#just take a knife to yourself and proceed with a click

[darlingdarkly]

Fates Worse Than Death

A Deimos x f!reader Series

Chapter 1

Word count: 5k

Part: 2

OG A/N: Hey, hi! So, tomorrow is my birthday. And for my birthday I decided to write a hugely self indulgent smutty fic for myself and instead of writing one for cod like I’ve been doing and contributing to an already super saturated fandom I have decided to write it for my r6s fandom, which admittedly keeps looking deader and deader, but I know that if I’m scouring the tags for fics then maybe someone else is too and so I’m gonna share my gift to myself in hopes that someone else who’s desperate for content will find it and be glad it’s there.

Second A/N: Hey! So I decided to make this a series actually. This will stand as chapter 1 💕

Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Listen to me 👁️👁️ I need you to heed the tags. I am going to tag the hell out of this thing and if you don’t read the tags then you’re throwing yourself into a mixed bag of whatever the hell and that’s on you. The tags are there for your benefit. Not mine. You have been warned.

CW: non con elements, dub con elements, interrogation, belt spanking, bondage, unprotected climactic p in v intercourse, oral (f!receiving), abduction, hair pulling, fingering, death, blood, mild game spoilers 🤷‍♀️

This is the point of no return, you click this button and you consent to the content on the other side.

This takes place after Deimos has killed Harry but before Rainbow has captured him, if you give a shit about canon events and timeline. Enjoy 💕

The chilly night wind whipped through the leaves, rattling them noisily and aiding in concealing your stealthy movements. You and three other operatives cut through the wooded terrain like silent wraiths as you sought out the hidden compound due north, said to be home to his lair. The mission was simple, get in, extract Deimos and exfil.

You moved quickly and quietly bringing up the rear of the squad. Rifle locked and loaded, the muzzle pointed out ahead of you, strafing for contact. You heard your squad leader over the comms, gruff and clear as he spoke to your contact back on base.

“Rainbow, this is O1, we are two clicks due south of the compound. ETA 15 for contact, are we a go?”

After a moment of measured silence he got a response. “Rainbow to O1, you’re green lit. Standby for evac.”

O1 came back moments later. “Copy that. Over.” There was an audible cut through the radio before O1 addressed your squad. “Alright, squad. You heard the man. On your toes.” Each of you responded in turn. “O2 copy.” A pause. “O3 copy.” You depressed the button on your headset and responded. “O4 copy.”

Soon after, the four of you crested a hill and fanned out over the top of it, laying eyes upon the brilliant glow cutting through the velvet of night like a knife. O1 came through your ear piece and gave curt instruction. “O2, follow me to the east. O3 and O4 you take west. Stick close to the perimeter, plant the charge and fall back. We detonate on my count and breach simultaneously. Do you understand?”

The three of you responded in unison. “Sir, yes sir.” You saw him motion forward and your group began to move, splitting into your assigned pairs and descending upon the compound. You lost sight of your squad mates in the thick of the trees but kept close to O3 as you neared the far west walls of the hidden base. Just as you made the bottom of the hill there was a panicked cry over the comms from O2. “What the fuck is that? O1 we have a disturbance.” There’s a break in his speech, a long drawn out eerie quiet that unnerves you.

“Sir, we’re not alone! I repeat, not alone.” There was a faint scuffle in the distance and a single gunshot before O1 came over the comms, frantic. “O1 to Rainbow, we’re made! Requesting evac. It’s him.”

You and O3 stopped and turned towards the commotion, unsure of how to proceed. There was a heart stopping, pained scream in the distance and you heard Rainbow call to the pair of you over the comms. “O3, O4, this is Rainbow. Get out of there, you’re compromised. Get to evac. I repeat, Get to evac!”

The pair of you took off in the woods, abandoning mission and headed west towards the evac point. You could feel your heartbeat in your chest and had to focus to calm your breathing. At this point it was about survival as you followed close behind O3 and cut through the woodlands for the helo just eight clicks west.

There’s a flutter in the air, a woosh of displaced air as something whizzes by and you hear O3 ahead of you begin to panic. “Christ it’s him! Run for it, now!” O3 bolts forward and you’re sprinting to catch up but soon he’s lost in the copse of pines and all you have left of him is his panicked yells and heavy breathing over the radio. “O3, where are you? O3!?!” You hear the deafening discharge of a heavy caliber ring out in the still night and it’s too close for comfort.

You veer away from it and towards the evac. Splitting off on your own as the blood of your last remaining squad member drains from the brand new vent hole in his head and begins to quickly cool in the night air. You can hardly hear yourself crash through the woods, boots scaling over rocks and fallen logs as your breath quickens and terror begins to set in.

You miss the whirring of the foreign object the second time around but there’s no mistaking the calm, collected voice in your ear as he hacks through your comms and makes himself known. “There you are. There’s no hiding. Not for you. Not for me.”

Rainbow comes in low and static-y though the comms and you struggle to make him out clearly. “O4 do you… in O4… Get out! I rep-… Deimos is tra-…. On your posit-….” And then everything cuts. Your comms go dark and you’re officially alone, the last of a nearly dead and shattered squad in the dead of night in the thick of the sticks.

Determined not to die in the midst of these pines you beeline for the green blip on your gps. If you could just make it to the helo you’d survive but as you took a final glance at your position a second blip pinged. A dark red skull just twenty meters back. His deathMARK. You felt a lump in your throat as you realized you’d been made and triple timed it, arms pumping at your sides as you tore through the woods in fear. Pure terror coursed through your veins and nipped at your heels, promising death if caught. There was no capture, Deimos wasn’t known for taking prisoners.

You mounted a hill and pushed out between two huge oaks as you practically slid down the other side. You made huge strides, legs driving you towards salvation as you pushed them to the limit in hopes of escape. You were only four clicks out when you tripped, stumbling over something hard and unseen as you crashed ungracefully to the ground and tumbled in the leaf litter. You scrambled to regain your footing, clawing at the earth and struggling to your feet.

You had just made it up when he hit you like a freight train, violently tackling you and knocking you on your back. The pair of you rolled in the foliage, tumbling over one another in the night and sprawling apart as you came to a jolting stop.

This was it, it was fight or die so you grabbed for the push daggers secured to the straps of your tac vest and faced your adversary. He came up ready to fight, charging forward and lunging for you. You drove forward with a fist, spearheaded leathily by the edge of the knife and swung out to bite at his throat. He pulled back and you sliced through air instead, he followed through with an arm on your elbow and brought your arm down over one thick thigh, breaking your hold and successfully disarming you.

With one knife left you pushed back at his chest and swung forward to attack, hoping to aggressively close the distance and quickly end him but he grabbed your arm with his strong gloved hands and twisted it around until your back was socketed into his chest. He pulled on your limb and brought it down hard over his knee, breaking your hold for a second time and disarming you completely.

You struggled out of his grip and tried to make a break for it, a last ditch effort to stay alive and bolt but he caught a grip on your ankle and you once more went sprawling to the ground, ass over teapot. When you turned around to face death you caught sight of his ballistic mask towering over you, he held the magnum in a tight grip in his right hand and you knew it was over. At least you’d die with your squad, knowing you’d done your best and been outplayed.

But instead of staring down the unblinking black eye that was the bore of his barrel you felt the butt of the .44 Vendetta crash down on your temple before the night stole over you and blocked out all thought.

It wasn’t til much later that you awoke, sluggish, confused and in tremendous pain. The room was bright but cold and when you tried to alleviate the pain in your head by bringing your hand up to soothe it you realized you were bound and secured to some kind of padded platform. Your arms were stretched out and down in front of you, bound together by something strong and without give. Your legs were similarly bound but tucked up beneath you on the padded bench. It was then you realized you were also naked from the waist down. Your chest was covered but had been stripped of your tac gear and uniform and replaced with a stark white tee, your bra was also missing.

You weren’t blindfolded or gagged but when you tried to whip your head around you found it hard to maneuver, only about five degrees of field of view to see on either side and all you could see of that was dingy white tile from floor to ceiling. You struggled in your bonds but stopped as you heard the slow, methodical blows of his boots on the concrete steadily drawing nearer. You stiffened and tried not to think about the view he no doubt was privy to from this angle. He broke the silence first.

“Well she’s finally awake. Don’t struggle, the knots won’t give, I tied them myself.” He sounds smug and confident as he strides up behind you, voice low and clear, not quite deep but thoroughly resolute, the draw of a southern twang peeking out subtly but sophisticated. The venom in you begins to well up in your throat, your teeth grit and body tensing as your anger builds and your hate gestates.

You let loose on him, anger burning a hole in your chest as you feel robbed of your rightful death, you shouldn’t be here still breathing, you should be dead in the woods with your squad, not tied up and captured like some kind of prized war spoil. “Fuck you! Kill me, you bastard!” He let himself come into view, circling around you with his arms clasped behind his back. He was still fully clad in his black tac gear and ballistic helmet, the dark, obsidian lenses of his eyes gleamed deviously in the fluorescent light.

“Can’t get information out of you if you’re dead, now can we?” You ground your teeth in your skull, body trembling in half fear, half seething rage. “You won’t get a damn word out of me, motherfucker! You’ll have to kill me, I won’t talk!”

His head tilted slightly as he tisked, chiding you calmly. “Such a nasty mouth.” He disappeared from view, the dark drape of his cape flowing out behind him, returning to his position behind you as you heard a rustle and the soft tink of metal on metal as he lifted something off of a table. “My godfather was a stern but loving man. He taught me at an early age about duty and responsibility. About discipline and respect. I loved and respected him dearly but as all boys are, I had a tendency to be rowdy and disrespectful at times. He taught me these values with a firm and unyielding hand. Something I think you could use a good helping of.”

You heard the crack of the belt as he brought the two looped ends taut in his hands and immediately stiffened, the hairs on the back of your neck standing straight up. “You’re going to tell me everything I want to know, including the details of your mission, the intel you received and who you received it from along with the coordinates of the Rainbow base.” He stopped and waited for your response, you sat still and silent, mentally preparing yourself for the coming onslaught.

“Nothing to share?” You shifted in place but spat out at him, tongue in cheek. “Fuck you.” Shortly after you felt the first lick of the belt as it cut through the air and cracked across your bare ass, making you jump and yelp. It may have been a far cry from conventional interrogation methods but it was still painful and humiliating. You heard the leather slide in his fist before you felt the second blow, just parallel to the first, aimed and executed with precision to land just beside it on the same cheek. “Fuck!”

He hummed contently. “Tell me what your mission objective was.” He languidly paced behind you as he waited for your answer, when none came he brought the belt down on the other cheek twice in rapid succession, giving you no time to recover. You tried shifting away from the blows but had about a half an inch of clearance for wiggle room, there was no evading it.

He kept it up, pausing and then attacking ruthlessly, periodically stopping before doling it out again, fat, opaque lines began to criss cross on the smooth surface, marking his progress. He questioned you again and you held silent, preferring to suffer through the consequences rather than give in and endanger an entire base of your colleagues for the quicker respite of death. He’d kill you in time either way, it was better to hold out and die honorably than relent for a swifter end.

“You’re resilient, tough little spit fire, I’ll give you that. But you should know your silence has consequences.”

You sneered at him where he couldn’t see. “I don’t give a fuck about me. Beat me, torture me, cut my toes off one by one, I don’t care. You’ll kill me when you figure out I’ve got nothing to say to you and I will die honorably.”

He laughs and it makes a sliver of uncertainty worm through you. “I’m not going to kill you, sweetheart.” The pet name makes you queasy but his response only confuses you. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“When our little talk ends, the door closes. If you don’t tell me what I wanna know by the time we’re through here your life as you know it ceases to exist.”

“I already told you to just go ahead and kill me. I’ll die before I tell you anything that would put Rainbow at risk.” Instead of punching you in the ribs or breaking a finger he just leaned in til you could feel the warmth of his chest settle over the top of your bare ass and it felt much more sinister than any strike or blow.

“Oh sweetheart, there are fates much worse than death.” You still don’t quite understand and he senses you struggling to grasp the full scope of the threat so he takes a break from the spanking and explains it to you in full detail.

You hear him set the belt down on something before you feel his gloved hands caressing your ass, running the covered fingertips over his handiwork and down the swell of your cheeks before dipping lower and skimming the slit of your sex. His fingers come away slick and he smirks behind the mask where you can’t see.

“If you don’t tell me what I want to hear then I’m going to take these-“ You hear a jingle from behind you and know they’re your dog tags, probably scalped from your neck as he undressed you no doubt. “-and I’m going to throw them out in the woods with your dead squad mates. They’ll think one of two things. Either you died out there like a good soldier and some animal, pack of coyotes perhaps, carted your body away or, I finally caught up with you, gave you an ultimatum, and you sold them out from under the rug. Either way they’ll come to the conclusion that you’re beyond saving and they’ll bury you in an empty casket and move on.”

You felt it all coming to a head and the audacity of it came to be too much. “You’re wrong! They’ll never stop looking for me! You think they’ll give up so easily! They won’t stop until they find me! Ohhhh and they will find me! You are so fucked! You are sooo-“

The crack of the belt against your ass cut off your angry rant, the words dying in a pained yelp as he brought the leather down on your ass in an angry torrent. SMACK. SMACK. SMACKSMACKSMACK.

You clenched against the pain, trying to curl up on yourself but of course it was no use, you could only sit and take it. When the onslaught ended he continued.

“You didn’t let me finish. Either way… no one is going to come looking for you. And I think I’m starting to like you so instead of killing you, like you’re dying to have me do-“ You feel the return of his fingers, the cool leather of his glove soothing against the heated stinging welts already swelling on your cheeks. Then they glided down and you felt his fingers spread your lips and when he spoke this time he sounded different somehow, louder and clearer.

“-I’m going to keep you all to myself. I’ll house you, clean you, feed you. During the day I’ll keep you tied up in here, my own sweet little stress relief, make the walls of this room echo with screams of a different caliber for a change.”

It wasn’t until you felt the flat of his tongue glide up the length of your sex that you realized why he sounded so much clearer, he’d taken his mask off and now he was casually eating your pussy, tongue dipping in between his fingers spreading you apart so gently, a stark contrast from the harsh belt treatment he’d been afflicting upon you moments before.

He hummed into your pussy and you squirmed against the heat of him, simultaneously freaking out yet undeniably turned on as his tongue probed you and his hands caressed the cheeks of your ass. He pulled away and you weren’t sure if it was a sigh of relief or a whine of protest that built a home in your throat, kept at bay only by the last mustering of your will.

“So sweet. When I was a boy growing up in Birmingham, I used to play in the sugar cane fields for hours. Me and my friends would cut away stalks from the edges of the field for a taste. You taste just like that, fresh cut sugar cane.” You shuddered in his hold and told yourself it was all psychological warfare, it changed nothing. When he had the information he seeked he would cut you down just like he did all the rest.

You felt him step away from behind you and come up to your side, his hands trailing like fire along the length of your body as he did so. He reached under the platform you were tied to and suddenly your arms pulled forward in front of you, forcing your chest to pull forward and press against the bench. Your ass raised up high and unshielded as you felt the collective wetness of his saliva and your slick coating your lips, chilly exposed like this, but it doesn’t take long before he’s resumed the position and you feel his hot breath fanning against it, rewarming his meal.

“We’re gonna have a lot fun, sugar cane.”

“So.” Lick. “Much.” Lick. “Fun.” Lick.

You couldn’t help the moan that escaped, at this new angle he had access to the fulty of you and his tongue dipped down and swiped at your clit on the last lick making you momentarily lose yourself in the white hot pleasure of it. “Fuck!”

“I intend to.” You don’t grasp until much later the meaning of that, lost to the way he eats you so slow and sensual. He chuckles behind you and you know now, without a shadow of a doubt, that he intends to keep true to his word because he’s stopped questioning you, stopped beating you, just content to sample his new toy. Your life is over, because you won’t give up Rainbow and you won’t tell him a goddamn thing and your stubborn honor has damned you in a way that was worse than death and now you’ll spend the rest of your days keeping his cock warm until you’ve gone insane from it.

Taking his time and savoring the taste of you on his tongue, you feel the first press of his padded fingers prodding your entrance. Gently pushing forward til he was in just up to the first knuckle, sawing them in and out slowly and twisting them in your heat as his tongue stayed latched to your clit, suckling it.

“Deimos!” He rewarded you with an open mouthed kiss to your clit as he pushed his gloved fingers further into your depths, exploring them as your back arched nice and pretty for him as far as your binds would allow.

He pulled his tongue away to your dismay but kept his fingers buried in you, stilling their movement but curling them inside you to press teasingly against your sweet spot. “Got some new insights for me, sugar cane?”

Your lips were sealed shut as far as that was concerned but your resolve was waning, you recognized the point of no return you were quickly approaching and despite the horrible implications of your future, there were just too many good men and women with their lives on the line for you to justify the alternative.

So you shifted shamelessly to push back on his fingers, eyes squeezing shut as you tried to focus on the pleasure and not the humiliating position you were quickly failing to resist against. He recognized the move as you made it and gave you what was to be his last warning.

“Let me put it in no uncertain terms for you. When I come right in here-“ He flexed his fingers inside you to demonstrate his point, eliciting a high whine from you. “-your time is up. You can sing all you want but past that point you’re no longer your own woman. You’re mine, do you understand?”

You didn’t even consider your freedom for the briefest of seconds, just nodded solemnly as you accepted his terms, though little they mattered. Although he’d seen your nod it mustn’t have been good enough as you felt the all too familiar crack of the leather, jolting you from your thoughts and bringing you back to the present. You clenched down on his fingers, eyes rolling in their sockets at the euphoric sensation.

“I need a verbal answer.” Your grit your teeth for not the first and certainly not the last time dealing with him. “Screw you!”

He laughed, it was easy and carefree. “All in good time, sweetheart. I’m gonna enjoy my meal first.” With that he seemed to be done speaking, leaving you to stew over a decision you’d already made and ruminate in the consequences of it. He dove eagerly back into the heat of your sex, plunging his fingers enthusiastically in and out of your pussy while his tongue lapped at the juices that seeped out around them.

He watched as your toes curled in on themselves, mouth dropping open where he couldn’t see and expelling breath in a silent moan. He proved to be skillful in a manner of ways and this seemed to be no exception to the rule, making light work of bringing your pleasure to a head and threatening to throw you over the edge quicker than you’d like to admit.

You fought for control of your body but it was a battle you were unavoidably losing as he pulled his fingers free and replaced them with his tongue, pushing it deep into you and occupying his hands by rubbing circles over your clit with his thumb. It was a devastating sensation that pulled your muscles taut, your head raised up off the padding and tipped back as far as your restraints would allow as you suddenly came violently.

He spurred it on, lapping at your sopping wet slit and never ceasing the movements of his thumb, making you shake and really test the strength of your ties. He drove you through your orgasm, not even slowing as you began to plead with him to stop, it was too much. When you thought you’d tumble head first into a second one he finally relented, leaving you gasping and panting as you vaguely heard him shucking his pants behind you.

You felt something hard and blunt at your entrance as he slid his cock up to you and rifled it up and down your slit, wetting the tip and enjoying the light springy jump that coursed through you every time his head hit your clit.

“Last chance, sweetheart. As much as I’d hate to lose your company, you’re running out of chances to secure your freedom.” You could hardly focus on his words, still caught between struggling to catch up from your first mind blowing orgasm and steeling yourself against the promise of a second one if the way your pussy was trying and failing to catch his tip and suck it in was any indicator.

He lined himself up and pushed forward, causing you both to moan out together as he stretched you open on his girth. “Fuck me, you are sweet.” He slid home, hips pushing flush with yours as you adjusted to the way he seemed to fill you out perfectly. Your head dipped as he began a steady, unrushed rhythm, slapping his hips to yours every time he drove it home.

You had stopped breathing since he’d entered you and suddenly took one huge sucking breath in, filling your lungs just to immediately expel it as a broken but pleasured moan. He growled behind you and you could feel it vibrate through you in a whole new sensation, overloading your senses, coursing white and blinding in its intensity.

“Please!” You had no idea what you were begging for but it just felt so right, losing your sense of self, reduced to nothing more than nerve endings. He reached forward and grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling back and taking out the slack as your back arched to accommodate his hold.

“Oh god!” You could hardly imagine how you must look, head cocked back and slack-jawed as he split you open from behind. Each thrust was precise and calculated, wringing you for every last drop of pleasure until your mind went blank and your whole being submitted to the fucking.

He leaned forward, breath hot and heavy right behind your ear as he spoke and he must’ve known you were a goner because instead of trying to extract information he just spoke of the future. All the ways he’d bend you to his will, how he’d break you and build you back better in his image.

“It’s truly a shame we met under these circumstances. Under a different light I’d have enjoyed training you, honing your skills instead of wasting all this potential such as it is. Under me you’d have made an unstoppable operator. Now you’ll never see combat again.”

For some reason this truth had only now dawned on you, some deep part of your brain had held out hope of escape or retaliation or vengeance but cock drunk beneath him you knew it was hopeless, he was absolutely right and you were ultimately fucked.

As if he’d been holding back he renewed his vigor and began to pound into you from behind with abandon. Your mouth was dry and your knees were screeching at you from below, despite the padding, but all you could focus on was the pool of pleasure building heavy in your gut. There was no turning back from this, your mind screamed for you to do something but any other thoughts were beyond you and so you expelled them with the rest and took your fate as it sealed, securing a chokehold around your throat and brought you to heel.

You came around his cock, the second world shattering orgasm of the evening and much more all encompassing in its magnitude. You were certain you felt your heart stop, lungs burning for air as you clenched down around him. Seconds later he followed, coming with a half moan, half growl as you squeezed him for all he was worth. White hot spend filled you from the inside out and it was as blissful as it was damning.

The game was up, you were his. You stayed like that, riding the bliss and eyeing up the defeat that swelled up to take its place as it faded. He pulled out of you slowly and you felt his seed drip from you, slide down your thighs and puddle on the bench below you. You hardly heard him as he cleaned himself up and redressed. There was a click as the door to the room opened for the first time you were aware to hear it and two men stepped into the room.

There was a moment of nothing before you felt two firm hands wrap themselves around your arms and loosen your binds. They held you up til the tips of your feet hardly grazed the cool concrete floor and stationed on either side of you, held you up for inspection. You lifted your head to see him standing before you, dog tags dangling from one fist and the belt folded over on itself held tight in the other.

“I can’t say I’m disappointed in you, soldier. You stood your ground and that commands immense bravery. But you knew the rules and now you’ll reap what you’ve sown. You mustered up enough strength to gather saliva in between your lips and spit at his face. It didn’t quite make it and landed at his feet but you could hear a smile in his voice as he commanded the men at your side to carry you up to his quarters. He’d be seeing you again very soon.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

monster - haegeum, m | myg, jjk

pairing(s): yoongi x reader x jungkook

summary: Mafia boss Min Yoongi. Bodyguard Jeon Jungkook. And the weapon. The monster. The violent creation of the shadow king. You.

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please, read the following.

As you can see, this is not the story. This is your warning. Only this post should be tagged / reblogged and not the actual post. This is intentional.

Some of you have read the 'monster' AU. The 'monster' AU is based off the world within the Daechwita MV. It was also written back then, in 2020. What many of you don't know is that the three parts on this blog (part i | part ii | part iii) are only some of the sex scenes of a much larger story. Mhm. I have never posted 'monster' in full anywhere. It would be misconstrued and misunderstood too easily. It is not for unprepared souls.

The gist of the story is that black-haired mafia boss Min Yoongi wants to kill the blond-haired Mad King, and he does.

I often get requests to revisit this AU.

My original intent was to not write anything more. I thought about taking the posts down at one point, as they are technically parts to an incomplete story I will never publish on here. Eventually, I decided to just let it be. People enjoy guilty pleasures. As long as you have your head straight and know this isn't real.

If there was any time to revisit these three, well, it would be after the release of Haegeum, wouldn't it?

Again, this is your warning. The following is not for the faint of heart. I am not holding back. If you click forward, that means you have read the following warnings below and you still wish to proceed. You know what you are getting yourself into. This is violence. This is insanity. This is 'monster' and there is no redeeming them.

Remember, everything is fiction. Read the disclaimer in my masterpost.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; premeditated killing and mass death with all three contributing; graphic descriptions of murder; blood; gun + knife violence; arson > explosion; thievery (money); mentions of reader placed in solitary confinement as punishment; physical abuse; sociopathic and manipulative behaviors; intense smut (fem reader, threesome, unprotected penetrative sex [reader is medically sterile], restrained [arms pinned down], choking with leather collar and with hand, heavy bite / scratching / bruising, stimulation to climax with the handle of a switchblade and said closed switchblade inserted into reader's vagina; reader being spit on and licked degradingly; cum-covered switchblade and later fingers in JK's mouth by Yoongi; standing sex, standing doggy, multiple orgasms, creampie, overstimulation, m-masturbation onto reader's face); non-idol!AU - mafiaaboss!AgustD!Yoongi (long black-haired Daechwita/Haegeum AU), longhaired!tattooed!bodyguard!Jungkook; mercenary!reader; m/m tension between them; JK has a praise kink; you have a pain kink

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This is after the death of the Mad King.

Now, Min Yoongi has all of South Korea within his clutches, puppeteering the dirty money that goes in and out of this country. The underground ruler of the inhumane ruthlessly takes out anyone that is stupid enough to step forward and challenge his rule. Oh, they will always come, their greed tempted by the prosperous forbidden fruit flourishing in the darkness. Foolishly thinking, ah, but who could stop me? After all, no one knows who the shadow king really is – not until they are already locked within the fangs of death.

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by proceeding, you are verifying that you have read all warnings.

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masterpost

[eclipseiz]

Commander ﹒⪩⪨﹒

pairing- phillip graves x reader

(♡ synopsis)- a mission results in you getting hurt, but also with commander graves head between your legs

warnings- "who did this to you" trope, established relationship, oral (fem receiving), dirty talk, fingering

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Charging back into base you shoved pass the lingering soldiers who's gazes were glued to you.

Weather it was because you were the 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 woman on base or because it looked like you were hit by a bus. Your hair that was normally thrown back in a tight bun was sticking up at all different angles. Your dress has a tear up the side that was being held closed by your hand and the star of the show was the deep purple bruise that imprinted on the side of your face. Sending you into a drug house acting like a prostitute had to be the worst plan in history

"L.T hold on" you heard Soap yell from behind you but you kept moving forward not bothering to stop your journey to the bathroom to wash up before crashing in bed.

You felt a hand grip your arm making you whip around and lock eyes with the mohawk wearing man, "What in gods name do you need right now? Wasn't sending me into El Sin Nombre's house 𝚞𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚍 may I add enough?!"

He quickly dropped your arm, "Were sorry L.T we didn't know it would escalate that quick." he said solemnly.

You scoffed shaking your head and rolling your tongue against your cheek, "It wasn't on you Soap. Its on the idiots that sent me in their and didn't proceed to have my back." you patted his shoulder before stepping back. "I'm gonna clean up and get some rest, tell the others I do not want to be bothered unless someone's getting dying."

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Stepping out of the steamy shower you quickly dried off before walking to the mirror assessing the purple marking around your cheek.

Hearing the door click open you quickly turned around to yell at whoever was charging into an occupied bathroom but cut yourself seeing it was Phillip.

"I heard you got hurt." he said before stopping infront of you and bringing his fingers to your chin to turn your head. "W𝗁𝗈 𝖽𝗂𝖽 this 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎?" he asked between clenched teeth.

You brought your hand to his chest rubbing down the hard abs underneath his muscle shirt, "I was told to go into a back hallway to find an entrance to the third floor. Ghost said he was watching but he must have gotten distracted because a Cartel member cornered me in and tried to make advances on me." You sighed. "When I rejected him he backhanded me. I got the knife I had on my thigh and killed him."

He tensed under your hands, "Are you okay?" he asked slowly watching for any reaction on your face.

"Coudn't be better. Would just love to take a nap." You stepped back towards the door to your bedroom, "Wanna join?"

Phillip didn't skip a beat in following after you and sitting on the bed, watching as you dropped the towel covering your naked body. You went to reach for pants and a shirt but he stopped you, "Don't bother with that, come lay down baby."

You smirked as you walked to the side of your bed and crawled over to him, "Why's that?"

"Lay down and I'll show you." as you moved onto your back he moved onto his stomach, his breath hitting your hot core, "Aw look, my pretty girl already soaked." he rubbed your juices around your lips before moving up to your clit.

"P-please." you gasped out, hand coming down to grip his cropped brown hair.

He chuckled before lapping at your clit while pushing the tips of his fingers into your entrance. Your head hit the back of the pillow as you moaned out a dreamy sigh. Noticing you already chasing your high he pushed his finger the rest of the way in, curling them to hit your g-spot at the perfect angle.

You had only been in this position for 3 minutes and he already had you a panting mess, "Make me come Commander. Please."

He perked up at the use of his title flicking his tongue faster, "Cmon Baby, Cmon Baby, Cmon Baby." He whispered agaisnt your puffy clit.

You came with a earth crushing moan, your body tensing and your hands pushing Phillips head further into your core, "Holy Shit." you sighed out as he moved back up your body giving you a passionate kiss before moving off the bed.

"Sleep well baby, Ill be back in a little bit." the Commander said before tucking the blankets over and turning the light off.

Lets just say Ghost got his ass handed to him that night.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

[br0-k3n-sch00lb01]

THIS MAY BE UNCOMFORTABLE FOR SOME READERS.

PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

THIS DEMONSTRATES THE EVENTS LEADING UP TO THE DEAD ENDING.

IT SHOWS BASIL AND SAGE’S RELATIONSHIP HOW IT REALLY IS..

NO MODIFICATIONS DONE BY BR0K3N.

PLEASE BE CAREFUL READING FROM THIS SCENE FORWARD.

[TICK-TOCK]

[TICK-TOCK]

Basil sat in the interrogation room. Bright white light was shining into his eyes.

“So, Mr Fey.”

“Yes?”

“You know about the suicide of Sunny Suzuki, correct?”

“Yes.”

“You claim to not have been involved in it?”

[TICK-TOCK-TICK-TOCK]

“I was not involved in the suicide of Sunny Suzuki.”

“Very well then. You may go.”

[CLICK]

[PUSH]

He walked out as the heavy door closed behind him.

Of course he had been involved in the suicide of Sunny Suzuki.

It wasn’t a suicide.

“Those officers sure are gullible, eh?”

His footsteps hit wetly against the sidewalk in the rain. He hummed a bit. A small tune. Melancholy. 

[SPLISH-SPLASH]

[WHRRRRRRR-SPLASH]

Basil let out a displeased cry. A car roared past, splashing water all over him, drenching him more than he already was.

“Why doesn’t the government outlaw driving in the rain? That was just outright disrespectful!!”

Another set of footsteps behind him. Pink hair was soaked, plastering the girl’s body like wet glue.

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit?”

He paused.

“Hello, Aubrey.”

The girl nodded at him.

“Honestly, Basil, get a grip on yourself. So what? You got a little wet. No big deal.”

A fire of rage sparked up inside of Basil. Flared. He turned. Sage was whispering little nothings in his ear, meaningless for the time being.

“NO BIG DEAL?!”

Aubrey rolled her eyes.

“Jesus Christ, Basil. CALM DOWN. What’s gotten into you?!”                                       

He scoffed.

“I could ask you the same! There’s nothing going on with me!”

“How annoying. Wouldn’t it be so satisfying to see blood leaking from her mouth? To feel your knife in her chest? WOULDN’T IT BE SO-”

Basil merely kicked Aubrey in the shins.

“You’re being disobedient again. What a pain.”

No reaction. He kept walking towards his house. As he stepped inside, warm, red, sticky liquid seeped into his shoes.

“Your house is filthy. Clean it up. All this blood is ruining the place and will get you arrested.”

Basil tossed his jacket on the couch.

“That’s what you want to happen, is it not? Stop acting like you care; you’ve already made me do enough things I didn’t want to do.”

“Your complaints mean nothing to me. If you continue with such arrogance, I’ll make you do much worse.”

[DRIP DRIP DRIP DRIP.]

That sickening sound was something he had gotten used to. He went into his basement to assess the leak.

“Ah, Sunny, your door is open again…”

He swiftly closed the door. Better not to think about what was in there.

“Why do you take such measures to keep his corpse preserved? He is dead, is he not?”

‘Because you want me to use it for other means, do not act as if this wasn’t your own request, Sage.’ Basil thought.

“We’ll meet again”

“Don’t know where, don’t know when”

“But we’ll meet again”

“Some SUNNY day”

“Turn that infernal noise off.”

Basil turned the volume of the music higher.

“I’ll kill you for that.”

“Oh no, how sad.”

His voice oozed with sarcasm. He could feel Sage roll his eyes.

“I can hear the news now. ‘Notorious killer Basil Fey commits suicide.’ How depressing.”

“Shut it.”

“As you say.”

Basil messed around with the latches on the heavy door to the cryosleep chamber. The sun was setting, changing the rain to a deep blood-red color.

“Oyasumi, Sunny Suzuki. Oyasumi, Kelsey Garcia. And oyasumi to you  soon as well, Aubergine Smith.”

[CLICK.]

..

[WHIRR-SPLASH]

Basil screamed rage through his gritted teeth as he was soaked for the second time in two days.

“THIS IS GETTING OLD!”

He seethed, boiling with rife fury as he stormed down the sidewalk. It seemed as though it had been raining in Faraway forever. The sun hadn’t been out in ages, and there had been multiple flash floods in the past few months. It hadn’t necessarily bothered Basil. EXCEPT for when these dumb cars zoomed past him and splashed the dirty rainwater all over him. IT WAS GETTING VERY ANNOYING. Sage knew this and teased Basil about it endlessly.

On this miserable day, Basil was in a particularly sour mood and he figured that if one more person were to bother him, he’d probably explode. 

“Hey, you. Fey.”

Basil hissed and turned on his heels. Aubrey stood there looking bedraggled and mildly insane. She may have been drunk.

“What the hell is going on with everyone? WHY ARE THE OTHERS ALL DEAD?!”

He punched her straight across the face. Her face paled and she blacked out. Basil lugged her over his shoulder, sprinting home through the heavy shadows so as not to be seen. He opened his door and the foggy, heavy warmth was dizzying as it hit him in the face like a brick wall. Maybe Sage was right about Basil needing to clean up the blood around here. He walked down to the basement, tossing Aubrey onto the stone floor. She yelled in pain. He kicked her, roughly, and stepped on her, placing all his weight on her chest. She SCREAMED. 

What a lovely sound.

[KKK-SHINK]

He roughly stabbed a knife in her chest. 

[KKK-SHINK KKK-SHINK KKK-SHINK KKK-SHINK]

Over and over.

“Oyasumi, Aubergine Smith. Sleep well.”

..

[...]

I don't remember it ever being this bad.

HE won’t shut up.

It’s getting worse, I think. 

…

Should I tell someone?

…

There’s nobody left to tell.

They’re all DEAD.

Because of me.

“Is this really what you think?”

…

“You know you’re doing the right thing, don’t you?”

… 

I don’t think it’s the right thing to do anymore.

[...]

..

[CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLI-]

“Stop that.”

“Fine.”

[..........]

[CLIC-]

“I SAID STOP THAT!”

…

[SCREEEEEEEEEEEEECH]

“Fix that.”

[SCREEEEECH]

“FIX IT.”

[STEP STEP. STAB.]

[SCREEEE-....]

[CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CL-]

[CRASH]

“If you won’t stop doing that I’ll stop you myself.”

“Chill.”

“No.”

[CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLI-]

[dayseternal-blog]

Can you name some naruhina angst fic that really ruined you, like reaaaaallyyyyyy? I'm in the mood for some ugly crying sobs 🥺

:( Okay.  I always end up rereading fics when I make these lists, so here we go, together 😭  I’ll list all the ones that have made me cry, and some that didn’t make me cry but still upset me.  Also, I can’t handle memory loss AUs, so I’ll put those on here, too.

I think like, half or more of these have a sad or inconclusive ending.  Some of these I’ve recc’d before.  I hate a bunch of these lol.  And then I reread them anyway lol.  Why.

NaruHina Angst

“A Place In The Sun” by ihaveastorminme - Rated M for smut and depictions of violence, Canon-Divergent, Multi-chapter, Incomplete.  Naruto realizes that he’s not enough to love her.  He’s not enough to save her, either.

“A Fate Worse than Death” by Caelestia - Rated M for smut, ABO Canon-Divergent, One-shot.  Naruto, improperly socialized and traumatized as a child, rejects his inner Alpha, which has devastating consequences on his family and marriage.  “A Risky Bet” is its fluffier follow-up.

“Girl No 10″ by meeiwen - Rated M, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Naruto makes a mistake with a dancer one drunk night.  Years later when he meets her again, he begins realizing his perfect life is a lie, but he’s too late to fix it. Angst if you want to know what dying feels like warning.

“if this is love (why does it hurt?)” by ClairvoyantDreamer1011 - Rated M, Friends with benefits Canon-Divergent, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Hinata knew many things about Naruto Uzumaki. She knew that his heated glances meant 'I want you'; that lingering touches whispered 'please', and that the sight of his back to her screamed 'leave'. But she couldn't tell you what they were to each other for the life of her.

“If You Said You Loved Me” by destiny’s sweet melody - Rated T, Canon-Divergent, One-shot.  Naruto begins to realize he took her feelings for granted and now he’s too late.

“The Ring that Binds” by softwind - Rated M, Canon-Divergent, Multi-chapter, Incomplete.  Naruto and Hinata are married.  So why is Naruto calling “Sakura” in his sleep?

“Why would innocent little Hinata be out dressed like that?” (One-shot) and its follow-up “On Any Given Day” (Long One-Shot) by @utsus - Rated T, Canon-Divergent. Hinata tries to move on from Naruto, right when he realizes he wants to keep her.

“For the Future” by @utsus - Rated T, Canon-Divergent, Multi-chapter, Complete. Hinata understands this better than anyone else. Naruto is easy to love.  (I actually just hate the ending a lot.  That’s what puts this on the list).

“Gilded Butterflies” by Kid Crisis - Rated M for depictions of violence, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Tenshi, beautiful prostitute of the Villa, realized from a very young age that people seem to do nothing but empty her, and not even Naruto seems capable of convincing her otherwise.

“Serenity Prayer” by @katarinahime - Rated M for smut, substance abuse, PTSD, and depictions of domestic violence and non-con, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. When their fairytale endings smash to ugly pieces, Hinata and Naruto help put each other back together.

“Common Side Effects” (Naruto’s POV) by @katarinahime & “Medicated” (Hinata’s POV) by @szajnie - Rated E for smut, substance abuse, mental illness, and depictions of violence, self-harm, and attempted suicide, Crime/Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Naruto and Hinata, in a struggling relationship, must confront the pain inside before they can love each other.

“In Another Life” by theGeneralissimo - Rated T, Canon-Divergent, Multi-chapter, Complete. In which Naruto listens to his mother's advice and marries a girl like her. And lives to regret it. 

“Mistake” by Cherry1315 - Rated T, Canon-Divergent, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Naruto falls apart, and, unfortunately, Hinata has to pick up the pieces.

“Until the Day I Love” by BluBlooThalassophile - Rated M, Canon-Divergent, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Everyone is recovering from the war.

“Hidden From Sunlight” by @bunny-hoodlum - Rated T, Canon-Divergent, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. How different could Naruto's life be when the girl that seemed 'barely around' is truly hardly around at all?

“Powerless” by @bunny-hoodlum - Rated M for depictions of violence and character death, Mystery/Crime High School/Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. His family’s past can’t be taken at face-value, and it comes clawing back to hurt him in ways that are out of his control.  DELETED FIC.

“April - Too Late/Missed Opportunities” from “Still Falling for You” by @chloelapomme - Rated T, College/Modern AU, One-shot. After her 3 years away for college, Naruto decides to confess.

“June - Honor/Sacrifice” from “Still Falling for You” by @chloelapomme - Rated T, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Naruto marries Hinata, the girl of his dreams.  If only she loved him back.

“you totally almost killed me that one time (it’s okay I still love you)” by @itachiboutit - Rated G, High School AU, Multi-chapter, Complete.  Naruto, a promising baseball player, returns to Konoha Prep, and, without so much as even a “long time no see,” hits a ball into Hinata’s face. (This isn’t really angsty...but I get really upset in Ch. 4 and cry a lot every time.)

“Asylum AU” from “Tales of Two Ninjas” by @magmawrites - Rated M, Modern AU, One-shot. What's to say what's real and what isn't? The only thing that's valid and true in all universes is their love for one another.

“Dreaming of AU” from “Tales of Two Ninjas” by @magmawrites - Rated M for implied suicide, Modern AU, One-shot. Naruto dreams of her. He grows to love her. Dreams are nice. Too bad reality is a nightmare. (Most likely a continuation of the Asylum AU.)

“Memory Loss AU” from “Tales of Two Ninjas” by @magmawrites - Rated M, Amnesia Canon-Divergent AU, One-shot. I LOVE YOU. Will I ever hear those words from your lips again?

“The Path We Walk” by @tenney-shoes - Rated T, Amnesia Canon-Divergent AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. With his memory of the past five years missing, Naruto never expected to be married to Hinata, and now he must navigate through the maze that is their life together with no memory of how he got there.

“Easier For Me” by @tenney-shoes - Rated T, Amnesia Canon-Divergent AU, Two-shot, Complete. How will Hinata handle waking up with no memory of how she got there?

“My Escape” by @marimare-writes - Rated T, Amnesia Canon-Divergent AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Naruto wakes up from a coma with no recollection of life after graduating the Academy. Hinata, anxious and with a secret that will change both of their lives, struggles with what to do.

“Consolation Prize: Through Her Distorted Mirror” by mysterious intentions - Rated T, Canon-Divergent, Multi-chapter, Incomplete.  Her love is taken lightly, as if her heart could change so easily.

“Good Luck” By LovelyLori - Rated T, Flowers/Ballet AU, Two-Shot, Complete. A Japanese ballet company arrives in Naruto’s town.  Can love transcend language barriers? (I spent HOURS looking for this one, it totally breaks my heart.)

“On the outside looking in” by @char-lotteral - Rated E for smut, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Naruto’s in love with his best friend’s girlfriend fiancee.  And he’s not moving on.

So that’s...yah.

Unhappy Fic Reading! 🥺

[lrissa]

I Promise To Marry You

summary: as kids you and levi would think of a future together

warnings: none

part two

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

Sprinting past the stands that littered the streets you clutched two necklaces, a huge grin showing your pearly whites as adults with voided dreams turned to look at the happy child.

You even jumped as you ran, being ecstatic as you neared your destination with yearning. Passing by all the people with ruined, unrequited dreams and distressed knees.

He was finally done with session and you were thrilled, even if it had been about 10 hours since you’ve seen him last all you wished was to be in his company. Your young spirit could carry you anywhere as long as you always had your partner.

Looking up as you ran your eyes were met with the dull ceiling that you called a sky. It was the closet thing to a sky, you’ve never seen a real one but have been told wonderful stories of the real one. It was bright blue and had huge fluffy clouds that gave you shade. But even with your depressing sky it made you grin, because you shared it with Levi.

Taking a hard left you ran faster, it was so close. Nearly running into countless bodies as you did, the streets weren’t very big here in the underground.

Halting outside a rundown building you quickly fixed and adjusted your shirt, dusting yourself off, and prepping your hair you opened the big door. From the opposite side you saw Kenny and Levi, stepping inside you shut the door behind you causing the pair to look over.

A grin formed on Kenny’s face and he waved, Levi stared before giving you a small wave aswell. He wasn’t surprised by your actions, he had gone through it millions of times.

“Y/N! Good to see you, kid.” Kenny called as he dismissed Levi, their training time was over anyways. “Hi Kenny. Hi Levi!” You beamed and ran over to the short boy, wrapping your arms around him and smiling with joy. He looked down in disgust and grumbled before patting your back lightly.

Looking over at Kenny you piped a question you’ve been meaning to ask, “Kenny, why don’t you train me too?” You tilted your head a bit to the side and rocked on your heels, energy was always vibrating off you.

The young man looked to you, rubbing his stubble before leaning down in front of you and ruffling your hair, “Maybe soon.” You stared up at him in awe, smiling wide as you pipped your arm up in joy. Kenny truthfully didn’t want to ruin your childhood yet because he knew the moment you held a knife to a man you wouldn’t be the same.

Levi watched from beside you, your energy almost pissing him off but he liked seeing you happy nonetheless. Kenny turned to Levi and gave a curt nod, “Did well today, meet me again tomorrow we still have things to work on.” Levi nodded and watched as the man left.

You heard the door shut and turned to Levi, grabbing his hand in yours as you begin to run out the door. “Idiot, where are we going?” He asked and pulled back on your hand, stopping your haste to turn and answer him. “The roof.” You answered and began to tow the raven head again.

Reaching the stairs you dropped his hand and ran up two at once, getting to the top and sighing contently. Levi walked up the steps quietly, taking a stance beside you.

“Levi, can I put this on you?” You asked quietly and held up a little necklace, on it was just a simple letter, the beginning letter of your name. He stared at it for a moment and looked to you again, “Is it dirty.”

You pouted and quickly cleaned it in your shirt, holding it up once again. “Tch, idiot, where did you even get this.” He asked and took it from your hand, letting it rest in his palm as he studied it for filth and giving it a good look. Honestly, his heart was warm with happiness. The little deed you did was enough to form a faint smile on his lips.

You stared at him, noticing the little smile. A big grin broke out onto your face and you gave yourself a mini win for having the cold boy smile. “I stole it.” You replied and took it from his hand, walking behind him and putting the little piece of jewelry on his neck. He shivered a bit at the coldness of the metal on his skin, you clicked the lock together and looked at him.

“Pretty! Put mine on now?” He peered at you and then to the necklace, on it was a small ‘L’ for his name. His heart swelled and he paused for a instant before taking the necklace from your hand, “Tch, you’re so cheesy Y/N.” You laughed.

He softly moved the hair away from your back onto your shoulder as you took it and held it infront of you. Levi then proceed to let the metal fall into place, clasping it together and letting the hair return to its natural position.

He looked at you from ahead, it was such a stupid piece of jewelry but it made his heart flutter with kindness. You wrapped your arms around his chest and felt him slowly return the embrace, a little smile on his face that you never saw.

“Do you like them?” You asked softly as you continued to hug eachother, you always cherished your friendship with Levi. Because in the underground you’d better be lucky to even have family.

“Yeah.” Was all he said, you had anticipated a little remark but he never gave you one. Pulling back from the hug you sat down and urged him to sit beside you. He listened shortly after and sat with you, your legs touching as they dangled off the edge.

You sucked in a breath of air and blew it out through your nose. Eyes gazing at the staircase that led to the surface, a place you wished to go with Levi.

“Levi, will we see the surface together?” You asked with your eyes still strained on the taunting steps. “Yeah, one day.” His eyes also had drifted to the stairs.

“We’ll even get married! Under the sky.” You proposed as he looked to you dumbfounded, his eyes widening in surprise before grunting and shutting them momentarily as they returned to their normal icy expression.

“As long as you aren’t an annoying brat.” He retorted and you laughed, even if Levi would argue with you and make hurtful comments you knew deep down he truly did care about you, more than you thought.

Slowly you learned your head on his shoulder, he gave you a dirty look that you ignored. All you needed was his company, even if you were both young all you had was eachother.

“I’ll even wear a pretty dress.” You concluded and gazed at your fingers, extending them out infront of you, “And a pretty ring!”

“Shut up, marriage isn’t even close.” He stated as you pouted, kicking his leg with your foot. “Well.. since it’s far away,” You took your head off his shoulder and turned to face him.

You put your hand between eachother, your pinky finger sticking out as you looked at him expectantly. “Idiot, pinky promises aren’t real.” He shook his head while you still persisted.

“It’s a promise Levi. Just do it.”

He grunted and turned a bit at you, sticking his hand out unwillingly and wrapped his pinky around yours.

“Okay, now say. I promise we’ll get married!” You grinned and waited for him. His annoyed expression only getting worse as he furrowed his brows, ‘What a stupid game’ he thought.

“Fine. I promise to marry you.”

You yelled ecstatically and pulled Levi in for another hug, pushing himself out immediately as you whined.

“You’re a bully!”

“And you’re a brat.”

i love the idea of young levi. so cute

part two

[punemy-spotted]

The Price You Pay Chapter 4: Breach

Pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader, Senator!Andy Barber x Reader

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con elements, Dub-Con, Dark!Fic, Abuse of Legal System, Murder, Character Death (minor, possibly major), Love Triangle, Political AU, Mafia AU, Workplace Sexual Harassment, Abuse Mentions, Possessive/Obsessive Characters, Other Chapter-Specific Warnings May Apply, Possible Dead Dove: Would Not Eat

Chapter Warnings: Angst; Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse; Betrayal; Lies; F!Reader’s Age Kind of Finalized; Specific Reference to Age; Blackmail; Crying; Slight Panic Attack; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Chapter Summary: Even the truth can’t set you free.

Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3

Notes: And we’re back to pain. My outline got derailed for this chapter so bear with me, sometimes revelations need to be hammered in. No smut here for now but I also needed to get this arc finished so I can start on the next.

Also I know I keep jumping forward — I swear I will write about their relationship growing.

Thank you all for reading and commenting! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated, even if you’re yelling at me.

Not beta-read, these sins belong to me and me alone.

All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.

The air is…

Shifted.

Shifted enough that the whole office notices, avoids yours, avoids the glare Steve Rogers fires at them the moment they approach the door, avoids your eye. Shifted enough that you miss the before, the pressure of his presence demanding your attention, the smugness in his endless eyes you denied looking at.

Shifted.

Counsel.

What?

We need to talk.

Is that not what you’ve been avoiding doing all morning, Captain?

You swear you can hear his molar crack in the dead silence, but your eyes never flit upwards from the contract you’re poring through, red pen in hand.

Focus.

It’s a job, this life, and this is a part of it, the presence of him, the pressure of him. It’s a job, and he calls on you to do your duty and you do but no one has ever asked you to be kind and no one has ever asked you to smile as you bear it so you don’t.

It’s a job, this life, and this is a part of it.

You. Are a part of it.

Counsel.

It’s a bark, an order, an annoyance and you shouldn’t let his stubborn fury be the thing that derails you. This is your domain. Your palace of glass and steel, remember? New York buzzes behind you and you surge forward on the tightrope of his affections, teetering dangerously close to his temper and always, always daring him to pull you down.

Try it again.

Fine, with a sigh and a setting down of your papers, You’re closer to the door.

And in your defense, he is, seated on your couch as stiff as a board, scrolling through his phone on occasion and — previously, at least — deftly ignoring your inquiries about the status of his office and why he needs to spend his morning in yours.

He fixes you with a look you do not name and proceeds to stand anyways. The door clicks shut and stays that way — both of you have learned.

Do you still talk to him?

Excuse me?

The Senator. Are. You. Still. In. Contact.

He spreads out every word like an accusation and every word turns you a little colder. You’ve been avoiding this. Avoiding him, distracted by work, the both of you but now you are back in each other’s orbits and this…

This cannot be avoided.

I haven’t spoken to him beyond to tell him I returned home safe that night.

Not. For lack of wanting.

If he’s hurt you, just say the words.

There’s nothing you can say.

It’s been a week. Almost two.

He’s been kind, stayed away, kept his distance but that… that will not last. Only as long as whatever conference has his office busy and then you know what comes next and then you know what comes after.

The bruising may have faded but the memories remain, after all.

They always do.

Steve Rogers is not Andy Barber, is not warm-eyed concern or a soft-voiced invitation, is not trying to save you from the horrors you cannot name, is not to be trusted but Andy Barber is also not Steve Rogers, is not exactly the man you expect, is not the answer to your dilemma, is not the devil you know and you…

Are still testing your wings.

Get up.

Get up and walk away from the prison of your desk, see how far you can get before you shackle yourself to your own ambition. Get. Up.

Blue eyes watch you like he’s calculating the next angle of his attack and technically you know that’s exactly the case but let’s pretend a moment he doesn’t have his claws out and you aren’t trapped in a cage for him to batter.

Delude yourself into the power you think you have, and keep him there, across the room where he cannot show you how effortlessly he strips you of it and how deeply you enjoy it.

Don’t.

You may be in bed with the mob but you are not asleep to his crimes and this is just an interim, a plan, a moment.

You stood me up, Counsel. After we made our deal.

It was a week ago and you ever-so-kindly taught me my lesson — don’t wince as you speak, don’t let him know you remember, don’t let him think you actually learned from his hand, hard against your body.

He hasn’t since, after all.

He says your name.

He says your name and your blood runs cold and you freeze by the coffee machine you keep in your office and you turn. Senator Barber is a friend.

A dangerous friend. I won’t even ask if you know his stance on —

On the Syndicate? Oh I know. I know who he shakes hands with.

Then you know why I’m asking.

Are you loyal?

Are you?

Is it loyalty that keeps you here?

Don’t let your hands shake when you look at him. Don’t let him see the slide of your eyes, the glance outside, the wondering how long before your window would be a portal and that tightrope would snap.

You are not a fool.

This. Is not loyalty.

I keep to my ethical duties, Captain.

You’re sleeping with your boss.

Oh that one makes you laugh, sharp and cruel and you do look at him then, fix your eyes onto him and raise an eyebrow and watch. All that power, all that smugness, wrapped up in one body and how does he contain it, do you know?

I believe the actual term is serving at your pleasure.

It’s back to the game, the dance, the ruse, the steps you take around each other, the blades he digs into your chest the reminders he gives you you are a whore you are a whore you are a whore and you lift your chin up, dare him to look at the bruises his lips leave on your skin and ask him in the silence and what will you do about it.

You could hate him. You do, technically. You hate that you could love him in the early hours of the morning, when his eyes seek you out and soften at the reminder you’re still here. You hate that his invasive presence in your office is a shield as much as it is a virus, a comfort in the silence and you hate most of all that the way he looks at you with that open desire women might normally have just dreamed was possible makes you want to return it.

You hate that he is dangerous. That he has bound you to him like this, chained you to the idea of his warmth and that there is a sick sort of safety in the binding.

You hate that he looks at you now with something like hope, with something like obsession, with something like vulnerability and you hate that it strips you of that cold armor as effortlessly as his hands strip you of your resistance.

And he could hate you too, in the whispers he leaves on your shoulders when he thinks you’re asleep. He could hate that you are soft, that you are sweet on his tongue that you…

Are his.

Could hate that he has thought of nothing else but the very theory of your betrayal and you know none of these things but his eyes are not so inscrutable as he thinks and so—

He twists the knife.

I talked to your Judge, by the way.

You did what?

You heard me. Interesting conversation.

Excuse me?

You really sold yourself to me for a lover’s spat, Counsel? I thought you were better than that — woman of the law and all.

A lover’s spat? That’s what he told you?

Just what would you call it, if not that?

He’s daring you, back to somewhere between smug and angry, as if disappointed you made him waste his time and all you can do is feel your heart sinking, feel yourself back in that place again, the decade-long sting of control over your body, the painful reminder of the girl you once were.

Where is he?

Did you think I’d clean up your dirty laundry for you? I’m not a breakup counselor, and you nee—

You left him alive!? The panic in your voice is so palpable it stops him in his tracks all over again, suspicious and surprised and you step back to reach for something — steady yourself steady yourself steady yourself you are not safe you are not safe you are not safe.

I’m not killing your ex-boyfriend without a good reas—

I was nineteen!

The world tilts, shifts, your knees are buckling, that’s tears in your eyes and you.

Are that girl again.

Too small, too scared, too naive to know better, too easy to mold and break and manipulate and you promised you’d never be her again, you promised you’d get her justice and you promised it wouldn’t be like this over and over again, promised he wouldn’t sink his fangs into you a third time.

What? He sounds smaller. Or is it faraway? You are too busy trying to stand, trying to still the shaking of your hands, the cold chill in your veins, too busy feeling your knees surrendering, too busy sliding to the floor and staring blankly into your memory.

Counsel. What. Did. You. Say. He repeats himself, and then he’s crouching before you, holding your chin in his hand and when did you start having tears on your cheeks for him to wipe away?

I was nineteen, you repeat, blank and broken, not seeing his brow furrow, not seeing the regret flash over his expression, I didn’t want it. I never wanted it.

What are you saying, sweetness? How dare he sound so soft? How dare he sound like he actually cares, when he’s the reason you’re here, on this floor, barely resisting your breakdown yet again?

You know better.

I was nineteen, a third time, I needed a job, something to give me experience, and he — he used me. That was my experience.

He’s starting to understand, but it doesn’t matter to you, not when you’re staring too far into the past, into a sneering face and cruel hands.

(I can ruin you or I can help you, Intern, so you make your choice. You need me.)

It never stops. Not after the first time — but you know that.

But you know that. That’s your knife, the one you twist into his chest and the realization sinks in heavy as an anchor, the thing he’s done.

The thing he’s done to you.

So why wait until now?

I would have waited forever.

You hid the letter. Hid it well enough even he wouldn’t have found it rifling through your things. Hid the threat in those typewritten words and the casual signature swept across the stationary, unaffected.

Men like him never face consequences. Only you, only the women they make use of, the ones they turn into commodities for their enjoyment. Who would care if you’d made it public, if you showed the world the kind of man he was — he was appointed for life, he was friends with the Governor, he was powerful and you were never going to be strong enough.

(You wouldn’t want anyone in the District Attorney’s office knowing just the sorts of things you’re willing to do to get your way. I can still help you be an exceptional lawyer, Intern.)

What are you? Ambition and drive and skill but what does it all mean when it can be reduced to plaything and pet project and whore.

I helped him get appointed. He helped me get into law school. Introduced me to… To Andy Barber, who calls you Sunshine and watches out for you and comes to New York despite having no power in the state just to see you again because he worries, because he cares.

You pay.

And sometimes that payment bounces back.

You pay and you pay and you pay and you struggle but what is the culmination of your strife is it the sight of you finally broken on the floor, is it the moment he’s been waiting for, dragged off your pedestal why couldn’t he have left well enough alone didn’t he know the horse was for your protection and not his pride?

No.

They never do.

They never do, do they, always so wrapped up in themselves and even now he kneels in front of you and wipes your tears but he has no words to say to atone for what he’s done and you know he can never.

I need you to leave.

The words come out without your control.

You know what you are. You are fury made flesh and you will not be manipulated again, not by the pressure of his hands on your face, not by the way he almost hugs you, he lied he lied he lied he lied.

Sweetness…

No. You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore.

You could have tolerated it. You could have accepted it you could have let yourself become the prize he took, owned his defeat by defeating you, you might even have enjoyed it but no.

No.

I held up my end of the bargain.

[the-darklings]

Heyyy, I honestly love your writing and was wondering can we have more Clara x reader, please??

what if I told you I have an entire E-rated mini-series half done for clara x reader set in an original world???

but yes, always, always yes for her.

pairing: clara (v) x f!reader

wc: 1.3k+

verse: coa; post the hunt, pre-john's wedding

notes: reader is part of the continental staff

“You’re back.”

Words slip past your lips without you meaning to say them; more of a strained exclamation of surprise than a casual greeting.

The woman halts in her tracks (is she limping?) and rotates her neck. Lips pressed in a bloodless line, the Vipress’ wan expression slices into you like a dull knife. Her chestnut hair hangs limp and soggy with water around her face. Her jaw rigid and her body tense.

Dark eyes squint at you, scanning, and you note the way her deft fingers twitch against her thigh, fighting back an impulse to reach for a weapon. You heard about the Hunt. Heard about all the awful things she was put through before eventually settling with Camorra. There were rumours about their protection being extended towards her. Some say she slept her way into it, namely through Santino D’Antonio who you have to admit has an intense interest in her. Others say she agreed to be Giovanni’s spy, others believed it was all a ploy by Viggo Tarasov to unleash a snake inside the Italian ranks.

Truth is you don’t believe any rumours you’ve heard about her. You recall a woman who used to shadow John Wick with a grin sharper than her blades. But she never struck you as conniving or cruel. She’d been… kind. Kinder than most people you’ve dealt with. In such subtle, unexpected ways. Gratitude few extend for those beneath them, inquiring about your day, or idle conversation. You often wondered if she was lonely. As lonely as you. If that’s why she was so kind.

Everyone wears a mask, but the Vipress always allowed you to see more. Or used to.

A permanent cloud of restless misery seems to hang over her since her ill-fated trip to Tokyo—another pool of rumours swirling around that particular event—and you can’t recall seeing a single smile since.

You miss it. Crinkled eyes and scrunched nose. Rare but potent joy. Infectious in its intensity. She…

Swallowing, you venture closer, risking a soft, “Are you injured?”

Her black clothes drip with water but you don’t comment on the steadily growing pool of water beneath her feet. Her expression doesn’t so much as shift. Stony and untrusting.

“Is Winston in?”

Rough words, her voice scratchy with tension. Her eyes scan briefly behind you, anticipating a danger she shouldn’t. You doubt Winston would ever allow anyone to disobey the Continental rules, much less when in relation to her.

“No, he…” you trail off, still staring at her. “He has your room key. I’m afraid you can’t get in until he returns. You need a change of clothes. I have some spares if you like? You’ll catch a cold otherwise. You’re soaked to the bone.”

A mirthless, half-smile crosses her face, twisting her expression into a pained grimace you hate. She doesn’t suit it. When was she bled of her fiery, snarky humour you always admired? Found secretly hilarious?

“Figures,” she mutters under her breath, glancing behind herself. An empty hallway greets her but you note how her shoulders loosen slightly, forcing a soft sigh out of her lungs. “Sure. I appreciate it.”

Giving her a weak smile, you gesture for her to follow after you. You count to five before her light footsteps register behind you. Your skin tingles as you walk, feeling her intent stare at the back of your neck. Your heels make it even harder to keep an even gait but you succeed. Charon taught you better than that.

Spine straight, you walk proudly ahead, one of the deadliest women in this city trailing after you. Questions bubble in your chest, tingling your tongue but you bite your cheek to keep them locked away. Vipress looks no better than a caged animal right now—the last thing you want to do is add to her troubled, exhausted state.

It’s not long before you reach the staff wing, unlocking the spare laundry room connecting with your new office. Your heels click while you move across the space, pulling out a new pair of jeans, a jumper and undergarments. Simple, standard clothes Continental provides free of charge to its patrons in case their previous clothes are destroyed beyond repair.

You can’t hear her while you shuffle around, but you certainly feel her presence. Prey is always aware of predators even if they can’t see them.

“You’re no longer working in housekeeping,” she speaks suddenly, a question there.

You nearly jump out of your skin, tightening your hold on the bundle of garments in your hands. Inhaling deeply, you turn to her with a slight smile, a little frail around the edges but present all the same.

The assassin leans against the wall opposite to you, bright fluorescent illuminating her features, giving her a near gaunt appearance. When did she lose so much weight? Her usually soft freckles stand stark against her too pale skin.

“I got a raise,” you tell her, pride colouring your voice and you move in her direction with a shy smile. “Just last week.”

Her eyebrows quirk, searching over your new attire of tailored dress pants, white shirt and polished heels.

“I told you, didn’t I?” she says after a pause, and you falter under her piercing stare.

Yes. Yes, she did. She told you repeatedly it’s only a matter of time before you get a raise. She thought you were a great worker and oftentimes joked about putting in a good word to Winston about you. You always wrote off her words as nothing more than jokes, meaningless conversations you have with someone when you want to be polite. John Wick certainly never got involved in your banter. His dark eyes unfailingly trailed after her smiles and laughs instead.

You could understand his appreciation, his secret hoarding of those rare instances. He wanted something—someone—he couldn’t afford to have. Couldn’t permit himself to reach for.

Staring at the Vipress you think you understand him better than you would care to admit.

She’s beautiful in a way a wild flame is beautiful. Get too close and you know you will suffer for it. But you want to.

God, you really do. Crave her in secret because… well. What are you? What can you give to a woman like her? When she holds the interest of so many above your stature. The things they say she did during the Hunt. People who are dead because of her.

She’s one of the most horrible people alive.

Yet her smiles are more blinding than the sun, and you selfishly want every single one of them.

“Yes, you did,” you agree weakly, holding out the bundle of clothes to her.

Her hands are cold when they touch yours but a tingle rushes up your spine all the same. Electric current hums under your skin when her guarded eyes do another searching sweep over your expression.

“You know my sizes?”

Your heart quivers in your chest, unsure how to proceed. Does she think you stranger, wrong, to have remembered such a thing?

“I… your laundry,” you splutter, then exhale, calming yourself to give her a steadier, “When you lived here. The dry cleaner. I… sorry, I realise this might be uncomfortable for you.”

Her hazel eyes drag over you again, hard and unyielding. Your breaths slow when she takes a few steps closer—close enough for you to scent the flowers, herbs and soil that forever seem to cling to her smooth skin. You’ve never wanted to nuzzle into someone’s neck more, feel their warmth beneath your lips. Taste and savour the exquisite familiarity of someone’s very being.

“My sizes have changed,” she says and you tell yourself you imagined the slight smile you glimpse for a split second. “But you’re welcome to learn them again.”

She brushes past you—flowers and poison and death—and you force yourself to breath, ignoring the heat crawling up your neck.

an: she. that's it - that's the message. but thank you so much for asking for her!!! I think Clara deserves a soft sapphic romance, as a treat.

[elysianslove]

Hello! Can I please request a hc of Kuroo, Bokuto and Akaashi with a s/o who easily passes out when they see blood? idk but like for me even thinking any anything graphic makes me super light headed or when I watched a birth video I almost passed out :P but yeah something like if someone at practice gets a deep cut and they pass out, sorry if this is too vague but thank you anyways! :))

hi!!! yes you absolutely can i hope you enjoy mwah <3

kuroo tetsurō

it probably comes up every once in a while, in a conversation, but he’s never actually seen you react to blood. 

any time a bloody scene happens in like a movie or something you’re always so quick to shut your eyes and he’s so quick to laugh the bastard. 

probably teases so much whenever it’s brought up like he’ll be telling you about an injury someone on the team sustained and you’ll be cringing so bad and he’ll just coo at you like aw my baby’s scared of a lil blood

he doesn’t realize how serious it is until he sees it happen before his very own eyes: it’s a weekend and you’re hanging with kuroo and some of your mutual friends outdoors on like concrete ground. they’re playing easy going volleyball it’s all chill and stuff and, since yaku’s libero, he goes in to receive the ball and he scrapes his knee really bad. nobody’s really worried but they make him walk over to where you are with all the water to clean it up a little. you can’t really see what’s going on until yaku walks up to you and his knee is so. it’s so bloody. 

you react the only way you know how to

you faint lol

kuroo’s so confused tbh he’s like that video of the guy screaming what happened! what happened! what the fuck happened! while people cheer in the background

he rushes over to where you are and asks yaku what happened, to which yaku shrugs with wide eyes like bro i did nothing i swear 

you come to pretty quickly though and kuroo’s so worried about you he’s all over you asking you if you’re okay if you need anything makes you rest your head on his chest to prevent dizziness makes you drink water all that. when you spot yaku’s knee again you freeze up and just slap your head over your eyes and then it all finally clicks 

proceeds to laugh

what a big meanie rip 

he’s like here i thought you were dying and turns out you’re just a pussy haha 

but he is a lot more careful after that! like he makes sure not to be around you when he’s injured and whenever he sees someone else get hurt he immediately turns your head and hides your face in his chest. also always makes sure you yourself don’t get injured, and if you do, even though he’s teasing you so much, he’ll patch you up so you don’t have to. if you’re asked to watch something like a birthing video or anything equally disturbing to you, he watches it for you and just explains what you need to know for class.

he’s very supportive and protective but will never miss an opportunity to laugh at/with you in the process. it’s his way of lightening up the mood :)

bokuto kōtarō

if you’d told him before he’d actually seen you react to something gore-like or blood in general, he’d be like 

so amazed. like he’d just feel this surge of protectiveness over you like don’t worry never fret i’m here i’ll protect you always!! he is literally the sweetest he doesn’t even need to take you seriously he just wants you to know you’ll never have to worry about something like that

but then it happens: you’re cooking something up in the kitchen and he’s like watching you, keeping you company. you’re just having a normal, lighthearted conversation, talking about your days as you cut up some vegetables, when you accidentally just slice your palm. it’s a relatively deep cut, you’re not sure if you’ll need stitches or not, but suddenly you’re bleeding out really quick and you feel lightheaded. bokuto has really good reflexes though, and as soon as he sees the blood drain from your face and your eyes roll back, he’s immediately by your side, stopping you from hitting the ground.

he’s kind of panicking honestly, because not only is your hand bleeding, but you’re also unconscious. he reaches out to hold your hand and cover it with his own big one, but the blood seeps through also. you come to relatively quick and the first thing you see is the blood, but then bokuto takes his other hand and covers your eyes, turning your head away from the sight.

he’s not entirely sure what to do he just doesn’t like seeing you like this. when you try to turn your head again, he tuts, pouting and going, “don’t look,” while his brain finally catches up and he grabs a towel. he wraps your hand in it and helps you stand, leading you to the sink to wash off the blood, and just as softly as he can runs the water over your cut palm.

he’s insanely gentle. bokuto’s a really hyperactive person, but when it comes to it, he can be really serious, especially when someone he loves it upset or hurt. seeing you like this left him all frowned up and pouty, and he doesn’t like the fact that you look like you’re on the verge of tears. or he fact that you just passed out. like are you okay????

never lets you cut up vegetables after that. or never lets you near a knife in general. paranoia? protectiveness? a good mix of both. 

also constantly kisses your bandaged hand, and if it scars, he’s always tracing it and leaving little featherlight kisses on top of it. 

his panic just makes time move slower, so he’s able to react a little better than others would. overall very protective but in an endearing, soft way

akaashi keiji 

i think akaashi would probably be even panickier than bokuto lmfao

but he’d be the one out of the three to absolutely take you serious when you tell him of your phobia. like as soon as it comes out he finds himself hyperaware of his surroundings whenever he goes out with you, constantly making sure there’s nothing that’ll make you uncomfortable or trigger you

he’s never actually seen you react to blood, but he’s always preparing himself for it to happen. ironically, it happens when he least expects it: you’re carrying around something fragile or made of glass, like a mirror or a porcelain plate and you accidentally trip. he barely manages to react quick enough to catch you before you fall, finding the both of you on your knees, but the glass falls to the ground, crashing and spilling across the room. it cuts him deep on his arm, and you’re immediately fussing over him when you hear him hiss in sudden pain. you hadn’t expected the heavy flow of blood on his pale skin, though, and he hears you gasp before you fall on the ground, unconscious. he’d been a little too distracted by the pain and blood himself to remember your phobia and he immediately panics like ohmygodshit what did i do what do i do 

but then he recollects himself and rushes to get a towel or something to hide his bloody arm, before returning to your side as you’re waking up. starts asking you if you’re okay, repeatedly, as he’s helping you sit up, while you ask if he’s okay because you’re convinced it’s your fault he got hurt in the first place. that kinda makes him smile, steadies and calms him a bit. he helps you to a couch or something while he cleans and bandages his arm away from you, returns to cuddle you and kiss all over your face. 

he was already really painfully aware of your surroundings but after seeing you actually faint because of blood, he’s way more protective. he also learns to respond super quick to your reactions, so if you’re ever out with him, or like with a bunch of other people and you start cringing away at the sight of blood or you faint again, he’s really quick to calm you down or catch you. coddles you and holds you near his chest whenever you’re returning back to consciousness, just whispering softly that you’re okay and urging you not to look.

so, initially he’s very panicky because he thinks he’s prepared but he isn’t. but once he actually experiences it he learns your cues very well and is super good at taking care of you! 

[cloudytamaki]

can i call you tonight • k.tetsuro

⤷ genre: angst and breakups.

⤷ summary: lonely nights after a breakup; he’s wondering how he could’ve kept you just a little longer.

he lay on his bed, staring up at the small brown stain on his ceiling. the fan smoothly cuts through the air, blowing strands of his hair around his face.

kuroo’s nose scrunches as he relives the memory; you’d been fooling around one morning and you were jumping on the bed with your mug of coffee in your hand when you’d accidentally splashed it on the ceiling.

the room is dimly lit except for the office light on his desk, the bulb is slowly wearing out. the rushing traffic outside never fails to keep him awake; it’s midnight and tokyo never sleeps.

it doesn’t matter to him, really.

kuroo’s not been sleeping the same without you. too many thoughts and feelings consume him at night; energy drink cans litter his desk; dark circles underline his eyes.

even kenma said he looked like shit. he felt like it, too.

his heart stirs in his chest and he releases a breath, briefly closing his eyes. but his phone buzzes against his shoulder and he rolls over to grab it.

he squints at the bright screen: a calendar notification for tomorrow’s work event. he ought to get some sleep if he wants to keep his job.

the fan comes to a stop and the desk light shuts off; the hum of the dishwasher in the kitchen ceases instantaneously. a power outage, just great.

a warm breeze blows in from the open window and he groans, gripping his phone tightly when his fingers brush against the buttons and he brings the phone up to his face.

what if..

one call.

he doubts you’ll be awake, but it’s worth a try. opening his contacts list, kuroo scrolls through the never-ending sea of names until his finger stops on yours.

he clicks the contact, opening the information stored. he skims over your name, picture, and number — but the personal note section is what grabs his attention.

‘your loving soulmate, y/n. always answer texts and calls from this number.’

there’s a heart emoji, too. you’d secretly added that back when you’d first started dating and never thought to erase it. his finger trembles over the call button and he grits his teeth.

since when had he been so damn nervous to call you?

fuck it, he thinks, and presses the button. he has nothing to lose; you probably won’t pick up. it’s midnight anyways.

kuroo inhales through his nose when the phone continues to ring — it’ll go to voicemail, he’s sure of it.

“hello?” your voice comes through the phone and his breath hitches in his throat as he nervously runs a hand through his hair.

“hey, it’s me.”

“tetsuro?” you say his name before a long pause ensues. “is everything okay?”

“to be honest, not really,” he replies with a small laugh, even though his voice cracks painfully. the only okay thing right now is the fact that he doesn’t feel so alone with you on the other end.

you release a soft sigh, lying back on your own pillow. “tell me about it.”

he proceeds to tell you about the many energy drinks he’s bought and gulped down, the small power outage, his practiced job event. kuroo hasn’t told you everything he wants to get off his chest, though.

you laugh at one of his funny stories and he cherishes the sound. more silence before you speak up.

“it’s almost one, you should go to bed, tetsuro.”

he blurts something out that he should’ve said a while ago. “if i’d been—” he almost chokes on the word, happiness fading as his eyes fill up with tears, “better, would we still be together?”

“no.” you don’t hesitate, the word rolls right off your tongue and it’s like a knife stabbing into his heart. “it’s — it wasn’t your fault, so don’t ever think it was. i fucked up too, you know. i share the blame with you, tetsuro.

“don’t you dare say you could’ve been better. please don’t doubt yourself, tetsu.”

tears roll down his cheeks and he nods as if you’re right beside him. his phone beeps and he panics at the 1% left on the damn thing.

“y/n, i – i love you.”

his phone shakes in his grip as he silently urges you to say it back to him.

“please take care of—” before you can finish your sentence, the screen goes black. the phone’s dead.

and just like that, he’s alone again.

[cheri-translates]

Headcanon - When you’re angry

This work, 当你生气了, was originally written by 君兮耶君兮 on Weibo, and she has given me permission to translate it 🌸

[ VICTOR ]

“Did you write this while asleep? It doesn’t even compare to the work of an LFG intern.”

Watching your painstakingly drafted proposal get rejected so mercilessly, you feel as though your abilities are being insulted and humiliated. 

“From now onwards, don’t talk to me, and don’t even stand near me!”

Enraged, you put some distance between the both of you, fuming as you stride into the room and slam the door behind you.

“...” 

Victor pinches the bridge of his nose. 

He didn’t think giving you an honest criticism of your proposal would make you this angry. With a sigh, he heads into the kitchen.

Being mad doesn’t mean you no longer have to make adjustments to the proposal. Taking out your laptop and browsing through the document, you make amendments according to the comments Victor’s left at the side.

With a click of the keyhole, the door is pushed open. In walks Victor with set of spare keys and a pudding. 

“Don’t be angry. I made you pudding. Once you’re done, We’ll go through the proposal and amend it together.”

He sets the pudding down. 

“Tonight, I’ll also wear that dinosaur onesie you wanted to see me in.”

You let out a “hmph”, cradling the pudding in your hand. 

“I’m forgiving you only because of the pudding and onesie.” 

“Got it, dummy.”

“Victor!”

[ GAVIN ]

There’s a tinge of red in your eyes as you pare the apple with a knife, ignoring Gavin no matter what he says.

If it wasn’t for the surgery necessitating a relative’s signature, and if it wasn’t for a call from the hospital, you wouldn’t known that your own Officer Gavin had sustained such a severe injury. 

Recalling how Eli had attempted to defend him with an unconvincing “Gavin didn’t tell you because he didn’t want you to worry”, you really feel like grabbing Gavin off the bed and giving him a good beating.

Gavin sees the clumsily peeled apple skin piling up on the table, and watches as the trash bin is gradually filled up with them. 

He suddenly senses that his wife isn’t as harmless as she appears.

Laying on the bed, he tugs at the hem of your skirt.

“Don’t be angry, come closer to me.”

You make no sound, head lowered as you continue slaughtering the innocent apples.

Seeing no reaction from you, Gavin lapses into silence. 

Then, he shifts closer to you on the bed.

“Gavin, what are you doing!? You’re still having an IV!” You frantically press him back to his original spot to stop him from moving.

Tugging his hand towards you and flipping his palm over, you discover that he’s bleeding, as expected. 

Mustering a cold expression, you tap the nurse call button.

Gavin looks distressed.

“Don’t stand so far away from me. I want to hug you.”

Releasing a sigh, you carefully avoid his wound and give him a hug. “If you hide something like this from me again, I’ll really ignore you.”

Gavin tightens his hold on you. “I’m sorry. There won’t be a next time.

Nurse: “...can I come in?”

[ LUCIEN ]

After the nth time of catching Lucien working through the night, your temper finally erupts. However, you act as though everything’s fine and dandy.

In the evening after your bath, you don’t call Lucien to bed like you normally do. Instead, you peel open the covers and lie in bed alone. 

Lucien notices that you’re acting out of the ordinary, and quickly guesses that you’re angry. 

Today, he obediently accompanies you to bed.

You’re lying on your side near the edge, leaving a relatively large gap between the both of you.

Lucien sits on the bed to adjust the air-conditioning to the silent mode. Then, he proceeds to lower the temperature to the lowest possible degree, turning up the wind speed to full blast.

As the surroundings grow colder, you’re stirred awake from sleep, instinctively wanting to burrow yourself in his arms. At the same time, you remind yourself that you’re still angry with him, so you grit your teeth and curl up into a ball, hoping this would be enough to keep warm. 

“If you’re cold, you can come into my arms,” Lucien’s voice floats from behind you, carries with it a smile.

You have firmly decided to maintain a cold war with him.

“Thank you, but I’m not cold.” 

A warm body presses against your back. “But I am.”

You restrain yourself from snuggling into his arms, and laugh dryly. 

“Doesn’t feel like it though.”

Lucien’s arms encase you, hugging you tightly.

“When you ignore me, my heart feels cold.”

[ KIRO ]

After discovering that Kiro has once again hacked into your phone to delete a few male contacts, you start engaging in a tug-of-war with him.

“Miss Chips, could you open the door? I was wrong QAQ”

[Note] “QAQ” is meant to resemble a crying face! It’s frequently used in the Chinese online community

You’ve locked yourself in your house, refusing to open the door no matter what Kiro says. To prevent him from entering even if he cracks the password, you even added an anti-theft chain.

As expected, Kiro cracks the new password with ease. When the thick anti-theft chain enters his vision, his face pales. 

“Miss Chips... who did you learn this from...”

“Did you forget? When we were choosing locks a while ago, the shop gave it to me.” You shoot him a triumphant grin, arms folded across your chest.

“But with such a small gap, the fried chicken and milk tea I ordered for you wouldn’t be able to fit.” Kiro comments, using his fingers to measure the gap of the door.

It’s a dilemma - you don’t want him to enter, but you don’t want to miss out on delicious food either. 

“When the food arrives, I’ll open the door. Just squeeze them in.”

“...am I not on an equal level as food?” Kiro pouts. “I’m sorry Miss Chips. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Huh?”

“I command you. Open the door.”

[ SHAW ]

“Don’t be like this. I was wrong, okay?” Shaw knocks on the door, his tone clearly unapologetic. “At most, I’ll buy it for you again later.”

Not receiving a response from you, he adds, “At most, I’ll give you a privilege to make me do whatever you want once. How’s that?”

With this, an idea strikes you. “Really?”

“Really.”

“All right. Hold on.” 

After saying this, you tear a sheet of paper from your diary and start scribbling.

“Are you done? It’s been over two minutes,” Shaw calls out impatiently from outside. “Is your bedroom so large that you need such a long time walk to the door?!”

You stuff the sheet of paper underneath the door.

“I’m done.”

“What’s this?” Shaw picks it up and gives it a read:

At home, I will listen to my wife’s suggestions, and prioritise her in everything

I will not reject any request from my wife

I will give all my private savings to my wife

My wife has the right to add to these clauses as she deems fit

All final decisions rest with my wife

“...these are unfair clauses. Even if I were to starve to death or fling myself off the building, I’ll never sign it!”

“Hm? Are you signing it or not?”

Shaw grits his teeth.

“...I’ll sign.”

More translated and original works: here

-

[ Permission to translate ]

君兮耶君兮: You can - just note the source of the author

[seacottons]

uni!au with ateez — [ part one ]

—[ san - performing arts ]

ironically, you met when you helped him after a taller male shoved him down whilst in a heated argument.

he burst out laughing when you asked if he was okay.

“don’t worry, we’re just practicing our lines!”

you quickly glanced up at the building and grimaced once taking sight of the gleaming silver ‘performing arts building’ plaque.

of course.

to say you were embarrassed was only scratching the surface.

you had no regrets, because the incident was the catalyst that formed your friendship and eventual relationship.

will never let you live that moment down.

“remember when you tried to save me from mingi?”

“i thought we promised not to bring that up again-”

“why can’t i? i was saved by an angel that day?”

san invites you to both his dance and theatre shows.

will appear to be very professional on stage, but you catch his eyes frantically darting to the crowd to try and spot you.

and once he does, he will repeatedly smile and wink in your direction.

you’re always early, so you manage to snag a seat in either front two rows.

likes when you bring him bouquets as a congratulation gift after his performances.

gets very loud backstage just to let everyone know you bought him a gift.

a huge show-off.

is very good at facial expressions.

you fall for every time he pretends he’s crying or hurt when you don’t give him attention.

he will imitate different characters and repeat after actors while you two watch movies together.

“it sounded sexier when i said it, right (y/n)?”

is a very clingy cuddle bug.

and a leech.

will always have his arms around you while walking at campus.

loves to give you back hugs.

is the type to wait outside for you until you finish class.

and takes you to the cafeteria afterwards for lunch.

embarrasses you in said cafeteria by spinning the lunch tray while waiting in line.

also likes to spin your phone just to freak you out.

also the type to excitedly text you about the donuts and coffee they’re giving away at the library’s breezeway.

likes to refer to you as ‘angel’.

will beg you join the different clubs he’s in.

and then brag about you to the others once you do.

will hype your choice of attire even if he’s already seen you earlier that day.

the type to also sneak you a latte in the middle of your class.

also the type to sneak in with you during your auditorium classes.

you regret it sometimes because he leaves no room for you to pay attention to your professor.

often times, so much so that you have to lightly pinch his side in protest.

“do you want me to fail this class?”

he likes to participate in the many events held at campus.

everyone knows him.

challenges you to dance offs in the middle of campus.

you refuse and push forward a startled mingi instead.

“mingi wants to have a turn this time!”

also likes to lay in your arms whilst you play with his hair.

“were you a cat in your previous life?”

he will then proceed to meow in your ear.

“i’ll take that as a yes.”

—[ hongjoong - fashion design ]

dating him would consist of always admiring his new projects.

supplying him with unhealthy amounts of coffee.

trying out new pieces he made.

offering to carry his overly large portfolio binder sometimes.

sitting down and listening to him rant about how his roomates fail to wash clothes properly.

he has a guide taped to the washing machine with the different symbols of clothing labels.

“no, san, you can’t use shampoo as detergent.”

“but seonghwa finished all the detergent!”

using seonghwa’s lint rollers to remove all the fabric fibers stuck on hongjoong’s clothes.

you scold him while cleaning the bleeding scratches on his fingers from his sewing needles and pins.

“don’t worry, it’s nothing i can’t handle.”

“but i don’t like seeing you get hurt, you bum.”

you bought him strawberry bandaids because he thought they were cute.

sometimes, when he has time, he’ll custom make clothes just for you.

he insists on having multiple matching outfits.

will ask you to model his work for his social media page.

thinks you look best in skirts.

you’ll be the source of comfort during presentation week.

he’ll be a wreck whilst making a new collection.

but you’re always there to pick him back up.

most of the time, you’re the source of his inspiration as well.

you insist he shouldn’t sit for hours writing essays or sketching numerous ideas for future work.

but he’s stubborn as a mule.

nights with him include binge watching fashion shows or cute cartoons.

or painting your nails.

you both enjoy coffee dates when you have time.

he tells you he wants to open a fashion line one day.

you’re trying to stand still as he plucks numerous pins into the dress you’re trying on.

“what do you think i should call it?”

“hj couture? does that sound too basic?”

he pauses momentarily before spooling the leftover red thread.

“(y/n). i’ll call the line (y/n).”

—[ wooyoung - culinary arts ]

invites you to his dorm and cooks for you.

his apartment always smells of warm spices and comforting meals.

pretends his roommates’ teasing doesn’t affect him, but the tips of ears always glow red.

will always bring over leftovers he made in class.

“i just thought you wanted to try this mille feuille.”

“which one is better? the salted rosemary loaf or the oregano and olive oil one?”

loves to bake and cook with you.

will make your birthday cake from scratch and will go all out decorating it.

has an annoying habit of taking pictures of you mid-bite.

“delete that right now.”

“but babe, you look so cute.”

“jung wooyoung!”

will wrestle with you as you attempt to take his phone away.

“okay, look! i swear i’ll delete it!”

he saves it in a hidden folder.

calls you his ‘cupcake’ or ‘sugarplum’.

teases you nonstop when you fail at something in the kitchen.

“babe! no! gentle folds! you pulverized those poor blueberries!”

“but the instructions say to mix!”

“the dough isn’t supposed to be blue!”

he’ll whine nonstop about how much he hates baking bread in class.

“do you know how abnoxiously long the fermentation process is!? i’m losing my mind.”

will wave and yell your name to catch your attention if he spots you nearby at campus.

you hear him every time.

he’s just that loud.

drags you to new restaurants just so you can rate them with him.

also drags you to go cutlery shopping.

accidentally dropped a plate in the store.

and when the employee came sauntering in the aisle suspiciously-

“(y/n) did it.”

once gave you food poisoning by accident.

you never wanted to eat scallops again.

you don’t mind his hands smelling like garlic or ginger most of the time.

or stained with spices.

“turmeric is a bitch.”

“woo, who wears white while cooking with turmeric anyway?”

will show off and brag about his knife skills.

demands to race with you to see who can chop the vegetables the quickest.

“you’re going down, (y/n).”

“uh- i don’t think i ever stood a chance to begin with.”

he lets you win sometimes though.

will beg you to visit him at his part time job at the cute cafe not too far by.

you always try to when you have the time.

and when he finds out you went to the rival cafe across the street one day..

“on a scale of 10 to 10, how bad is kang yeosang’s cooking?”

“what?”

“answer the question, (y/n).”

“woo, it’s 3 a.m.”

the next day, you explained that you were merely invited by your classmates to that particular cafe because one of them was a former employee there.

he childishly ignored you with crossed arms and a subtle pout.

“your jajangmyeon is much better. they didn’t even like the food there!”

he finally perks up with a large smile.

“wait, really?”

you think he looks endearing with his apron and chef’s hat.

will post cheesy captioned pictures of you after serving you delicately decorated plates of food.

‘two delicious meals for tonight, hehe.’

“gross. did you really have to say that?”

—[ jongho - kinesiology ]

you met him at the university gym and instantly clicked.

found yourself months later agreeing to go out with him.

a giant goofball.

sometimes makes faces at you while you exercise across the gym.

makes sure you watch him when he deadlifts.

loves when you hype him up.

opens all the jars for you.

and cuts all the fruit for you.

“why use a knife when you have my hands, love?”

you nearly choked on your saliva when he punched open the watermelon.

“can we ever just have a perfectly sliced watermelon!?”

“no- unless i break my arm one day.”

insists you jog with him around campus early in the morning.

likes to practice wrapping elastic tape on you.

you own half of his hoodies.

takes you to watch basketball matches.

then challenges you to a match when you go on dates to the park.

will persistently tease you about your poor aim.

and will absolutely not let you have the ball for more than a few seconds.

“stop cheating!”

“i’m not cheating! you just suck!”

joined you in some of your elective classes.

will also wear sleeveless shirts because he knows how flustered you get while his sculpted muscles are on display.

“what did professor kim just say?”

“what?” you tore your gaze from his biceps to glance at his face.

“are you staring at my arms again?” he snickers.

“no,” you say too quickly, face heating quite considerably.

despite his teasing, he’ll always baby you and take care of your needs.

has the cutest gummy smile.

you like to call him your gummy bear.

he hated the name at first, but grew to accept it over time.

likes to randomly pick you up.

sometimes will throw you over his shoulder.

has a habit of patting your thighs.

sometimes asks you to sit on his back while he does push-ups.

your eye bulged at the sight of a mop of ruby hair.

“don’t say anything.”

“you like apples so much you dyed your hair red?”

“i lost a bet.”

“you look cute though.”

you tugged at his tresses, smiling as you admired the shade against his tanned skin.

“baby?” you brushed his bangs away to display his forehead.

“hm?”

“you’re the apple of my eye.”

“i’m-,” he sucked on his teeth and pursed his lips, face scrunching in a mock grimace, “i’m going to throw up.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Heart-Shaped Box💟9/End

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), forced pregnancy, some violence, intimidation, some elements untagged for sake of plot.

This is dark!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Sister Series: Get Your Fix

Summary: You accept a job as an au pair, but not all is as it seems.

Note: Finally finishing this one up. Sorry it took me ages but I’m doing my best to go back and wrap up whatever I can.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Masterlist

Bucky pulled out of you as he held your head down, bouncing the bed beneath you as he pushed himself onto his back. You panted as your sweat dampened the sheet beneath you and he leaked between your thighs. You winced as you rolled onto your side and slowly sat up. 

He had you whining loud enough that you had no doubt your guests heard it all. It only seemed to encourage his partner-in-crime as you soon heard a similar scene on the other side of the wall. You were sickened by that noise and stood warily as you cupped your hand over your cunt and scooped up his cum before it could drip onto the floor.

“I told you to keep it down,” he snickered and sat up, his muscled back to you as he stretched his arms above him, “get the shower started, I’ll be in shortly. You girls have a lot of work to do today.”

You grumbled and dragged your feet to the attached bathroom. The low buzz of the pipes filled the silence and you stepped under the steamy water. The moment of calm broke sharply as Bucky appeared from the other side of the curtain and stepped in behind you. He had you clean him with a lathered loofah and you bore it only for the eventuality of time away from him.

The other woman meant you wouldn’t be trapped with just him. It was little help or hope but it was better than your former solitary torture.

You dressed in black dress with daisies and made yourself look like his perfect housewife. You couldn’t hold the smile and make him believe it all the way but he wouldn’t anyway. He flicked your chin and clicked his tongue.

“Mmm, you’re getting there,” he mused as he dropped his hand and reached around to slap your ass, “better go get breakfast on. I’ll check in on our guests.” He squeezed and winked, “be a good girl.”

Those words made your insides curdled but you swallowed your disgust and nodded, “yes, sir.”

He stepped out behind you and watched you go down the hall to the stairs and you heard him knock on the door as you descended. You went to the kitchen and pulled out the frying pan and the coconut oil. You lined up the ingredients for crepes on the counter and took two bananas from the yellow bunch. Your mother used to make the oversweet delicacy and you needed a reminder that you were still that girl.

You stopped as you searched for something to keep the crepes warm after you assembled them, a lid that could fit over the plate or something akin to it. The lower cupboards you rarely opened. Bucky left the cleaning supplies on the counter with your chore list every day and you never bothered to look for anything else.

You stopped and stared at the drain cleaner and the can of toxic oven spray. Well, that wouldn’t be subtle enough, would it? They’d smell either of those a mile away. Anything under the counter would be easily discovered but it did give you an idea.

You closed the wooden door and went back to your task. You heard the voices in the next room and the scrape of the chairs on the floor. Steve’s girl appeared in the doorway, rubbing her stomach as her face contorted.

“Smells sweet,” she said as you simmered the bananas with brown sugar, cinnamon, and a little butter, “almost too sweet.”

“Morning sickness?” you asked innocently.

“All the time sickness,” she sighed, “anything I can help with?”

“Do you know how to make crepes?” you asked as you whisked the batter.

“Not really,” she shrugged, “but I can learn.”

“It’s easy. Takes less than a minute,” you waved her over and tested the temperature of the pan with a flick of water, “so you wanna put just a little batter in…” you ladled in a careful dollop and lifted the pan, “you spread it like this,” you tilted it so the batter spread all around, “you just use the spatula a little on the edges to make sure they don’t stick and you flip.”

It was like second nature and she nodded quietly as she watched. The crepe cooked quickly and you threw it onto a plate and put the pan back to the burner.

“You think you can handle that?” you covered the plate with the lid of a pat to keep it warm. “Then we put some of the bananas and wrap them, bit of cream on top and some icing sugar…”

“You like to cook?” she wondered as she added batter to the hot pan.

“Not particularly, but my mother taught me,” you shrugged, “she can cook anything.”

“Oh,” she flipped the crepe and glanced at the door, “I suppose… it keeps him happy.”

“He’s never happy,” you murmured and cleared your throat, “so, you must be excited to move in!”

“I guess,” she slid the crepe onto the plate as you lifted the foggy lid, “you know how it is.”

You smiled and she tilted her head as she squinted at you. You went to the drawer where there was a box of blank recipe cards and continued speaking as you fished out a pencil from another.

“It’s always nice to get settled,” you said as you wrote, ‘they can hear us’.

“I suppose, nice to be in one place,” she replied stiffly as her features relaxed.

‘I have a plan,’ you wrote and raised your voice just slightly, “oh, you know, we didn’t even get you a housewarming gift. I’ll have to remind James.”

You went to the burner and held out the card under the coil until it caught. You threw it into the sink and watched it burn and curl. You ran water over it as it turned to ash and washed it away. You nudged the bowl towards her and leaned on the counter, “need help with that?”

“No,” she said as she started again, “I’m getting the hang of it.”

💟

You looked around the front room of the house next door. Steve’s girl opened one of the stacked boxes. For once, the men were gone and you could just enjoy their absence. 

Bucky agreed that a gift was in order and Steve had mentioned wanting to explore their new hometown. You tried not to seem eager but even the small walk across the lawns enlivened you. How long had it been since you’d been outside?

You started with the pictures. You left the frames in a stack as she assured you Steve would put the nails in and hang them. Then you moved onto the kitchenware and you kept her from lifting the heavy box of dishes. She seemed to forget about her condition and the reminder made her frown.

You stood behind the counter and set the dishes in the cupboards one at a time, the plates clacking one on top of each other. She watched from the other side as she arranged the silverware in the plastic tray.

“Can you do me a favour?” you asked as you kept on.

“What?” she asked as she dropped a butter knife with the rest.

“I know they’ve locked us in but can you check the garage door? Can we get in there?” you asked evenly.

“What?” she blinked and pushed herself straight, “even if we can, they won’t have been stupid enough--”

“That’s not what I’m worried about. I know we can’t get out that way either. It’s the same at our house. Everything is bolted up tight.” You assured her, “just go and check while I get these sorted.”

She left you and you snapped shut the door and finished with the utensils. You slid the tray into the drawer as she returned, rubbing her stomach.

“Yeah, we can get in but it’s mostly empty,” she said, “so…”

“Mostly empty?”

“Yeah, just the car--”

“The car,” you rounded the counter and curled two fingers for her to follow you.

You headed for the plain white door that led to the garage. You hopped down the steps as she remained at the top and watched you tentatively. You went to the car as she crossed her arms.

“He took the keys,” she said.

You tried the handle and the door opened. “I know,” you said as you put a knee in the front seat and peered into the back. Nothing. 

You felt around under the dash and found the lever for the trunk. You pulled it and it popped. You shut the door and went around the back of the car. You felt around the spare tire and your hand felt something plastic. You grabbed the handle of the half-filled jug and pulled it out.

“Hey,” you held up the bright blue anti-freeze, “do you wanna cook dinner here tonight? A housewarming dinner?”

Her brows knitted and she gave a long blink. Her lips parted then curved.

“You can’t mean--” she let out a scoff.

“It’s sweet. Hopefully they won’t notice if I add enough sugar to the cake,” you breathed, “we can’t let them settle. This is our chance.”

“I don’t-- I don’t know. What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then we’re still in the same boat,” you turned your free hand out, “that man has drugged me for months. I think it’s only fair that he gets a taste of his own medicine.”

She swallowed and looked down at her stomach. She inhaled and cradled her bump. “It can’t get worse than this, can it?”

💟

You spent the day unpacking, the distraction not much of one as you thought of the bottle you hid at the back of the cupboard. By the time the men returned, you were ready to move onto the second floor. 

Bucky offered a bottle of non-alcoholic wine and basket of expensive macarons as your gift to your new neighbours. He forced a kiss from you before he let you follow Steve’s girl upstairs.

You sat in the bedroom and heard the men ascend shortly after. You peeked in on them as you opened the linen closet to shove in the spare sheets. They were hammering together a crib. You knocked lightly on the doorframe as you watched them.

“Huh, what’s going on?” Bucky looked up from the directions.

“Um, we were just… thinking, we could have dinner here tonight? A little housewarmer? I could grab some ingredients from ours--”

“Give me a list, I’ll grab it,” Bucky puffed as he bent to help hold the rail in place for Steve, “that sound okay?”

“Fine by me,” Steve smiled, “it’ll be nice to have our feet on solid ground.”

You left them and returned to your only ally as she sat on the bed and stared at a packet of pills. She crushed it in her grasp and huffed. She flicked away tears with her knuckles. She tossed them over her shoulder.

“He kept them,” she snarled, “it’s like he’s mocking me.”

“What?” you neared her and sat carefully beside her.

“I never… I worked with him, you know? He brought me these drinks and I didn’t realise he was dosing them. The stuff, it made me itchy… it made me so hot and I just needed anything. I hopped on him I was so desperate and-- I told him to stay away. I realised what he’d done and I told him to leave me alone and you know what he did,” she crossed her arms over her stomach.

“No, I--” you touched her elbow.

“He broke into my apartment and replaced my pills. And he didn’t leave me alone,” she spat, “he did this all and he still has the goddamn pills like they’re some sort of trophy.”

She hung her head and grunted in frustration. You leaned against her and put your arm over her shoulders. She let you and the tension drained from her body.

“Even if we get out…” she whispered, “I’ll always have this piece of him.”

She pressed her palms to her stomach and you frowned. There was nothing you could do or say. You’d been lucky so far, even if it only fed your suffering. You didn’t have another life to worry about.

“We don’t have to if--”

“I want to,” she hissed lowly, “I want him dead.”

💟

Usually, you tasted the icing and licked the spoon. Not that night. The blue shade of the frosting was anything but suspicious as you spread it over the fluffy cake. It was a perfect disguise. You topped it with blueberries to add to the theme and dusted on a few coloured sprinkles. You stood back and admired your work as the smell of garlic filled the kitchen.

“I know it’s not much,” Steve’s girl said as she stirred the sauce, “but it’s what I can manage.”

“I’m sure it’s great,” you said as you took the meatballs of the burner and tested the spaghetti, “noodles are perfect.”

You strained the pasta and helped pour the meatballs into the sauce. You mixed it up and poured it into a large glass dish and the noodles into another. You brought them out to the table and called the men to dinner before you fetched the wine, both alcoholic and not.

Steve’s girl sat as you poured a glass for each of you and the men sat. You set the bottle down and nestled in next to Bucky as he served himself. When the plates were full, the other woman nudged Steve and whispered in his ear.

He cleared his throat and stood, “um, I know it’s just us but I guess I should say thank you for all the help and we’re excited to be neighbours… can’t wait for the kids to be running around these halls together.”

“Mmm,” Bucky lifted his glass, “hopefully…” he muttered doubtfully and looked at you, “that better be what she’s having,” he nodded to your glass.

You held it out for him to sniff and he gave you a sour look. He tutted and sat back to twirl noodles around his fork as he set aside his glass. You took a sip of the gutless wine and speared a meatball on your tines. You chewed and looked at Steve’s girl. She let Steve rub her thigh under the table and forced a smile.

She was playing it well and you felt as if you would fall apart. You felt as if Bucky would see right through you the minute you walked in with the cake. What would he do then? Steve couldn’t hurt his girl, she had the baby, but you, Bucky could replace you still. Maybe that was for the best but it didn’t mean you weren’t scared shitless.

You cleared the plates and retreated to the kitchen. Just you. You’d gone over it, you didn’t want them to catch on. You didn’t get too close with them around, you acted like strangers, you really were after all.

You sliced the cake into careful portions and came out with two plates at a time. You put them in front of each chair and sat. As you did, Steve’s girl covered her mouth and gagged. She pushed herself up unsteadily.

“Honey?” Steve asked as he rubbed her lower back.

“It’s the baby I--” she gulped sickeningly, “I gotta--”

She rushed out and Steve gave a look, “nausea. It’s been like this for weeks.”

“I’m going to make sure she’s okay,” you stood, “go ahead and start without us.”

You went down the hall and as you neared the bathroom, Steve’s girl opened the door and pulled you inside. She looked genuinely sick and you smelled vomit on her breath. She turned and rinsed her mouth and shuddered. 

“I didn’t actually feel sick until I got in here,” she wiped her face with the hand cloth, “when I realised--”

“Everything’s in the trunk,” you assured her, “once they’re out, we get the keys and go.”

“How do we know--”

“Retch,” you hissed, “we wait until we’re sure.”

She gave an exaggerated hurl and you heard the clink of porcelain and silver and the drone of voices. You listened through the door as she watched you in the tight space of the half-bath.

“I’m thinking about getting her an… exam,” Bucky’s deep tone carried, “maybe she can’t…”

You let out the breath you were holding and closed your eyes. Just a little longer. 

When you heard a sudden lull, your eyes rounded and you turned the handle and let yourself out into the hall. She crept close behind as you peered through the open archway. Both men had their faces on their plates in the crumbs of vanilla cake and smears of blue icing.

“Let’s go,” you went to Steve and shoved your hand into his pocket, “shit, they’re not here.”

“Here!” she pulled her hand from his jacket hung on the rack, “you think they’re dead?”

You looked from one to the other and shakily felt along Steve’s neck. “Still a pulse. I think maybe… they’re only knocked out.”

“The serum,” she shook her head, “means we have to go quick.”

You hurried after her and followed her down into the garage. She climbed into the driver’s seat and moved it back as her stomach pressed to the wheel. You got in the other side as your body trembled with adrenaline. She hit the button attached to the keys and the door slowly raised behind her.

As she reversed, you felt a sudden shock around your neck and yiped. You’d forgotten entirely about the necklace. She stopped suddenly and watched you writhe in agony.

“Shit, shit,” you leaned forward until the shock stopped, “the necklace.”

“Fuck,” she reached for it and you batted her away.

“No, you’ll get zapped,” you gasped as you pulled on it desperately. It was too tight to get past your chin but too strong to snap. 

She took the keys out and tossed them in your lap. You lifted them and twisted the necklace around the house key but there was no give. You sobbed and dropped your hand.

“I can’t,” you looked at the bent key, “you gotta go without me.”

“What? No, I can’t--”

“You have a baby,” you said as tears burned in your eyes and your throat tightened, “go, please.” You dropped the keys on the dash and opened the door. “I can’t--”

“No, you have to come with me,” she begged.

“No, you have to go before they wake up,” you got out as you grasped your neck, the searing pain still hot on your flesh, “I’ll… I’ll survive. I have this far.”

“N--”

“Shut up!” you slammed the door and hit the hood, “go!”

She stared at you and her lip quivered. She gave you one last sad look and grabbed the keys. She sniffed as she gripped the wheel and backed out down the drive. 

You fell to your knees and sat back on your ass as you watched her drive away. You shook your head and held it in your hands as you sat behind the invisible wall of your prison.

The tires screamed at the end of the street and the noise of the engine faded into the distance. You laid on your back across the concrete and covered your face with your arm. At least you could live with knowing you got her out. Well, you couldn’t really say you’d be living. You’d be alive but little more than that. 

But you’d survive knowing that you kept one person from that pitiful fate. Even if it wasn’t you. Even if you knew that you would pay for it in the end. Even when those men woke up and found you laying in the garage, the sweet flavour of antifreeze on their tongues as the bile of their anger overflowed and drowned you. 

You couldn’t do anything but wait. If you were lucky, they might just kill you and that in itself would be freedom.

💟 💟 💟

END

[samwrights]

➳  » 𝕞𝕪 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕥𝕙 𝕚𝕤 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕤 «

⤷ ℂℍ𝔸ℙ𝕋𝔼ℝ 𝟞.𝟝𝟘—missed calls

» warnings and stuff

Language, written portion and the moment you’ve all been waiting for

» playlist is here

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              »»————-　    ✿     ♡    ✿    　————-««

As carefully as you can, you tiptoe past a sleeping Matsukawa in the living room and make your way down the hall directly in front of you. Dim lights from the city streets illuminate the walls of the apartment, allowing you to see the door that you perceive to lead to Hanamaki’s room—the only room with a light still on. Still trying to keep quiet, you rap on the door with a nail, hopefully loud enough for him to hear but quiet enough not to disturb the sleeping patrons.

With equal caution, the knob turns before the door is pulled slightly ajar, just enough for Hanamaki to grab you by the wrist and drag you in.

“What’s that face for?” He grimaces when he sees the stupefied look you’re wearing. “Did you really think I was just gonna let you sleep on the floor?” Grumbling to yourself, you toss your overnight bag onto the floor near the doorway, hoping you didn’t have anything in there that was particularly fragile.

The strawberry-brunette resumes what you assume was his previous position—resting on his queen-sized mattress that had the covers made up while you stood on edge before him. The fuck were you supposed to do? You didn’t know—it was the reason you had even called Terushima in the first place.

Listen to what your heart tells you.

Taking a moment to come to terms with the fact that you were standing in Hanamaki Takahiro’s bedroom, you glance all around the stylized space. You could faintly make out that the walls were a rich navy blue and he had an affinity for gold accents, but most of that was hidden underneath what was probably thousands of drawings. From the first Christmas gift he had given you, you knew art had been a hobby of his, but this?

This was far beyond your imagination.

The wall to your right was littered with flash sheets of various themes, large paintings that echoed to his neo-traditional style, quick sketches and doodles, as well as a large, weekly calendar that served as a planner for his work schedule. Flowers, as it seemed, was one of his specialities. Every work of art had a floral accent that screamed of his signature, regardless of how rugged the piece might have been.

To your left was a simple white desk that housed his laptop, tablet, and a few floating shelves that held various sentimental knickknacks. Your hands reach over to grab the dusty golden pocket watch you’d given him for secret Santa in your third year, not even needing to search for it on the shelf—it screamed its presence all on its own. Albeit hesitantly, you gather the courage to sit next to him on the empty space in his bed, mimicking his posture with your back resting against the grey, tufted headboard. “You really couldn’t open this fucking thing?” You ask, holding it up between the two of you before letting it lay flat in your palm, offering it towards the former wing spiker.

“The clasp didn’t work and I didn’t wanna break it.” His nimble fingers take the pocket watch, clicking the clasp that made repeated noises to signify it should open. However, the lid remained shut. Hanamaki shrugs before handing it back to you, turning away so he can hide the overwhelming bubble of emotions boiling in his chest.

You were here.

In Sendai.

In his apartment.

In his bed.

Right next to him.

And the thought that he couldn’t do anything about it was killing him.

Abruptly, you get up from his bed and carefully step towards your overnight bag. Unzipping it, you pull out a small, thin pocket knife that Daichi made sure went with you everywhere before sitting back down next to Makki. Maybe it was you feeding off the anxiety he was putting into the air, but you hesitated on prying the watch open for the first time. “The guy I sent it to for engraving must have ruined the clasp,” you muttered as you forced the tip of the knife at the seam of the watch. Your mind was relentlessly speeding at several hundred miles an hour, unsure of what was to unfold.

Once you opened this watch, everything was laid out on the table.

The pocket watch was meant to be a symbolic confession of the love you held for this man in your younger years—held?

The past tense didn’t seem to be accurate.

Your nail holds down the clasp as you gingerly twist the knife, breaking the inner mechanisms of it and allowing the golden pocket watch to show the custom engraving you had gotten for it. Hanamaki reaches for it, but you yank it away before he can read the inscription.

“Makki...” you whimper out, unsure of how to proceed, “Hiro, what comes after this?” From the corner of your eye, you can see one of his large hands tugging at his slightly longer locks in frustration.

“I dunno, yn. We won’t know until we move forward.” The trembling watch in your shaky hands like an unsteady rhythm of a snare drum as you cautiously place the slightly ajar watch in his hand. Much to his chagrin, the pocket watch no longer worked, the ticking dying down after a couple years. Not that Hanamaki had even noticed in the first place, his own wallowing drowning out the noise back when it had still moved. “‘After all this time, it’s still you’,” he reads aloud, calloused pads of his fingers tracing the inscription and stopping when they reached your initials.

Then he laughs.

He laughs so hard that he all but falls off his bed, not slightest bit concerned at the volume of it, as he clutches the gift to his chest.

“H-hey, don’t laugh!” The tips of your fingers snap against his bare arm as you back hand him, though there’s no real force to your playful strike.

“I’m not laughing at the gift. I’m laughing because...” Makki pauses, fixing himself up so he could face you. “Because it hurts that this is how this all comes out.” There’s a deep cloud that settles over his grey eyes, the pain in them swirling black into the stone. Meeting his eyes, you gnash on your lip, subconsciously grabbing at your sunflower necklace. “You kept it...”

“I’d never get rid of it.” There’s a thick silence much denser than what’s hanging in the air, though neither of you are unsure if you should break it, or even how to. Steely grey eyes drop to where your hand cradles the necklace, reaching out to run his fingers over the back of your hand. Your muscles tense at the touch, dropping the pendant and allows him to hold the golden sunflower.

“So what now?” Takahiro’s voice barely comes out as a whisper, the pads of his fingers still tracing every ridge in the pendant. He won’t look at you—not right now; he can’t. His control is wearing thin and it takes every ounce of him to not be selfish, just this once. But at the end of the day...

At the end of the day, he loved you.

And he would never do a single thing to intentionally upset you, regardless of how much he wanted to close the gap between you and finally feel your lips on his.

“I-I don’t know, Hiro. I’ve never given this particular scenario much thought.”

“I have,” he says immediately. Despite the self-control he’s exercising at the moment, his mouth moves faster than his brain. Hanamaki pulls his hand away from your necklace, finally, opting to rest it on his belly before the thin threads of his self-control snapped.

“Yeah? And how do you see this playing out?”

“Honestly? You rolling over and going to sleep and nothing changing.”

Huh?

You turn to your side, removing yourself from the headboard to rest on your elbow while you face him. What was that supposed to mean? That he had moved on and that you were reading too much into the moment? Shit, wait why were you reading into it in the first place? The feelings you once had—past tense—were exactly that: of the past.

Right?

“Yn,” Makki mirrors your position, resting on his own elbow while his free hand gingerly cradles the space between your shoulder and neck, “we can’t move forward if we’re stuck dwelling on the past. So...” the strawberry-brunette closes his narrow eyes slowly, long lashes dancing along the tops of his cheekbones as he does so. Rather than opening his eyes, however, he leans forward until his forehead rests against yours. You’re vaguely aware of the various spots in his body pulsating, drumming with blaring volume that you swear will wake the whole apartment. “I love you, and I will always love you. But, I came to terms with it a long time ago, that you aren’t mine to love. And I can’t ask you to just up and leave your life just because I’m no longer afraid to tell you I love you, that’s not fair.”

It feels like nails are piercing your throat, your own heavy heartbeat the hammer pushing them deeper and deeper into your chords. Nearly a decade you had waited to hear that this man returned your feelings, and here he was with his forehead pressed against yours doing just that. All while you were engaged to someone else.

Someone you’d fallen so hard and so fast for—a complete one-eighty from the way you’d slowly cultivated your affection for Hanamaki Takahiro.

“None of this is fair.” Before you had time to process the scenario, warm, silent streams of tears clump at your mascara-clad lower lashes before spilling past the dam. You inhale a shaky breath, closing your eyes to match Makki, exhaling forcefully because you can’t fucking breathe.

Perhaps it’s the trepidation in your breath or the rattling of your bones against his that causes Takahiro to pull away, opening his eyes. It almost felt like looking towards the sun, he muses, until he sees your crying form just below him. Instinctually, he wraps his free arm around your waist, pulling you closer until your smaller frame is tucked underneath his chin. “Hey, hey. No crying,” he attempts to soothe, his large hand roaming the cloth covering your side, “there’s no reason to cry, yn. As long as you’re happy.”

Maybe that was why you were crying?

Were you happy with Daichi? And if you were, why was that the second time of the night that you were questioning it?

“W-what do you want, Makki?” You ask quietly, hoping his answer will offer some sort of solace or guidance. Instead, he squeezes just a little bit tighter before relaxing his arm to hold you like a fragile China doll.

“Nuh uh,” he tuts, “this is about you and what you want. I will not let anything I have to say about what I want be any sort of influence.”

Part of you is grateful for that because maybe you don’t have to be the one to wonder what would happen if you left Daichi. Or if you got up and just drove to your parents right now. Or if you decided to indulge yourself for one night. There was no pressure, no hidden agenda to force you into a precarious situation. But if there’s anything you want to do at all in this moment, it’s the fact that you want to tell him for real, so that he can hear it from your lips. “I love you,” you whisper out, curling deeper into his chest so maybe—just maybe—he won’t actually hear you, “and I’m so sorry I waited too long to say it.”

“I’m glad to hear it, even now.”

The two of you remained entangled with one another, your tears and hiccups finally subsiding enough for you to be aware of your current state. You’d probably stained his pillow covers with clumps of black mascara or had it hoarding together in blobs down your face. Even so, neither of you dared to move, enjoying the feeling of being in one another’s company while being enveloped in your own thoughts. Or rather, thought, as in the singular. While you’d pondered the question long before your current state, you took the time to bask in his certainty to wonder what the fuck you did want. Clearly, you hadn’t the faintest clue.

You love Daichi, that’s a fact. He’s passionate and compassionate, he’s the pressure you need to keep you grounded and level-headed. Daichi isn’t afraid to tell you when you’re stepping out of line whether it be going out one too many nights in a row with Terushima or when you’d fallen into a depressive episode and can’t find motivation to do little things like bathe or clean. He keeps you together, despite the broken and dismantled soul you felt you were sometimes. Sawamura Daichi is the present and the future—the matured love you gladly welcomed.

Right?

So why did being in the arms of Hanamaki Takahiro, even in a rather platonic way considering the confessions, feel like a catharsis? Like you’d been drowning further and further into a sea only to finally break the surface and breathe fresh air? Like he was the reason your lungs had been able to inflate and take in oxygen. And the warmth he was bringing to you on a crisp spring evening echoed the comfort of a homemade hot chocolate in front of a fireplace after playing in the snow. Yet, all he had was his arms around you and his head caressing the crown of your scalp, restraining himself from speaking his truth so as to respect your reality. Hanamaki Takahiro was the past—the love of your youth belonging entirely to him.

Maybe you didn’t have to come to a decision right then and there—perhaps thinking it over would be a smarter decision. If anything, your focus should shift to the fact that if you move away from his chest that you’ve precariously buried yourself into, your resolve will crumble.

It’ll crumble, because the only thing you’re certain about in this moment is how much you want to kiss him right now.

But you have to swallow that thought like a bitter, too-big pill and wash it down with limbs wrapped around you carefully as you fall asleep.

              »»————-　    ✿     ♡    ✿    　————-««

𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

@levinneheart​ @hoe4hq​ @veelafyre​ @its-the-aerieljeane​ @disgvste @sunflow3rbab3​​ @kiyoojima​​ @urdads​ @kuroos-babie​ @more-stuff-of-pi​ @dabi-hates-fish​ @chao01248​ @kuroos-roosterhead​ @cremepuffingwaldio​

𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣'𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖:

THEY FINALLY CONFESSED. SOUND THE ALARM Y’ALL. also, i don’t know why I totally see Mattsun looking for a cougar. But in all seriousness, I KNOW. You guys want them to live happily ever after already, BUT I really like showing how Makki’s grown up over the years without ya. 

[sh-rare-pair-exchange]

You Are the Truth I Choose to Bend Myself Around

For @thatnerdemryn I could not decide between the different tropes you listed so I didn’t. I decided to write a little bit of each one instead.

Summary: No matter the when, where, or how, Clary and Isabelle will always find (and fall in) love. Or, 6 short Clizzy stories

Read on ao3

Chapter one: Hurt/Comfort

“Ouch!” Clary says, the exclamation swiftly followed by a string of curses. Pulling her hand away from the paper before she can ruin it she looks down to survey the damage. Blood from the surprisingly deep cut she just made into her finger pools quickly and drips onto the floor - but thankfully not on her artwork - as she grabs a towel and spins around in place to try and spot a better solution for her injury. Looking around the room as she turns, her eyes scan for a box of bandaids or even some scrap fabric, anything she can use to stop the bleeding.

Nothing.

For someone as accident-prone as she is, Clary wonders why she doesn’t have any bandaids anywhere… then remembers it’s probably because she used them all. That makes more sense. Clary manages to wash the cut off well enough, which is step one. Unfortunately, unable to find any bandages around her room she decides to fold up a piece of paper towel and tape it against her finger instead.

As far as makeshift bandages go it’s pretty good, even if the cut still stings like hell underneath the abrasive towel. She knows she should probably go down to the medical bay and have someone there wrap it up properly. She could at the very least track down her own stele to use an iratze on herself and heal it completely, but Clary’s in the sweet spot of her creative process, and doing either of those things will totally take her out of the zone.

Instead, Clary returns to her project with a haphazardly taped-up finger, picks the Exacto knife back up, and tries to be a little more careful about not letting it slip this time around. It hurts to bend but it isn’t about to fall off in the next hour, so she promptly sets about ignoring it entirely. In no time Clary’s back to cutting shapes out of colorful pieces of paper and gluing them onto the collage she’s in the middle of creating, humming to herself, and getting lost in the flow of her work.

With her headphones in, Clary is so focused on the canvas in front of her that she doesn’t notice the door open and close behind her, or hear the click of heeled boots cross the room. A tap on her shoulder catches Clary entirely off-guard, causing another slip of the knife that slides across her palm when she jerks her arm back and spins around in surprise.

Her first thought is that it’s someone here to kill or kidnap her. Her second thought is that if they were they probably wouldn’t have tapped her on the shoulder first.

Much to Clary’s relief it isn’t a murderer behind her, only Isabelle - something Clary’s extra grateful for because instead of holding onto the small blade to defend herself she dropped it to the floor in her shock. Embarrassing for a Shadowhunter, she thinks ruefully.

“Shit, Iz, you scared me half to death!” Clary exclaims, pulling her injured hand in towards herself.

“You’re bleeding,” Izzy says, ignoring Clary’s words to focus on her injury instead.

“It’s fine, I’ll deal with it in a minute. I’m out of bandaids anyway,” Clary dismisses, ready to shrug it off. Before Clary has a chance to move away Isabelle reaches out to grab her hand and inspect it, which is when Izzy notices the shoddy wrap on Clary’s finger from earlier.

Clary immediately averts her gaze as she feels Izzy’s eyes narrow into an accusing glare.

“Any other injuries I should know about?” Izzy asks, already pulling her stele out of the pocket of her jacket.

“Just those two,” Clary promises. “They aren’t that bad, really.”

“You need to take care of yourself, Clary,” Izzy insists, holding Clary’s hand gently in order to draw the iratze on Clary’s skin. Izzy proceeds to blow cool air over the fresh sting of it and Clary closes her eyes at the sensation. It soothes more than just the lingering sting - it calms Clary as well, quieting her busy mind in a way only Isabelle’s presence can. “If not for yourself, then for me. Please?” Izzy tacks on, looking from Clary’s hand back up to her face with a sincere plea of concern.

Isabelle’s deep brown eyes look at her with such obvious care that Clary can do nothing to stop the flush she feels across her cheeks. When Izzy brings a hand up to brush against Clary’s cheek, Clary realizes she doesn’t want to stop it even if she could. Whatever Clary did to warrant someone as amazing as Isabelle worrying about and caring for her, she’s thankful for it.

“Yeah. I guess I can do that,” Clary agrees.

“Good,” Izzy says, dropping her hand from Clary’s cheek to Clary’s injured hand, placing a kiss over the newly healed skin. “Now put away the sharp objects and come get dinner with me. I’m sure you haven’t eaten today, have you?”

Clary winces apologetically in reply, accepting the offered hand and leaving the last of her work for later. There are few things that can pry Clary Fray away from her artwork, and Isabelle Lightwood is - and always will be - at the top of that very short list.

Chapter 2: Enemies to lovers

Clary turns around abruptly when someone runs straight into her on their way into the club. She’s unsurprised to see the person who shoulder-checked her is a hot blonde, her heels clicking confidently as she walks away without a second glance back at Clary.

“Hey, why don’t you watch where you’re going!” Clary shouts after her, hands shooting up into the air a bit dramatically in her moment of annoyance. Clary might not be stereotypically attractive but she likes to think she isn’t unremarkable enough to be rendered entirely invisible, either.

“You can see me?” the girl asks, stopping abruptly to take a step back toward Clary.

Clary hesitates, the muscles in her body tensing slightly as her brain kicks into immediate ‘fight or flight’ mode - after all, she hadn’t planned on the girl actually stopping, she was mostly just yelling for catharsis. It’s her birthday and so far nothing about this day has gone the way she hoped, and snapping at a stranger seemed like a good outlet in the moment. Now that she’s facing her head-on, Clary isn’t so sure.

In the end, Clary’s instincts choose to fight and she stands her ground. “Yeah, that’s kind of the point, but you obviously didn’t see me.”

The girl takes another step closer and Clary isn’t sure she should use the blonde hair as her defining trait - upon closer inspection that’s almost positively a wig. Clary has plenty of other features to focus on, like those bold red lips turned down in focused concentration and eyes that hold a surprising sharpness to them as they survey Clary up and down.

“You have the Sight” The girl - woman, Clary mentally clarifies since she’s probably older than Clary at least by a little - says.

“Wait, the what?” Clary manages.

“How can I not know who you are?” “Has that line seriously ever worked for you?” Clary snaps back, teetering back and forth between curious and annoyed before settling somewhere in the middle.

“Werewolf? Vamp? Part Fae? You’re pretty enough for it…” the woman muses slowly, giving Clary another once-over. This time her red lips pull up from their previous downturn into a hint of a smirk, as if enjoying some secret Clary isn’t in on.

“Are you on drugs?” Clary asks, eyebrow raised. “Or is that another pick-up line? Are you going to ask if I’m an angel who fell from heaven next?” Clary is a mixture of flustered and confused, which only makes her frustrated enough to bring a hand up to her hip, attempting to mask all of those things with an air of indifference and an eye roll.

Neither is convincing, not to herself or the other woman.

“No, I’d know if you were Nephilim,” the ‘blonde’ dismisses easily. She says the sentence as if it inherently makes total sense when it makes absolutely none, at least not to Clary.

“Izzy! Let’s go, we’re already running late,” a tall, dark-haired guy shouts from near the entrance of the club.

“Duty calls,” the woman - Izzy - sighs. “Gotta run.”

Clary thinks Izzy actually sounds regretful as she sighs and turns away without another word.

Clary watches her go, mouth agape. Once Izzy disappears into the club that should be the end of it… except Clary can’t just let their encounter go. What was all that? Who was she?

Clary should let it go. She should definitely let it go… but her feet carry her through the front doors after the stranger before she even realizes she’s moving. She barely registers Simon and Maureen yelling after her and doesn’t turn around to acknowledge them.

There’s something about that woman. It’s something Clary can’t quite put her finger on but it calls to her in a way she’s never felt before, strong and unrelenting. It isn’t a feeling she can just ignore… so she doesn’t.

Entirely unaware of the fate she’s following, Clary follows her future love into the club.

Chapter 3: Fake Dating

Isabelle knows the sleazebag that Clary’s talking to. He’s a werewolf named Peter with whom she’s had her fair share of encounters - each ranging from mildly unpleasant to entirely repulsive. Isabelle immediately wants him as far away from Clary as possible.

“Why is Clary talking to him?” Izzy asks, her face scrunched up in obvious disgust as she sidles up to Alec. The ring of water around the base of his beer tells her that he’s been nursing it long enough that it’s lukewarm by now - meaning he isn’t here because he wants to drink. A quick glance around the room and she catches sight of Magnus and Luke chatting, smiling a little at the knowledge that Alec is just here to be close to Magnus before refocusing on Clary.

“He came up to her a little while ago. I think she’s just too nice to walk away,” Alec admits.

Izzy watches Clary out of the corner of her eye and has to agree - Clary doesn’t seem particularly thrilled with her situation even though she smiles and laughs and nods in all the right places. Izzy’s about to sigh and leave Clary to it when Peter reaches an arm around Clary, his hand resting too low on Clary’s back for comfort. Isabelle watches Clary tense under the touch and glance around, catching Izzy’s gaze and giving her a look Izzy can only interpret as a silent plea for help.

Izzy is at Clary’s side before she’s conscious of her own decision to move, pulling Clary away from Peter.

“Clary, baby, I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Izzy says, voice dripping with flirtation. She wraps her arm around Clary’s waist, pulling her close enough to plant a chaste kiss to the corner of her lips.

Peter gives Izzy a dubious look.

“How about you make yourself scarce again, Isabelle. I don’t remember anyone inviting you,” Peter sneers. “Clary certainly didn’t need you around to say she’d stop by my party later.”

Izzy wonders if maybe she read the situation all wrong, praying to the Angel that she hadn’t overstepped and embarrassed herself.

“Do you have a problem with my girlfriend, Peter?” Clary counters, doubling down on Izzy’s lie. Izzy relaxes. She more than relaxes - she feels a flutter in her chest she hadn’t expected at hearing Clary call her ‘girlfriend’, even if it’s just pretending. “I thought the party was an open invitation, I was going to bring Iz with me. But if you don’t want us there…”

Peter glares at Izzy and Izzy can’t really blame him - especially not when she’s egging the reaction on with a very self-satisfied smirk.

“Guess I’ll see both of you at the party, then,” Peter grumbles as he walks away to pointedly turn his attention elsewhere.

Izzy waits until he’s far enough away before dropping her hand from Clary’s waist, trying not to think too hard about the immediate loss she feels at the lack of touch.

“Sorry if the kiss was too much,” Izzy apologizes.

“It was perfect,” Clary says quickly, then flushes. “I mean, for the cover and all,” Clary adds quickly. Izzy wonders if she’s reading too much into it but Clary almost seems flustered. “Thanks for saving me.”

“Any time, Fray,” Izzy says. To anyone listening it might sound casual, but if Clary looks into Izzy’s expression she’ll know it’s a sincere promise.

“Well… we do have a party to go to later,” Clary points out.

Izzy considers her options. Realistically she knows she should say no and end this charade here and now before things get out of hand. They could easily both stay away from the party… but the chance to ruin Peter’s life a little more on top of getting to shamelessly flirt with Clary for an entire night is too tempting to pass up.

“I suppose we do,” Izzy agrees. If her ‘pretending’ to like Clary is a bit more real than she lets on, well, no one needs to know. Certainly not Clary, who beams and grabs Izzy’s hand to hold as they walk past Peter and out of the bar.

Chapter 4: Kid Fic

“We can’t just leave him here,” Clary says, looking down at the warlock child. He can’t be more than a year old, though it’s difficult to tell with his facial features distorted by a warlock mark of red-brown fox fur that exists in intermittent patches along his skin.

“I wish our target shared that sentiment,” Izzy mutters, worrying her lower lip.

“I can’t believe he left a baby behind when he fled,” Clary agrees. “Who sacrifices a kid to save their own… butt?”

Izzy quirks an eyebrow at Clary’s wording.

“What? I’m not about to swear in front of a kid,” Clary points out as if it should be obvious. Maybe it should - Izzy hasn’t dealt with many children outside of her little brother to know.

Izzy looks down at her phone and sighs as yet another call goes to voicemail. “Magnus still isn’t answering.”

“We’ll just have to take care of him until Magnus is free,” Clary says, already scooping the young warlock up into her arms.

Izzy hesitates. “Maybe we should wait.”

“We can’t wait here, what if he comes back and brings backup?” Clary asks, looking around at their exposed position to prove her point.

“You’re right. You take the kid, and I’ll stay here in case our target comes back.”

Realistically, Izzy knows this shouldn’t be a big deal… but the idea of being responsible for a baby is more terrifying than facing down any rogue warlock by herself.

“I’m not leaving you here alone, Iz. Come on, you can keep trying Magnus while we walk back.”

Izzy nods, making one last attempt to call Magnus before grudgingly leaving with Clary and the warlock boy.

Clary pays more attention to the little boy than Izzy for the first half of their walk back, bouncing him in her arms and speaking to him in a higher pitch than her normal speaking voice, not that he understands anything she’s saying anyway.

“I wonder when he ate last… here, you take him while I run into the store and get some food,” Clary says, holding the child out for Izzy to grab without waiting for a reply. Izzy hesitates, however, nearly dropping him when Clary starts to let go assuming Izzy would just take him.

The child immediately begins to cry at being jolted in Izzy’s arms.

“Shhhhh, shhh, it’s okay,” Izzy whispers to the baby, failing to keep the panic from her tone. She remembers reading something about children being able to tell what you’re feeling around them and if that’s the case she knows she isn’t doing herself any favors - she’s terrified. “Please stop crying,” Izzy pleads.

He doesn’t. In a desperate attempt to do anything to make him smile Izzy makes a funny face, poofing out her cheeks and sticking her tongue out. She must look ridiculous but the baby stops crying long enough to look at her in confusion. She’ll take it - anything is better than the crying, and the momentary calm comes just in time for Clary to return from the store.

“Here, I got some little packets of that mushy food since I don’t know what he can eat,” Clary explains, grabbing a food packet from the bag and handing it to Izzy. “Apple seemed safe enough.”

Izzy swallows thickly when she realizes that puts her in charge of feeding duty. She doesn’t want to admit that she’s terrified of doing something wrong, that she has no real experience with babies… that she doesn’t even remember a childhood before training. She does her best to push those thoughts from her mind and focuses on the task at hand.

The baby must be really hungry because he takes the offered food pouch eagerly the moment Izzy places it to his lips.

Clary walks ahead of Izzy chatting casually, entirely unaware of Izzy’s internal crisis over being in charge of a child. This continues once they’re back at the Institute, finally able to get in touch with Alec and Magnus only to be told she should ‘keep the kid entertained’ until they get back.

“I don’t suppose your parents kept any of your baby things here, did they?” Clary asks hopefully.

“What baby things?” Izzy mutters lightly, the words accompanied by a huff of breath.

“You know… toys… books… dolls?” Clary clarifies, not catching the sarcasm of Izzy’s reply.

Isabelle hesitates. She knows just how messed up her childhood will seem compared to the sort of childhood that Clary is obviously used to but she doesn’t want to lie to her girlfriend, not about this.

“I didn’t really have any of that,” Izzy says finally. “We were raised to be soldiers. There wasn’t a lot of time for dolls, not if you wanted to be any good by the time the Academy rolled around.”

“Oh,” Clary says, frowning slightly.

This is it, Izzy realizes. This is the moment Clary rethinks the idea of raising a family as a Shadowhunter, of raising a family with Izzy one day, and Izzy can’t say she blames her. It’s hardly an ideal upbringing, not when you consider the possible alternatives.

“Well, we’re certainly not going to raise our kids like that,” Clary says finally.

“Our…” Izzy trails off in surprise.

Clary immediately misinterprets Izzy’s shock as disagreement. “We haven’t really talked about kids, have we? I guess I always just assumed you’d want a family, with the importance of all that Shadowhunter family legacy stuff…”

“No, no, it isn’t that,” Izzy’s quick to cut Clary off before she gets the wrong impression. “I do want a family… especially if it’s with you.” Izzy allows a small smile to cross her lips, momentarily forgetting her nerves over having this conversation with Clary. They immediately return with her next admission. “I’m just afraid I won’t be very good at it.”

To Isabelle’s surprise, Clary smiles in response to her confession, soft and endearing. “I’m sure you’ll be great at it. Anyway, that’s like, a long way away. Right now we just have to handle a kid for like, another hour. I think even you can manage that much.”

Izzy hopes that Clary’s faith in her isn’t entirely misplaced and does her best not to overthink it.

Izzy holds back at first, letting Clary take the lead while they spend the next hour and a half playing little games of peekabo, or rolling one of those little foam stress balls Clary had in her room back and forth on the floor. They even spend some time finger painting with some of Clary’s art supplies. By the time Alec finally gets back to relieve them of babysitting duty Izzy’s thrown herself fully into playtime, to the point that Clary left the room for a solid 20 minutes and Izzy barely noticed.

Much to her surprise, when Izzy holds the warlock baby out for Alec to take the child whines and reaches back for Izzy. It’s bittersweet in the best possible way to see how attached he managed to grow to her in the short time they spent together.

“See? You’re a natural,” Clary says, reaching out a hand to pull Izzy up from where she sits on the floor. “You’re going to be a great parent someday.”

“We both are,” Izzy agrees. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“And you’ll never have to,” Clary reminds her, pulling her in for a hug before placing a kiss on her cheek, then the corner of her lips before Izzy pulls back from the hug enough for a proper kiss.

After today Izzy can see a future with Clary, a family with Clary, clearer than she ever imagined before. For the first time, it’s a thought that doesn’t bring any fear or anxiety with it - only joyful anticipation of what the coming years will bring.

Chapter 5: Pining

“Just tell her,” Alec says, coming up behind Izzy where she stands in the doorway of the training room watching Clary spar with Jace.

“Tell her what?” Izzy plays dumb even though they both know exactly what Alec is referring to. The ‘what’ in question is Isabelle’s huge crush on Clary, one she thinks she’s much better at hiding than she actually is, apparently.

“I won’t say anything because I’m not a meddling sibling, unlike some people I know,” Alec starts with very pointed wording, which Izzy thinks is pretty unfair considering the fact that her own meddling got Alec a boyfriend-turned-fiance-turned-husband. “But you should say something.”

“Maybe,” Izzy says dismissively.

“She’d be a fool to turn you down,” are Alec’s parting words before he leaves her alone again. Thankfully for Isabelle, Alec has far more important things to do than harass her about her love life… or current lack thereof.

Isabelle watches wistfully as Clary ducks and jumps, wielding her dual kindjals with precision and deadly force. Seeing Clary with a weapon is already more attractive than it has any right to be, but to see her use those weapons with increasing skill, watching the focused furrow of her brow with every jab and the way her muscles tense and flex with every swipe?

It’s just another thing that makes Izzy fall a little more in love with Clary Fray. Falling in love with Clary seems to be what comes easiest to Isabelle right now, her feelings growing every time she watches Clary paint, or listens to Clary hum to herself while she sketches, or when Clary nearly runs out of breath when she rambles excitedly about some mundane thing Izzy’s barely able to follow.

How can everything one person does be so infuriatingly endearing?!

Tell her. Tell Clary she likes her… maybe even loves her? Tell Clary how much easier it is for Izzy to laugh and smile when she’s around, or how much color she’s brought to Izzy’s black-and-white world?

“Hey Iz,” Clary greets her, breath coming in heavy pants after the exertion of her practice. “What’s up?”

Tell her. Like it could be that easy.

Maybe she should. Maybe it could be.

“I…” Izzy hesitates. “I just came to see if you wanted to grab lunch?”

Tell her.

Maybe someday.

---

“You should tell her,” Jace says, the suggestion coming right before he lands a hit with his staff against Clary’s shoulder.

“Quit distracting me,” Clary huffs. “That’s cheating.”

“I don’t think I’m the one distracting you,” Jace points out, nodding over to where Isabelle watches them train from the doorway. Clary very purposefully locks her eyes on Jaces and doesn’t follow his nod. “If your eyes were on me half as much as they’re on Izzy we’d probably be more evenly matched.”

Clary sighs. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me. Go talk to her,” Jace prods.

“We talk all the time,” Clary deflects. It isn’t a lie, she thinks defensively. They do talk all the time… and yet it’s never enough, either. Clary always wants to spend more time with Izzy - they could spend the entire day together and it wouldn’t be long enough. She doesn’t even care what they do together, because just being around Izzy is enough. Hell, Clary would stand in silence beside Isabelle for hours if it meant sharing that silence with the girl she likes. The girl she quite possibly loves.

When did she become this lost in her feelings for Izzy? Shit.

“You know what I mean, Fray,” Jace says, lunging forward and landing another blow, this time to Clary’s stomach. There’s no use pretending she isn’t completely distracted now, forcing her focus from Izzy - where it drifted again without her even noticing - back to Jace.

“Maybe if you quit making me look bad in front of her…” Clary mutters, swiping down only to have her blow parried by Jace’s staff.

“Nice try, but I’m not going to go easy on you just because you have a crush. How about you step up your game instead?”

Clary does. It takes more concentration and self-control than she cares to admit, but Clary manages to keep her eyes off of Izzy and on Jace long enough to score a few hits of her own.

At the end of her training session, Clary wanders over to where Izzy still stands.

“Hey, Iz, what’s up?”

“I…”

Clary mentally prays for Izzy to confess the words she wants to hear so badly - that she’s here to watch Clary because she’s as gone for Clary as Clary is for her.

“I just came to see if you wanted to grab lunch?” Izzy asks, and Clary tries to ignore the disappointment she feels. The feeling is only momentary because it might not be a confession of love but Isabelle still wants to spend more time with her, and that isn’t nothing. It’s what she wants, even if it isn’t the way she wants it.

It’s enough for now.

Maybe one day Clary will make a confession of her own… just not today.

“Sure,” Clary agrees easily. “Let’s go.”

Maybe someday.

Chapter 6: Meet Cute

Isabelle never bought into the idea of anything as coincidental as being in the right place at the right time… that is until she meets Clary Fray.

Izzy’s entire life is built around the concept of training to be prepared for any and every scenario. She walks into a room and immediately scans possible exits, eyeing the people within a certain radius for potential threats or anything suspicious. She does the same while she’s out and about the city whether she’s on duty or not, which may be the only reason Clary isn’t lost to the Fae realm forever.

After numerous dealings with the Seelies and other Fair Folk, Izzy would be the first to say she’s an expert on them - at least more so than any other Shadowhunters her age. Certainly enough to spot a mundane being lured towards one of the entrances to the Faerie Realm that Izzy knows is nearby.

The girl is roughly Isabelle’s age, a bit younger if she has to hazard a guess, with a shock of red hair falling loosely around her face. It’s the hair that first catches Izzy’s gaze, the color standing out in stark contrast to the greens and browns of the woods just off the paved pathway of the park. Once Izzy activates a rune or two she can see through the weak glamour the Fae creature has over itself as it speaks in enticing, dulcet tones about magic and fairies and a land so beautiful it can hardly be believed.

Not a lie - the Fair Folk cannot lie - though Izzy thinks leaving out the bit about being trapped there forever once the girl eats or drinks anything, or so much as accidentally treads on an ant is a bit unfair.

“As much fun as all that sounds,” Izzy states loudly, making her presence known, standing behind them with a hand on the hilt of her seraph blade. “I’m going to have to request you don’t go kidnapping any mundanes today.”

“She isn’t,” the Fae argues. “She has the sight!”

Izzy shakes her head.

“That doesn’t make the kidnapping part any better. Consider yourself lucky I’m letting you go at all and leave the girl.” When the Fae hesitates Izzy pulls her blade out fully and activates it. “That wasn’t a request. Go. Now.”

The redhead looks like she has half a mind to follow after the faerie when he flees but she doesn’t in the end.

“I wasn’t being kidnapped,” she huffs, bringing her hands up to rest on her hips. “I wanted to go. I wanted to see-”

“You would’ve seen plenty when they never allowed you to leave again,” Izzy says. “Trust me. There are better ways to see the Faerie Realms.”

“Can you show me?” the redhead asks, eyes lighting back up with eagerness now that she knows her chance of seeing the magical realm isn’t lost entirely.

Izzy doesn’t answer the question - there are things she needs to know first. “He said you had the Sight?”

“I can see people like him sometimes. Glimpses of things no one around me can see. I used to think I was crazy,” the girl admits. “But you saw him, too!”

“You aren’t crazy,” Izzy promises. “What’s your name?”

“Clary,” the redhead supplies. When Isabelle waits in expectant silence Clary adds a last name. “Clary Fray.”

Izzy runs the name through her head, trying to recall anyone with the surname and coming up short.

“I’m Isabelle. What do you say we get you somewhere a bit safer for now. I could walk you home, then I’ll know where to find you for that trip to the Seelie Realm one day. Deal?”

Clary smiles and nods her head with such enthusiasm that Izzy laughs a little. That only serves to make Clary smile wider.

“Alright, Isabelle. And thanks, I guess. If he really was trying to kidnap me-”

“He absolutely was. You have to be careful - not everything magical is sweet and innocent.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t trust you, then,” Clary points out.

It’s a fair point. Izzy did just show up out of nowhere and pull a weapon in front of Clary, so no, Clary has no reason to trust her.

“Do you?” Izzy asks. “Trust me?”

“I do,” Clary admits at length. “I don’t know why, but… I do.”

Izzy smiles back. “Good. Let’s get you home, then.”

Izzy doesn’t plan on seeing Clary again, but she can’t help the pull she feels towards the girl - a pull strong enough to convince her enough to swing by Clary’s apartment once, twice, and then a third time. Isabelle stands outside but never approaches no matter how badly she wants to.

The third time Izzy almost knocks on the door but stops short. She knows shouldn’t… Sight or not, Izzy can’t go dragging this girl into the Shadow World despite the connection she feels.

Except, less than 24 hours after Isabelle promises herself she’ll leave Clary alone, Clary shows up on the doorstep of the Institute.

“Clary,” Izzy greets, swinging the door open wide.

“Isabelle,” Clary realizes, surprised.

Right place, right time. Izzy never believed in coincidences until Clary.

Until now.

Who is Isabelle to deny fate if it’s going to keep putting Clary in her path?

Some things, Izzy’s starting to realize, are simply meant to be.

[mintseesaw]

huling sandali 

translation. last moment ⇀ an entry for paraluman playlist

pairing: namjoon x reader genre: angst, est. relationship au word count: 2.2k warnings: themes of insecurities being triggered, emotional struggles, a break-up drabble a.k.a not a happy ending // pg-13

drabble request by @jim-parkin​​ with “pighati + namjoon” hi hjdgdhsgsg im sorry it took me 3254 years to write this :((( i hope you like it. Also, happy belated birthday, alyssa!!! huh i just found out like 10 hrs ago prior to posting this on my first attempt hfdkdjdh im a horrible friend but ily ;-( *unedited

Namjoon arrived home by the time you started packing your stuff. He found you sitting on the living room floor, casually sorting things and putting them in labeled boxes laid in front of you.

You were supposed to ignore him, just like what he’s been doing in the past week. You realized, days of argument after argument before seems better than a whole week of silence in the apartment. The loneliness becomes greater, the glassy tension— unbearable, and his passive treatment more than anything else, hurts you the most.

You couldn’t look at him, having no will to possibly see the indifference on his face while he watches you gradually removing your traces in his place.

As seconds turn minutes since the distinct click of the door closing snaps shut, you took notice of the prolonged silence without the tap of the heels of his black shoes on the granite floor resonating through the living room. With your curiosity suddenly distracting you out of your focus, your head tilted on your side to peek behind you.

There he was, standing so tall and so formal with a frown on his face. His eyes shone not because of the lenses of his glasses but from the unshed tears on his eyes. When your gazes met, he was quick to crane his neck to the opposite side.

You open your mouth to call him to gather his attention. But he was already walking away out of the living room.

It’s been a whole week since you told him you’ll move out. He perfectly understood the implication of it. He objected, tried to convince you not to leave. When his attempts went futile, he did stop trying. Then fostered the silence between the two of you.

He avoided you while you try to make things right by keeping the break up somewhat acceptable on both terms. His refusal to speak with you seemed to convince you that, somehow, he had given up, silently giving you the signal to proceed on your plans.

Half an hour later, you began emptying half of the wardrobe in the walk-in closet. Coincidentally, he was in the shower at the time. After work, he’d routinely clean himself up before he rests or eats dinner with you. However, he stopped taking meals with you nor stayed in the bedroom to read the day you broke the word to him. With his persistence to avoid your presence, you’re almost sure he would let you be in peace while you packed the last bit of your clothes from the closet.

You’re supposed to leave days ago. The tenant of the apartment complex you found weeks prior has been non stop bugging you to move in.

However, you cannot just leave without a proper goodbye to him. In fact, he should be the one leaving you, not the other way around. But he couldn’t do that. Because he owns this place just as much as he owns nearly everything here including your heart.

Namjoon would never ask you to leave, even if he wants you to. That’s how much goodness there is in him. You just happened to take advantage of it and live comfortably by his side.

With your emotions at bay, a silent tear spid down your cheeks, leaving a dot of patch on the fabric of your folded clothes as you fill up your luggage on the bed.

Mere seconds later just as you hear the bathroom door opening, you feel the familiar, strong arms snaked over your waist from behind making you still instantaneously on the spot.

“Namjoon—“

“Don’t… don’t leave.” He says to you for the first time in a week.

His wet hair quickly drenches the spot on your shoulder where he laid his forehead.

Squeezing his hand pressed on your stomach, you smile weakly without facing him. “We talked about this.”

You felt his forehead grazing your shoulder blade as he shakes his head, “I don’t agree with this.”

“We both need this. We need to give each other time to breathe.” You murmur under your breath, nearly admitting the real reason behind your decision. That you knew. You knew he was suffering, and he was trying not to show it to you.

“I don’t need it if you’re not with me.” Namjoon says back, the grip of his arms around tightening.

Sighing, “You’re smarter than me, Joon. You know it’s been tough for the both of us. You’ve been so patient with me and I know you’re getting tired.”

“We can s-still make this work. Fighting is normal. Arguments allow us to speak of our minds. We learn but we move on from it because we love each other.”

“We tried, Joon. So many times. So many times that there’s nothing left of me but doubts and insecurities.”

Namjoon plants a subtle kiss on the side of your head. You remained pliant to his embrace, almost not wanting for him to let you go. For him to insist his place in your life despite your determination to fulfill what you need to do.

“I can wait until you’re ready to love yourself, again.” He attempts once more. He’s always honest with his thoughts so you know he’s sincere when he speaks his heart out.

“That’s not how it works.”

“Then tell me what I should do, please don’t give up just yet.”

His words are like a twisting fire of a knife in your chest, slithering your heart apart and burning the shreds into ashes. The room suddenly feels suffocating and stiff.

Disentangling his arms around your waist, you turn to finally face him. If you’re not only so emotionally invested with the confrontation, you could have stared at him and let your eyes admire every detail on his face until he shies away from your peer that cheeks bloom with crimson tint. Just like the old times.

But your chances have run out, moments have fleeted, your time with him is almost over. Your palms harshly wiping wet traces on your cheeks, refusing to cry in front of him. With a tilt of your chin up, he struck you with his sorrowful, pleading eyes.

“Do you really want someone like me? Someone who depends on you— financially, physically, emotionally? You meet a lot of successful women and I fear that I’m not gonna be enough for you. Joon, I’ll always worry and pick up fights with you.”

Tears brimmed on his eyes, shaking his head to stress his disagreement. “You are more than enough for me. I didn’t love you because of what you have. I fell in love with you because of what’s in here,” he points at your chest.

“Why, it’s you who has a pure soul. You have everything a man could have asked for. Any woman would fall at your feet to earn your attention,” your voice deteriorating as your head falling in morose, suddenly losing the ability to hold his stare with the facade of a strength you’re putting up. “You know, I’m so lucky to have you. I’ve always told you that. But now, things changed. You’re suffering because of me. It’s how I realized I have to let you go because I want you to be happy, again.”

He gathers your face with his palms, forcing you to look at him. “No, no, no. That’s not true. You make me happy.. Please, stop this, you’re everything to me…”

His warm breaths fanning your skin with his heavy, calculated breathing.

“It’s me,” you pause, “You’ve taught me how to love but I chose the wrong way, I loved you too much than what I’m capable of giving. Now I’m lost and I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

He inches his face closer until his nose is touching your cheek. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I didn’t mean to change you. I thought I was doing the right thing for you. I want you to dream, I want to see you soar high with your chosen profession. Please, baby don’t leave me. We could fix this.”

No, he was getting the wrong impressions. You didn’t regret going back to college when he pleaded you to. You didn’t regret setting aside your passion for art to continue the education you once took up before you left ran away from home. None of the ugly thoughts poisoning your mind were his doing. It was you and your insecurities.

“It’s not your fault. You saved me, remember? I met you at the time I was drowning in grief. Then I started dreaming. And the day you confessed your feelings to me, you made my dream come true. That was more than enough for me, Joon. Every inch of you became my happiness and it pains me to see I’m the one making you suffer.”

“Listen to me, _____. You make me happy. There’s no perfect relationship. But you’re perfect to me. You’ve always kept me grounded, made me think of my future, made me thrive for our future. No woman has had me at my worst, they only want the good things in life. You’ve been through tough times. But the kindness in your heart remains immeasurable, do you hear me? You deserve everything I have offered and so much more, baby.”

His thumbs patiently brushing the tears away.

“I can’t keep dragging you with my downfall.”

“I don’t want us fighting but sometimes, it gets out of hand. I stay at an arm’s length but it doesn’t mean I want you gone. Because at the end of the day, I’d want to go home to you even when we’re not okay.”

Your eyes fluttered close, not bearing to see the tears free-flowing on his cheeks. Namjoon rarely cries in front of you. Even before when you were purposely trying to aim his heart with your sharp words, nothing could seem to break him down. It’s always you who’s end up losing. Crying.

Silence filled the air for a moment until you heard him shifted. Then you felt a pressure on the side of your thighs and when you caught up what he did, your knees almost gave out.

“Namjoon— w-what are you doing? Stand up!”

His fingers dug deep on the skin of your thighs, head hung long, “Don't leave,” he begs.

“No, stand up!” You sob in disbelief. He couldn’t do this when you should be the one begging for forgiveness for failing him.

Hurriedly, you shuffled on your knees, fisting his shirt as you sobbed on his chest.

His arms gave you warmth as they enveloped over your back. As the room starts to drown with your muffled cries, he cups your face and in a matter of second, Namjoon’s lips are on yours, swallowing your sobs and murmuring sweet I love you’s while keeping your connected lips with his.

Seconds turned into minutes and minutes turned into hours, your insides are a mess, dreading for the end of this moment. With his concern to your plan, he refuses to loosen his hold on you. Even when you urged him to lie down on the bed with you, he didn’t move not until you tugged his body down beside you.

The rhythmic brushes of your fingers on his hair have calmed him down but with his arm secured over your back. It was only when he finally fell asleep when the grip of his arm loosens.

It’s been hours. You haven’t gotten a wink of sleep, and the sun will soon rise in a matter of an hour or two.

It doesn’t resolve the issue. It won’t because you know the next day, things will be the same. Same insecurities will eat you up alive until you burst your anger at him. And then the fight starts, arguments will inevitably tear you two apart. It’s an unending cycle of toxicity that not even yourself can control. Not until you allow yourself to heal.

Until then, you deem yourself unworthy of his love.

You need to leave before he wakes up. You know, it wouldn’t take long before you regret your decision.

“Meeting you was the best thing that happened in my life. I’m sorry for failing you, for failing myself. I hope,” you choke as a lump forms in your throat, “... you’ll be proud of me when I get better even when you have found someone else.” You ended your parting words with your lips pressing gently on the back of his hand.

Your shoulders slightly shake, your hands tremble as sobs threaten to break from your throat.

Your thumb carefully caresses his knuckles, watching him sleep so peacefully with your blurry vision. Suddenly, you couldn’t find the strength in you to pull yourself up.

“Why is it so hard to leave?” You whisper, looking at his sleeping figure.

He is your strength. Your happiness. The owner of your heart. Your dream come true. Someday, you’ll return and take your heart back from him. But for now, you’ll have to start living without it.

With one last look, you stood up with all your might and let the tears fall mercilessly as you fought back the urge to run back to him.

~~~

That moment still remains vivid in your mind, as fresh as the wound in your heart a year later. If you could only turn back the time, you wish he was awake to stop you from leaving. Now, all you could do is watch him from afar at his favorite coffee shop with someone else. The same one he used to take you at. He looks genuinely happy. At least, the break up did him good.

Every time you stood up from your seat to leave, you keep reminding yourself it’s the last time you’ll hope for your paths to cross. Somehow when the pain gets too much to bear, you always find yourself coming back here. Hoping. For another chance. You have the answer to that now. Someone else has already taken your place in his heart.

Inside the coffee shop, the girl sitting across him huffs while watching you walk away out of the establishment. She shifts her gaze to the man in front of her whose attention has speechlessly zeroed in on your figure through the glass walls.

“When will you actually start talking to the girl? You’ve been dragging me here for over a month now. My time is precious, Kim. It’s so obvious you’re smitten for her!” She glares.

Namjoon didn’t answer, only because he doesn’t know how. How do I win her back?

mintseesaw © 2020