ve got 11.

1. Climb a tree tall enough to make you a little queasy.

How high you go depends on the climber’s faculties and experience. Don’t underestimate yourself on this one, however.

This one, of course, tests both psychological and physical fitness. Everyone has that point where they begin questioning the decision to climb. And climbing itself requires hand-eye coordination, tactical planning, and physical strength. Compared to bouldering, climbing a tree is much more user-friendly, allowing the climber to dictate the terms of ascent. You can rest in between branches, or go full steam ahead. You can get winded, or take long rest periods in between bouts of exertion.

Try different routes up and back. Practice until you can ascend and descend smoothly.

Do pullups and dips on the branches. Use your legs for assistance if needed.

Take a selfie at the top. Post it to social media and bask in the adulation. You earned it.

2. Return to an activity you used to do all the time but haven’t touched in years.

For me, it’d be basketball. I always liked the game but was too small to make it very far in school. That’s actually why I turned to running—the more illustrious football and basketball options didn’t work for a guy my size.

Maybe you were incredibly passionate about martial arts as a kid, but drifted away after high school. Go take an introductory class at the local gym. They’re usually free.

Maybe you were a decent wrestler in high school. Get back into it. Barring that, roughhouse with a friend.

Maybe you figure skated as a kid, giving it up when it became apparent you weren’t elite-level material. Go down to the ice rink and strap on a pair. See how it feels.

Unearth your passions and check for viability.

3. Go rucking for at least 3 hours.

From hunter-gatherers lugging auroch quarters back to camp, Roman legionairres carrying 80 pound packs on campaigns, to patchouli-scented trustafarians backpacking their bong through Bali, the act of trekking with something heavy on your person is a time-honored human tradition.

Maybe you grab a couple friends and go backpacking in the nearest uninterrupted slice of nature (lots of places have short backpacking trips you can cover in 2-3 nights). Maybe you do a dayhike with a really heavy bag. Maybe you freak your neighbors out by walking around the block a few times with a kettlebell in the rack position.

Just carry something heavy and go walk.

4. Swim in cold water for ten minutes.

Aim for sub-65° water. Cold enough that you inhale sharply, but not so cold that you have to take Wim Hof’s course just to survive.

Swim sprints with plenty of rest. Swim laps at a slow pace. Try swimming the entire length of the pool underwater. See at least how far you can get.

Breaststroke and freestyle are the easiest strokes to learn from scratch.

You don’t have to swim. You could just sit there. But I find swiming, even very light swimming, helps me deal with the cold water.

5. Try a set of weighted max-rep (20 minimum) squats.

There’s something about putting a moderately heavy weight on your shoulders, squatting down, coming back up, and repeating it as many times as you can.

They don’t have to be back squats. Other options include the zercher hold, the front rack position, goblet squats, wearing a weight vest, or holding weights in your hands.

They don’t have to be heavy. Aim for 20 reps at least, so choose a weight that makes that possible but really difficult at the same time. It should be a struggle toward the end (these 20 rep squats are sometimes called breathing squats, because you have to stop in the middle to catch your breath).

If squats don’t agree with you, check out any of the alternatives I mentioned a couple years ago.

6. Do the horse stance for at least five minutes.

This is the horse stance. It’s a mainstay of Chinese martial arts, whose proponents say it develops a type of lower body strength and stability unlike any other execise. It teaches you to “root” to the ground. It’s also not too bad for the quads and glutes.

Assuming you have the flexibility, it starts out real easy. But after 30-45 seconds, things get serious. Your thigh might start trembling. You might feel the urge to dip your shoulders and break the integrity of your spine. Work up to being able to sit in the horse stance for five minutes.

Do it every morning, first thing when you get up. I find it opens up the hips quite nicely, so any subsequent movement comes more easily.

For a little added difficulty, try slowly rising up on your toes while in the stance. Maintain the upright torso. Then slowly lower yourself back down. Repeat.

If you can get someone to whack you with bamboo poles every few seconds, all the better.

7. Do the Wingate Test.

The Wingate Test is what exercise physiologists use to test an athlete’s peak anaerobic output: 4 30-second, all-out sprints on a stationary bike at maximal resistance with 4 minutes rest in between. To illustrate just how difficult these are, subjects peforming Wingate Tests typically get puke buckets.

This month, take a Wingate Test. I don’t intend for you to commission a an exercise scientist to run a study on you. Just get your hands on a stationary bike of some sort, crank up the resistance, and do it. Set aside 20 minutes or so to complete the whole thing. Puke bucket is up to you.

8. Walk all day long.

Long, long walks are restorative. They’re where you find yourself, where you arrive at solutions to problems you thought were unsolvable.

But they’re also physically harder than you think. Most people just aren’t prepared to walk all day long anymore. Even people with pristine 10k daily step records bow out after a few hours.

You may have to work up to an all-day walk by taking lots of shorter walks (this is my secret trick to get you to walk more frequently).

I recommend a blend of city and country if you can make it work. That way you can stop for coffee, maybe browse a book store, ford a stream, hear a hawk’s cry, climb a tree (see above). You know: do it all.

9. Run a mile for time.

Men, try to break 7 minutes. Women, try to break 8 minutes. Move that number up if you’re older or out of shape. Drop it down if you’re younger or in great shape. But think about keeping it intact if only to motivate you to do your best.

Run that mile.

10. Compete against another human.

Competition is good, to a point. It drives us to be our best, and it wrings every last drop of quality out of us. It’s also a powerful motivator, helping us ignore pain and suffering in order to perform and beat the other person.

Competition can be formal (join an adult sports league, sign up for a StrongMan or powerlifting competition) or informal (challenge the local bully to a foot race). It can take many forms, but what’s important is that you test your physical prowess against another human.

11. Attain the feat you’ve been pining after.

Everyone has that white whale of exercises, that physical feat that just eludes us. Sometimes it remains out of grasp because we’re not really trying as hard as we can to get it. This month, get it.

Want your first real pullup? Get after it.

Want to beat your Fran time? Start training.

Want to bench press bodyweight? Redouble your efforts.

Drop everything and work solely toward achieving this specific goal. And if you don’t achieve your goal, you have improved and progressed.

Okay, enough talk. Get moving, folks. Accept a challenge, then defeat it. And maybe shared about it here, eh?

Which one are you going to try? Something from your own stash? Or are you going for more than one?

Thanks for reading, everyone.

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