#n then. with this is just. endless small reminders of what i love in life so much. yk these memories these people these emotions n thoughts

[noxtivagus]

DEATH UNTO DAWN ON SPOTIFY 🥹🫶🏼

[moonlinos]

It would’ve been sweet if it could’ve been me

♡ Pairing: Bang Chan × fem!reader

♡ Genre: Single dad!Chan, friends to strangers to lovers

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), mentions of parental guilt, themes of loneliness, Chan is stuck in the past, lying, mentions of feeling lost in life, story spans over a number of years, nipple play, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected sex, creampie

♡ Word count: 8.2k

♡ Synopsis: Being a single dad to Hyerin is all Chan has known for the past four years. He and his ex-girlfriend reached an agreement that saw her going off to live a life she had always dreamed of while he was left with a life of loneliness, which he endured with a smile on his face for his daughter. A small gleam of hope seems to appear in his life in the shape of you. But hiding himself under a haze of lies seems to be his only option if he ever wants to keep you.

♡ A/N: Based off a request by anon! Thank you for requesting, this was so much fun to write 🩷 I will admit this is a lot more focused on Chan as a character than I originally wanted it to be, and I kinda went a bit crazy with the plot, but I hope you still like it! The song Chan sings to Hyerin is Little Star by Standing Egg 💗

Every day in Chan’s life is a monotonous, never-ending cycle. Like watching reruns of bad TV shows on gloomy Sunday nights, every second of his past and upcoming days is etched into his mind like a quilt of mundane tasks and repetitive moments.

But that wasn’t always the case.

Once, excitement filled his every waking moment. His weekends were a whirlwind of new places teeming with bustling crowds and unfamiliar faces who became fast friends. During his university years, he and his friends lived their lives with ardor, savoring every moment as if it could be their last. His days were filled with an array of unplanned parties and impromptu trips which brought a kaleidoscope of color to his life.

Until he met Dana.

He was about to graduate, and she swept into his life like a hurricane — flipping everything upside down before disappearing just as quickly, with only destruction and ashes remaining in her wake.

He was infatuated; she was bored. That was clear from the start, but Chan was too blinded by affection to be concerned with such a minute detail. So long as he got to have her by his side, he was happy. Their relationship lasted a year, yet it changed his life forever.

He was twenty-one when Dana announced her pregnancy. On his twenty-second birthday, she told him she didn’t want to be a mother.

By that point in his life, Chan had already forsaken everything he had for her. He turned his back on his old friends, the vibrant life he once led, and everything that once made him who he was. Without Dana, he would be left with nothing but the ugly reflection of his self-destructive choices made in the name of a loveless love.

And so, they came to an agreement. Dana would leave — that had been her plan from the start, anyway — but she would leave Chan with a small piece of their story.

Hyerin was born on November 20th, 2019.

Dana left on a plane to New York City on December 1st.

Now, the only speck of color in his life is Hyerin. In the four years Chan has been lucky enough to be her dad, he has found she is much more than simply a reminder of Dana or what could have been between them. Hyerin is his entire world. She is the love he’s unknowingly been searching for his whole life, and he would sacrifice every last bit of himself to make sure she only ever knows happiness.

They live a quiet life, with Chan working a less-than-fulfilling corporate job and spending all his free time with her. He sometimes allows himself to wonder what happened to his old friends — did they all eventually settle for the mundanity of adult life, or are they still chasing an endless thrill? But he never dwells on it too much. The sweet memories of his early twenties are now nothing more than a comforting escape when the weight of loneliness becomes too overwhelming.

Today is one of those days. A late Friday night after his shift, Chan sprawled on his couch with Jisung, a co-worker who became his first friend after many years, a silly smile on his face as he reminisced about a trip to Jeju in his sophomore year of college. This is how he lives most of his life; when he’s not in the present with Hyerin, he’s stuck in the past.

How could he not be stuck in the past? So many people he loved and memories he cherished were there.

“I don’t get how you just left all of that behind for someone,” Jisung scoffs, loosening his tie. “Why couldn’t she just join your group of friends?”

“It’s complicated,” Chan sighs, eyes wandering toward Hyerin’s bedroom door for the umpteenth time to make sure she’s still sleeping soundly. When he turns to look back at Jisung, his expression prompts him to elaborate. “What? You want the whole story?”

Jisung shrugs. “It’s not like we have any other plans for tonight.”

“Well, there was this girl in my friend group. We hooked up a lot, but our relationship went beyond that,” Chan explains, fingers tapping his thighs as the memories flood his mind. It was a sore topic, one he certainly didn’t enjoy remembering. “We never dated, but Dana was jealous, and I couldn’t blame her. Me and this girl were… very close. I couldn’t be in a relationship while also being that close to her, but I also couldn’t imagine us being only friends. So it was easier to walk away.”

Chan conveniently leaves out the fact that he walked away because an artificial love strangely provided solace for his heart, unlike the searing torment of unrequited love, which engulfed him like molten lava.

“And that was the last time you ever had that type of relationship with anyone?”

“With Dana? Yeah—”

“Hyung, you know what I mean. You told me yourself Dana didn’t love you,” Jisung points out. “I mean this other girl.”

Chan shrugs dismissively. “I guess, yeah. Doesn’t matter, though.”

And Jisung scoffs loudly at his words, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. Memories of that love flood Chan’s mind, and he's ready to let them sweep him away when Jisung abruptly turns so he sits facing him, resolve swimming in his eyes.

“Give me your phone,” his loud voice reverberates through the small apartment, prompting Chan to shush him with a stern look. “Give me your phone,” Jisung repeats himself with a harsh whisper.

Chan rolls his eyes but ultimately smiles at his friend. He retrieves his phone from the end table, handing it to a much too enthusiastic Jisung. “The password is Hyerin’s birthday,” he tells him, albeit a bit apprehensive.

He watches amusedly as Jisung types away at his own phone before doing the same on his, handing him the device with a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“What did you do, you little menace?” Chan questions the younger boy, narrowing his eyes. Jisung simply shrugs.

“I got you a date tomorrow. Thank me later.”

Chan immediately sits up on the couch, eyes darting toward his phone screen. A chat with a single message from him to an unknown contact makes him question his entire friendship with Jisung.

Me: I’m your date for tomorrow 😉

Me: O’neul restaurant, 6 pm. See you there, cutie

“Jisung, what the fuck?”

“What?” His friend asks between giggles. “Sora has this friend she said desperately needs a date, and I have you in the same situation,” he explains, clearly proud of himself. “I just did you both a favor while also getting boyfriend points.”

Chan’s eyes shift toward his phone once more, inwardly cringing at the messages with a heavy sigh.

“And was making me sound this creepy necessary?”

Jisung waves his hand dismissively. “Nah, that was just a little treat for me.”

“And why the fuck is her name Mystery Girl?” Chan queries, the irritation making him unknowingly raise his voice.

“It’s a blind date,” his friend explains. “This girl’s apparently super picky, kept turning down every guy Sora suggested. So, she came up with this solution. Can’t turn you down if she doesn’t know what you look like.”

Chan groans, ultimately sinking back onto the couch with a defeated sigh. Jisung was trying to be a good friend, he knew that, but he wasn’t at all thrilled with the prospect of a date. Not only did he not want one, but he also had no time for such a futile thing. He had Hyerin, and she was the sole reason for his existence. He didn’t need anyone meddling in their little world. But he didn’t have the courage to tell Jisung that.

It would be a lie to say the past four years weren’t lonesome. Falling asleep alone in a cold, empty bed was a sorrow he had simply grown numb to. Yet, he still yearned to have someone to share the grapples of routine life with, someone whose presence alone would effortlessly diminish his worries, someone he could make love to before falling asleep and waking up intertwined.

But he couldn’t afford to have that.

At least this date was bound to fail; the woman’s demanding nature, coupled with Chan’s unwillingness to even be there in the first place sure to make their wasted time brief.

Just as he’s about to grumble about the messages again, Hyerin comes stumbling out of her room, her small feet shuffling against the floor as she rubs her sleepy eyes.

“Oh, honey, were we being too loud?” Chan asks sweetly, and his eyes discreetly shoot daggers at Jisung, who mouths an apology.

Hyerin firmly shakes her head, the crooked pigtails Chan clumsily had tied this morning coming undone as she does so. He smiles at her, propping his elbows on his knees and waiting for her to speak her little mind.

“I had a dream,” she mumbles. “With a dragon.”

Chan gasps, hands wrapping around her tiny frame and picking her up before walking toward her room. It took him some time, but he ultimately learned that it’s best to ease her back into bed while she’s distracted, lest she throws a tantrum.

“And was it a nice dragon?” He asks. Hyerin giggles, and Chan is positive that the sound has the power to light up even his most somber days.

“Of course it was a nice dragon, daddy,” she tells him. “You said I only have nice dreams ‘cause my mind is pretty, remember?”

Chan nods as he gently tucks her back into bed, triple-checking that she is comfortable and warm. “Of course, of course. How could I forget?” He slaps a hand on his forehead with a sigh. “Hyerinnie has the prettiest mind. It can only make up pretty things.”

Hyerin smiles at him, tugging her blanket close to her chin, her doe eyes already heavy with sleep and blinking languidly. Chan asks her the same question he does every night, although the answer remains unchanging every time: would she like him to sing to her? She drowsily tells him she wants to hear him sing her favorite song, Little Star.

Chan promptly gets under the covers beside her — Hyerin pouting and whining about how he’s stealing her blanket for himself, to which he can’t help the hearty laugh that escapes his lips. Since turning four, she’s developed quite a strong personality that Chan soon finds he adores, much like everything about her.

He turns on his side to watch her features as he sings; her nose and mouth so similar to his, and the way she furrows her brows while falling asleep mirrors his own habits. Chan might not be a happy man in his job or his personal life, but the boundless happiness his little gift provides him surpasses anything else he could wish for. Every now and then, he finds himself wanting more, but it’s not long before he realizes he already has everything he needs.

Chan goes over his rather extensive list of how to care for Hyerin with Jisung for the tenth time that evening, making sure the younger man knows what to do in any situation that could arise in the couple hours he’ll be gone. Hyerin is the one to usher him out of the apartment, assuring him she’ll be fine with her uncle Han, and Chan has to stop himself from wallowing over the fact that his once tiny baby is rapidly blossoming into a young kid.

He made no real effort to dress for his date; a simple button-up shirt and jeans served him just fine, seeing as he plans to return home as soon as possible. His date and he haven’t talked much at all since his initial texts yesterday, texting each other only to confirm the time and place of their basically forced date.

He arrives fifteen minutes late, all but running from the bus stop to the restaurant while cursing Jisung under his breath. This was definitely not worth the hassle, and Chan wanted nothing more than to be back at home with his daughter. He’d pick watching Tangled with her for the hundredth time over an unwanted date in a heartbeat.

Chan finally walks into the restaurant, informing the waiter that he’s there to meet Cherry. His face visibly grimaces as he mutters the words. Fuck this blind date bullshit.

He’s led to his table, dragging his feet behind the waiter. His attention is immediately drawn to the pencil holding his date’s messy ponytail together. He chuckles quietly, circling around the table and forcing out a smile to introduce himself.

But then he’s met with a sight he had long given up hope of ever seeing again: you.

You, who were next to him as he made stupid decisions during college. Like when he drunkenly thought it wise to bet his laptop in a game of beer pong.

You, who always made him your special hangover soup after a party. He especially loved it when you let him keep the leftovers, knowing that he and his roommate were hopeless in the kitchen.

You, who filled the space in his cold sheets with warmth and always made his bed feel like a sanctuary.

You, who let him make love to you despite you both swearing to be only friends.

You, who later had to watch him walk away from you like a coward, driven by sheer fear.

You, staring back at him with a stunned look on your face.

“Chan?” You ask, an unsure lilt to your words.

And Chan embarrassingly fumbles over his words, his tongue tying itself into knots in front of you. He notices you pursing your lips to stop from giggling and clears his throat a bit too loudly, a few patrons turning their heads to look at him. But he can’t bring himself to care, not when it seems the universe has turned the wheels of his fate in his favor for once.

“Uh, hi,” is all his brain can muster among the jumble of thoughts inside his head. He mentally berates himself for acting so damn awkward when you’re clearly not as affected by this encounter as he is.

“Damn, it’s been so long,” you marvel, eyes not leaving his face for a second. “I thought you moved to a different country or something. It’s so strange how we never ran into each other.”

Chan forces out a chuckle, hands now fiddling with the menu on the table. Of course you two never ran into each other; he only ever leaves the house for work or when he has to accompany Hyerin, and he doubts you frequent playgrounds or zoos.

“Yeah, I… don’t go out much anymore,” he simply says.

You hum, and he properly takes in your appearance. You haven’t changed one bit; from your hair to your choice of clothes, you’re still the same girl who ruled over his every thought during college.

You two order your food and fall into an infuriating cycle of small talk. Chan doesn’t want to talk about the weather or if you have seen the latest movie yet — he’s desperate to ask you how you’ve been, if you ever pursued your dreams, if you can still outdrink anyone in your friend group, and—

And if you’re still single because you find relationships a hassle.

But as the food arrives, you fall into an even more frustrating cycle: silence. Chan feels restless, squirming in his seat every few minutes while you calmly eat and watch the people around you. He remembers your habit of scanning crowded rooms and making up stories for strangers with your vivid imagination. He wants to ask if you still do that, but it seems he’s only grown into more of a coward since your last encounter.

You’re the first to break the silence, waiting for the waiter to leave with your plates to ask what Chan has been doing since graduating. It’s a casual question with no weight to your words, as lighthearted as you have always been. And the complete opposite of his every possible answer.

How can he tell you he’s given up music altogether, now surrounded by gray walls and lifeless faces in his corporate job? How can he tell you he’s alone most of the time, partly by choice and partly because he doesn’t know how to dig himself out of this comfortable hole he’s trapped himself in?

How can he possibly explain that he agreed to be a single father, sacrificing his own happiness for the selfish whims of a woman who never even loved him?

You’re still the same; the same carefree eyes and attitude, same easygoing approach to everything life throws your way — such as meeting him again after years.

All of him has changed.

Chan can’t tarnish your colorful life, can’t sit before you and spill out his problems or grumble about the overwhelming loneliness in his life when he knows damn well that was a consequence of his own choices.

He wants nothing more than to be the same Chan he was in college. Creating life stories for strangers in dive bars with you, not caring about whether he’ll have enough money to pay the water bill next month, not having to bear the burden of something as precious as a human life depending solely on him.

It’s selfish, but he wants nothing more than to go back.

So he does.

“I actually still write songs, though it’s only a freelance thing,” he lies. He hasn’t written a single note in years. “Other than that, I’ve just been taking it day by day. Same as I’ve always done, I guess.”

And your eyes immediately light up — you’ve always loved his songs, after all. Your conversation flows much like it used to in the past after that, with you making witty jokes and Chan laughing loudly at them. You tell him you started working as an art teacher for the elderly when living off of commissions became impossible, and that you adore the stories they share about their younger years. They remind you of your own stories together, you admit with a genuine smile.

Your conversation is endless, continuing even as Chan walks you to your car in the empty parking lot. The night has grown colder, and the crescent moon gleaming in the sky above him almost feels like a sign that things will change for the better.

As you two stand in front of your car, a smile tugs at the corner of your lips. Ever the free soul, you ask him outright if he would like to come back to your place. There are no further implications hidden in your request beyond a hookup. Nothing’s ever heavy with you, every little thing always feeling light as a feather.

He says he would love to, but quickly excuses himself under the guise of calling his roommate about the spare key. Chan hurriedly calls Jisung as soon as he turns a corner in the parking lot, ensuring you won’t be able to hear him. It’s juvenile, the way he’s actually taking pleasure in almost creating a different version of himself — a version much closer to who he was when you were his, at least in some sense of the word. He’s a father, he should be responsible and dependable, but the weight of that role had been thrust upon him far too abruptly. He can’t be faulted for wanting to go back in time.

“Okay, I have no time to explain,” he blurts out as soon as Jisung picks up the phone. “Would it be too much to ask you to stay the night?”

Jisung chuckles at the other end of the line. “Damn, was the date that good?”

Chan ignores his sly comment, because yes, the date was everything he never thought it could be.

“I’ll be back first thing in the morning,” he assures him. “I’ll even pay you if you want. How much—”

“Hey, no need for that,” Jisung cuts him off. “You know I love looking after Hyerin.”

And the pang of guilt inside his chest at the mention of his daughter’s name almost knocks the air out of his lungs. He feels ashamed, as if he’s neglecting his daughter for a hookup, going after a fantasy that has long crumbled and faded away.

“How is she? Is she okay?” He asks, guilt washing over him like a wave. He hadn’t thought of his daughter for a second that entire night. “Did she cry at all? Did she notice I was gone for longer than I promised?”

Jisung calls out his name with a chuckle, prompting him to stop his rambling. “Relax. We painted each other’s nails, she did my makeup, had her dinner, and is now sleeping soundly after listening to another one of uncle Han’s phenomenal stories about frogs,” He details, causing a hearty laugh to fall from Chan’s lips at the image of Jisung’s face painted with Hyerin’s cheap children’s makeup. His friend then adds, “Go get laid, man.”

And so Chan hangs up the phone, all but running toward your figure waiting by your car. You smile at him, taking his hand and pulling him into a tight embrace. It’s the first time he holds you in almost five years, and he feels his dull world away from Hyerin slowly fill up with vibrant hues.

It takes you less than fifteen minutes to reach your apartment building, and Chan is thanking any higher power that might listen for that. The sheer anticipation of what is implied to happen once you two are alone together has him picking at his cuticles until it stings.

He’s nervous, to put it lightly. A couple of terrible drunken hookups in dingy motels after office gatherings were his only sexual encounters after Hyerin was born.

But once you’re standing in front of him in your living room, your eyes never leaving his even as you’re slipping off your heels, Chan knows you’re both equals in this playing field. 

He’s the one to pull you into a kiss, lips barely grazing against yours. But the feeling of finally kissing you again after so many years was like wildfire, consuming him wholly until the kiss turns feverish. His hand travels from your shoulders to your lower back, pulling you flush against his body. You hum against his lips, fingers clumsily undoing his buckle, and the prospect that you might be as eager as he is has him gripping the fabric of your dress.

Chan swears his vision goes black the moment your fingertips brush against his hardening erection, the feathery touch enough to make him sigh into your mouth.

A hand is pressed to his chest before he has the chance to think, and you’re pushing him backward until his back meets the wall. You immediately drop to your knees in front of him, leaning forward and nuzzling your face against his clothed cock.

“I missed you,” you whisper, hungry eyes looking up at him. “Don’t think I got to say that.”

Chan takes in the sight of you, memorizing and storing it in his mind alongside the countless images he already had of you on his knees for him. His fingers thread in your hair, your lips falling open with a sigh.

“I missed you too,” he professes. You have no idea how much.

With a smile, you quickly work his zipper open, pulling his jeans down his legs and pressing a wet kiss to his clothed erection. Chan feels your tongue lap at his member through his boxers, lips sucking around the head as your nails scrape the flesh of his thighs lightly.

It feels like you mouth at his length for hours, the light gray fabric of his boxers stained with your saliva and his precum, leaving Chan panting and tugging at your hair. You trail soft, wet kisses down his thigh while pushing his boxers out of your way, his cock already swollen and flushed. He’d be embarrassed for the way his body reacted so responsively to you if you weren’t also visibly as affected.

Your tongue circles his length languidly, lapping at a small bead of precum with a hum. Finally wrapping your lips around his tip, your tongue flicks teasingly beneath the head of his cock, Chan sucking in a deep breath and using his grip on your hair as leverage to pull you toward him. You almost obediently drop your jaw to slide his now fully hardened length into your mouth, your hand wrapping around the base as you begin to bob your head up and down his cock. Chan hisses your name when you relax your throat after a few passes, taking him fully into your pretty mouth, your nose brushing his pelvis.

“Fuck, you always looked so pretty like that,” Chan chokes out. “Pretty lips taking me so well.”

You groan at his words and the vibrations traveling along his shaft have Chan growling with a harsh tug of your hair, causing you to sputter as his cock hit the back of your throat. You seek purchase in his hips as tears prick the corner of your eyes. You’re unrelenting nonetheless, circling your tongue around him before pulling away, hands now sliding up his thigh before gently gliding over his balls. As you slowly lick from the base of his shaft all the way up to the sensitive tip, Chan’s gaze shifts down as he catches a glimpse of your thighs rubbing together. He feels himself twitch, and immediately pulls you away from him.

“Don’t wanna come like this, I need to fuck you,” he rasps out.

You stand back up, legs wobbly, and fumble with the buttons of his shirt while he slides your dress down your shoulders. Your movements are messy and filled with urgency, your breaths quickening as you both want nothing more than to strip away any form of barrier between you. Piling up five years of yearning will do that.

As your impatience reaches its peak, you tear open the last remaining buttons of his shirt, your nails grazing his skin as you slide the fabric down his shoulders. A wave of goosebumps travels across Chan’s body, and his hands abandon the task of removing your dress in favor of tracing the curve of your ass before picking you up off the floor.

“First door on the right,” you tell him, your words answering his unspoken thoughts as if you could read his mind. Chan nods, your proximity making it impossible for him not to press his lips to yours, tongue sliding over your bottom lip before licking into your mouth with a low hum.

He collides with a wall, missing the entrance to your bedroom by a hair’s breadth, and you giggle against his lips. Chan smiles back. Nothing’s ever heavy with you.

He lowers you onto the bed gently, his body instinctively slotting between your spread legs the way he did so many times before. You soon also wrap your thighs around his waist as you always did, pulling him closer until his cock is pressed up against your clothed pussy.

“Wanna ride you,” you tell him, grinding your hips forward and eliciting a quiet moan from Chan’s lips as he hastily nods. With a tight grip on your waist, he flips you both effortlessly.

Promptly sitting up on his thighs, you finally rid yourself of the inconvenient fabric of your dress, followed by your bra, your nipples instantly hardening. Chan sits up, eyes transfixed on your chest as his calloused thumbs trace the nubs before his lips circle around one, sucking harshly. As you gently roll your hips, he can feel the way your soaked panties cling to his skin as your core presses up against his thigh.

Your fingers tangle in his hair with a whimper, pushing his face into your breasts as he bites the sensitive skin. His lips leave your nipples with a wet sound, then trailing kisses up the column of your neck until his gaze is locked on yours again. He was dying to mark you, bite and suck on your skin until it blossomed into a beautiful maroon — but he knew better. You weren’t twenty anymore, and you weren’t his; in no sense of the word.

“I’m on the pill,” you tell him, eyes heavy with lust.

And he knows this is a terrible idea. This was exactly how he came to be a father.

But it’s not his mind that’s doing the thinking, and so he nods, his grip on your hips tightening as you pull your soaked panties to the side just enough to slide the swollen tip of his cock against your slick folds. Chan sucks in a breath, fighting a war against his own body not to come from this feeling alone. It wasn’t just how long it had been since he was with someone, it was you. It was all you. The effect you had always had on him having never faded, simply laying dormant until his body had you again.

Chan rests his forehead on yours as you slowly sink down on his length. His lips find your neck again, gently sucking the skin into his mouth as you slowly grind down on him, a whine falling from your lips and going straight to his cock. His hips buck up unwittingly, causing you to moan loudly in his ears. But your slow pace remains, and Chan knows he should savor this moment, but he wants nothing more than to fuck you into the mattress until he forgets every minor issue aggravating his brain.

Such as the fact that he knows you will leave his life again the second you find out he lied to you.

So his hands find your waist and he flips you down onto the mattress once more. His eyes bore into you as you suck in a breath.

“Fuck me,” you plead, hips grinding into his cock again. “I want it, please—”

Chan doesn’t waste another second, retreating only to plunge back harshly into your cunt. He moves with deep strokes, hips falling into an erratic rhythm, your nails digging into his back as your thighs clenched around his waist. All he can hear is static and your choked moans as he presses you into the mattress.

“Missed this so fucking much,” he groans against your ear. And finally succumbing to his desires, he bends down to suck and nibble on the delicate skin of your neck, mind too focused on how your walls squeeze around him to worry about marking you. He laps at the small bruises he leaves behind, your fingers tangling in his hair as you mewl.

You roll your hips, matching his rhythm, and Chan feels a familiar heat rise within him. He reaches down to glide small circles around your clit, your body jolting and squirming. He absentmindedly smiles against your skin.

After an entire night of pretending his life was the same as it was five years ago, fucking you required no acting.

“It’s too much, fuck,” you whimper, tugging him by the hair until your lips are crashing together in a sloppy kiss. Your walls tighten around him, body clenching as the tension finally snaps, your orgasm coursing through your shaking body as Chan growls into your parted lips.

He keeps fucking into you, until his hips meet yours one last time, and a low groan reverberates through the room. His cock twitches inside of you as his body stills, filling you with his warm release which leaked out of you and onto your sheets as he pulled out with a sigh.

Chan throws himself onto the mattress, labored breaths leaving his heavy lungs. He pulls you into his arms, and you melt into his embrace as if it were a habit. It’s as though he’s gone back in time, even if temporarily.

He feels like he’s simply a guy making love with the girl he adores in the familiar comfort of his dorm room again.

When the first rays of sunlight seeped into your room, Chan was already awake. He watched as you slept, eyelids fluttering and a small smile adorning your lips.

It was as if you were his, in every sense of the word.

Guilt.

That’s what Chan feels every time he sees Hyerin’s laughing face on his phone’s wallpaper when he’s out, entertaining the silly lie he crafted.

It’s been two months since you reconnected and you effortlessly slipped him back into your life. The reunion with his old friends was expected — but Chan dreaded it, regardless. He found that out of the nine people that once comprised their group, only five remained. He wasn’t the only one who had gone his own way.

But he was the only one who had done it in the worst way possible, carelessly ghosting every single one of them, hoping his existence gradually faded from their memories.

That made facing his once best friend frightening. Minho was the first friend he made on the very first day of university, when Chan walked into his dorm room only to find he had snuck his cat into the building.

They were roommates for two years, and best friends for four. Chan complained loudly when he was assigned a new roommate. Minho was silent as he watched his best friend turn his back on him with no explanation.

Minho initially ignored him entirely, and Chan doesn’t fault him. When his vibrant face turned cold upon seeing him walk into a bar, Chan knew he earned that the moment he decided to ignore his friend’s every text message and phone call. When Minho made backhanded remarks about how nice it felt to have him back in their group, he knew he deserved it for not answering the door the only time his friend came looking for him.

It takes a drunken argument leading to a fist colliding with Chan’s cheek for Minho to finally address him. It takes them being escorted out of the bar by security for them to finally have a conversation, tears and resentment flowing freely as they sat at a bus stop late at night. After that, their friendship returned to what it was before, as if they had never been apart even for a second.

Despite the years and the changes, Minho was still his best friend — which was why he was the only person he came clean to.

Hyerin loved Minho, especially his cats. Her new favorite pastime quickly became going over to his house to play with her new ‘friends’, as she called them. And Chan was overwhelmed with happiness to witness his best friend falling under his daughter’s spell — his house now containing its very own box filled with every toy Hyerin mentioned even once, his kitchen stocked with all her favorite foods, and his cats falling asleep beside her anytime they came over to visit.

It was as if he was watching his two worlds collide. His past and present, which he had separated out of a senseless fear, intertwined so effortlessly it made him feel stupid for ever thinking he needed to build this barrier. For assuming the people he loved so much would reject him.

Made him feel even worse for walking away in a futile attempt to protect his feelings, because it only resulted in more hurt.

After so much of his time spent wondering, Chan finally has the answer to his questions. Some of his friends did settle for an ordinary adult life, some already married and some focusing their energy solely on climbing the corporate ladder. Still, some remained relatively unchanged — much like you did.

His social life blossomed again after reconnecting with his old friends. However, he still refused to hire a nanny, too fearful to leave Hyerin to a stranger’s care, resulting in constantly having to come up with excuses when his parents aren’t able to babysit. He won’t deny that he often fabricated these lies purely because staying in with his daughter and watching Tangled now outweighs any appeal of noisy nightclubs.

Jisung remained his salvation whenever he wanted to spend the night at your place, with Chan slowly but surely running out of reasons as to why you can’t go to his apartment for a change. He hasn’t had the heart or the courage to tell you the entire truth yet, only owning up to his lie about his job after you understandably asked him to listen to his new music and he was put on the spot.

Ever since you walked back into his life, he finds himself weaving a web of little white lies that slowly chip away at his heart.

He’s at a small gathering for his friend’s birthday, listening to Minho all but eulogize his fiancee. They have been a couple since university, Chan playing the wingman and encouraging his friend to finally do something about his crush (mostly because he couldn’t handle any more of Minho’s whining before going to sleep). Despite what everyone around them surmised, they beat all the odds and statistics and stayed together even after university. Chan would be happier about that if he hadn’t bet money on them breaking up before graduation. He wonders if Hongjoong will ask for his twenty bucks now that they’re friends again. 

“No, really, settling down with someone is so good,” Minho says after another shot of Soju, a silly smile etched onto his lips. “I thought I would hate it, y’know? Thought slapping such a significant title on our relationship would wear it down, but it’s the complete opposite. Ever since she proposed, it’s like we’re two love-struck nineteen-year-olds again.”

Chan smiles, saying they should drink to that purely because he hopes the sensation of alcohol burning his throat will numb his overwhelming jealousy. After congratulating Minho for the umpteenth time, he finds himself listening to yet another story about his relationship.

And he’s happy for Minho, just as much as he’s happy for Wonwoo for getting married last year. He couldn’t express the overwhelming joy he felt upon discovering these people, who once meant so much to him, had successfully navigated their way through life. But envy rears its ugly head every time he listens to one of their stories, because Chan’s direction in life seems to be a winding road. He’s a father, and his love for Hyerin is immeasurable, but he’s still actively lying about this side of him simply because he feels as if maybe he made the right choices in life at the worst possible time.

As he’s walking out of Hongjoong’s apartment with you later that night, he wraps an arm around your waist, a smile spreading across his face when you nestle closer to him. You two discuss Wonwoo’s marriage, with you talking about how beautiful the ceremony was, but ultimately scowling at the mere thought of getting married. Chan feels the corner of his heart crack at your words, but he laughs it off.

“Do you think he wants kids?” he wonders aloud.

He expects you to laugh at his sudden curiosity. He doesn’t expect you to dig at the fissure in his heart with your words, causing it to shatter completely.

“Gosh, it’d be so weird to see.” You cringe, snuggling deeper into his arms as a chilly breeze brushes against you two. “I like kids, but I’d never have them myself. Feel like it’d kinda ruin my life.”

Chan feels his grip on your waist loosen.

“Having kids doesn’t ruin your life,” he reasons. “You’re given the chance to care for something so precious, so important to this world…” he trails off, shaking his head and taking a step away from you. It feels as if exasperation has filled his entire being. “You look into their eyes and see yourself, and it’s— the love you feel when you first see them is so pure and earth-shattering that you can’t think of anything but how to make that tiny being only experience the good in the world. It doesn’t ruin your life.”

You eye him with confusion, cocking your head to the side and huffing out a laugh. “You talk like you know what that’s like. If you ever have kids one day, then you’ll know—”

“But I do know,” he’s yelling before he can stop himself, his footsteps coming to a halt. “I know because I have that. I have that and it’s the most precious thing in my life and yet I’ve been taking it for granted. And for what?”

He scoffs bitterly, his gaze fixing on your features; your flushed cheeks and slightly smudged lipstick, the way your puzzled eyes gleam under the moonlight. He shakes his head. 

“For childish illusions. The illusion that I could go back in time if I pretended hard enough, the illusion that this romanticized idea I have of my early twenties was superior to the life I have now,” Chan lets out a heavy breath, averting his gaze to the pavement. “The illusion that I could ever have you.”

“So it’s my fault you chose to lie about being a dad?” You blurt out.

He doesn’t lift his head. He can’t, the burden of guilt and shame weighing too heavily on his shoulders for him to face you.

“It’s my fault. You were simply the catalyst.”

“What do you even mean?”

“I mean I’ve always felt this way,” he exasperates, finally lifting his head but keeping his gaze anywhere but on you. He’s a coward. “I’ve always felt like maybe I was too young to be a dad, too immature to fully understand the consequences of the choices I made. I don’t regret my daughter, but I certainly regret the timing, and this haunts me every day. Meeting you again just made these feelings worse because you represent everything about my past that I no longer have.”

You remain quiet for a beat, but it feels like an eternity as Chan is forced to endure the deafening ring of your silence.

When you finally speak, your voice is unsteady. “You know, that’s why I always figured it was for the best that you left.”

“What?” Chan turns his gaze toward your face at last, your words stomping on his scattered heart one last time. He expects anger, but sorrow has taken over your expression, one so heavy he doesn’t recall a single moment in the years he’s known you where he’s seen you like this.

“You were always like this, Chan. You might think you were a different person back then, but you said it yourself,” you shrug with a sullen chuckle. “It’s only an illusion.”

He hums, nodding his head as it dawns on him. “You were never gonna be mine, were you? No matter what I did. I lied to you because I thought you would never want someone like who I am today. But I guess that was all in vain, ‘cause I’ve always been like this.”

“You always talked about getting married, settling down, having kids.” As you run a hand through your hair, an exasperated sigh falls from your lips. “You went along with our bullshit, but even back then, you were always like the dad of our group. This has always been you, Chan, but that’s not a bad thing. Don’t think you need to change or lie about who you are ‘cause you’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met, but…”

He scoffs. “But?”

“But we’re too different. We’ve always been. We’re great together in every way but the way you want us to be — the way I would love for us to be as well,” you simply say, offering him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“And would it kill you if we tried? ‘Cause this unfulfilled hope has been killing me since I first fell in love with you.”

“What’s her name?” You simply ask, avoiding his question altogether. Chan furrows his brows. “Your daughter, what’s her name?”

He shifts on his feet. “Hyerin.”

“I hope she knows how lucky she is to have you as a dad.”

Chan shakes his head. “I’m far from the perfect father.”

“Good,” you state matter-of-factly. “Perfect wouldn’t be you.”

You fall into a much lighter silence, although it’s still far from comfortable. A swarm of questions fills Chan’s mind, but his words fade into silence and die on his lips.

He knows everything is over when you suck in a sharp breath, muttering, “I can’t be what you need. When love becomes too serious, I feel trapped and run away. You know what that’s like,” you trail off. “I know we loved each other back then, and I know I still love you now, but I think it’s my turn to walk away. I’m sorry, Chan.”

And just like that, he’s left to watch your figure slowly grow smaller and smaller as you fade into the dimly lit street. You don’t reprimand him for lying or question if he also loves you still. You don’t explain why you can’t make an effort, probably because you’re unsure of the answer yourself. It turns out you both remained unchanged.

And after all this time, it’s only then that Chan realizes you were always just as lost as he was.

Chan didn’t allow himself to think much about you since he watched you walk away that night. He missed you often, as he had done for so long before your last encounter, but he had long grown numb to that feeling.

In the two years he was apart from you for the second time, he learned that life isn’t black or white. He could be a father while also being his own person; a son, a friend, a boyfriend. He learned that prioritizing Hyerin didn’t mean neglecting himself, as that would negatively impact her as well. She couldn’t only know happiness if her father was always dripping with sadness.

He learned he doesn’t have to choose between who he is now and who he was at twenty years old; they were both him, with certain moments bringing out glimpses of one or the other.

Hyerin started elementary school and is blossoming into a caring little girl, no longer needing Chan to tie her pigtails in the morning or remind her to brush her teeth before bed. Although she still demands that they maintain their nightly routine of lying together until she falls asleep to the sound of his voice singing her favorite song.

During his first parent-teacher conference — after walking into the classroom fifteen minutes late — he’s stunned to see you sitting across from him yet again, a pencil holding up your ponytail the same way it did that night at the restaurant. He couldn’t help the smile that spread on his lips.

You were Hyerin’s teacher. He recalled picking her up after her first day of school and listening to her gush over the art teacher who was so pretty and nice, and talking about how she wanted to be like her when she grows up.

It felt as if you were destined to find each other every time one of you chose to walk away.

Your friendship picked up again slowly this time — no rushing into bed together and no rushing into long overdue serious conversations. They had already been avoided for years, anyway, they could wait a bit longer. This is exactly what you needed; patience. Chan had never had the patience to wait for you, while you never had the patience to understand your own feelings.

It’s been ten months now, and he’s yet again sitting before you. The teachers and parents converse around you both as you sit in silence. When you think no one is watching, you exchange glances, struggling to suppress the silly smiles that insist on spreading across your faces.

As people leave the room one by one after the meeting, Chan approaches you.

“You’re Bang Hyerin’s father, correct?” You speak with a grin.

“Correct.”

“She’s an amazing kid,” you tell him.

He smiles, shifting his gaze toward his feet before his eyes find yours again as you speak.

“We could grab a coffee this weekend.”

This time, there are further implications hidden in your request. You’re not asking as a friend, like you’ve been doing these past months. Some things are heavy with you now, and this is something he’s only recently come to find. He’s also come to find that he loves that change.

So he answers, “Sure. Tomorrow at three?”

“Then I’m your date for tomorrow,” you say with a giggle. “See you there, cutie.”

And Chan lets out a hearty laugh at that, which earns him a scolding look from the other teachers in the room.

He isn’t sure what will come of this. Maybe you two are better off as friends and all it will take is a couple of months to figure that out. Maybe time has changed you both more than he can understand, and you will finally be able to try something real after all these years of unfulfilled hopes and childish illusions.

Either way, Chan knows he won’t let go of you this time.

He wants you to be his, in any sense of the word.

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[cutielando]

hi love! i was wondering if you could write an imagine based of the music videoclip of ariana grande’s “we can’t be friends” and than with Lando x reader? the videoclip ends with ariana forgetting her ex boyfriend and they walk next to each other without knowing each other but can you maybe make the end with after reader removes her memories of her and lando they meet each other again ?

a/n: thank you so much for requesting!!❤️

my masterlist

You hadn’t wanted it to come to that. To come to the moment when you wouldn’t even be able to be in the same room as each other without screaming each other’s ears off.

Relationships were not like how people depicted them to be. All sunshine and roses, endless love and no problems whatsoever.

You had wanted to believe that at the beginning. You couldn’t imagine Lando being anything other than a perfect boyfriend. You didn’t even want to pathom the off chance that he would ever hurt you.

And yet, there you two were, screaming at each other in the middle of the streets, dead in the night, under the moonlight and with nobody around. Monaco was silent and peaceful at this hour, but you two weren’t.

You didn’t even remember why you were arguing, what had got the both of you so riled up. It seemed like you didn’t need a reason to fight these days.

After that, after the fighting and the harsh words, came the break up. You should have seen it coming, should have done something to prevent losing the love you two shared, but it was too late.

Your relationship was beyond salvation. And it hurt. It hurt like a real bitch ever since you stopped seeing him walk through the door of your apartment, every time you went to bed and he was not there to hold you as you slipped into unconsciousness.

You felt him everywhere you were, saw him in every little thing you would do, every single day.

It had all been too much.

You couldn’t deal with the pain of losing him, of not being able to see him, feel him or talk to him.

Which is why you did the only thing that could help you.

Wipe your memory clean of him.

You couldn’t bring yourself to really do it at first. The idea of forgetting everything about him, every little thing that you loved about him and the way be made you feel, you didn’t want to live in a world where you would never know the way he loved you.

But as time passed and you saw how careless he was, how he was living his life to the fullest like your relationship had never even existed, that pushed you over the edge.

So you called the doctor and scheduled the procedure. Gathering every single memory that you had of him, anything you had that reminded you of him was stacked in a box and carried with you.

In the waiting room, as you read through the contract you were about to sign, sneaking glances at the box in your lap staring back at you, you couldn’t help but chuckle. Two years of your life with Lando fit in a carton box.

It was almost ironic how the most precious thing in your life fitted into a small box.

And soon enough, the contents of the box would forever disappear and everything would disappear from your mind like it had never even been there.

The feeling that you had after you opened your eyes post-procedure had been the best feeling you had ever had. You felt like you were floating, happiness coursing through every single vein and you felt like you were walking on sugar clouds.

You were carefree, not a single problem in the world.

Lando didn’t know about it. He had thought about reaching out, purely to see how you were doing and curious about how you were handling the break up.

He had hoped, as bad as he knew it was, that you were handling it just as badly as he was. He didn’t sleep the same, the sparkle in his eyes was gone and he wasn’t the same Lando anymore.

Everyone could see that, everyone close to him knew that part of him died with the break up.

He didn’t hear about it until he talked to your sister. She had told him about it, about what you had done, and it felt like he had been stabbed in the heart repeatedly.

You had been so hurt by his actions, the pain having become so unbearable that you had resulted to completely altering your memory to wipe everything good about your relationship from your mind.

Everything the two of you had shared.

He couldn’t live with that. He couldn’t allow that to be the end of your story.

He had to fix it. He had to step up and do the right thing, do right by you. But how?

It was simple.

You would start all over again. A clean slate, taken to a whole new meaning.

Which is why he was standing right now in front of you in the paddock, your sister having dragged you with her to the race and helped him arrange everything.

“Hello, how are you?” he had started the conversation, outstretching his hand and waiting for you to shake his.

You looked at him, seeing his eyes bringing a familiarity to your core but you couldn’t put your finger on it. Something in your heart told you this was no stranger to you, this was someone you knew.

But your mind didn’t register anything, completely void of any information about the man standing in front of you.

“I’m okay, really excited to be here for the weekend” your smile, just as beautiful as he had remembered it, clung to your beautiful face, reminding him of why he had fallen in love with you in the first place.

“I’m Lando, by the way”

“Y/N, it’s nice to meet you”

And maybe, just maybe, you would get another shot at love.

Maybe, this time, you would get your happily ever after.

He would make sure of that.

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[theblueflower05]

Crawling Back to You

(Part Two of First Love/Late Spring)

A/N: So like, I’m really excited that you guys seem to be digging this story. I was hesitant about it just because there’s so much of my own Na’vi/Metkayina lore thrown in there. Thank you for all of the kind response.

Word Count: 8k+

Warnings: From here on out, this story will be extremely explicit. Minors DNI. If Aged Up! Neteyam isn’t your thing, please exit to your left. Let’s all respect each other's boundaries, please.

Angst. Self deprecation. Alcohol consumption. Smut. Mutual masturbation. Fingering(fem receiving). Nipple sucking. Breeding kink. Scent marking. Public sex(if you squinttttt)

Summary: Neteyam returns from his Motnaui and isn’t in much of a celebratory mood when he realizes that he’s scrapped any chance of having a mate for Fertility season…or has he? Neteyam x Reader

Series Masterlist(all parts can be found here)

Previous< First Love/Late Spring

Next>: Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea

Secret's that I’ve held in my heart

Are harder to hide then I thought.

Maybe I just wanna be yours- Artic Monkeys

The brilliant Pandoran sun beats down on the crystal blue waters, fragmenting into bursts of light under the surface of the waves.

The Motnaui is intense, Neteyam’s lean frame isn't made for the open ocean but over the months as he trained intensely with the Metkayina hunters, he gained muscle he didn't even realize his body could retain.

His shoulders are broader and thighs thicker. He can keep up with the clan, he can help row the boats without his arms giving out on him.

Neteyam hasn't felt this way since they had fled the safety of the forest. He’s useful again. He’s worked hard to regain his title of Hunter.

Warrior.

Brother of the people.

He sense’s it as they jump between the endless maze of isles. Hunting and sleeping on the beaches under the open night sky. Swapping stories around the small campfires.

They don't see him as an outsider anymore. No, he is Metkayina. All of the hunters treat him as such. Clapping his back. Embracing him tight. Sharing in the whopping joy as he makes a clean, merciful kill.

They listen to the Omaticayan legends he tells the and fill him in on the lore of the sea.

The four days out at open ocean are needed and he feels sure footed now. Knows that he will always have a place in Awa’atlu. He can't wait for Lo’ak to complete his Iknamaya next cycle, to get to feel this feeling of deep belonging. Of acceptance.

The tattoo forever etched into the the skin on his on his shoulder burns. Throbs all the way down his elbow, ends right above his wrist. The permanent swirling ink a symbol of his place among the reef.

His third birth is as beautiful as his second. He is a man, twice recognized.

Neteyam reminds himself of that fact as he sits down next to Tonowari one night. The stars are sparkling and the dimming light of the dying fire makes the hulking chief look larger than life.

Still, the younger man gathers his courage.

“I wish to mate with Y/N” Neteyam states firmly. He had been Olo’eyktan in training for over a decade back in the forest. He uses the voice he’d take on when speaking of important matters “I would like your blessing to do so, sir”

Their brothers and sisters in the hunt surround them. Either asleep at the late hour or lost to their own conversations.

Or maybe they just know not to interrupt this important exchange. They only listen in with peaked ears and envious hearts.

Tonowari’s features go stern, his strong brows pulling together “Before my T’smuke returned to the great mother, I promised her that I would always take care of her daughter as though she was my own. I love Y/N as I do my children. Do you understand that, Neteyam?”

Neteyam is nodding “Yes sir, of course”

“She is a good woman. A very important member of our community, if I allow this courtship I have to be certain that you will honor that. That you will honor her place among us, and be serious about what that means for your own”

Neteyam mules over the words, thinks he knows what they mean. He will be marrying into the royal family of the Metkayina. He will be bound by blood to the clans chief. His future children will have a claim to the title of Olo’eyktan or Tshaik, third in line should anything ever happen.

“I am very serious about her, I will work hard to give her all that she deserves. I will build us a Mauri to raise our family in. I will dedicate my life to her and the tribe” It is not a vow lightly made, Neteyam knows this.

He had never been one to be fickle about responsibility.

It’s only when the intense expression on the Olo’eyktans face shifts, a broad smile stretching across his mouth, that Neteyam feels his posture untense.

Tonowari claps him hard on the back and offers him the leather flask of strong liquor that the hunters pass amongst themselves-

“Then you have my blessing” Tonowari laughs as the younger Na’vi man almost chokes on the burn of the Kava.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

When they return to the main island of Awa’atlu with their abundant catch they are greeted warmly by the clan. The giant horns are blown, drums play rhythmically. Children scream joyously and women dance scantly clad in ceremonial drab.

Its busy and blustering but there's only one thing on Neteyam's mind.

Only one person.

The same woman who had plagued him since his arrival all those months ago. You’re as elusive as the receding tide and he had become accustomed to having to look for you. To having to seek you out in a crowd, to go searching for you.

You hadn't seen him off and he hasn't spoken to you in many days. He misses you. It's an ache that he wants to soon remedy, that he knows he’ll never have to feel again. Not with Tonowari’s blessing fueling him.

Since he was young, Neteyam had wanted to be bonded.

He’d dreamt of sharing that special connection with another individual; the way that his parents did. He craved someone to cherish him, to take care of him and in return he’d do the same for them. He itched for a woman to braid his hair, to bear his children. To bury his cock in every night and wake up to every morning.

He was a simple man with a big heart and a lot of love to give. And he wanted to give it to you.

He just has to find you first.

Neteyam tries not to worry when he can't catch sight of your petite frame. Not one peek of your long hair or seafoam eyes. He couldn't scent the natural perfume of florally herbs that always seemed to surround you-

“Neteyam!” It’s Tuk.

She collides with him hard. Many years of being a climbing post for his siblings is the only reason he doesn't topple over. Is able to catch her mid air and hold her to his chest.

He’s greeted by his family-

And only a moment passes before he can notice that something is wrong.

It’s written all over Kiri’s face. In his mothers expressive eyes and the glances his father throws him as he embraces the Olo’eyktan from across the way. Even Lo’ak gives him something akin to a small glare.

“Whatever is going on, it will have to wait” Neteyam decides out loud, slowly lowering his baby sister to the ground. “I need to find Y/N, have any of you seen her?”

Kiri’s mouth opens and shuts, as though she’s trying to figure out what to say and it frays his nerves. His legs are antsy, burning with the need to run. To seek you out- still on the high of the hunt.

“I don't have time for this-”

“Brother, wait. It is about Y/N” Kiri grabs his elbow, keeping him still.

He doesn't like her tone.

Likes the expression on her face even less. She looks too serious, it doesn't suit her at all. Kiri had always been as airy as a tree sprite- carefree and bubbly.

Call it a gut feeling or the simple ability to read the room. He just knows whatever she’s about to tell him isnt going to be pleasant.

“What happened?”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

His sister pulls him aside, into the mangrove tree’s and away from prying eyes and ears so that she can relay what she’d heard. Fill Neteyam in on what he’s missed.

He listens to every word…and they settle like stones in his stomach.

“Y/N thinks that you have accepted an offer of courtship from another woman”

“I didn't- I’d never!” Neteyam hisses in protest, shaking his head. It’s all one big misunderstanding. He has to make find you, shake these thoughts out of your head. Make you see-

“But you did,” Kiri replies firmly, her mouth pulled into a grim line.

She explains the meaning of the Lei’s.

The gravity of him accepting one from another female and Neteyam hasn't felt so small in many years. He’d been forced into adulthood early. Taken care of his siblings from a young age and then was thrust into the war with the RDA before he had even fully come out of adolescence. He was wise beyond his years, that’s what everyone had always told him.

He doesn’t feel that way now.

He’d fucked up, made a mistake that could very well cost him the future that he had worked so hard to secure since coming to the reefs-

And he hadn't even meant to! He’d been as naive as a baby, as ignorant to Metkayina traditions as an untrained child-

He wants to scream in frustration. Wants to kick the absolute shit out of himself. Instead he listens to his sister, his hands shaking as he balls them into fists.

You had been devastated. Heart broken. Wouldn't talk to anyone or come out to eat. Couldn’t stop crying-

“Enough” He pleads, he can't hear anymore of it. Guilt rises in his chest like bile.

Imagining what the last days had been like for you as he’d spend them having the time of his life, galivanting with other hunters. Getting drunk and having carefree fun-

“Kiri, what do I do?”

She sighs. It’s so rare to see her older brother like this. He’s always so solid. So strong and stable. It’s unnerving when he loses his composure. When his carefully built walls come down

She had known that the whole thing was a miscommunication and had tried along with Tsireya to convince you of that fact. But you wouldn't hear it, and avoided her at every turn.

You and her brother are both such stubborn dumb asses. Rubbing at her temples Kiri prays to Eywa for strength. Sully’s stick together.

“We fix this”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

As the evening eclipse starts and the sun disappears in the sherbert sky the beach lights up.

Bonfires roar, their flames tall and burning bright.

The air is filled with the smell of roasting Paokpak(island boar) and fish. Huge pots full of dishes that Neteyam had never seen line the long wooden table set up at the center of the celebration. Barrels of Kava have been brought out. The strongest of Metkayina liquors, brewed and stored for decades in airtight containers. Made from berries that are extremely hard to harvest.

This is a time for celebration, to gorge on the hard earned harvests the hunters have brought back. To celebrate the newly rited adults and prepare for the Fertility Season.

The beat of the drums is hypnotic. It's sexy and primal. It's a tune that all Na’vi know in their chest, one that their hips move to as if of their own accord.

Children play, Women sing, stories older then the briny deep are told. The air is electric; so full of magic and unity.

And yet, Neteyam is on edge.

He had been since his rude awakening earlier in the day. He’d spent his afternoon running around like an Austrapede with its head chopped off. Desperately trying to solve the issues that he hadn't meant to create.

After hunting down the culprit to all of this mess, a pretty lei made up of sunset orange lilies which he’d given to Tuk almost automatically after it’d been given to him, he returns it to its owner.

Seychelle is haughty. Rightly upset and shrilly confused as she takes the token of her affections back. Neteyam’s apology is poor and he knows it, he backs away before she can throw her drink in his face.

Tsireya had told him this was the only way to remedy the issue- to refuse the offer for courtship so that he could be open to be with another. The younger girl had been so relieved when he came to her, begging her to help him win back your affections.

“I knew you are a good man, that you don't have a mean spirit”

Tsireya is as eager as Neteyam to see her cousin happy. She doesn't think she could spend another night listening to your inconsolable weeping.

The last obstacle is the hardest.

You refuse to be anywhere near him. Are forced into the festivities because of your family standing, but pretend that Neteyam simply does not exist.

At every turn you evade him.

Sandwiching yourself between the hulking muscle of Ao’nung and Tonowari at the buffet table. Dancing in an enclosed circle of swaying women. Flitting away in a plume of smoke when he approaches you with your favorite ripe fruit in hand; leaving him standing there stupidly. Palms stained by the juice of the Lionberry as he squeezes it in frustration.

You’re hauntingly beautiful in the firelight.

He hates the fact that he’s not the only who notices it. The way the other males consume you with their carnivorous gazes makes him sick. His fingers clench and his knuckles crack of their own accord.

Long dark hair pours down your back in bouncing waves. The top that you wear clings to you like a second skin; the pearls and seashells glittering in the warm hue of the flames. Your own Lei, pink and pristine, is still resting on your throat. Many intricate bracelets and anklets clink as you walk and he cant take his eyes off of the way that the back of your tweng sits on your pert ass-

“Go talk to her” His dad suggests gruffly as he watches his son watch you. It’s getting hard to stomach at this point, all of that longing palpable and souring the atmosphere.

“She doesn't want to speak to me” Neteyam mutters. Trying not to feel too bad for himself. And failing.

Neteyam hadn't thought his return from Motonui would be like this. He’d envisioned a lot more kissing, and alot less moping.

“Woman aren't as complicated as they seem, son. You don't need some grand gesture-”

“Says the man who tamed Toruk after his first fight with his mate” Neteyam interrupts and Jake snorts at his unusual outburst.

His eldest son is usually so very put together- it's entertaining to see that a woman could bring out this side of him.

“I have nothing to offer her. Back home in the forest I could have given her- everything” Neteyam sighs as he admits what's been on his mind since he’d begun pursuing you “There’s no reason why she’d want to be with me, I’m aware of that”

Jake pulls his son close.

His first born. The apple of his eye. Neteyam was good to his core, and anyone who knew him could see it. Jake was so proud of him and wondered if this lack of self confidence came from the fact that he probably didn’t tell the boy of that fact enough.

“All that girl wants from you is reassurance. That’s all you need to give her, everything else will come with time. If she wanted to mate for status she would’ve done it long before you got here, kid. ”

Jake had been shitty at motivational speeches since his stint in the military. You would think his time as reigning Olo’eyktan would have given him some kind of skills. But still, his words are a bit clunky. But sincere.

After a moment, Neteyam gulps at the Kava in his hand. Drains his cup and then squares his shoulders before he’s off.

Eyes set unyieldingly on the prize.

Jake grins. If a good ol’ pep talk doesn't do it- liquid courage sure will.

You’re half heartedly participating in the conversations going on around you, just distracted enough that Neteyam’s able to stalk over. Unnoticed until he’s standing right infront of you-

“Y/N” His voice is firm, he wonders if you know how hard it is for him to keep it as such. “I see you”

Up close he can see how swollen your eyes are. How exhausted you look. You just nod, muttering out a quiet “I see you” in response.

Everything about your body language screams that you want to be left alone. Your arms are crossed over your chest, your ears tipped low. Your tail curls around your ankle and your nose keeps scrunching up.

He wishes he could let you be,

But you make him selfish. You bring out a side of him that wants to take. Has to be satiated or he’s going to lose his fucking mind.

“I must speak with you” He states his intentions, clear. Ignores the way Ronal glares daggers at the side of his head.

“I don’t think-”

“It will only take a moment. But I ask for the privacy to explain myself to you. If after you hear my words you still do not wish to talk to me I will respect that”

You glance at your family before responding to him. Sharing a look with both Ronal and Tsireya. Your cousin smiles encouragingly, your aunt gives a barley tolerant tilt of her head.

You sigh and nod, but step away from his hand when he offers it to you. It's an obvious rejection, but Neteyam tries not to dwell on it. His tail flicks anxiously behind him.

“We may speak in private. Come” your voice is low, before you begin to lead him away from the festivities. Down the beach until the firelight is in the distance and the beat of the drum is a low hum on the howling wind.

The storms will start soon. The sea is choppy, the clouds rolling in and the breeze cool.

It’s hard to find privacy on the sandy shores, intertwined couples can be found scattered along the waters edge. Lips locked. Speaking lowly and intimately.

Neteyam is pretty sure that one of his fellow hunters has his mate twisted into a mating press- if her breathless whimpers are anything to go by.

He avoids their writhing bodies, ignores the way it makes his own core tingle.

Fertility Season is all but here. The entire clan falling under its low boiling energy.

All he could think about as he had been out on the open ocean; is that this cycle he wouldn't have to spend it alone.

He’s not sure that is the case anymore.

After more walking, completely in silence, the two of you come to a mostly desolate area. Quiet and still, as private as it’s going to get.

You stare out at the cresting waves and Neteyam knows he needs to say something, anything. But all he can to is look at you.

At the way that the moonlight illuminates your silhouette, at the dusting of turquoise bioluminescent freckles that are scattered across your nose.

“I-Um-” You start, and that wont do. He cuts you off quick.

It is only him who needs to explain himself. “Let me start by apologizing to you. I am so sorry, Y/N”

You appear as though you’re going to start crying and if you do, he’ll lose all his carefully cultivated cool.

So he presses on.

“I had no idea that accepting Lei’s was a courting symbol here. I don't know how to make you believe me but if I had know I would’ve never-” Neteyam lets out a long shaky breath “I can only swear to you that in the future I will be more mindful of your clans traditions”

Time ticks by. The moon shines and the waves crash against the shore.

“Our clan” you break the silence, your voice gentle and melodic. “You passed your Iknimaya. It is your clan as much as mine”

He wants so desperately to hold you. He has for months, but the need is almost unbearable at this very moment.

“If I have lost my chance. Please, tell me now” it’s a plea. Because it hurts to look at you. If he can not have you- if you do not want him, he will accept it. Somehow. But being alone with you like this and not knowing is killing him. “I will…I’ll leave you alone, if you want me to”

You scoff, not looking away from him. Refusing to meet his eye, still staring blanky at the waves. “You act as though I am the one who accepted someone else’s offer. I have never wanted you to leave me alone, Neteyam”

“I’m sorry” Does he sound as idiotic as he feels? He surely hopes not.

“You already said that”

“Please, look at me”

“I can’t” you whisper- hissing at him warningly when he outstretches his hands “I- I don't want to ever feel like this again. You need to tell me what you want from me because I do not know. I will get confused again, if you do not tell me what we are doing”

He can tell by your expression that you are serious, and even so. He cant fucking believe it. Had he failed at courtship so immensely that you really don't know? He’s stuck in his head for a moment too long.

It makes you anxious, makes you back even further away.

“Please-” He’s all but begging, yet

you avoid his touch again and it feels like blades.

Your shrill warning hiss rings in his ears.

He returns it with a snarl of his own when you continue to refuse to let him touch you. Can't help it, the need to rebuff all of this uncertainty around the union that is so special to him is strong.

He grips the top of your arms, his long fingers holding your biceps.

You finally look at him. Your round eyes wide and vulnerable. Filled with unshed tears and unspoken questions.

“I want to mate with you” He starts because if you need to hear it all, word for word, then he’d tell you. “I want to build my life here with you by my side. I want us to have a home that will never know war-”

A tear rolls down the swell of your cheek.

“I-I want you to choose to be with me” He swallows, the lump in his throat getting bigger, higher. Threatening to choke his vocal cords “I will be good to you. If you let me”

His family had always required him to be the rock. Had leaned on him to take on the role of caretaker, he had had to keep it together. Keep them together. It wasn't easy for him to break open like this. It went against his very nature, all that self preservation he’d learned early.

But you need this. And he thinks he might too.

“Neteyam-”

“I will ask you again. If I have lost my chance tell me now”

Have mercy on him.

“I understand if you want to be with someone who can offer you more. I won’t fault you for it” he doesn’t know why he feels the need to tack that on. Why the self deprecating thoughts manifest their way into words that hurt for him to speak “I don’t have much here. But I’ll build it, for you”

Your muscles tense under his palms and he prepares himself for the rejection. The physical blow of it-

But then, you melt. Loosen. Your entire body sags fully into his grip. That pinched expression on your face slips away. Your full lips part and your eyes soften, brows furrowing together.

You look at him like he is something precious. Like you can see him- and he thinks you might be the first one who ever has.

He’d known it in his bones. Since the day he’d arrived. Since he’d first spotted your face in the crowd.

“Oel ngati kameie” you whisper, your hand coming up to cup his jaw. “Oel ngati kamei, Neteyam. I see-”

He leans heavily into your hand. His forehead clunking against yours, pressing hard. The contact stings, but its welcome. He needs it.

He needs.

“I don’t care about any of that. I don’t care what you have or don’t have. You know I don’t.” you murmur urgently, he can feel the words against against his skin.

When you press a whisper light, tentative kiss against the sharp of his cheekbone, something snaps. Something that had been strained and barely held together just breaks.

His control, he realizes as he crowds you.

As his fingers dig into your arms and he presses the line of his body against your own firmly.

You’re so soft everywhere. So much smaller than him. He’s all lean muscle, tall and hard. You’re pliable skin, a layer of blubber to keep you warm in the deep. So different from the women he’d grown up with. Your hips are wide, thighs pillowy.

You’d give him healthy children. His hindbrain howls.

When he captures your lips he hopes you realize that there’s no going back. That this is until death. He’d go to his grave before he was robbed of this again.

You gasp, sweet and small, and he eats it. Consumes all of the air in your lungs. You’re good at holding your breath anyway, right?

“Neteyam” you whine, pulling away, your lips wet and your pupils wide. You’re shaky, already a bit disoriented and he wants to keep you. Protect you. He’ll give you anything if you just keep looking at him like that.

“Are you ok-”

You reach up on the tips of your toes, slamming your lips back against his before he can finish his words.

Your hands tangle into his braids as you try to gain traction, pull him down to your level. Get a better hold on him.

Its intense, dizzying. You kiss him like you’re dying and maybe you are. Maybe you’ve been slowly dying since he first got here. Every moment that you hadn’t been able to be held by him had killed you- a slow torturous death.

You drag him down. Do you know he’d follow you anywhere? Under the waves, down onto the soft sand. He cups the back of your head, shelters your neck as he bullies his thin hips between your dense thighs and pressed you against the ground.

The months worth of tension isn't released gently, because it can't be.

The kisses are bruising. Wandering hands and desperate tongues. It’s carnal, Fertility season making both of your minds cloudy as you try to dig into each others flesh.

Nothing is close enough.

With a whine, your fingers slip under Neteyam's multilayered choker. Using it as leverage to tug on as you thrust your hips up violently. The heat at the apex of your legs grinding against his covered erection dangerously.

“Ah-” he gasps wetly “Easy, Narlor. Easy”

“Sorry” you simper, panting. Trying to get a hold on the feelings rushing through you. One hand gripping his necklace, the other slipping into the back of his hair, brushing the nape of his neck “I want- I dream about it all the time”

Fire rushes down Neteyam’s spine, both at your words and your feather light touch to his kuru. He wonders if you touched yourself after those dreams. If you had to take the edge off like he had. He shudders at the thought-

You’re kissing at his neck again, at all of that sensitive skin under his braids, near his ears.

Your quick touches are everywhere. Rushing all over his body. Manicured nails scraping over his skin-

“Ugh,” he warbles out as your curious hand disappears under his tweng.

Its a tight fit as your fingers dance along his hard cock. Delicate and teasingly light. He’s going to come all over himself like some inexperienced teenager that had never gotten a taste of pussy before if you don't. Slow. Down.

“Tell me about those dreams of yours. What’d we do in them?” Neteyam teases, his lips moving against the corner of your mouth. A distraction for both you and himself.

You can't form words, not as you feel how big he is. As you cherish the fact you’ll never be empty again. He's hard and pulsing in your hand and you want him inside of you. Your mouth, your cunt. You don't care. You want to be the only one who gets to feel him, no one else can ever-

There’s only one way to ensure that.

“Tsahelyu” you whimper, “Please Neteyam. Need it”

He slows down a bit, his head spacy but not totally lost. The bond is everything. It’s the most important aspect of Na’vi culture “I can't bond you here”

“Why?” its a petulant whine, your hips pressing against his again.

“I’m not going to bond you on the cold ground, Yawne. Out in the open”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind” you press and he chuckles, shaking his head “you could have me anywhere you want me”

It’s the raw honesty in your voice that drives him crazy.

Devotion in a way that makes him lightheaded.

He can't give you Tsaheylu yet, he wants it done right. He wants you tucked in a mountain of blankets with a warm fire going- at the height of Fertility Season. The ancestors watching over you as he intertwines himself into your soul for the rest of time.

“I will have you” He assures you, dragging his mouth across your clavicle, his long fingers working the strings of your intricate top loose “And you’ll have me. But you have to let me do it right”

You hate waiting. You tell him as he suckles his way across your chest. Moaning as he finally gets his mouth on your soft breasts. Your fist his braids, shivering as he feasts on your skin.

“I’ll make it worth your while” Neteyam promises between mouthfuls of supple flesh “You’ll want for nothing. I’ll give you anything”

He’s humping down into you, unable to stop his hips from shifting. His cock seeking your warmth. You’re right there, he could just-

“Please” you shiver, like you know what he’s thinking. Like you can read his mind and all the dirty thoughts that cross it.

You can't take it. All of his hesitating.

You’d heard that the Omiticayans were more reserved, more traditional when it came to mating but he was going to drive you crazy.

You push on his chest. Gentle yet demanding.

He doesn't want to remove his mouth from your breasts but he allows it all the same. His lips swollen, a thin string of spit connecting him to your tender nipple as he stares at you with questioning eyes.

Neteyam lets you push him off of you before he goes down onto his back, the sand grating against his shoulder blades as he lays flat. You grin the entire time. Your eyes sparkling with excitement. With hunger.

You look as horny as he feels and it kills him.

Your fingers pluck at the at the delicate ties of your tweng, loosening it until it falls from your curvy hips.

“Y/N” he warns as you then reach for his own. Tugging at the leather straps of his loincloth. He raises his hips, helping you shimmy it down his long legs.

“You can't bond me” You whisper as you straddle his waist, your small hands using his broad chest for balance, palms on his pectorals “Not yet anyway”

“Mhmm” Neteyams murmurs as his eyes roll into the back of his head. You're hot and dripping wet, the center of your legs steaming as you rub it against his groin.

“That doesn't mean you cant touch me” you coo at the man under you as you slowly begin to undulate above him. Your hips circling as your head lowers to tongue at the underside of his jaw.

“Shit” He curses in English, gasping at the night sky as you drag damply across his lower stomach .

“Yes?” you question him as you reach for his hand, leading it exactly where you need him most.

“Yeah” Neteyam assures, fingertips dipping where you're skin is plush and dripping- right in between your spread thighs “Yeah, Yeah”

Your hand is still leading his, cupping him firmly against your pussy as he feels how much you need him. You hadn't been the only one dreaming of this. You had danced behind his eyelids for months. His brain had played tricks on him, desperately splicing together mismatched audio in an attempt to conjure up what you would sound like when he finally got to have you.

A shivery keen escapes you when he presses on your swollen bundle of nerves and nah. His imagination couldn't hold a candle to this.

It’s not just how you sound its how you look.

Sat on top of him, resting on your knees with your chest bare save for that brightly hued Lei. Your kiss bruised bottom lip is skewered between your sharp teeth as you worry it in keyed-up concentration. Blue eyes low, your long eyelashes almost fluttering against your cheeks as you stare down at him.

It’s how you smell.

Ripe and earth wet- his mouth floods as he inhales lungfuls of it, your juices are all over him. His waist, coating his hand . Everywhere but right on his tongue where he wants it the most.

Exploring you where you’re the most vulnerable is slippery, your pussy swollen as he traces along the folds. Your clit beats with your pulse under his touch, inflamed and you cry out.

“Awe, baby” he tuts. Your hips chase him in jagged little movements, unsure and needy and it’s enough to get him grinning. You’d been so sure of yourself when you’d pushed him down and climbed on top of him.

Yet here you are a whining mess of his thing in his lap.

There’s no room to tease, he wants to watch you come all over him. Everything still feels too over sensitive. Too new and easily breakable. You’d spent the last near week questioning his feelings.

Neteyam had his words. He could wax to you poetic until your ears bled,

But he had this too. He needed to make you feel a way that no one else could and as he sunk his long digit inside of you he realized that this was better then any conversation. This felt like the most natural way to express all of his emotions, you sucking him in knuckle deep felt so right.

Velvet soft and vice tight, he’s hard between his own legs from just the feel of you. Just knowing that this was his.

You, your heart. Your body. Your tiny little cunt.

Tiny but taking him so well, not just one finger. But two. Then three. Your body moves like the crashing waves behind you, intense and wild. Shoving down onto him so hard that his wrist starts to ache with the demanding press.

“More” you pant wetly into his neck “Faster. Net-please”

He figures out that faster means harder, and harder means he has you all but vibrating on top of him. Bouncing in time with every thrust of his digits. The arm that isn't preoccupied comes around you to hold you steady as he finger fucks you until you're a squealing mess.

This isn't the first time Neteyam has done this.

There’d been girls back home. One girl in particular that didn't take it too personally that he needed tension relief from the war raging around them and not the arranged soon to be wife that everyone had been trying to shove down his throat back them.

This isn't the first time he’s done this but it’s the first time he’s felt this.

He nuzzles your head out from its hiding place in his shoulder. He has to watch your face, needs to see the way he’s making you fall apart.

This is the first time he’s felt the all consuming pull to be with another person. He wants you like this always. So close to him that he could taste the perspiration from your panting breaths.

You tighten up in his arms, going rigid as your pleasure crests. Your pussy fluttering and mouth gaping. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You’re orgasm is ethereal, raw and fervid.

It’s a glance at Eywa. He sees the great mother on your face as you writhe atop of him.

It’s alot, he can tell. Fuck he can only imagine what you’re feeling if it had been this intense for him. Neteyam lets you hide again after a moment. Your hair covers your face as you shake and he thinks you might be crying, but he just brushes a hand down your damp back. Soothing you back down from the high.

The stars are brighter, even as the clouds gather in gluggy gray storm clusters. Everything seems a little bit more beautiful with his fingers still inside of you. It pains him to slide them out, missing the tight clutch of you once his wet fingers are exposed to the cool night air.

Tsaheylu, you’d begged him earlier. His kuru throbs and gooseflesh erupts all over his body just thinking about bonding with you. He wants it more than he’s ever wanted anything.

You nuzzle against him, nosing at his cheek. Your lips ghosting at the corner of his own.

“You okay?” you wonder. Your voice deep and husky. So sexy it makes his eyes close for a second.

“I should be asking you that”

“Mmm, no need to ask. I feel so so good” you assure him, starting to sit up a little “I um-I kind of got really into it. I’m sorry”

“Sorry?” Neteyam questions, keeping his grip on you as you start to squirm. Not in pleasure this time. But in shame, the embarrassed kind. Coming down from the pleasure haze, that anxious edge comes back. Unsure even as you’re on top of him. “Don’t say that. Why would you be sorry right now?”

You huff, nose scrunching. Ears flicking “I made a mess all over you”

It might not be very nice but he can't help but laugh at you. His pearly white canines on display as he hoots, the belly laughs jostling you from your perch.

“What!” you grumble, but smile all the same. “Stop”

“Hmm. I love messes like this. Feel free to make messes like this anytime” his fingers, still glistening come into view as he brings them to his mouth. Your eyes widen, glued to him. At the slight suction of his cheeks as he licks them in earnest “See. Easy clean up, you’ve got nothing to worry about, Pretty”

You taste as good as you smell. His tastebuds tingle as he swirls the new flavor around. Complex; a sweet musk that he wants to bathe in. He’s acutely aware of the way you watch him, your sweet cheeks burning at his lewdness.

When he frees his fingers with a pop, he gasps as your tongue surges in his mouth.

Tasting yourself on his spit.

Fuck.

He lets you kiss him breathless. Lets you run your sloppy kisses all over his face, down his chin. Across his neck. He arches into it all, gives you all the room you need. He’s well aware of what you’re doing. Working your strong scent into every inch of his bare skin.

Scent marking is a vital part of Na’vi courtship. Ancient, ritualistic and respected. Practiced by your ancestors before the first songs.

It’s makes something in him pur, knowing that you want him to smell like you.

“I think that's enough” He grins when your tongue dips into his navel “They can smell me, baby. You did a very thorough job”

The pout on your face is beyond cute as you sit up on your knees. The little ‘hmph’ sound so adorably out of place in the highly sexually charged situation “But I wanna smell like you too. How will anyone know I’m yours if they can’t smell it?”

Neteyam's nostrils flare. His ears swivel on his head and his tail gives a good lash at that. You want to be marked by him too. Are willing to parade his scent around all of those assholes in the clan that have been trying to win your affections, even when it was clear you were uninterested.

“Lay down” It’s an order, spoken softly but directly and you follow it at once. A giddy smile on your face as you lounge on the sand.

You are a vision.

Hair sprawling and messy behind your head. Your legs spread, back arched. Pretty nipples pebbled hard and on display. The only thing covering you is the floral necklace around your svelte throat.

It doesn't take him long at all. He strokes his striped cock firm and efficiently. Too many years of having to get himself off fast enough not to be caught has made his practiced movements almost perfect.

You’re looking at him like that again. Adoration clear as day on your face. Soft for him. You see him-

“Ol Ngati Kamiel” your voice is saccharin as you speak and he grunts violently as he comes.

Ropes of it land on your belly, across your exposed chest. It’s almost too much when you reach down swiping into the translucent, sticky, mess and start rubbing it into your smooth skin. He collapses shakily beside you, needing to collect himself for a minute before he helps your cause.

It’s the most intimate thing the two of you have done all night, laying together. Basking in the afterglow. Your scents mingle, dancing together in the evening breeze and Neteyam wants to imprint this memory somewhere deep.

The festivities are still raging- and you really do need to get back. It’s an important night. Your clan wants you there, the two of you need to make your rounds. Keep appearances. He won’t keep you from your duties, no matter how much he may want to.

After a quick dip in the ocean, removing the filth of love making but still wearing the strong scent of each other's pheromones, you begin to redress.

Neteyam watches. Highly distracted as you shimmy back into your tweng before looping your top around your shoulders. He works clumsily at the leather of his loincloth.

“Wait-”

The two of you are starting the trek back to the bonfire when he reaches out to halt you. His fingers play with wreath of lilies around your neck and his eyes bore into yours pleadingly.

The smile you give him is more radiant then the silvery moons that twinkle in the inky sky.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Even at the late hour the ceremonial bonfire still crackles with life. The festivities have ebbed into something slower, more intimate.

The adults of the clan are all that’s left, children long gone and tucked into their beds or dozing off against their parents' side.

Kiri sits on a carved log, in a circle of familiar faces.

Her mother and father had left not long ago. Tuk had been fighting slumber but succumbed after the Elders crooned a particularly slow song about the Sky and Sea’s forbidden love. Jake had hoisted the young girl up and bid everyone adieu, swaying on his feet as his wife hissed at him about how after all these years, he still couldn’t handle his liquor.

Now, Kiri listens to stories as she sips slowly on her cup of Kava. Enjoying the pleasant burn;

But not willing to end up like her dumb as rocks brother who is sprawled on the ground. Lo’ak is all but unconscious, every time he opens his eyes they are unfocused and hazy.

That’s what he gets for trying to out drink clan members twice his size. He’d been on the losing end of the drinking competition from the start- he was just too stubborn to see it.

Lo’ak is lucky Tsireya doesn’t care much for drinking, and is more than willing to tend to him. She keeps trying to force him to drink water and nibble on bits of food.

Ao’nung isn’t faring much better; he stares at the moon with a dopey smile as he sings, incredibly off tune, to the song that fills the air. A gaggle of girls surround him. Each hoping to catch his eye.

It’d been an all night thing, affections being thrown at him while he ignored it all too easily.

“My bed will be full this season, I’m not worried about a thing” he’d shrugged it off when asked about it.

Roxto’s boisterous laugh had dwindled down when Kiri shot him an extremely unamused glare.

She’s debating on leaving Lo’ak to sleep on the beach for the night when out of the shadows comes her eldest brother; who had been missing for most of the evening.

The hours had bled away and Kiri had tried not to worry too much about the confrontation that was going on just beyond the jovial bubble of the Metkayina celebrations. You had been distraught and Neteyam had never been good at voicing his own emotional needs-

Huh.

It looks like she had nothing to worry about.

The grin on Neteyam’s face is shit eating. It’s the smuggest she’s ever seen him. Even at his first Inknimaya, back with the Omiticaya, he hadn’t reacted like this. All head raised high and walking on a cloud.

You tug him along behind you, you guys’ fingers tightly intertwined. Your hips sway excitedly as you bounce along the sand. Kiri’s brother's chest is puffed out in obvious pride as he follows your footsteps.

Around his neck is Lei made up of vibrant pink flowers. It matches the one in your hair, that sits kind of lopsided now.

As the couple gets you closer, and Kiri catches a whiff of your approaching bodies, she wants to wretch. You’re drowning in each other's scents and it’s quite obvious what you had been up to all night.

“So gross” Kiri gags in accusation once you’re both in earshot.

You two owed her so big. She thinks naming one of your future children after her would suffice.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Okayyyyy. This was so fun to write and I already have Part Three brewing! TAGLIST IS CLOSED.

So like. Lots to address here. Tons to talk about. I’m gonna start the conversation but I hope you guys continue it in the comments.

1. The Motnaui is something I completely made up(…yes after watching Moana and taking inspiration for the name) lol it’s a ritualistic hunt that newly anointed hunters and warriors go on after their Metkayinan Iknimaya’s. I know all the different clans Iknimaya traditions would be different and I thought this would be cool.

2. I read a story in the Avatar fandom where the liquor they drank was called Kava and it just stuck in my brain. I know Kava is a drink in real life too, but for the sake of storytelling, please think about them as completely different things. The drink in this story is more of a wine/moonshine mixture deal. Would really fuck your ass upppp.

3. Fertility Season is obvs totes made up. Why is it rainy during it? Because I myself would want a week of non stop loving making with a nice little fire going, under lots of blankets with it chilly and rainy outside. And at the end of the day I’m writing for me lol

4. NETEYAM IS A SWEETHEART WHO STRUGGLES WITH HIS SELF WORTH JUST LIKE THE REST OF US. Please listen to the Artic Monkeys while you read this chapter(wanna be yours, do I wanna know, 505. THE LONGING)

5. Expect more POV’s to come! It will always be mostly rooted from Y/N’s point of view but I love touching base with all of the other characters. It’s so fun. I’m thinking a snippet of Neytiris in Part Three!

[reddeaddamnation]

Your future life with the Hogwarts Legacy folks:

Sebastian Sallow

Hogsmeade was magical during Yule. Lights and decorated trees, pretty ornaments hung around the houses and the carols sung all around the village. The snow covered streets brought out a cozy feeling that just made you want to hide in the Three Broomsticks with a warm cup of cocoa or a mug of butterbeer next to the fireplace. Thankfully, you didn't have to think about work these days and you could enjoy a holiday with your husband.

Sirona's smiling face greeted you at the entrance. She hadn't aged at all since you were students. "Well if it isn't mr. and mrs. Sallow." She teased. Contrary to what everyone believed, Sebastian had chose to folllw in his family's footsteps and became an auror, who turned his back on the dark arts and instead opted to fight them. Ominis joked that even though you endorsed him all those years, you became the good influence and prompted a change in him after your wedding.

You, yourself had become a professor in Defense against the dark arts at Hogwarts after professor Hecate's retirement. "Oh, stop the formalities, Sirona, its Y/N and Sebastian." You laughed. "I will always remember the times when you were always getting into trouble." Sirona joked "Look at you now. All grown up. What can I get you?" You made your orders and sat at the table next to the fireplace, enjoying its warmth.

"I don't know when was the last time I told you this but I'll remind you. You're the best thing that happened to me. If it wasn't for you, I don't know where I would be right now." Sebastian looked at you with adoring eyes, a smile on his lips. "Azkaban?" You joked. After sharing a small laugh, he continued. "But...really. You made me a better person, professor Sallow." He smirked. "I'm glad to hear it, chief auror Sallow."

Ominis Gaunt

The ministry was dull and boring as ever. Everyone was so busy and...corporate... You sat at your desk, twiddling around a feather in your hand, wondering what to do, since your work was finished half an hour ago. Wondering if your husband was as workless as you were, you decided to go and check for yourself.

The corridor seemed endless. After finally seeing the door with his name on it, you knocked softly, waiting for an answer. "Minister Gaunt, you have a visitor." You teased him, upon entering. He shot you a welcoming smile, before going back to the papers in front of him. You took a moment to admire him. You always knew he would make it big, despite his disability. He was smart and adaptive. Nothing could stop him from achieving his dreams and you were so proud of him.

You couldn't help but walk over to him and hug him from behind his chair, nuzzling into his neck. "Darling, I have work to do." Ominis kissed your cheek sweetly "I promise, I will not let you go but when we go home." Feeling you pout, he sighed and contemplated for a moment. "My love..." he tried to speak, but you only hugged him stronger. "Just five minutes, Omi, I promise. I'm bored out of my mind." Snaking your body to the front of the chair, you sat on his lap, making him blush. "Ah... Y/N, you do whatever you want with me." Chuckling under his breath, he kissed you passionately, meanwhile casting a spell to lock the door.

Garreth Weasley

An explosion erupted from within your husband's potions shop, making you sigh. No surprise, with all the experiments he was doing and new concoctions he attempted to brew. You walked inside just in time to see Garreth, covered in soot and liquid, frantically trying to clean up the mess he had made.

"Too high temperature?" You asked, smirking. He looked you and scoffed at your amused face. This wasn't the first time you saw him covered in the mess he created. It was even too many to count. So many it didn't make you burst out laughing anymore. Despite that, he had made himself the name of the best potioneer in England with a successful potions shop and even published a book with his own recipes for potions. So to create said new potions, he had to go through trial and error multiple times a day.

"Too many troll boggeys." He answered, eyeing you up and down to find something to get back at you with "And you? A niffler caught your foot?" He pointed at the noticable missing piece of fabric of pants on your lower leg. You on the other hand, pursued your dreams of taking care of beasts to keep the wild populations stable. "Ah, kneezles get too playful sometimes. I think she believed my leg was a toy tree she could climb on." You waved your hand, dismissing concerns "What were you brewing this time?" Garreth sighed, motioning to the mess around his potion station.

"I attempted to create a potion, which could help the user breathe underwater." He explained "Not turn the user into a newt!" Ignoring your laugh, Garreth waved his wand, putting everything was back into place, clean and tidy "So after failed attempt number one, this is the result of attempt number two." He never failed to put a smile on your face though. "Don't worry, love, I'm sure you will get it next time." You reassured, moving closer to him for a hug, but stopped, remembering his... state right now.

Garreth rubbed the back of his neck. "Ahh...let's leave that for later, alright?" He chuckled.

Amit Thakkar

"I found it!" Amit exclaimed, excitedly shifting in his place, barely able to stop himself from jumping. His voice was quivering from the excitement of his discovery. He had been searching every night for some legendary constellation, appearing only once every few hundred years, or that was what the ancient scriptures that lead him on his search said. After realizing the time of appearance was soon, he spent night after night for a whole week staring up at the sky with his telescope with you to keep him company.

"Look!" He gave you the telescope to see for youself and lo and behold, he was right. A constellation you had never seen before right in front of your eyes. The stars glimmered together in the formation of a figure of a sphinx with two heads - a man's and a snake behind it. It sent shivers down your spine.

"Thank you for supporting me in this, my love." He hugged you so tightly and lovingly "Everyone else thought I was crazy!" You giggled "I knew you could do it. You're the best astrologer of our time." You pecked his lips with a smile, making him blush "Ah, you don't have to inflate my ego." He chuckled shyly and averted his gaze. "That's why I married you, Y/N. You believe in me."

[wlntrsldler]

very random collections of songs that remind me so deeply of luke castellan and why.

or songs that sparked plot ideas for fics i'll never write.

norman fucking rockwell by lana del rey:

set before his betrayal. situationship luke x reader. you know something is going on with luke, but is so in love with him that you refuse to acknowledge it until it's too late. luke comes to you, begging you to go with him, and you finally see luke for what he's about to become. you recoil from him (luke falls apart at this) and he leaves, defeated.

"what are you doing, luke?" you asked. the cabin was dark, the slivers of moonlight peeking in through the half-opened door where luke stood. "what happened to you?"

luke was standing in front of you, a slash across his abdomen, not deep enough to be critical but deep enough to draw blood. droplets of it stained the cabin floors. his eyes were blown wide, curls tussled in all different directions. he dropped his sword and rushed over to you, grabbing your face in his hands. he placed his forehead against yours, "come with me, y/n. let's leave. he has a plan for us."

the comfort you had with his erratic breaths flashed away in a hurry. you pulled away, eyebrows threaded together in thought, "who is he? luke, you're scaring me."

in his unstable state, he didn't notice your small steps away from him. he was looking behind him constantly as if waiting for a crowd of people to burst through the door behind him. ready and willing to take him away.

"kronos," he said, so casually you thought you'd heard him wrong. he began to explain. his words sounded so rehearsed. so pristine. it was clear that this has been in the works for far too long.

and it was too late.

"luke, no," you replied, shaking your head. you backed into a dresser, hissing at the stabbing pain in your lower back. you were cornered.

he picked up his sword again, taking up a fighting stance unconsciously. you flinch as he walks towards you. he pauses. luke looks down at his hand holding his sword. for a moment you saw a flicker of hesitation in his eyes as he studied himself in the reflection. the light illuminated the side of his face, the scar so prominent, so glaring like a reminder of why he was pushed into becoming this.

he looks up at you again, "i would never hurt you."

"i don't think that's true anymore, luke."

his response was cut off by the sound of panic outside. his time is up. and he failed. somehow this failure, the failure of getting you to join him, to trust him, to love him to the point of betrayal, was the most bitter failure he'd experienced.

luke looked at you, trying to commit the memory of your face in his mind as if you weren't going to remain burned into his soul forever.

18 by 5sos:

luke x aphrodite!reader. you're older than luke by a year and he's so smitten by you. like head over heels! he overhears you and one of your sisters talking about celebrities that you had a crush on but he hears you say "he's too young for me," and he thinks it's about him.

he starts sulking which makes you go ????? because you've been flirting with him for YEARS but he never caught on (pushing the loser!luke agenda here) and you get so fed up when he ignores you that you just confess to him.

now it's his turn to be like ???? because what do you mean you like him??? ends in super cute fluff and endless kisses and obv teasing from the trio. duh.

ode to a conversation stuck in your throat by del water gap

best friends to lovers!!!!! super touchy, feely friendship between luke and the reader. you're always so flustered after cuddling or when he'd kiss your cheek or give you hugs from behind, but he's so oblivious to your reactions.

one day some ares kid starts flirting with you and you decide it's time to move on from luke anyway because it was getting pathetic. so you start hanging out with the ares kid (who's actually so so so kind and sweet; in another life you'd be in love with him but in this one, luke has you completely) you and the ares kid become super good friends, like besties and 4lifers. (ares kid: y/n maybe you shouldn't let him be so touchy with you. you're never gonna get over him if you keep this up.) you begrudgingly agreed. you start pulling away from luke when he gets touchy and this makes luke :(!!!!!

the nail to the coffin was when he saw you in the ares kid's clothes. you were only supposed to wear HIS clothes. he decides enough is enough.

that night he knocks on your cabin door while everyone is out at the campfire (he knows you hate it bc you smell like smoke for days) and he's seeing red because he hates the ares kid (he doesn't actually, he's just super jealous) and he missed you so much (even though it's only been two weeks since this whole thing started).

he walks in and he's already ranting and he's not even looking at you because he's so ???!!!! then he finally looks at you and he sees that you're wearing his shirt and the ares kid's sweater is nowhere to be found. (you only borrowed it during dinner because you spilled ketchup on your shirt) luke smiles for the first time in days.

he tells you to dump the ares kid and you start laughing and explain the whole situation to him. luke is SUPER embarrassed for being so dramatic but it ends in a cute confession and lots of kisses.

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER ONE: Night Shift

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Matt has to accompany Foggy to the ER in the middle of the night because he dislocated his shoulder. In need for some peace and quiet, Matt wanders the halls of Metro General and instead finds you crying in one of the abandoned hallways. A conversation ensues.

Warnings for this chapter: Slight angst, mention of injury.

Word Count: 4.3k

A/n: My brain gets the strangest ideas for fics and then I have to write them or else I will go crazy. This is how this baby was born. Keep in mind, I’m not a doctor. I simply watch a lot of medical dramas and I like to research medical terms for the fun of it. Heed the warnings for the entire series (see Series Masterlist) but also chapter-specific warnings that apply, as seen above. I hope you enjoy!

Read Chapter 1: Night Shift here on AO3

Ever since he can remember, Matt has hated hospitals. The antiseptic scent that lingers in the air, the sterile white walls that seem to close in around him—it all brings back memories of days spent in agony, tied to an uncomfortable bed, and seeing nothing but an endless void of black.

He can only tune out so much. The stench, the sirens, and the overlapping voices in an emergency room—they could easily kill him. 

Hospitals remind him of what he lost. He lost his vision, he lost his father and in the process, he lost his innocence. Matt lost everything, and even though he is well aware that it isn’t the hospital’s fault that he decided to save a man or that his father made a deal with the devil and got himself killed, he still hates the same empty walls that made him feel so small to begin with.

Matt doesn’t want to be a liability, he doesn’t want to be the reason the people he loves get hurt, and yet it continues to happen time and time again.

Maybe he’s cursed. It’s the only explanation for how things are going for him now. Maybe God has a grudge and finally decided to exercise his right to make his life a living hell. There is an infinite number of possibilities, but none of them make sense. 

He’s the anti-hero of his own story and that of everyone else who has ever dared to let him into their lives. He’s his own worst enemy, his personal saboteur. His unwavering pride has a tendency to get in the way of his happiness, which often leads to more bad than good, but admitting that would leave him vulnerable and exposed—and he can’t let himself get hurt again. 

It’s better to push the people he loves away before he can hurt them and force them to walk out on him the same way everyone else in his life has walked out on him ever since he can remember. At least in his twisted mind, that’s true. 

He never thought he would find himself in Metro General again, not since Claire came into his life. Claire, the caring nurse who saved him when he was on death’s door and continued doing so until she realized that falling for the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen comes with its own set of risks. 

Foggy dislocated his shoulder. 

It’s almost laughable. Out of everyone, he chose Matt to come to the hospital with him. Not Karen, Matt. He had the choice between the most empathetic person either of them have ever met, and Matt, someone so far out of touch with his own feelings, living in denial has become the standard for him. Foggy chose the latter, for whatever reason he doesn’t even seem to know himself. It just felt like the most natural thing to do, he told Matt when he asked his best friend, “Why me?”

He should feel honored that he trusts him that much, but being trapped in the sterile four walls of the hospital he only connects bad memories to while Foggy is stuck in the queue for an X-ray feels more like torture than an honorable act. 

The loud, demanding voices of the nurses, the painful groans and soft cries coming from the patients in the waiting area of the emergency room a few doors down, and the obnoxious beeping of the machines lining the walls in every room are like a swarm of bees in Matt’s inner ear. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t get them out. He’s allergic to them.

The room smells of disinfectant, blood, and other bodily fluids. He tries to focus on his cologne and the scentless laundry detergent he has grown so accustomed to over the years, but the balm only lasts for a few seconds before the wound reopens and his senses are flooded.

Matt keeps rhythmically tapping his fingers on his thigh. How much longer he can sit on this uncomfortable plastic chair in front of the radiology area and wait for Foggy to return, he doesn’t know. It won’t be long now until he loses his mind. He is about to drown in his own misery.

He feels the desperate urge to land his fist in the wall next to him. He wants to scream, cry, maybe even both—this night is not going well. He hasn’t had a good night in weeks. Tonight though, he’s stuck in the hospital rather than outside, doing something against the injustice he is forced to listen to every day.

The hits he took the previous night were pretty severe, and his ribs still hurt. The numb ache that tears through him whenever he moves is a temporary relief from the pain induced by the noise around him. Whatever bits of sanity he tries holding onto eventually slip through his fingers. 

Eventually, he can’t take it anymore. He gets up, his head tilting toward Foggy’s elevated heartbeat. He’s still in line. Fifth, probably.

Matt taps his cane against the floor, making his way down the hallway. He’s not quite sure where he’s going or where he will land, he just knows that he needs to get out of there as fast as possible.

Rounding the hundredth corner of the evening, the sound of clattering metal trays and medical supplies disappears behind layers of drywall and automatic doors. Matt takes a moment, and he realizes that right here—right where he is now—he can finally breathe again.

The sound travels more easily. The air wafting through the vents and over the cotton sheets on a row of empty beds is the only sound that meets his ears. They’re lined against one side of the wall. The rooms are empty, the doors locked. It seems as if in a moment of desperation, he found his way to one of the abandoned parts of the hospital. 

A lack of funding caused Metro General to cut their losses. It certainly wasn’t an easy decision, but with capitalism on the rise, public hospitals are barely holding on.

Even though the truth is depressing, Matt still can’t believe his luck when he realizes how quiet it is. That may be a selfish thought, but he can't help it. The world is always so loud and uncomfortable. Finding someplace quiet after torturing himself in the waiting room for hours feels like heaven on earth on such a busy night.

The fog dulling his senses finally dissipates. He takes a deep breath. The air is cleaner here. No disinfectant, only the faint scent of plastic and dust; he wouldn't have thought it possible that he would ever consider that combination a blessing.

That’s when he hears it—a slightly elevated heartbeat followed by a series of muffled sobs. He got so caught up in the fact that he finally found what he was looking for amidst the chaos that he forgot to fan out his hearing.

Despite what he originally believed, he isn’t alone.

The air smells of the salty essence of human tears. Matt stops dead in his tracks, not sure whether to continue his journey or to turn around and return to the uncomfortable plastic chair in front of the radiology department.

“This nervous breakdown space is occupied,” your soft voice bounces off the high walls. It’s thick with exhaustion. Pain. Loss. He almost recoils at the all-too-familiar feeling it elicits in him.

Matt keeps his cane hugged tight to his chest, his knuckles whitening with how hard he is gripping the base. “Oh, I...I’m sorry,” he says, careful to keep his voice light. “I didn’t catch you there.”

You’re essentially a stranger to him. A troubled one, at that. You must have your share of problems or you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t be crying your eyes out. He doesn’t want to intrude, but he also can’t turn around. Not now, not anymore. You’ve already noticed him.

You sniffle, your hands wiping against the soft skin of your reddened cheeks. For a moment, your heartbeat picks up in speed before returning to its normal rhythm. “It’s alright,” you assure him.

Matt picks up on the faintest hint of disinfectant and the scent of antibacterial soap on you now, maybe a little blood, and definitely antiseptic laundry detergent—you’re wearing medical scrubs.

Your shampoo smells of vanilla and some herbal element he can’t quite identify just yet. Your perfume isn’t expensive, just enough to last through a long shift and filter the sweat that is seeping out of your pores. It’s not unpleasant. You smell like someone who’s been working hard and far past your limits, too.

“Do you need something?” you ask him. 

He pauses for a moment, rethinking his answer. His lips purse. He’s not sure how to answer that without completely giving himself away.

Your eyebrows raise slightly.

“Oh, just…some peace and quiet,” Matt says, finally finding his voice again. It sounds a bit more nervous than he would like to admit.

The chuckle you exhale is one of surprise and possibly even a bit of genuine amusement. “Yeah,” you sniffle, “I know that feeling.”

“Well, I’ll, uh, leave you to it. Sorry again.”

“No. Don’t.”

Matt stops in his tracks when the words pass your lips. 

You pat the space beside you. Your perfume becomes a little clearer. It’s so natural, so… you. He could get high off of it. Or maybe it’s just the sleep deprivation catching up to him. 

“This is the only quiet corner in this hospital,” you tell him. “Trust me. Underfunding has its perks for introverts. Rest in peace to about thirty internal medicine beds, but lucky me.”

Your chuckle echoes bitterly off the walls. You use humor to cope, apparently, but you’ve run out of strength to pretend.

His cane begins to gently pave the way as he makes his way forward. “Do you mind?” Matt nods toward the bed you’re sitting on. 

You pat the mattress again with a shake of your head. “Not at all.”

Gentle seems to be the one word that is consistent with everything you do. He can’t get this picture he has painted of you based on the sound of your voice out of his head. Maybe you’re an angel and he has officially gone insane, or maybe there are just a lot more good people left in this world than he originally thought. 

Matt folds his cane and skillfully sits down on the edge of the mattress. You smell even better up close. Your heartbeat reminds him of a beautiful symphony, no longer as erratic as when he first picked up on your presence. 

“I’m Matthew, by the way,” he says.

He can hear a sudden uptick in your heartbeat. He may have just imagined it. You suck in a sharp breath, and he’s sure he didn’t imagine that, but then you lift your hand to take his.

“Olivia,” you say. 

Matt listens closely. You have no reason to lie about your name. Your heartbeat may be faster, but it isn’t a lie. You just seem a lot more nervous and unsure than before. It doesn’t quite make sense why you would be unsure about your own name.

“Nice to meet you, Olivia.” His lips curl into a soft smile.

You smile back, he can hear it, but it lacks an essence of truth. You’re trying hard to seem like you’re okay. It’s not your fault that his senses are sensitive to all changes in the human body, even in that of a stranger he just met.

You’ve been crying, so of course, you wouldn’t be alright. The question is, why? 

“I take it you’re not part of the staff,” you say into the silence.  

“No.” Matt chuckles. “I, uh, have a friend with a dislocated shoulder,” he says.

“Ah! Let me guess, his doctor in the ER reduced the dislocation but insisted on doing an X-ray just in case, so now you have to wait because radiology has a hold-up longer than the Nile?”

A laugh rumbles through his chest. “Yeah, that… that’s pretty accurate.”

“It’s always like this,” you say. “A dislocated shoulder doesn’t have priority. We have bigger fish to fry.”

“You work here?” he dares to ask. 

You pull at the bottom of your scrub top. “Guilty as charged. Trauma surgery. I’ve been an attending here for a little over two years now.”

“Oh, wow! That’s…that’s incredible.”

Matt has encountered his fair share of doctors in the past, but no one has ever been quite like you. You’re unique. Mysterious. An enigma. You have piqued his curiosity, to say the least, and your profession only adds to the pile of interesting things he can ponder about.

You smile at him again, but it’s still not a genuine one. “Thanks,” you drag the last syllable out, the air deflating your lungs.

He swallows. “Or it isn’t. I didn’t mean to–”

“No, that’s not… some days just aren’t that rewarding,” you say. “That’s all.”

“And today has been one of those days?” Matt asks.

“Yeah, something like that.”

Your eyes roam over him once again.

He reaches for his hair, running his hand through it. He ruffles the brown strands until they’re covering his left temple. Matt’s not sure if you saw; there is a high chance that you did, but he can't anticipate your behavior. Not yet. 

You let out a longer breath. “Not a fan of hospitals, I take it?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “It gets… loud,” he says. 

“Sensitivity to sound.” You nod. “Noted.”

He hears the fabric of your scrubs brushing against your skin and the cotton sheets on the bed. You cross your legs, opening yourself up to him just slightly, and he wonders if you really are comfortable around him or if you’re just being kind. 

“Probably to smell as well? Feeling? Taste?” There is a soft smile laced in your voice. This time, it’s real. 

Matt chuckles. You hit the nail right on the head. You’re simply not aware of how sensitive he is to these things. “Pretty sensitive, yeah,” he says. 

That about sums it up. You nod, but you don’t push him any further. 

“Well,” you say, “The ER is pretty disgusting. And loud. And to be forced to wait in front of radiology is probably a scenario they offer as a torture device in one of the seven circles of hell.”

He can’t help himself, “It’s nine, actually.”

“Sorry?”

“Nine circles,” Matt clarifies, his lips twitching in a faint grin. “Dante’s Inferno. A good Catholic boy’s guilty pleasure.”

You let out a genuine laugh this time, and it warms his senses. It’s a rare sound in a place filled with so much pain. He can almost hear the weight from your shoulders hit the floor. The tension in the air seems to ease, if only for a moment. You allow to let yourself go. 

Your grin turns into a smirk. “Catholic, huh?” you retort. 

“Since the day I was born,” he says. “Are you religious?”

That seems to steal your breath away. You have no words. For a full minute, silence settles in between the two of you. It’s almost uncomfortable, and Matt fears he must have crossed a line. He just doesn’t know how to apologize for something he is truly curious about. 

The topic of God and religion seems to hit a nerve when it’s not used in a humorous context. There are many reasons why that could be. He spends every day battling his own religious trauma and the demons that he feels he’s harboring deep inside, but he still holds on tight to his faith. If he doesn’t have an excuse—if he doesn’t have anything to hold onto other than what broken self-respect he has left—where would he be?

You finally clear your throat after what feels like an eternity. “No,” it’s a simple answer. “I don’t believe that there is a God.”

Your mouth stays open. You want to say something else, but your lips close within seconds after the thought has passed by you, and you swallow it. He wonders what he could have learned about you if you had allowed yourself to say what you were truly thinking when the words first left your mouth. You’re holding back, and it is audible. It might even be visible. Your cheeks are running hot. 

Matt nods. He doesn’t question you. Your beliefs are yours. Most of the time, he doesn’t even believe that there is a God himself. 

“It’s hard to keep the faith in this world, especially when you work so hard every day trying to save people’s lives. When you are forced to see what the system does to those who can’t defend themselves over and over again, but you can’t do anything about it. Or when you see what people do to each other. I mean, the cruelty of human beings is unmatched, and it makes you wonder if God is just a sadist, or if maybe he isn’t even real because a gracious God wouldn’t let innocent children die,” you cut yourself off in an instant, and he tilts his head toward you in surprise. 

Your breath shudders. “I… I’ve seen too much bad to believe that there is an all-merciful God,” you say. “So I simply don’t.”

You try to meet his eyes, but all you see is your reflection in the red of his rounded glasses. Your heart breaks a little, he can hear it. Your shoulders slump. You’re defeated.

He isn’t sure how to react to that. How to help. How to be a decent human being. Matt just doesn’t have the answers you need, and it makes him question his own faith for a minute. Not that he has ever not questioned it; his relationship with God is as complicated as it gets.

You catch yourself after a moment of staring into the void of his glasses. “But… that’s my opinion. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended,” Matt says.

You were smiling, and now you’re not anymore. He doesn’t like that. He liked it more when you were more open with him. Your legs have moved back to your chest, your arms clinging to them. You’ve retreated. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. The edge in your voice breaks his heart. 

He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I get it. Injustice…it’s a parasite. I’ve encountered my fair share of good people who deserved better than what they got. You try and you fail over and over again because the world isn't fair. I’d be the last person to judge you for not sharing my beliefs.” He breaks off in a chuckle. “I'm not that kind of guy.”

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline. “What is that you do again?” You didn’t ask that question before.

“I’m a lawyer,” he states. “Defense attorney.”

“Wow,” you let out a soft puff of air, “And you chose to go to Metro General instead of jumping on the big money train to the Upper East Side?” 

Although your tone is joking, Matt can tell that there is an ounce of truth in your words.  

He hides his laugh behind a cough. He’s not sure if he’s surprised or if he actually finds that assumption hilarious. Maybe a bit of both.

“Oh, no.” He shakes his head. “I have never even been in the same station as the big money train.”

“Oh?”

“No. We, my partner and I, do pro-bono work. We don't get paid for our services. Well, other than baked goods and overdue bills in the mail, of course.”

You chuckle. “That’s a relief. Not so much for your bank account, but ethically.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry for assuming. That was prejudiced of me,” you say. “I’m not trying to judge you. I’m sorry. Rich or not, it’s none of my business.”

Matt shrugs. “It's okay. Lawyers and doctors are the two professions so many think make millions of Dollars a year, and while that may be the case for a few, a lot of us just… don’t,” he says.

“Amen! If I had a drink, I’d toast to that.”

“Yeah, well, an intoxicated doctor would not fare well in the legal sense.”

“You think that would end my career?”

“I can’t even give you good legal advice other than, don’t.”

Your giggle turns into a laugh. “Thank you for the advice, counselor.”

He joins in. “Anytime.” 

For a moment, only the two of you exist. Matt adjusts his position, but he doesn’t take his bruised ribs into account. His wince is barely audible, yet you notice it in an instant. And when his hair slips, you can see the gash on his forehead. The one he tried to stitch up himself but probably did an awful job at concealing. 

Your eyes narrow in concern. “What happened to you?” your voice barely breeches the sound barrier. 

“Oh, nothing,” he tries to shrug it off. “Just an accident.”

“An accident?”

“I am blind, you know. I tripped, hit my head. It happens.”

“Hm.” Much to his surprise, you don’t press him further. Instead, you gently reach out to brush the sweaty strand of hair from his face that he used to cover up the aftermath of his latest endeavor. 

Now that he thinks about it, his ribs really do hurt. He’s sure nothing is broken, but they are severely bruised. Even he can feel the blood pooling under the skin. 

You bite your lip, not wanting to pry. The urge is obvious to him, but only to him. You’re good at your job. You focus on the task at hand. That is probably why you became a doctor in the first place; to help people, not to pry. 

But Matt Murdock doesn’t need help. 

“It’s fine,” he assures you. 

You nod. “I believe you.”

You don’t. You’re lying. He appreciates the effort though. You try your best at making him feel comfortable and welcome. Asking questions would only drive him away; you wouldn’t be able to satiate your pathological need to help. It’s who you are.

“Whoever patched this up did a terrible job,” you say, “and I don’t want to know who did it because if you tell me it was you, I will lose my mind, so, I choose to believe you for the sake of my own sanity.”

His lips part in a soft laugh. “Yeah, you don't wanna know,” he says.

“Can I fix it?"

He opens his mouth to decline, “You don’t have to, I–”

“Please.” 

There is no arguing with you, it seems.

Your footsteps echo in the empty hallway. One of the drawers in the cart across from the bed slides open at your touch. Matt can hear the distinct crinkle of packaging and the clanking of metal. When you return to his side, your steps are a little heavier. 

“I’m going to clean the wound and then apply a butterfly bandage to help the skin grow back together,” you explain. “The cut isn't that deep, but you must’ve hit your head pretty hard when you fell. I can’t force you to get a head CT, so… If you experience any nausea or neurological deficits in the next few days, you should come back to run some tests. But—and that is not my expert medical opinion because I don’t have the tests to back it up—I think it should be fine to heal on its own.”

“Any other advice, Doc?” he jokes. 

“Well, I can’t give the same good news about your bruised ribs.” You only have to place your hand on his side and his lips come to press tightly together. “I’m guessing third and fourth,” you say. “If one of them is fractured, it makes you run at risk for internal bleeding, but to see the extent of your injuries, we’d have to get an MRI. That is not my call to make. I can’t force you to get your battle scars checked out, I can just advise you to think about it. Really think about it.”

Matt sighs. His laughter has long died. “I know.”

He doesn’t want to repeat himself. He’s fine. He has to pretend that he’s fine because he doesn’t have time for doctors or questions. Neither you nor the law can protect him from the damage that the truth would do. 

You’re disappointed, but you swallow your pride. With delicate precision, you start cleaning the wound on his forehead, the cotton swab dabbing at the dried blood. He winces at the sting of antiseptic, a subtle twitch in response to the pain.

“Sorry,” you murmur.

Matt manages a half-smile. “It’s alright. I’ve had worse.”

That doesn’t make you feel better, but you accept it. You’ve learned to respect your patients’ wishes, even if that means swallowing a lie. 

As you work, your fingers graze over his skin with a careful tenderness. It’s a stark contrast to the harshness of the world he navigates outside—a double-edged sword. If he doesn’t go out there, more people die or get hurt. He would sustain the same injuries over and over again and almost die rather than pretend that evil isn’t lurking right outside his window every night. And there is a bigger storm brewing in the distance, one he isn’t fully prepared for. 

Yet.

You finish cleaning the wound and proceed to carefully apply a fresh bandage. Matt can feel the cool adhesive against his skin. Your touch is soothing, almost comforting, and he allows himself to relax.

“There,” you announce softly. “All patched up.”

Matt lifts his hand to touch the bandage, a habit he developed over the years to reassure himself that someone cared enough to tend to his wounds. “Thank you,” he answers. 

“No biggie.” You shrug with a tiny smile, and that makes him smile, too. It shows him that while you are displeased with his lack of respect for himself and his health, you aren’t mad at him. You just care.

The shrill beeping of your pager tears a headache through his skull.

You curse under your breath. “I’m so sorry,” you say as you skim over the text that has been sent to you. “The, uh—the ER needs me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he quickly responds. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Go. Save a life!”

You’re reluctant at first, but then your lips curl into a broader, more genuine smile, and in the heat of the moment, you grab his hand. “It was nice meeting you, Matthew,” you say. “Take care of yourself.” 

Your footsteps retreat and your heartbeat gets fainter as you walk down the hallway. He’s speechless. He doesn’t even remember how to say goodbye. 

“Oh, and do me a favor?” You stop momentarily just to ask him, “Get those ribs checked out?”

His mouth opens and closes like that of a fish on dry land. “Sure,” he says. 

“Thank you,” these are your last words to him before you take off running. 

Both of you know though that once he is out of Metro General and on his way home, he won’t come back. Not for himself, at least. And it is something you have to accept as much as he has to accept the fact that you are long gone, off to save a life in the very four walls that seemed so scary to him all alone only fifteen minutes ago.

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @littlehappyperson @danzer8705

[infernalodie]

was wondering if you could do a tara carpenter x male reader where R is the third killer and fucks tara in the ghost face outfit

𝐑𝐱 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 || 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫

"'𝘊𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥"

Inspo: Deftones - Rx Queen Radiohead - Creep

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Black!Male!reader

Summary: She was the salvation that you would never be able to have...

Warnings: Angst, slight obsession, smut, bulge kink, and even more angst

Words: 3192

DNI IF YOU'RE YOUNGER THAN 18!

“Y/n, get your head out of your ass.”

The harsh and cruel voice belonging to your friend made you blink and look back at the drink clasped between your warm hands. Your fingers twitched at the feeling of a water droplet touching the outside of your finger. Watching it expand and slide around the edge of your digit before dropping down the next and then the next.

It was Tara.

She was very much like the water droplet. She made you intently watch. She left a small spot on your ebony skin to stay there for as long as you wanted. She would fade out and then leave another lingering effect on you–so on and so forth. Expanding further and further until you had to acknowledge it. You loved every little bit of it.

“You need to realize that she’s going to have to die,” Amber muttered, taking a sip of her pop at the counter of the local diner in the center of Woodsboro. “So, come to terms with your feelings and then toss them out the window. Unless you are second-guessing yourself and don’t want to follow through on the plan.”

“I’m with you and Richie on this.” Your sharp words made the girl snicker in amusement. “You can’t blame me for feeling a bit of kilter because I’ve liked her since we were kids, alright? I didn’t just find my psychotic significant other on a subreddit full of creeps.”

“Watch what you say, Y/n,” Amber warned. “Keep this up, you’ll just end up on the chopping block as well.

Sighing, you grabbed a nearby napkin and dried your hands, pointing at the girl with a chuckle. “Exactly,” you said. “Fucking psycho.”

Her face twisted in distaste at your words. She wasn’t psycho. She was a fan. She was an advocate to bring back the great stab movies. Restore what once was–same as Richie. This was the only way she could see it working, so that didn’t make her a psycho. “Do I need to remind you that you decided to sign onto this as well?” She spat. “That makes you just as crazy as Richie and I.”

You scoffed, licking your lips. “Do we need to go over this again? I’m not a movie fanatic. I’m here to kill Sidney and that’s it,” you reminded the girl, who finally turned her gaze to you. “Nothing more and nothing less.” You waved your hand, arms crossing over your chest tightly as you leaned onto the counter.

Once Amber seemed to take the conversation was enough for her fill, you carefully looked over your shoulder. A couple of booths down was Tara sipping on a milkshake. The red-tinted straw tip between her lips as she talked to someone, smiling and revealing the tip of the straw she bit down on. It made you inhale sharply, continuing to watch with that unnerving sense of admiration.

Whatever she did, you believed you drank poison the minute you saw her. Her hands dripped with the substance that you savoured each waking moment. It binds you to her like a vow, a rope slowly bringing you closer and to her without a word of approval from you.

You were very conscious of these feelings. It annoyed you to a certain extent. Because when you’re laying in your room, you think of her. When you’re in class, you think of her. She invades your mind like ink to water. Bringing endless darkness to your life that could be mistaken as bad, but the darkness was your best friend. You felt content in its presence. You felt understood in its shadow. Her impact on you was monumental it broke your heart knowing she was on the list of victims to be met by yours, Amber’s, and Richie’s blades.

Blinking rapidly, you refocused your gaze on Tara and found she had already caught your gaze. Her eyebrows were sinched together in confusion and worry. You, being so lost in the beauty and unmistakable love you saw and felt from the girl, tears had begun to run down your face. Making you wipe them quickly, giving a forced smile and turning your attention back down to your drink.

But when you glanced over once more, you found Wes with her. Seeing him with her made something rise from the center of your chest and to your brain.  Lips pursing together as you looked forward and rolled your shoulders back, hands tightening their grasp on the glass cup.

“Wes.” Amber removed her gaze from the text messages between her and Richie. Looking at you in question as you press your tongue to the inside of your cheek. “Wes dies first and I kill him.”

That made Amber’s lips twist into a sick and evil grin, slinging her arm around your shoulder and shaking you encouragingly. “That’s what I like to hear.”

This isn’t wrong.

You weren’t crazy.

You had a motive that was more realistic than Richie’s or Amber’s.

There was a reason for your madness. A kindling flame that was given fuel to burn brighter and larger than before. If it didn’t happen now, it was bound to happen later down the line. And if you knew that, you knew you weren’t crazy. No one with a revenge plot gets labelled “crazy”, so why should you?

But now, sitting in front of Tara who cried silently under your masked gaze, you didn’t know what was right from wrong. Your morale compass was all kinds of fucked up and she was making this more difficult than it needed to be.

Richie and Amber were somewhere in Woodsboro causing mayhem after they told you to take Tara back to Amber’s house. The original house where Billy Loomis and Stu Macher had their final showdown. Coincidentally, the same place Sidney killed your father, her friend.

Not much of that could be bothered to be thought about as you stared at Tara, who cowered in the corner of the room. Her mouth was taped over and her wrist found the same fate. You toyed with your knife, the Ghostface mask hiding the conflict in your eyes and face as you fought with yourself over what to do. They wanted to kill her and in extension, that meant you did as well. But did you? Like, really? You could care less about anyone else besides maybe Samantha, but Gale and Sidney could bite the dust. Their time had passed and it was time to bring in the new generation.

Inhaling deeply, you gripped the handle of the knife in a reverse grip and stabbed it into the floor. The sound made Tara flinch with a cry as she closed her eyes. Hearing the heavy footsteps of your combat boots until they stopped. “Tara, look at me.” Doing as she was told, Tara slowly peeled her eyes open and felt her chest tighten at the sight of you. The mask taken off and your identity is finally revealed to her. Raising your hands, you carefully reached forward and undid the tape around her wrists. “I know you are likely going to run, so I’ll tell you that I have a gun and I will use it if I have to. But I don’t want to hurt you.”

The girl could only stare, so taking her silence as an answer, you finally ripped the final bit of the tape and instantly stepped back. Tara watched you closely, pulling the tape from her lips, allowing to her inhale deeply. “What are you doing, Y/n?”

A soft laugh fell from your lips, running a hand over your cornrows and clasping your gloved hands together. Only able to shrug as you looked up at her. “Doing what I think is right,” you replied. “I want you to know that before all of this, I didn’t want to hurt anyone besides Sidney Prescott. You were the one person I wanted to get hurt through this.”

“But you allowed this!” Tara exclaimed. “You allowed Amber to kill all these people! She tried to kill me, Y/n! She tried to kill Samantha!” You felt smaller than ever before. Feeling her scrutiny and disapproval hurt a lot more than what you’d felt before. Maybe it was because you’d been only exposed to the smiles and warm Tara Carpenter. But what else were you expecting besides an angry, disgusted, and fearful Tara Carpenter?

So, taking the gun from the back of your pants, you twisted the handle towards the girl. Sniffling and leaning forward, a blank look on your face with you allowed her to take it. “Safety’s on. Flip the switch on the side and you can kill me,” you stated. “You deserve to serve justice and help your sister.”

Tara stared at you in bewilderment. That was it? You were just giving up? With everything she’s experienced in the past few days, this felt way too easy. But if she peeled the layers of the situation, of you, then she connect the dots that led to reasoning. You were her friend. Or at least, that’s what she still believed. You were a soft soul. A complex character within the friend group that made you incredibly unique to the others. There were things about you that she only knew and would never tell a soul. You were a second home to her. You loved walks in the rain when most would consider it a danger. She’s loved you since pre-school and she believes that even now, you probably felt the same. Able to feel the same things as she was because you were you. You weren’t broken like Amber.

Taking the gun cautiously, Tara saw you place your hands on your thighs and let out a strangled sigh. Swallowing the lump in your throat, looking up at her to find her holding the gun, but never lifting it. “Don’t drag this on for too long, Tara,” you said. “Amber is going to be back soon and you’ll want to be out of the house before that happens.”

The longer she stared at you, the longer she felt her own conflict. Her lips wobbled as she began to lift the pistol, before letting out a shaky sigh and letting it fall to her side. “Fuck you. Fuck you for putting me in this situation,” she whispered. “God fucking damn it. Why? Why did you have to do it? Why did you have to kill?”

Holding her gaze, you let out a grunt, looking to the ground and clasping your hands together. “I could kill her,” you started. “I could’ve killed Sidney Prescott a long time ago for killing my dad. I could kill her and just walk away without regret in my mind. But that doesn’t make it easy or change anything. I can live with it.” Lips trembling you pressed a finger to your temple. “But there’s no peace up here. The pain and knowledge I can’t bring him back continue to pound in my head. It’s either I get locked up or I put a bullet through my head. There’s no sense of meaning without-”

You stopped yourself, puffing out breaths as you avoided the girl’s gaze. Bowing your head as you sniffled and swallowed the cement in the back of your throat. “There’s no sense of meaning without you.”

Saying it out loud, finally letting it be known, it felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Able to breathe easier without the endless hole in your chest being alleviated with some pure. Something you hadn’t felt in a very long time. And for you to tell it to Tara made the sense of death be more accepting than it had before. Because as long as she knew and understood how you felt, then you could be plunged into the endless abyss with a smile.

But the least you expected was to feel Tara’s hands grasp your face and her lips press against yours. You melted into it without a second delay. Hand reaching up and grasping her jaw, pulling her incredibly closer as you stood to your feet, towering over her. Forcing her to painfully stand up on her tippy toes. But she couldn’t care less about the heat that invaded her body from the kiss.

“Are you sure you want this?” You asked between kisses. “After everything I’ve done?”

“If this is my last night on Earth, I want to spend it with you.” Her words sent butterflies against the inside of your chest as you kissed her.

But this wouldn’t be her last night on Earth. You wouldn’t let that happen.

Hot breaths lingered and intermingled together. Tara’s arms were coiled around you, hands finding their place on the large expanse of your back. Nails dug into the black fabric of the cloak you wore, hiding the warmth of your hot skin that she wanted to taste on her lips. And your face was masked with the Ghostface. Not by your choice of course, but it was hidden in the crook of her neck.

Your hands held her hips, groans filling her ears with her pants entering your own ears. “I love you,” she whispered. “Fuck, I love you.”

Hearing the confession only spurred you on further. An open-lipped smile etched on your face as you pounded your hips into the girl. Feeling her gasp and dig deeper into the fabric surrounding your body. “I love you too.”

Reaching down, Tara took one of your hands and placed it on her stomach. The feeling of your cock creating a small noticeable bump made your ego grow. Enabling you to press down and thrust harder and faster. Earning a cry from the girl, head rolling back.

The prickling of her release rapidly approached. The sensation of euphoria filled her bone marrow and nerves as her legs curled around your waist. Helping plunge your cock into her and the action was enough to make your own release approach.

“Fuck, Tara.” You ripped the mask off your face, pressing a kiss to her lips. You swallowed her moan, feeling her walls clamp around your cock. Finally tossing you over the edge with your hips stuttering and slamming into Tara’s. Parting her lips with a moan, resting your forehead against hers. Body shaking with Tara smiling up at you. Exhaling sharply with your hips bucking into hers. Pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

If life was going to be this perfect, the idea of deviating from your plan was sounding more appealing. But the happiness and bliss could only last for so long. “Y/n!” Amber’s voice could be heard downstairs. “Time to greet our guests!” You glanced at the girl, seeing the once look of desire be replaced with fear.

This wouldn’t be her last night on Earth. You wouldn’t let that happen.

“You fucker, you betrayed us!” Richie grunted, battling with you to get ahold of the pistol. Tara was hidden somewhere in the house, Samantha was laid on the floor from a knife wound, whilst Gale and Sidney were dealing with a ballistic Amber in the kitchen.

“Switching sides is a bitch, huh?” You quipped, head-butting the man and kicking him in the stomach. He fell to the floor and you scrambled for the gun but stopped when feeling a knife being plunged into your side. A yell fell from your lips as another stab was placed in your back.

Swinging your elbow back, you hit Richie in the nose and knocked him off. Reaching for the gun, you rolled onto your side and shot him in the stomach. Richie cried, falling back and collapsing against the wall, allowing you to breathe. “Fucking psycho,” you muttered, painfully rising to your feet.

Richie held his interlocked hands over his stomach, blood seeping through the cracks. His face visibly paled at the copious amounts of blood leaving his body. “You stupid motherfucker,” he groaned. “Fucking ruined my movie. You could’ve just helped us and been a part of history! But you had to go and fuck it all up, you stupid fucking cunt-”

Another gunshot filled the air, Richie crying out as his shot leg trembled with his head slamming against the wall. “Motherfucker!”

“You fucking talk too much,” you breathed. “You and Amber are psychos–And so help me if you quote the movies I’m going to scalp you, you stupid fuck!”

Richie laughed, shaking his head with rapid breaths falling from his lips. “No, I have a better idea-” Without so much as a warning, he tossed the knife he had stabbed into your back into your stomach. A sharp exhale fell from your lips as your finger tensed around the trigger. Shooting Richie right in the head where he could finally stop his tirade and rot in hell.

You stumbled back, the gun slipping from your grasp. A guttural moan fell from your lips as one of your hands found the wall behind you. “Y/n!” The top half of your body became heavy as you lifted your gaze to the voice.

Your face was tense as you found Tara standing with her sister at the kitchen doorway. Looking down at your stomach, your hands shakily found their place around the knife wound before you stumbled back into the wall. Sliding down and leaning against the wall. Head wobbling as your chest fought to catch air into your lungs. Eyes fluttered as you inhaled shakily, groaning with your lips wobbling. Tasting the harsh metallic crimson on the bed of your tongue, trying to hold back a cough.

Tara came to your side, hands surrounding the knife to try and hold the blood in. “Y/n, you’re going to be okay,” she reassured shakily. “Just keep your eyes open. Don’t you dare close them!”

A groan could only be given in response as you stared at her. An unwavering look in your eyes as your lips slowly twitched in a smile. Eyes brimming with tears as your hands grasped hers. She looked up at you, whimpering when finding you crying. “Hey, don’t cry. You’re going to be alright. Just… Just keep your eyes on me.” She held your face, looking between your accepting eyes and the wound.

There was a pause in your actions, a sense of absolution with your mind beginning to clear. You slowly took in every little feature on her face. Eyes carefully flickering to each tidbit that had made you smile and get up in the morning. Not wanting to miss a single thing as you felt her vision clouded with exhaustion. Only offering a quiet, “I love you” before your head fell. The strength in your hands dissipates with Tara’s lips parting, hearing you let out a quiet exhale.

“Y/n?” She whispered, earning no response from your lifeless body. “Y/n?” She repeated, hands coming up to hold your face and finding your eyes empty. A husk that was once the light you brought into her world. Tears streamed down her face as she brought her lips to your forehead, choking on a sob.

“I love you.”

[vasito-de-leche]

iff its still alright for requests then maybe somethingg small n maybe sleepy with forget me not ? nothing specific otherwise just

sleepy eeby forget me not fic. either that or wrangling his soggy ass to sleep(for once

;R1999 FORGET ME NOT - "five minutes"

Forget Me Not x Reader. 2.8k words fluff Being in charge of The Walden has its ups and downs - Forget Me Not enjoys being the conductor of an orchestra composed of dying men and women, even if it costs him hours of precious sleep. You make sure to remind him that even the most powerful broker in Chicago deserves a little nap.

this mf has been fighting me for a month or so, it's so hard to write him SLEEPING, HE RLLY DOESNT WANT TO. I HAVE 3 DIFFERENT DRAFTS GRAAAA so here we are. I fought tooth and nail for this, theres 4 different drafts just about FMN getting some fucking sleep. this one even has like, a different version where you fall asleep on his lap instead bc he keeps FIGHTING ME

either way, ty for the request, nonnie! your ask was the perfect excuse to get this done. sorry it ended up being longer than my usual stuff, I just really love the guy

The amount of work needed to maintain an establishment like The Walden often goes unnoticed.

Its elegant ambience and decor, all the powerful and influential people to rub shoulders with, the precise and meticulous organization behind every single detail and decision - all of it can be attributed to a single man, the very same who leads the crowd and makes their drinks.

When the night arrives, he and The Walden come alive.

Hundreds of desperate rats crawl into his den, searching for things they don't deserve: money, fame, fortune, connections, assets. They want to find their place in the world before they're long forgotten, and this is when Forget Me Not steps onto the stage and finds himself in his element, surrounded by all the people who look at him in fear, disgust and awe.

Do they know? That at the end of the world, he holds their fate in the palm of his hand? Him, a simple broker, a middle man.

An inferior, an arcanist.

Of course, the high fades as soon as the sun rears its ugly head over the horizon, his spirits plummet to the ground when the world returns to that monotonous routine. All Forget Me Not can do now is wait.

He would never dream of being so careless as to have his own residence right above his workplace, but he rarely steps into his home in the first place. It's too much trouble to commute back and forth, wasting time in a building that is as devoid of warmth as the blood running through his veins. That private office nestled somewhere within The Walden has become his new safe haven, in fact - with one too many couches to lounge around and no bed in sight.

Not that he sleeps anyway.

Forget Me Not always fancied the most convoluted route into an early grave, and thus has replaced the bottle for something else: endless paperwork.

It's getting harder and harder to conceal the dark bags under his eyes for a semblance of professionalism. How very fitting that, despite all of his efforts and accomplishments, his quality of life continues to deteriorate. What a depressing thought.

The leather of his seat squeaks as he shifts, leaning backwards to fully take in the piles and piles of files atop his desk. His gaze turns to the clock just to confirm what he already knows - it's a little past 6 AM, the cold breeze of the early morning keeping him wide awake. A brand new shipment of materials will arrive in two hours, they will need to be stored but it's an easy enough job for the Disciples. This means that the next important event on his schedule is the meeting at 11 AM. Forget Me Not's face sours right away at the thought, and he reaches for his drink.

And just like that, without any sort of warning, the door to his office is flung open. It's a good thing that despite his awful, awful health, his grip is as steady as ever - not a single drop is spilled. If else, Forget Me Not remains still as a statue, retaining that air of composed aloofness as he raises an inquisitive eyebrow towards the intruder.

It's you, standing perfectly by his door frame. He almost drops the glass once he recognizes your face, but conceals his little slip by settling it back down on his desk.

"Ah, how rare to see you during the day, you're always so busy with errands. To what do I owe this loud, impromptu visit? Keep in mind, I don't start serving drinks until 8 PM."

You don't wait for him to finish, marching towards the small lounge in his office and picking up a small, decorative pillow before dropping backwards onto one of the sofas. A shadow passes over Forget Me Not's eyes - he doesn't know whether to resent you for knowing you have the freedom and privilege to act like this around him, or whether to feel insulted for the way you ignored him just now. He settles for his usual third, secret option - resignation - and makes his way towards you.

Unlike you, Forget Me Not has mastered the art of concealing his presence and so he makes no sound at all when he approaches. He stands right next you, leaning ever so slightly to hover above your face, as if his piercing grey eyes alone could pressure you into speaking.

It doesn't work, at least not right away. You hide behind that useless pillow, then you shift and turn to lay on your side, all while he simply stands in perfect silence. It's a battle of attrition, one he intends to win.

"I slept like shit, okay? Just give me five minutes here and I'll go back to work." Your voice is muffled, but he hears how tired you are anyway.

It's easy to forget that people aren't nocturnal like him, at least not by choice. It's easy to forget about humanity when most of his coworkers are puppets held by strings and ink, mindlessly following orders. When you curl up on the sofa, Forget Me Not remembers just how tired he is and sighs. Soon, he's walking towards the door.

This makes you sit up in a hurry, clearly misinterpreting his actions. "Five minutes, promise! Don't kick me out!"

There's a faint click, it's the lock on the door. Forget Me Not returns to his desk, making sure not to look your way lest his eyes reveal those wretched feelings bubbling in his chest. Did you seriously think he had the nerve to throw you out so carelessly?

"Ten minutes. Make sure not to waste them with chitchat." He can practically sense you silently cheering and getting comfortable in his office. On his couch. It's insufferable, the way you always get what you want while he slaves away with work.

But it's only ten minutes, he can tolerate you for that long.

Three minutes pass, and Forget Me Not realizes that he's spent more time glancing your way than reading the document in front of him.

From his spot, he can only see the top of your head, just a glimpse of your form as you rest your eyes. But every time you move, no matter how subtle, he notices and turns his attention back onto you.

Seven minutes, he only needs to focus for seven minutes. The document in his hand is important: he's negotiating for better materials for his potions at a cheaper cost. This simple deal could mean a lot for Manus Vindictae, always so low on funds, resources and support.

Six minutes. Forget Me Not hears you hum and he slowly turns his head on instinct. You're staring right at him, face resting on the armrest, squishing your cheek against the plush cushions.

"You have four minutes left, are you sure you want to waste them like this?" He lies, as if he wasn't ready to ignore the passage of time to give you a few more extra minutes, expecting you to comply. But you get back at him with a question of your own.

"Did you get any sleep?"

"Three minutes." It comes out as a warning. You ignore it.

"I'm serious! You look awful from here." By now, you're sitting down and he knows that if he doesn't stop you, you'll make your way to him. To invade his personal space, cradle his face in your hands and torture him with your gentle touch. "You're always here when I start my shift and when I finish. Where do you get the time to go home and all of that?"

Forget Me Not would rather swallow his own tongue than to openly admit that he essentially lives here. That he has spare clothes in the drawer by the window, that he showers, eats and sleeps in this office of his. You might've figured it out by now, but with his pride and dignity at stake, he pretends to ignore you in favour of work.

"Hey, c'mon. Don't just go back to work like I'm not even here talking to you!" He does exactly that, picking up a pen to sign a few documents. "Drop that. Drop the pen. Hey!"

You talk to him the same way one would talk to a misbehaving dog, and he hears that whiny, frustrated tone in your voice that he's come to appreciate. There is a pause and Forget Me Not does as told - the pen now resting neatly on the desk.

He finally deigns himself to look at you, returning a small smile.

"Thank you, now, like I was saying-"

Thud!

With his free hand, he stamps a document, never breaking eye contact. The pettiness is always worth it, but this time even more so when he sees that tic in your eye and the way you inhale sharply, absolutely done with him. You sit up, consider laying down again in frustration, then simply cross your arms like a child throwing a tantrum - seeing you get worked up over the smallest of things is always such a treat.

"Fine! Be like that! But don't come running when you- Uwaaah!" A yawn interrupts your words, you barely have time to cover your mouth.

Oh no. It's contagious. He feels that tell-tale tingle in his nose, and just like that, he yawns as well.

"Aha! You are tired, I bet you haven't slept properly in days!" An accusatory finger is now pointed at him, and Forget Me Not fights the impulse to roll his eyes.

"That's quite the leap to make over a simple gesture like that. Your time is up, by the way - please, go back to work."

"I'm telling on you, Forget Me Not. I'm so telling on you."

He gives a raspy laugh at this. "And who will you be telling about my horrible sleeping habits? The waiters? The delivery boy? Our esteemed guests?" The latter would definitely eat up any sort of information about his private life, especially if it was something to ruin his reputation, but he doesn't share this out loud.

"Ahh... So, you admit it, then? Having the worst sleeping schedule known to mankind?" Touché.

Before he can even reply, your mouth opens in a feigned yawn and Forget Me Not seethes when he finds himself imitating you. He seethes even more over the smug smile on your face. And he wishes he could just die on the spot when you scoot over and pat the empty seat next to you. Him? Rest? With you? Absolutely not.

"Ten minutes," a tight knot forms in his throat when you start to coax him in. "I'm sure you can spare that much, since you've been indulging me for this long! If you were actually busy, you would've just sent me home to rest. C'mere, sit."

What is the point in keeping track of time by now? Forget Me Not will be by your side until you decide to leave. Indulging you and your stupid ideas, your well-meaning and annoying habits, your reactions - all of it, they're his favorite vice and he never learned how to quit.

"Five minutes." He sits next to you.

"Fair enough." You scoot closer to him.

He watches when you link your arm with his, not bothering to ask for permission. Typical. Your palm is warm as you rest it over his forearm, fingers drumming idly over the soft fabric of his shirt. But you don't linger for too long, and slide down until your index and middle fingers reach the bare skin of his inner wrist, over the pronounced vein there. Can you feel his pulse? The shameless and frantic beat of his heart?

Forget Me Not is so entranced by this simple action that he fails to notice the sudden extra weight - your head rests on his shoulder, with your cheek pressed against the prominent bone. He knows it's an uncomfortable position, because you shift and nuzzle closer to his chest, the top of your head and your hair now tickling his neck and jawline. The knot in his throat returns and he holds his breath on instinct, like an animal at the verge of being devoured.

Nevermind the constant cycle of violence and doom he's turned his life into, these are the horrors that keep Forget Me Not up at night: your body against his, your displays of affection.

"Your eyes," the soft murmur of your voice pulls him from the awful, nonsensical noise in his mind. You're looking up at him. "You're meant to close them. That's what this whole thing is for. Unless ...you can sleep with your eyes open?"

"Don't be ridiculous. As if such a short amount of time could make me fall asleep." He huffs, a way to conceal just how out of breath he is. Part of him is afraid to close his eyes, knowing that he will feel each and every little thing you do - only tenfold. And what would he do with himself then, when all he can focus on is your finger tracing shapes over his palm? It tickles. It's distracting. It's unbearable.

His hand flinches, just barely, and you interlock your fingers with his in response.

"Hush and close them!" Always so obedient to your commands, Forget Me Not does as told, cursing you in his mind.

He gives you an inch, and you take a mile - the moment his eyes are closed, his body turns rigid but you still coax him backwards, so that he can lean on the backrest of the couch. It takes the coordinated effort of every single muscle in his body not to melt on the spot, to remain in a proper, sitting position. With you nestled so comfortably by his side, Forget Me Not makes the worst mistake in his life: he turns his head towards you, his nose now buried in your hair.

The content and pleased noise that leaves him is something that feels alien, entirely out of character for someone like him. Right away, he feels the tips of ears burning with shame and his body uselessly recoils away from you, trying to revert back into that persona he's created for the world.

It backfires immediately.

"...Hm? Is your arm getting numb? Here, let's switch." You move away, all while your hands cradle his face in order to guide him over to your lap.

It's a painfully slow process that is simultaneously over in the blink of an eye. Forget Me Not doesn't know what's worse, the fact that he didn't put up a fight or the way he feels so incredibly small, being held so lovingly by you.

He's laying on his back, hands resting uselessly over his chest like a corpse in an open casket funeral. If he glances upwards (a difficult thing to do, because you flick his forehead whenever you catch him wide awake) he can see you hoarding all the pillows available within your reach to support you as you lounge about, still hellbent on sleeping in with him.

Did he die at some point throughout the day without noticing? Is this his own personal Hell? Forget Me Not wants to speak, to say anything and regain control of the situation, but nothing comes out. All there is to do is to lay there, with your hands combing through his hair.

His heart might as well burst out of his chest. Even better, crawl up his throat and choke him from inside out.

Without thinking, he sits up. It's a nervous impulse. You can't see his face with his back turned to you and he's grateful for the small moment of privacy, as he steels himself to send you away. Or to fuck off into The Walden and walk around aimlessly to cool off, and then avoid you for a few weeks. Whichever comes first.

"Oh! Want a pillow or something? I kind of just took them all without thinking." He doesn't deserve this sort of contact, this domestic bliss - he doesn't want it either.

"Hey, do you think we could do this more often? Just... make some time for me in that busy schedule of yours?" And why would he? You're already pretty skilled at turning his life upside down with your constant nagging and your antics.

"Sorry for being this sappy so suddenly, it just came to mind...Oh, oh! Wait! While you're at it, mind closing the window, please? It's getting a liiittle cold in here."

Forget Me Not leaves his glasses on the table and lays back down, this time making sure to wrap his arms as tightly as he can around your waist, his face hidden in your stomach. What he receives is a weak chuckle, a weak complaint and a weak attempt at pushing him away. You don't mean it, of course - the same way he never means any of the things he thinks.

"Hm, I believe it's perfect like this."

"You're just saying that because you're going to leech off my own body heat, you little snake."

There's a hint of victory in your voice, you've won once again against him but you're always too nice to rub it in. Instead, you caress the scales on his neck, now on full display for you. It's a heavenly sensation.

"Perhaps," he murmurs, eyes closed. "But what are you going to do? Kick me out of my own office?"

"I might if you don't get some rest. Sleep, now."

And just like that, Forget Me Not unravels - he's been waiting so long to be given permission, for someone to allow him a moment of peace despite all these restraints holding him back.

He knows that the moment wakes up, he will act like none of this happened, that he will stubbornly deny everything until his very last breath, but right now, he clings onto you like his life depends on it.

And he falls asleep with your name on his lips

[dearly-dreaming]

•𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒•

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐧.

Title: As a soul dreams.

Paring: Dream of the Endless x reader.

Word count: 3,719.

Warnings: Patriarchal Society (sexism, men having more power than women) arranged marriage, consent issues (not accepting a no) aggression, grabbing, mentions of blood.

Summary: You’ve met your soulmate in Dream of the Endless and for a moment you forget what the truth behind this party is. Though, you’re quickly reminded.

Author’s note: Second time posting! I’m so happy the last part got so many likes and follows :) Tell me if you wanna a part three and if I should post another dream of the endless story. The gif isn’t mine!

Part one here.

Part two here.

•𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒•

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐧.

Words were unwilling to escape your mouth.

Shock hummed in your veins, your heart bursting against your chest as you gazed at him. At your soulmate. How does one even begin to speak after such a fateful meeting?

He was the future, the man you would spend the rest of your life with, laugh with, cry with, and love with.

You could not speak.

Words dying in your throat that stammered at the sight of him.

But he could, and he managed to utter a few words that sounded heavenly on his tongue, "Your name," His voice was hypnotic, "Tell me what it is. Please."

Now that came as a surprise, to him especially. It was well known, even to his siblings, that Dream rarely said please. Oh, he just knew desire was grinning as they relished in his indescribable emotions.

You spoke without thinking, "Only if you tell me yours."

And then, you were gripped with fear.

A brief moment of wonder had passed over you when you encountered him but now the reality was crashing down upon you. You were a woman and for the women of this time to speak in such a reckless, disrespectful way was terrible, and offensive to the men who had deemed themselves as your superior.

The role of women was to marry and produce children to carry on the family line. Not to speak back.

You opened your mouth to frantically apologise, "Forgive me, for my--"

He cut you off, silver eyes glinting like the moon, "You have no need to apologise for anything, for anything at all," He took a step forward and your breath hitched, "You are my equal and you will not be treated as anything less."

Unable to sew together a response, you merely gazed at him, noting just how much taller he was than you, towering over you by more than a few inches. A darker, desirable, thought whispered in the depths of your mind.

Slowly, you gave a small nod of your head.

Then, the man met your eyes with ease, his own shining, and he spoke, deep voice a grumble akin to soft thunder, "Morpheus."

His name, you realised.

And it made you shiver.

"Morpheus..." It slipped from your tongue and suddenly there was no greater word. It melted on your lips, smooth and powerful and so very tantalizing.

To both of you, it seemed. Morpheus' face sifted into one of surprise and then to longing. He wanted to hear his name spill from your lips again and again.

Wait...Morpheus.

Morpheus.

The God of Dreams.

The King of Dreams.

Dream of the Endless.

A gasp escaped your lips, eyes going wide with shock and yet your feet would not allow you to move from your spot, "Morpheus?! Your Dream of the Endless!?"

Amusement glittered in his eyes as he tilted his head, brow lifting in an almost mischievous manner, "You have not yet fulfilled your part of the deal. I have told you my name but you have not yet graced me with yours."

"It's...y/n..." You murmured, memorised by the expression on his face.

A gentle exhale escaped his lips, glittering eyes darkening with something that stirred something deep within you.

"Y/n..." He whispered your name and it felt like honey pouring from his rose-coloured lips that seemed to be formed in an almost constant pout, "Devine."

You shivered at his words, heart crawling up your neck and burning at your cheeks.

You dared to take a step closer.

Your chests were almost touching, faces mere inches apart. You could feel his gentle breaths fan your face, almost taste his lips on your own, almost touching the smoothness of his glowing skin and dark, unruly hair.

The sudden desire to run your fingers in his hair and then along his face, remembering the patterns of his skin as you traced his features, drifting along the sharpness of his jaw, the sweet curve of his eye and brow and the temptation of his lips, hit you.

And he was much the same.

His piercing gaze was on you, burning as he studied you, never lingering on intimate areas for too long. Your face, however, was a different story. He could not keep his eyes off of it, it was the finest form of perfect and nothing could ever compare.

A shy smile found its way onto your face and the words came tumbling out of his mouth like a symphony, "You are enamouring, the universe has never created a person nearly as tantalizing as you and never will."

You flushed, knowing that under the light of the moon and the stars he could see your blush quite perfectly.

A silence filled the air, sweet and longing.

"So, Dream Lord," You hummed, wanting nothing more than to know him, to know Morpheus, "What brings you to a party like this one? I hardly think there's anything here that could truly interest you."

His expressions were tiny, but, the tightening of his jaw, the slighting narrowness of his eyes and the pulling of his lips told you something.

"You do," His response was quick, eyes glinting smugly, "And please, there is no need to call me Dream Lord. As I said, you are my equal and intend to treat you as nothing less."

Warmth filled you, "You are unlike any man I've ever encountered."

"Good. I'd dread to think about what it would be like to be one of those men. And to answer your previous question, my sister wanted me to accompany her. Why is a lady such as yourself here?" He spoke smoothly and it was easy to tell he was a king.

He was languid, voice strong and tone even stronger, demanding respect.

You smiled, "My father is the owner of the house and the man throwing the party."

He rose a brow, inquisitive, "I see. Are you a magic user like him?"

A laugh escaped your lips as you shook her head, almost sad, "Heavens no. I'm quite incapable of using magic. More of a disappointment to me or my father, I do not know."

He tilted his head, "Oh?"

It was rather shameful to admit out loud but you found yourself doing so, "All of my siblings are capable of using magic, but for me, it's entirely impossible. I practised all I could as a child but I could never even light a candle with a flick of my wrist. My father gave up a long time ago."

You could feel a spark of anger rip through the man in front of you, you saw it ripple through his eyes, darkening in colour.

"That was a long time ago, I bust myself with other things now," You hummed, eager to calm his anger, "Come. This house may hold many intrigues but I find the most interesting place is the gardens. I am happy to show you, if you want?"

And who was Morpheus not to agree?

His lips quirked up and he extended his arm, offering it, "Nothing sounds better. Lead the way."

You took his arm, skin sparking at the touch. Gods, if this is what it felt like to touch his clothed arms the sensation of touching his bare skin would be immense. Heart warming at the thought, you glanced at his hand with a smile, all in good time.

"This way," You hummed, "I want to show you the maze."

As the two of you walked along the cobbled path, Morpheus spoke, "You would enjoy Fiddler's Green."

"What's that?" You queried.

"A garden within the dreaming," He mused, the quiet of his footsteps almost silent compared to yours, "I can take you some time if you wish?"

Excitement bubbled in your veins and you grinned, "Please, that sounds wonderful. Tell me more about your realm, I am quite curious."

He chuckled softly against the night's breeze, "What do you want to know?"

"Everything," You hummed.

The corners of his lips titled upwards, "You would enjoy Lucienne's company as she would enjoy yours," He enjoyed the inquisitive look on your face, "She's my librarian. She keeps track of all of the books in the dreaming."

"She sounds lovely. Tell me more about the other residents of your realm," You spoke, dress sweeping along in tune with the gentle wind.

"Well, there are two brothers, Cain and Abel," Morpheus began and the two names caused a bell to ring in your head.

A gasp escaped your lips, "Cain and Abel?! The First Story!? The First Murderer and the First victim!? They live in separate houses, right?! And they have a big gargoyle called Gregory, right? Oh, and hey make excellent tea and cake!"

Surprise fled through Morpheus' features, "You know them?"

"One of my favourite dreams as a child! You laughed, "Whenever I dreamt of them, I'd always try to go back to sleep after waking."

Morpheus chuckled airily, "I am happy to see you are already so fond of some of my dreams."

You smiled softly as the two of you rounded the corner, coming to the entrance of a perfectly trimmed maze. It was tall green with bushes and vines and flowers. Elation filled you, you loved the maze and you loved what was hidden behind it even more.

You sent him and glance, "Welcome to the maze."

His eyes glinted, "Will we get lost if we go in?"

"Only if you want us to get lost," You hummed and without another word, walked into the maze, beckoning him to follow.

And Morpheus did follow, just like he would follow you to the ends of the universe if you asked him to. It surprised him, just how willing he was to do anything you so so desired, it was unlike anything he had ever experienced and he relished in it.

Your giggles echoed through the maze as you sped up, eyes shining as you rounded the corner, eager for Morpheus to follow. He did so without question, amusement alight on his face, "We've only just met and you're already trying to run away from me?"

A smile spread across your face. The King of Dreams, known to be brooding and unforgiving and yet here he was, beginning to chase you through a winding maze, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"We've only just met, I'd rather run into your arms than away from them," The words slipped from your lips without thought.

With startling ease, society and all of its expectations fled from you the more tie you spent with Morpheus. It was a breath of freedom, one you relished in. No longer were you just a woman, you were complex and intellectual and wonderous and you loved it.

And so did Morpheus.

He saw only the surface of your personality and he was entranced, you were kind, mischievous, inquisitive and you were perfect.

His desire to have you in his arms increased tenfold.

You heard his steps speeding up behind you and a laugh escaped your lips, the stars giggling above you, knowing smiles and secretive gazes. They would keep this encounter a sweet secret, hold it dear to them, the dream king and a human girl, untethered to the earth and instead to each other.

You flew around a corner, dress wisping behind you, legs picking up speed.

You could almost hear Morpheus' heart hammering behind you.

You could almost feel his breath fanning the back of your neck.

The temptation to stop and collide into his arms grew, calling you, but you would not give in just yet.

Quickly drawing close was an overgrown entrance in the wall of the maze, long forgotten by your father and siblings. Something familiar filled your chest as you raced toward it, like so many times before but unlike those times as well.

Comfort.

In the darkest of times, the garden would welcome you with open arms. The stone-cold bench humming softly as you lay against it. The whispering trees, telling you stories from so long ago. The gentle ripple of the small fountain, the stone woman guarding over it and you, a constant in your world of change.

This time, your heart was filled with glee, a world brighter than it had ever been before.

Leaves brushed against your skin fondly as you entered.

Warmth filled you.

Then Morpheus was upon you.

Arms wrapped around your waist, pulling against his hard chest, surrounding you with his warmth.

A gasp escaped your lips, skin igniting by his touch.

Your chest heaved in shock and in something more.

Foreign yet so familiar. Everything was hyper-sensitive, you could feel every shift of his body he made, every breath that passed through his lips, the very strong, steady beat his heart made.

All words died on your tongue as they so often seemed o do in his presence.

He shifted, leaning down. Head lowering, nightly hair tickling your neck.

A soft breath sounded by your ear.

You tensed, waiting.

You could feel his mouth, gentle against your ear. You shuddered. You felt his breath hitch, lips moving slightly. The arms around your waist tightened, encasing you in all that was him. What else could there be apart from him?

Your heart beat furious in your chest.

He breathed, breath fanning your ear.

You found yourself pressing closer to him.

Then, Morpheus spoke.

"I caught you."

His voice was husky, igniting something deep within you as you heard the words that made you want to submit to anything and everything he so desired right then and there.

All you could was his breathing.

Through some semblance of frantically moving thoughts, you just managed to gasp out the words, "Or, have I managed to catch you, Morpheus?"

You felt him smile against your skin, "Say my name again."

"Morpheus."

You felt him shudder against you, "Again."

"Morpheus."

He had become undone by you.

"Hypnotic," He rasped softly, "You are entirely too hypnotic."

Finally, you turned your head, desperate to look at his godly face.

His shimmering eyes met yours, and your heart thumped against your chest. His gaze was intense, drawing you in like a siren, consuming you, entrancing you.

Your hands gripped his arms, eyes flickering down to his enticing lips.

He tilted his head ever so slightly, his own eyes fluttering down to your lips, darkening.

A challenge.

Who's resolve would fall first?

It would be so easy, barely inches apart, to press yourself into him.

To taste his delicious lips.

You swallowed, unable to stop your gaze from flickering to his pink lips and beckoning eyes. A murmur escaped your lips, "I hardly think I'm the one that's entirely too hypnotic."

An airy chuckle left his lips, breath fanning your face, "Oh, I beg to differ."

Closer and closer.

Almost too close.

Too close...

Your eyes fluttered closed, his face so close to yours.

"My Lady! You're father calls!"

Mary.

You pulled your head back, eyes snapping open and you swore you heard a gentle groan escape Morpheus' lips, ragged and deep.

"My father...?" You mumbled, tilting your head.

"He can wait," Grumbled Morpheus, voice a deep rumble.

A small smile found its way onto your face, "Cleary, you have not yet met my father."

He was unshameful, "I escaped from my sister before we could be introduced."

"My Lady!"

You sighed breathlessly, "Maybe he can wait..."

You delighted in the grin on his face as he whispered, "Yes, he can..."

"My Lady! It's urgent!” Mary continued to call.

You breathed, you would hate to get Mary in trouble.

You forced yourself to move away from his face and smiled, "How about this, I shall go and find my father and you can go and find your sister and I can introduce you all, hm?".

"Well," He looked up and down, "I would rather keep you all to myself but very well. Once I have found my sister I shall find you."

"Excellent. Now, follow me, I know a shortcut," You hummed, gently pulling through a path, hidden by the shadows of winding trees, filled by the contact but longing for the intimacy from a mere moment ago

Soon enough, entirely took quick for your liking, you were back on the main path, facing the stone house that somehow managed to be your home.

You sighed, almost sad to part from him, and then, foolishness filled you.

"You needn't worry. I feel exactly as you do," The man hummed, voice calming you like ripples on a pond, "I shall return to your side shortly."

And with that, he swept away, slipping into the joyous house with the skill of a shadow. You were left breathless, cheeks hot, staring at where he once stood so close to you. Skin still tingling with his intoxicating touch.

You were so consumed with your thoughts of him, of how close you had been, your fingers drifted to your lips, that you did not notice Mary walking up to you.

Naturally, she took this as an advantage and placed her hands on your shoulders, smiling at your squeal, "Mary!"

Mary tilted her head, surprised by the redness of your skin, and the glow in your eyes and spoke, "Now, what's got you acting like this?"

You flushed.

And that was all the answer she needed.

Her eyes widened, "You...You met your soulmate!?"

"Yes!" You laughed, smiling brightly as the woman encased you in a hug. You relished in the contact, Mary was like your mother, by your side at every second. You couldn't wait to introduce her to Morpheus.

When you finally separated an elated grin spread across her face,. "Now you can say no to Alexander!"

Fear ripped through you.

You had forgotten.

Saints, you had completely forgotten.

Mary caught onto your shift in mood and grasped your hand, "Don't worry, dear. When he asks for your hand all you need to say is no, that you've met your soulmate and that you wish him all the best. Not even a man like him will argue with the bonds of soulmates."

You nodded shakily, "Alright. That's all I need to say. I can do this."

With your hand clasped in Mary's, you stepped into the banquet hall and all went silent. Expectant stars fell upon you, burning you most harshly.

Instantly, you found yourself wishing for nothing more than to be in the safety of Morpheus' arms.

"Daughter!" Your father's voice rang sharply like a sword, you shuddered, hand falling away from Mary's as you stepped toward him, reminded of your role in society once more.

He gazed at you, almost bored, "Look not to me, but to Alexander. he has something most wonderful to say to you."

You swallowed, forcing yourself to turn. Alexander was waiting there, dark eyes glinting with something that made you terribly nervous.

Just do what Mary told you.

"Y/n," He began, taking your hand and you cringed at how wrong it felt as he flowered onto one knee, "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on, and I've laid eyes on many women."

A few chuckles rang through the air. Disgust filled you.

Alexander continued and you began to feel faint, "You shine so brightly. You're kind and nurturing. And I know that our children will have a wonderful mother. And there's no other woman I'd rather marry, so, with your father's blessing...will you marry me?"

You swallowed harshly, throat impossible dry.

The silence was thick.

Finally, you managed to croak out, "No."

His eyes darkened, "What do you mean 'no'?"

You clenched your hand, "No. I can't marry you. I met my soulmate. I'm sorry but I wish you all the best."

You pulled your hand from his and turned away.

You thought it was over.

You could feel your father's enraged gaze, furious on your skin.

All you wanted was Morpheus.

A cruel grip found its way to your arm and you yelped. Your head snapped to face Alexander, heart thundering at the expression on his face. You knew then, that he wouldn't take no for an answer.

You looked to your father. He was the only one who could stop Alexander.

Tears shot to your eyes at the look on his face. His stare was cold, apathetic, you would get no help from him.

Hysteria gripped you and you screamed, "Let go of me!"

His grip only tightened, "I have already received your father's blessing. Asking for your hand was merely a courtesy. You'll be my wife whether you like it or not."

Alexander leaned closer and without thinking, you lifted your free hand.

The harshness of your slap echoed through the room, stunting everyone into sharp silence.

Your chest heaved, breath laboured as a hissed escaped your lips, "Never."

Alexander lifted his head, tongue darting out to lick the blood leaking from the small cut on his lower lip.

Oh god, you had drawn blood.

And some part of you relished in that fact.

"Wrong answer," He whispered venomously.

Desperation clawed at your throat.

Your mind was erratic.

A ragged screech tore from your throat, loud enough that both heaven and hell could hear.

"Morpheus!"

A laugh escaped Alexander's mouth, "Morpheus!? You stupid girl--"

A dark voice ripped through the hall, unbridled fury almost shaking the ground, "Unhand her."

Everyone's attention snapped to the voice.

To him.

To Morpheus.

Your heart cried at the sight.

And his heart raged at it.

The state you were in. Tears filled your eyes, hysteria ran through your veins, your body shaking, your arm growing red from the disgusting man's grip on it. Oh, the sight of it made him angrier than he had ever been.

"Lord Morpheus," Your father exclaimed, easily slipping into that smart, calculated man you knew so well, "Forgive my daughter, she does not understand her place."

"Yes, I assure you, my future wife will learn her place as a woman," Alexander chuckled.

You glowered, furious and fearful.

Morpheus' gaze snapped to yours and you flinched, head lowering in shame.

Rage shot through him, searing.

"Release her," He spoke, barely containing the desire to rip this pathetic mortal to shreds.

"Why?" Alexander snorted, grabbing your chin, "She's mine."

And that was it.

Morpheus' eyes singed with fury, a sound almost comparable to a growl tore from his throat as he glared hatefully. You had never seen rage quite like it, unbridled and so primal it almost knocked you off of your feet.

"Take your hands off of her, she belongs to no one but herself," he snarled, "She is not a possession to claim."

Laughter shot through Alexander's lips, alcohol filling your senses, making you dizzy, "Why? Do you want her?"

Morpheus tilted his head, "I want her as any would want their soulmate, but I will never force her."

Gasps filled the air.

Dream of the Endless had found his soulmate in a human girl.

Your father was the most shocked, eyes unblinking as he stared at you. You could almost hear the words 'At least you were useful for something' slip from his lips.

"No," Alexander snapped, foolishly, "I won't let her have you. I'll kill you."

Something unfamiliar spiked in your veins.

You threw your head back. The back of it clashed with the front of his face, forcing him to stumble away due to the sheer force. You staggered forward, dizziness capturing your senses.

"Will you?" Muttered Dream.

His shadow stretched across the floor, growling in silent rage, ready to consume Alexander.

Everyone was staring at you.

Your vision was growing blurry.

Your stability fading.

Your body was swaying.

"My Lady!" Mary's frantic scream as she raced toward you was the last thing you heard as you plummeted to the ground.

And then it all went black.

[hebewebe]

Knowing Me, Knowing You - {Y.Okkotsu}

cross-posted of my ao3, do not steal!!!!

La Douleur Exquise

(n.) The heart-wrenching pain of wanting the affection of someone unattainable.

Yuuta Okkotsu is a man who knows many things, he’s spent most of his adolescence in fear of Rika hurting others and training to control her, along the way he’s also learned a couple of things on the way such as the reversed curse technique which no longer allowed him the need to visit Shoko as often.

He also learned how to master cursed speech, something that his friend was born able to do, he’s also learned how to copy other cursed techniques and wield many weapons.

Along the way he’s also learned you , you joined him not long after your first year at Jujutsu Tech and have been close friends for a while (much to Rika’s dismay at first), his friends were your friends, his likes and dislikes were also yours, two peas in a pod something that Gojo would tease you both about.

he’s learned almost if not all your dreams and aspirations, your reasons for joining the horrific world of jujutsu sorcery, “I don’t want to just sit here wasting my life away in some office job knowing I could be out there helping the world.” something you told him a little after the fight of a hundred demons, he had asked you after watching you help fight in the city.

And you know him just as well, his favorite colors, movies, likes, dislikes, why he’s here, who Rika is, and what she means to him.

Why he double knots his shoelaces, why he is surprisingly good at making french toast and smoothie bowls, how he never really contacts his family but tries to stay close with his sister, and how he’s good at geometry and quadratics.

You believe he’s the reason the sky is blue and that the night is dark, why the nights without him are cold and lonely, why the days without him are somehow even worse.

You find yourself on autopilot when he’s not around you, sharing the same air as you, feeling an empty and aching void in your chest when he’s not with you.

And when he is with you, you can’t help but feel whole again, like the aching and empty piece inside of you has been filled with something unknown, warm, and true.

You’ve decided to call this visceral feeling a small passing crush , but you know better than to think so little of these growing feelings.

You love him, you love him more than anything, you find yourself at a loss for words whenever he’s near, and your cheeks grow warmer when he brushes his hand against yours.

“Hey, Yuu? Can I ask you something?” it's a whisper, that could’ve easily gone unnoticed if it weren’t for the silence in the room. “You can ask me anything, you know that.” he smiles when he says it, almost as if a reminder that you both already know he’d listen to any question; stupid or not.

“What do you think it feels like to love and be loved in return?” there’s a moment of pondering silence between the two before one speaks up.

“I think it should feel… suffocating, like your drowning in an endless sea of.. warmth, I believe that once you find someone to love you should love them hard, love them with every atom that makes up your existence, love them hard to the point where if they’re not with you the world feels as if it’ll come crashing down on your shoulders. And to be loved in return? Well, that’s a kind of complicated question, I guess it would feel like... A boulder falling and crashing against a dam?” it’s said just as silently as the question was asked.

“A boulder falling and crashing against a dam? Why do you say that?”  there you go, always wondering, always asking why when things don’t add up to you, its cute in a sense how you’re always eager for an answer.

“Because no one truly expects to be loved just as hard as they love someone, if anything maybe half or less than that, but never fully, never wholly. Nobody ever truly expects to be loved so hard that they forget how to breathe when one is not near, nobody expects to feel all that love, and definitely not at once.” He always makes sure to answer any of your questions in full, another one of the many upon many things you love about him.

“Are you supposed to feel loved all at once?” You will always have a mountain of questions ready to be asked and answered he supposes.

“I don’t think so, I guess it just depends on the circumstance, for instance, if both parties love hard then I guess it’ll be suffocating on both ends, but if it festers like a warm disease then it’ll take its time, it might start with things such as the way they prefer their tea or coffee, or which hand they might drive better with. Presumably small things that then fester until they are the only thought that consumes your mind, they're the only thing that plagues your dreams at night and even again when you wake, until you realize that they have complete control over your heart.” 

He says the words as if he’s fond of them, he probably has considering how he felt about Rika, and you know that if you ask there’s a strong possibility that your heart might end up in small shatters but you can't help but wonder if. 

“Have you ever felt that way towards someone?” it’s said even quieter than before and you fear not if he heard you but if he didn’t hear you .

“I have actually, I still do.”

Oh , it’s all that comes to mind, your heart freezes and does nearly every blood vessel in your body.

“Have you?” 

A simple question regarding such a simple answer.

A moment of silence passes.

“I have.”

I have felt that way and I still do, everything about you plagues me like a horrid disease and I can’t help but warmly accept it, even though the possibility of my feelings being unreciprocated is strong I still love you if not even more than the day I met you, I love you so much that my soul aches and my heart shatters and my mind begs for you. I would lasso the sun to bring you eternal warmth so you would never feel cold again, I would overthrow all the demons in hell just so I can control the demons you fight and make sure you forever have peace of mind because I know that late into the nights horrendous thoughts poison your mind and leave you scared, I would manipulate the sisters of faith so you can face nothing but good fortune, I would become god to make sure that every blessing would come forth to you.

“That’s wonderful y/n, did they feel the same?” an innocent question asked by the person guilty of blindly robbing one’s heart, “I’m not sure actually.” 

“Well, I’m sure one day someone will,” it’s said with a friendly smile, and your heart somehow breaks even more. “Well, I should get going Inumaki is expecting me,” he kicks his feet off the bed and leaves you alone with your thoughts.

You wonder if he’s still in love with Rika, does he dream of a life where instead of a horrific appearance one could only conjure up in horror movies does he dream of her youthful and beautiful? Does he still love her the same he did all those years ago? He still wears the ring so one could only assume.

Does he dream of kissing her in the rain? Comforting her when she has nightmares? Marrying her? Starting a family with her? I mean they must obviously talk about what they could’ve been had that tragic incident not happened.

Does he love her the same way you love him? So many questions you wish to bombard him with but no position to ask.

You hate the feeling of being in love, it makes the days long and miserable and the nights even worse, the constant nagging feeling of loneliness and desperation, the aching feeling of longing that settles deep within you. 

How everything brightens up when Yuuta’s near.

How your heart beats faster.

How your cheeks heat up.

You hate it all, because at the end of the day.

He’s not yours.

[lex-the-flex]

morpheus reuniting with his lover after a century.

like y/n drops whatever they’re hold it shatter and they just run towards him tears In their eyes.

Forever Mine

Morpheus x reader

Word Count: 1.2k 

Warning(s): Memories in italics! Mega fluff, slight angst, mentions of heartbreak, brief loneliness, 18 + – SMUT, unprotected sex (stay safe kids), oral (f! receiving) and nudity.

A/N: I hope you enjoy and thank you for requesting! The only thing I changed is having the reader be an Endless like Dream. And I’m sorry if the smut is terrible, I haven’t written it in a while. 

“What do you see?” His deep voice whispered past your ear. 

Squinting your eyes to see further, you guide the pair of binoculars over the vast Dreamworld, only to end at the dark graveyard beyond the Palace grounds. 

“Hmm, I don’t see anything out of the ordinary. The graveyard looks undisturbed.” You reply.  

Inching closer to your straightened form, your husband carefully places his hand on the small of your back. Taking your wrist in his closed palm, Morpheus guided the binoculars to the far lower right corner of the graveyard.

“Look closer.” He says, revealing a brand new gold necklace with a round bright red ruby that was polished to perfection. 

Lowering the binoculars, you turn to Morpheus as a soft smile overtakes his lips. Wrapping his arms around your back, he places his chin on your shoulder. 

“I had this made specifically for you. It’s so you’ll have a piece of me when I travel.” Morpheus explains, while pressing tiny kisses to the side of your face. 

*****

The distant echoing of car horns and the mumbling of conversations forced your eyes open, abruptly ending your dream, turning your once pleasant memory into a haunting sadness. Slowly sitting up, the low rumble of rain tapped on your windows, covering the bustling city in a thin sheet of grey. 

Pushing yourself out of bed, you sluggishly made your way to the bathroom. Flicking on the lightswitch, a large yawn escaped your lips as you squinted at the fluorescent light. Dropping your head in your hands, you peeked at your reflection in the mirror. 

A century had passed, but it felt like a tortuous infinity. The Dreamworld, your safe space, and the only home you’ve ever known was destroyed brick by brick, leaving the once peaceful place abandoned for more than a century.  There was no sign of your husband anywhere. It was like Morpheus vanished without a warning. And it was destroying your soul at the seams. 

Much like your husband, you both shared the same royal blood of the Endless running through your veins, as well as unique powers of your own. Manifesting the abilities of conjuring miniscule glimpses into the future is what attracted Morpheus to you in the first place. Like the rest of his siblings, the man of dreams didn’t choose you for your powers, he chose you out of pure love and adoration for who you were. He didn’t care if these glimpses in time could jeopardize your relationship, Morhpeus stayed loyal to you and only you. 

Reminding yourself of that, you glanced down at the marble countertop, and your tired y/e/c irises made contact with the small dish where you kept all your jewelry. Underneath the various gold and silver rings, bracelets, your fingers dug through the bowl to reach the bottom. Uncovering the spotless gold necklace, the ruby remained as beautiful as the day you received it. 

Holding the necklace to the natural light, a bright red reflection shined down to your eye, reminding you what was truly important. Despite your husband’s absence, he still loved you. He refused to let his powers control him and use his mind as their own hive. Clutching the necklace close to your heart, you vowed then to get your life in the mortal world in order and to no longer wallow in this unending sadness. 

*****

Balancing yourself against the kitchen countertop, you sighed in relief at the state of your clean apartment. You had one last big job to do before finishing the day and it was your least favorite thing: the dishes. Groaning at the full sink, you decided to finish them in the morning and went to bed. The moment you collapsed on the unmade piece of paradise, you fell into a deep sleep. Except this time, no dreams came your way, just one terrible nightmare. 

A thin layer of sweat covered your brow as you jolted from the nightmare as an eerie silence consumed your home. Your brows furrowed together while the resonating sound of dripping water bounced against your eardrums. 

You weren’t prone to sleepwalking, so you had to be dreaming. Right?

Slowing trekking into the kitchen, you hugged the robe around your chest, and paced to the sink. Twisting the handle, cold water rushed from the faucet and you started to pour yourself a cup of water when you felt it. In an instant, it seemed like there was a second pair of eyes on you.

Turning to face the living room, you were greeted by a pair of piercing silver eyes watching you in the darkness. Jumping in surprise, the cup slipped from your hand and shards of glass covered the floor. Tears filled your eyes as you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. Emerging from the darkness, Morpheus’ eyes returned to normal, and he extended his arms towards you. 

Running to him, you embraced your husband with every fiber of your being as he carefully lifted you off your feet. 

“I’ve finally found you.” He said, tightening his grip around your shoulders before setting you down. 

“I’ve missed you so much, Morpheus. Life hasn’t been the same without you.” You replied through frequent sobs. 

“I know, my love. But I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere.” Morpheus declared, taking your chin with his fingers.

Inching closer, Morpheus captured his lips on yours, refusing to let go. Deepening the kiss, his hands began to trail over your body, seeking more. Breaking the moment, your breath hitched in your chest. 

“Are you sure?” You asked in a whisper. 

“I’ve thought about nothing else for over a century.” Morpheus practically growled before picking you up in his arms. 

*****

Rays of moonlight peeked through the curtains of your bedroom as you nearly stumbled backwards from the few obstacles in the room. Untying the knot of your robe, Morpheus’ hands worked quickly to discard the item of clothing off your body. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, he lifts you in his touch, laying you down. 

Gazing at you in complete awe, Morpheus sank to his knees, and made his way up your body with quick kisses to your skin. His pink lips smirked at the way you were quivering for him, how your knees went weak for him. Swirling his tongue around your sensitive folds, you let a harsh gasp. Grasping your waist, he tried everything to keep you still, but you couldn’t. 

Sitting on his knees, Morpheus slipped the ebony robe over his head and crawled to face you. Settling between your hips, he teased the tip of his cock against your hot folds, earning a whine from your lips. 

“Please, Morpheus, I want you.” 

The sound of his name on your lips made the man’s chest heave with a wave of lust in his lungs like no other. Pushing his manhood past your entrance, Morpheus’ bright eyes pierced through your soul, and his cock stretched you out. Swallowing every little sound that escaped your lips, your fingers dug into the fibers of his muscles. 

Diving a little deeper with each thrust, your toes curled as Morpheus felt his spine tingle as he moved for your neck. Trembling against your body, he lowered his head to your chest, soaking in your love, and you pulled him closer before falling asleep in the safety of his arms. 

the sandman taglist ~ 

@dreamliners

@nebulosa-reina

@smolfrogz

@vanessalenrie

@margozovaa

@hercherrysong

@missnightingale1971

@plentyoffandoms

@calicoevening72

@thingy-mar

@jason-todds-bitch

@nimalucius

@cosmic-marauder

@vampninjaz

@simplyjaana

@maybeimart

@amysteryspot

@milfzatannaz

@gay-dorito-dust

@elevencllara

@theflowerhashira

@kill-the-lights

@simplyjaana

[bvidzsoo]

Love Me Like A Rockstar (4)

Chapter 4: Comatose

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: Song Mingi x female reader

Warning: cussing, mentions of a panic attack

Word count: 8,129

Summary: Love. You wanted none of it. You had already been heartbroken very badly once, you didn't wish to go through that ever again. But the Universe works in intricate ways and, somehow, you found yourself webbed up in a local rockstar's life, Song Mingi. He was everything you expected him to be, yet nothing like you imagined him he would be. What happens when you find mutual understanding and have heartful conversations? Will he be able to break down your walls? Will you be able to chase away his darkness?

A/N: Hello, lovelies! The long awaited 4th chapter is here and omg I'm so sorry for the long wait! I haven't even realized it's been a month since my last update...but I had a lot of stuff to do for my University and just didn't find the time to write, but here I am now, and I'll try to update next week or after that! I promise you'll have lots of Mingi next chapter *wink wink*, but I hope after reading this chapter Yn's attitude will make more sense, and that she won't be so insufferable anymore to you all reading. Please listen to the fourth song Comatose before or while reading this chapter! Yes, I have totally made Mingi wear his waterbomb outfit in this chapter because waterbomb Mingi shall NEVER be forgotten, goodbye. Please leave feedback, I truly appreciate it! Enjoy now! I have a surprise coming next chapter, hehet^^

Taglist: @orshii @or5i @lovely-red2 @juicy-red @scarfac3 @sunaswifes-blog @voicesinmyhead-rc @teez-the-time @maru-matt @kyeos4ng

⟨Series M.list ↭ Previous Chapter⟩

♫Playlist♫

『I don't care enough to miss you

After all the shit we've been through

My heart's comatose, comatose』

The blinking of the cursor was staring back at me mockingly, a reminder that my fingers haven’t moved in the past ten minutes. No thoughts connected to the theme of my project came to mind, no matter how hard I tried and how many articles I read. My mind seemed to be blank at the moment and it seemed like it wouldn’t get any better anytime soon. To be honest, I wasn’t feeling well. And that usually reflects in my work and influences my whole mood, and even day. I thought I would have a very productive day as I got ready this morning and went to the library to finish my art assignment, however, the little kick I had, came crushing down the second Mingi decided to sit with me. Well, perhaps that one small factor wasn’t the real reason which ruined my mood and brought me to the brink of a panic attack, and the current void and emptiness I have been feeling in my chest ever since. Perhaps it was the mention of Jeong Yunho and the reminder of how little I have always meant to him. My lower lip quivered again, and I allowed myself to fall back in the chair I was sitting in, staring up at my white ceiling in desperation. Why did it have to be him? Why did it have to be Yunho again? Was the Universe having a laugh at me? What were the chances that this Song Mingi was the same Song Mingi Yunho never shut up about while we were dating? It was frustrating. It was maddening and it was…mocking. I couldn’t help but feel bitter the longer I allowed the image of Mingi and Yunho laughing, hanging out, falling all over each other, linger in my mind. Their hearts filled with joy and their time spent with endless conversations, late night trips to the convenience store, random road trips and the overall feeling of knowing that you always had one person you could rely on no matter what. What did Mingi have that I didn’t? What did Yunho see in him that he never saw in me? Why was Mingi better than me? And why…was I suddenly feeling this vial jealousy creeping up in my chest like an ugly monster, the whisper of thoughts I have always tried to push to the depths of my mind after Yunho’s sudden, but heartbreaking, departure from my life?

『Straight coats and empty cabinets

Ashes from all the mess you left

New lease without you

I confess that I'm happy you're gone』

What was it about Song Mingi that Yunho was so infatuated with? What was it with Song Mingi that everyone seemed to like and gravitate towards? All I could see was the arrogance and self-centeredness rolling off of him in waves any time he entered a room. The need to shine and be the center of attention, to be the only person anyone was able to see, to focus on. The constant smirk or grin on his lips, almost always mocking or just an awful reminder that he was better than you—it was subtle, but it was there. The mischievous glint in his eyes as he watched your every move, hiding behind a wall of emotionlessness, sharp eyes watching but not giving anything away. There was no honesty in his expressions or in his actions. But why did nobody else see that? Why was I the only one picking up on how insincere Mingi actually was? Why did nobody question what he hid behind those dark and sharp eyes? His face so often void of any emotion. And then, to further prove my confusion, the Mingi I talked to today was—why did he feel different? Everything staring from his appearance to his behavior was unlike the infuriating person I have come to know. He portrayed a calm and collected nature, albeit still mischievous as he had taken my sketchbook without my permission, yet it was so clear on his face that he didn’t have any mal intentions. What prompted him to approach me out of the blue and why did he look almost…lonely? What drew him to smile so much and so freely? It certainly couldn’t have been me; I have done everything I could to make him feel unwelcome and uncomfortable, yet he…stayed. He talked without a care in the world, almost as if he forgot I would be judging his every move and sentence. He almost looked curious of who I was, trying to make conversation in which I did not want to engage in. What was it about Yunho that made his eyes sparkle so much? Why did Yunho have so much of an influence on Mingi? Why did it have to be Mingi? Why does Yunho have to be everywhere around me even after he leaves? Does Yunho really mean that much to Mingi? Just how deep is their bond? But the most jarring thought amidst the spiraling of my mind into a place I did not wish for it to go, was a very simple one. Why do I care about Song Mingi all of a sudden? Why do all these things matter to me all of a sudden? Who is Song Mingi to me to send me into an existential crisis, into a state of nervosity, and restlessness, and so much bitterness? He’s just a guy. A guy who is very irritating, arrogant, self-centered, and a pushover. A guy who only wants attention and is superficial. A guy who forgets about you the second he’s turned his back to you. A guy who only likes you until you’re new and exciting. When you start becoming boring, what does it matter anymore? Why would he keep you around for longer? Perhaps him and Yunho have more in common than I would have thought at first.

『So used to pain that it's my remedy

Easy to hate, I gave you everything

Funny that you're the one that ran away

You left me first』

I couldn’t do this anymore, I had to stop thinking. I needed my brain to shut up, to stop torturing me more than I was already hurting. I refused to reach my breaking point again just because Mingi mentioned that Yunho was his best friend—why was I giving him so much power? Trying to snap out of it, I groaned loudly as I rubbed my eyes with the heel of my palms, sitting up straight again to try and focus for the last time on my project. I had to get this done in two days, I really couldn’t slack off anymore. So, I opened the previous tab I was reading from and scrolled up in order to start reading the article from the beginning once again, hoping that the words in it would finally stick. But despite my attempt to finally focus on the only important task at hand, the loud ping of my phone quickly pulled my attention away from it. I jumped at the loud sound and cursed silently, having forgotten to put my phone on ‘do not disturb’. My eyes snapped down to it mildly annoyed, but quickly furrowed when I realized it was a message from an unknown number. I stared at it for a few seconds, eyebrows furrowing in suspicion.

Unknown: are u coming to Outlaw tonight?

Before I could really control myself, curiosity overtook me. It must’ve been someone who knows me since they were asking about Outlaw. They must have seen me there last time.

Me: who’s this? Unknown: mingi lol

My eyebrows instantly furrowed as I stared down at the message, my stomach doing a weird flip. My fingers hovered over the screen of my phone, tempted to just quickly block his number and forget about the past ten seconds, because what the fuck? How did he even get my number? I certainly don’t remember giving it to him.

Me: wtf? how do you have my number. Unknown: wooyoung

I blinked, mind blanching for a second. Wooyoung? That made even less sense as Wooyoung and I have met just once and I have not given him my phone number. I waited for a few seconds longer, waiting for Mingi to explain further, but it never came. No small dots indicating that he was texting anything else. I groaned and looked at my pale green wall for a second, trying to collect my thoughts and not throw my phone out the window. Why did he have to have my number? Was this Mingi’s way of getting on my nerves even more? And now I had to figure out how Wooyoung got my number—oh. I tsked in disbelief, eyes zooning in on the picture of Seulgi and myself I had on display on my desk. Of course, that little bitch. Why would she ask me first before giving my phone number to a complete stranger—even if Mingi wasn’t that, I still didn’t want him to have it.

Me: whatever, i’m blocking you. Unknown: so, are you coming then? Me: no, mingi, i am not.

I rolled my eyes at Mingi’s insistency of getting an answer and blatant ignorance towards my threat of blocking him—which wasn’t as menacing as I wished for it to be. But it only took him seconds to answer, and I tried not to think about how quickly he was responding.

Unknown: ok

My eyes narrowed at his simple—and sharp—answer, fingers hovering over the keyboard to fire an insult at him if he went ahead and started leaving more messages, wanting to remind him that I was not in any shape or form curious to hear any more of his bullshit. The bitterness was quite strong in the back of my head, jealousy searing through my body—I couldn’t help it. A minute or two passed, but Mingi wasn’t typing anything else and I huffed, irritated by his antics. Why was he even asking if I would go to Outlaw? I hated it the first time—well, maybe that was a little lie—and I still hate it now, so therefore I had not one reason to go and watch him perform again. Not one particle in my body wished to hear his raspy voice accompanied by a guitar, bass, and drums. I was quite content by going to bed early tonight and forgetting about the whole day, hoping that my chest would feel less heavy in the morning and the green monster would be gone from my head. And yet, despite my better judgment, my fingers worked quickly, before my mind could even register what I was doing, and I was saving Mingi’s number. There was no desire in me to have his name in my phone under any shape, so I stopped for a second to ponder over the many options I could be calling him, such as: idiot, dumbass, jackass, prick, mr. arrogant—were sounding rather pleasing to my ears—and yet, despite the wicked grin I had on my lips, my mind seemed to settle for a simple ‘I hate him’. His number was saved in my phone without putting more thought into what I was doing, and I was placing my phone aside, attention going back to my project. Now, there was nothing in the world which could disturb me again—but then my phone rang. I groaned loudly and felt like pulling on my hair, staring at my cursed phone heatedly. I was half expecting Mingi’s number to pop-up, but thankfully it wasn’t him. That would’ve been the last straw for today, I certainly would’ve gone crazy. Instead, it was Seulgi calling and I knew she had something important to say if she wasn’t texting. I picked up, albeit with disdain.

“Hey!” She sounded cheerful, excited. Very much the opposite of my mood right now.

“Hi.” I muttered and started tapping my forefinger against my desk, staring down at the article I had opened in front of me.

“You sound like you want to kill someone.”

“And I do.” My answer made Seulgi laugh, making me sigh. And that person was Song Mingi, of course.

“What’s got your panties in a twist this time, huh?” Seulgi’s voice was playful, and unfortunately, it was only building up my irritation. She didn’t have any bad intentions, but I couldn’t handle her cheeriness and playfulness at the moment. I needed to be alone. I needed to not think and just get shit done.

“Why did you call?” I preferred not to answer her question as I asked another one, voice not snappy just tired as Seulgi remained silent for a second on the other end.

“Noir Zenith are performing at Outlaw tonight,” I knew where this was going, I just gulped realizing Mingi had asked the same thing of me just mere minutes ago, “Do you want to come with me?”

“No.” My answer was too fast and harsh, I quickly tried to mend it, “I’ve got a family thing—issue, I mean. I’m sorry, but I can’t come because of it…”

My voice got quiet as I trailed off, not particularly fond of lying to my best friend, but I really didn’t want to go out tonight and I knew if I told Seulgi the real reason she would complain and complain until I finally gave in, her tactic of coercion working just fine on me. I never stood a chance in front of her when she would start complaining and whining and bringing up all the times I have bailed on her in the past.

“Oh,” It wasn’t hard to hear the disappointment in her voice, and if I weren’t in such a bad headspace at the moment I would have felt awful, “it’s fine, I get it. But…you do know you can tell me anything, right?”

I sighed loudly, “I know, thanks Seulgi, and sorry. I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

“Don’t worry about it,” She was smiling now, adding a small chuckle too, “We all have bad days, I’ll see you at university tomorrow?”

“Most certainly.” A small smile made it onto my face and Seulgi quickly bid her goodbye as we hung up, silence enveloping me. I didn’t forget to press the ‘do not disturb’ button this time as I placed my phone on my desk, next to my laptop, and faced the article taunting me. Not finishing this project today wasn’t an option anymore, and so, I quickly dove in, the torturing thoughts finally silent somehow.

            The hours went by quickly and despite my mind struggling to focus on the task at hand, I made it. I finished the project in about four hours and it definitely gave me a little confidence boost, which I desperately needed after the emotional turmoil I was forced to face today. My mind was a mess. I was tired and I needed to sleep. I didn’t even care how early or late it was as I got into bed, forgetting to wash my face or even change into my pajamas, I just needed to lay my head down and close my eyes. And it was working well…until it wasn’t. The warmth of my thick blanket enveloped me and my head grew heavier as my muscles relaxed, the comfort of my bed bringing peace to my loud thoughts. It felt nice. To finally be able to forget everything that’s happened today, to just let go and…sleep. I really needed this; I haven’t felt this exhausted in a long time. I have never been good at dealing with my feelings, I usually pushed them away and ignored everything I felt…until they blew up in my face. Then, I would finally break and it was chaotic and messy. I knew it was the wrong coping mechanism, but I couldn’t help it. Nothing else worked, because I just couldn’t deal with the pain. I hated the overwhelming thoughts, the pressing heaviness and constant pain. I just simply didn’t want to deal with them. Drawing was a nice way of escaping my reality, but lately it didn’t help. It drew me up the wall, it was so frustrating. So many emotions had been steering hidden deep inside these past weeks, I didn’t know how to deal with them—I didn’t want to deal with them, actually. I needed them silent, gone.

And despite needing to sleep right now, eyes heavy and mind fuzzy, it wasn’t working. Nothing helped. My mind was silent, yet my ears were buzzing, whispers so quiet in the back of my head that I could barely hear them. My chest was heavy, it felt like I needed to cry, but my throat was closing in on me, refusing to let any tears to the surface. I could breathe, but at the same time I couldn’t. Turning on to my left side did nothing, but snap my eyes open. Why couldn’t I sleep? Why was this feeling returning? Why couldn’t I just rest for one fucking second?! I buried my head into my pillow and let out a silent scream, punching the soft mattress of my bed next to my head, legs trashing around as I needed to let out the creeping hysteria in my body somehow. Was I finally going crazy? Was my mother’s premonition finally blending into reality? She did randomly while watching TV, one month ago, tell me that I would soon face a challenging obstacle in my life, which would feel suffocating and relieving at the same time. Mind running per hour, I shot up in a sitting position and gaped at nothing in particular, recalling the memory of said night. But my mother said nothing else as she went back to watching TV, acting as if what she had said to me was totally normal. It wasn’t. But I was used to her quirky antics, she was a bit whimsical, but I loved her. Her intentions were always good and pure, she was a woman full of love and warmth…unlike me. Perhaps I was like my father…not that I could remember him, he’s left us while I was a little girl. We kept in touch until I turned approximately eight, after that…he never showed his face again. Something about moving to a new city and starting a new life, I couldn’t care less, he was never a pilar of support in my life. I didn’t need a man to bring me comfort, to make me feel safe. I had myself for that, and my mother—when things got too rough to handle on my own.

With a sigh, I reached over my bed and grabbed my sketchbook from my bedside table and turned on the small lamp, grabbing the pencil I had from underneath my pillow. Not one corner of my room was safe from my drawing supplies. I flipped the sketchbook open to a blank page and sighed, eyebrows lightly furrowing as I pressed the pencil against the soft paper. I didn’t have anything particular in mind as I started drawing. Maybe a small meadow with colorful flowers or a flower field, those sounded nice right now. It felt like they could fix my sour mood after today, like they would bring a little comfort to my overthinking brain at the moment. But I already knew I couldn’t control my hand when it came to drawing, and I wasn’t too surprised to find myself drawing the outline of a face. The lines were sharp and precise, darker around the brow bone and defining at the sharp and pointy nose. I added shading to the jawline before moving to the cheekbones, not making them too harsh. The sketch so far was looking like any regular face. It could turn into anything from here on. I could make it anyone I wanted it to be. For some reason my hand went to draw the lips instead of the eyes, usually those were the first thing I drew when starting a portrait. But this time, my brain focused on the dark outline of the plump lips and adding more depth as the Cupid’s Bow was deep and pointy. I licked my lips as I allowed my eyes to run over the eyeless portrait, subconsciously adding a small mole to the left side of its face, close to the jawline. I had a hunch where this was going, but I wanted to keep going—I couldn’t stop my brain from pushing me to just draw more. I allowed my pencil to run over the lines of the nose, making them sharper, lengthening it just like the person had it in real life. My hand hovered in the air for a second, reluctant to finally draw the eyes of the portrait, but I didn’t have it in me to stop right now. I always hated leaving my work unfinished—that was my excuse right now too, despite knowing who I was drawing once again. Yet not one particle in my body wished to stop right now, and I couldn’t help it as I finally drew lines sharp enough to accentuate the depth and glare in his deep eyes. The shading of them happened quickly and without even thinking, the small but dark mole sat comfortably underneath his right eye as I pressed my pencil firmly against the paper.

The breath which left my lips was sharp, and I gulped as my grip tightened around my pencil. I knew what I was doing this time, yet I didn’t stop it. Why? Why did I allow myself to draw—Mingi. His sharp and expressionless face stared back at me and I didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t mocking me, he didn’t have any twinkle in his eyes, he was just…there. On my paper, in my favorite journal-like sketchbook. And my heart was beating faster the longer I was looking at it. My stomach was twisting in a foreign way and I felt like I needed air. Fresh air. It felt like my room was closing in on me, I felt like I didn’t have enough space all of a sudden. The blanket falling on my lap suddenly felt too warm, like it was burning my body up. Without a second thought, I threw the sketchbook off from my lap, together with the blanket, and sprung out of bed, racing towards my closet. I threw it open and grabbed the first thing which came into view, a grey oversized jumper, as I stepped out of my slippers and slipped my phone into the pocket of my grey sweatpants, headed for my closed door. My throat was squeezing itself and it was a little hard to breathe as I frantically moved down the stairs, desperate for fresh air at this point. The light was on in the kitchen and I realized it wasn’t even ten pm yet as my mother was tinkering around, listening to some jazz music. I must’ve been loud as I almost crashed into the wall, struggling to put on my sneakers.

“Honey?” I heard my mother’s voice coming from behind me as I turned to look at her. Her ginger hair was a mess as her curls stuck out in all directions, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “Everything alright?”

I nodded, fearing what my voice would sound like as I quickly wore the jumper in my hands, “Are you going out? It’s a little late…”

I hummed, licking my lips nervously, hand reaching for the doorknob, “I won’t take long, I promise.”

“Call me if you need me.” My mother had an understanding look on her face, it made my lips tremble, “I’ll pick you up.”

“Didn’t you drink?” My voice was slightly shaking as my eyes went to the wine glass she was holding in her right hand. My mother glanced down at it as if she had forgotten about it and quickly pushed it behind herself.

“We could always ride my electric scooter; I haven’t used it in quite a while.” My mother giggled at her own suggestion and I couldn’t help but let out an amused chuckle, the tightness in my throat lessening a little bit. How badly I wished to pour my heart out to her, to let my feelings finally loose, but I couldn’t. That would mean having to face what I was feeling. That would mean everything was real and not just made up by my useless brain.

“I’ll be home in an hour, don’t worry.” My mother just hummed as she watched me leave as I took my keys and closed the door carefully behind myself. The crisp air of the evening was a harsh wake-up call that I should’ve worn a jacket as well, but I didn’t have it in me to walk back inside my warm house. I couldn’t. I needed to walk. I needed to clear my mind. I had to get rid of this awful feeling in my chest. And so that’s just what I did, I walked. I took off towards nowhere particular as my feet carried me down the sidewalk, the streets illuminated by the lampposts, creating just enough light, but not too much. A few cars passed by then and now, the neighborhood relatively quiet at this hour of the evening. The cold air was biting at my cheeks and I buried my hands in my pockets, taking a deep breath before releasing it slowly. It felt nice as the cold air traveled through my throat, deep down into my lungs. It was refreshing, it was just what I needed. As I took a left turn, I left my neighborhood and realized I was headed towards the city center, more people on the road now as it was the main one. Groups of teenagers passed by me and I shivered at the sudden cold breeze. I looked around and watched as it picked up and blew the branches of the trees apart, more leaves falling to the ground, creating a blanket of orange and burgundy underneath our feet. The leaves crunched under my shoes and I felt myself smiling as I kicked into a smaller pile gathered up on the sidewalk by the wind, memories of my childhood fresh in my mind. My mother would always gather the leaves in our small backyard and then she’d take me outside and we’d play around for hours in the leaves, giggling and laughing as we’d pretend that I was a princess and she was the leaves monster trying to kidnap me from my kingdom. Despite my mother struggling at times, my childhood never lacked anything, and it was filled with many happy memories. Sometimes I wondered what changed that I turned into such a moody and sour person. There were remnants of my old self when I was with Seulgi or with my mother, but I was pretty bad at opening up to strangers, at letting others in…especially males. I couldn’t help but think they had other motives and were only waiting for the right time to fuck me over, to abandon me. My attention was brought to a couple as the girl screeched and ran past me, the boy chasing after her while holding something in his hands, giggling loudly and calling out her name. I couldn’t help but glance after them, the green monster back in my head, as the guy caught up with her and tackled her into a hug despite the girl’s loud complaints. I have realized, the guy was carrying dirt in his hands and the girl’s cheeks were already smudged with it, probably. My stomach clenched and it got harder to gulp as I tore my eyes off them, trying to take a deep breath, trying to push down the memories threatening to resurface.

But I couldn’t help it as Yunho made it to the forefront of my mind, our many dates stored away in a little treasure chest in my heart. We used to go on so many dates, Yunho loved trying out new things and visiting new places. Every second weekend he planned something new, he surprised me with something. I thought I was the luckiest girl on Earth. I thought I would never find anyone else who could love me and cherish me as much as Yunho—and perhaps I really never would. Because Yunho was special, because he made you feel like you were the only one in the whole world he could see, he could love. A small part of me still wished he loved me at some point. Of course, it did, I was so hopelessly in love with him once that everything was about him. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t live without him. He was the only thing I could think about, I could talk about. Everyone told us how well we matched; how perfect we were for each other. The both of us always smiling, always so nice to others. Before getting abandoned by Yunho, I was—I wasn’t like this. I smiled, I laughed, and I joked around a lot. I was happy and I loved life, I loved everything around me and I had this urge to discover everything life had to offer me. I couldn’t stay put in one place for too long and I always had everything planned out, each step of mine—my life next to Yunho. The promises he made were still fresh in my mind, I could still remember them despite being it a long time ago—but perhaps it wasn’t long enough, I have suddenly come to the realization of it. It was hard to breathe again as my favorite moment with Yunho was suddenly too fresh in my mind, too easy to recall. We had gone to a movie he really wished to watch, something about a girl who had to pretend she was a boy in order to make it onto the university’s football team to get revenge on her ex, it was actually a re-run as the movie had come out a long time ago, but Yunho loved it and he really wanted to watch it at the cinema. Of course I went with him, I wanted to see the movie too because Yunho loved it. And what Yunho loved, I also did. It was an easy watch, lighthearted and cheesy and predictable, it didn’t surprise me that it was one of Yunho’s favorites. But once the movie was over Yunho wanted to get ice cream, and as someone who loves ice cream—mint choco is the best flavor, fight me—I was eager to go with Yunho. But our peace of mind didn’t last for long as it started raining cats and dogs in no time, forcing us to take shelter somewhere—except that we didn’t. Yunho pulled me out into the pouring rain and he made us dance, he acted out cheesy scenes from Dirty Dancing, raising me up and flipping me around clumsily, almost dropping me in the process not even once, making me shriek and clutch onto him for dear life. I have never laughed more in my life than that night and I have never felt more loved that in that moment. Yunho’s eyes were shining with so much warmth and happiness, it was also the first time he said the words. ‘I love you.’ I couldn’t tell whether it was the rain or happy tears on my cheeks, but the sudden clenching of my heart and overwhelming feeling in my chest made me flung my body against his, holding onto Yunho’s tall frame like my life depended on it. And in that moment, I knew—I knew that I also loved him. But I couldn’t say it, not yet, not when everything felt like it was too much, so instead, I pressed my lips against his pouty ones and smiled as Yunho started giggling, only to pick me up and twirl me around in excitement before asking me to hop on his back, only for him to take off running towards his house. It was my favorite memory of us, for various reasons, but perhaps the main one was because Yunho was so sincere in that moment. Because I couldn’t hear any doubt in his words like the other times he said that he loved me.

『Straight coats and empty cabinets

Ashes from all the mess you left

New lease without you

I confess that I'm happy you're gone』

I came to a stop as my phone buzzed in my pocket, mind hazy as I tried to shake off the memory which felt so alive in my head. I could almost see it playing out in front of myself. If I reached my hand out, I could almost touch Yunho—but he wasn’t here—and I was allowing myself once again to live in the past, a very bad habit of mine. I unlocked my phone after I crossed the road, the sidewalk littered with various shops, most of them already closed as it was almost ten now. I had been walking for twenty minutes without even realizing it. Looking down at my phone, I realized Instagram had sent me a notification that Seulgi posted a story after a while. She was probably at Outlaw still, watching Noir Zenith perform. I pressed on her story and it opened to show a close-up video of the three boys performing, the camera focusing on Wooyoung for a few seconds longer before it was moved away, zooming in on playfully on Mingi. I had the volume down, I couldn’t hear what he was singing, but his eyebrows were furrowed as he was leaning forward, mouth moving in a fast way as his eyes were half-closed, veins protruding on his neck, expression almost like he was angry, almost like feelings were overwhelming him as he held the microphone in his left hand tightly. My eyebrows slightly furrowed, but I quickly pushed any thought of him away as I realized he was slightly…wet? His white shirt, the top buttons unbuttoned until they reached his chest stuck to his body and had turned almost see-through, but it didn’t seem like it bothered Mingi as he continued on performing. Heavy chains lay against the base of his throat and a blue sheer sunglass was sitting on his tall nose, almost sliding off of it as he was bobbing his head furiously to the music, his bass abandoned somewhere. As my eyes focused on the huge bracelet on his right hand and the blue and white scarf wrapped around his left wrist, both hands decorated with thick silver-colored rings, the video cut off. I remained unblinking for a second, eyebrows twitching as I realized Seulgi had posted the video not even half an hour ago. So…the band was still performing and…Mingi was looking like that. Suddenly I was glad I wasn’t there to witness him being all indecent and acting like a—something. I most certainly wouldn’t hear the endless praises if I were there and the constant screaming of his baboons—perhaps calling them his fangirls would sound nicer, but I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction—and with my current mood, that was the last thing I wanted to see and hear. Mingi was detestable and I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of going to any of his other performances, finding them useless as I wasn’t even into their music. I started walking again, aware that the wind had picked up more, rustling the branches and leaves harsher, making me shiver in my underdressed state, reminding me that I should head home now. I said I wouldn’t stay out for too long, my thoughts seemed to have cleared just a little bit, besides, the cold air was enough to knock me out once I got to lay in my warm and comfortable bed.

『I don't care enough to miss you

After all the shit we've been through

My heart's comatose, comatose

I don't care enough to miss you

After all the shit we've been through

My heart's comatose, comatose』

However, the second I wanted to exit the app and put my phone away, a new story suddenly appeared in Seulgi’s spot and I gulped realizing who it was. Yunho’s happy and smiling face was taunting me in his profile picture, and before I could control myself, I pressed the icon, opening his story. The username Yuyu followed by a sunflower flashed for a second on the screen and then—and then everything around me stopped. There was no wind, there was no sound of cars passing by or people talking as they walked by me. It wasn’t cold anymore. My lungs failed me once again, but my mind went silent. Completely silent. There was a rumble in the distance, but I couldn’t say what it was. A girl, much smaller than him—and a lot cuter than myself—was laughing in the boomerang Yunho had posted, her black hair falling around her shoulders nicely, the white coat barely hiding the short lavender colored dress she was wearing. And Yunho—he looked so happy, he looked—whole. His face had gotten fuller, yet features sharper since the last time I had seen him. I have forgotten that I was still following him on Instagram. He had his arm around the girl’s shoulder and was actively pulling her into his side as he was smiling brightly too, his protruding front teeth showing as he had his eyes on the girl only. He had tagged her too and I was clicking on her name fast, before even thinking about what I was doing. Her profile was public and she had many posts. Most of herself, but there were some of the places she’s traveled to as well. But her most recent post—was with Yunho. The two sitting on a bench, then a selfie, and then a picture of the place they had been at, with the caption of: ‘Luckiest girl in the world!’ I gulped and closed the app, taking a deep breath, realizing that I had started shaking.

『You wasted all my fucking time

Were never really in my life

You were further than I could imagine

I love you, but fuck you』

Why did my legs feel like jelly all of a sudden? Why did the heaviness in my chest get even worse? Why was I reacting like this? It made no sense. Yunho broke up with me three years ago and I was over him. He hurt me more than anyone has before, but I was over him. I have let go; I have released the feelings I have felt for him. But then why did it bother me so much that he found happiness with someone else? Why did it leave a bitter taste in my mouth? Suddenly why was the green monster back and making me clutch my phone tightly in my hand? If he was able to find someone, to be happy again, why wasn’t I doing the same thing? Why was I incapable of loving? Of being loved? Of opening up and letting in new people? Why was I forcing myself to wallow in my own misery? Why was I punishing myself by constantly living in the past? What more could I want? Why did I still wish for Yunho to return and apologize for everything he’s done, for the gap he’s left in my heart? For the turmoil he’s caused in my head, for the ache that never really went away with his departure from my life? And it hit me lick a wall of bricks, that something was hitting my flaming cheeks. Another rumble, and I realized it was thunder. Head tilting back, I realized it was raining—pouring. Washing away the tears which were making my eyes burn. When did it start raining? Why did everything hurt so much? I couldn’t help the sudden sob which wracked my body as I put my phone in my pocket as a futile attempt to keep it dry as my clothes were getting drenched the longer I stood unmoving on the sidewalk. But my feet felt heavy, rendering me frozen to the spot. Nobody was outside anymore. I was alone. Just as always. No matter how many people cared for me, I was still alone in hurting, in dealing with the mess I was. And it hurt. It made me cry harder as I pressed a hand against my mouth, trying to muffle my pathetic sobs. But it felt good—so good to finally let it all out, to just finally allow the misery to come to the surface, to acknowledge that I couldn’t deal with these feelings anymore. My chest hurt, my heart ached, my throat was getting more and more restricting, lungs burning for air, but I couldn’t fully breathe, gasping for air caused by my violent sobs. But the wind was picking up again and my body started shivering, and I realized I couldn’t stand on the sidewalk anymore bawling my eyes out as I got drenched in rain.

So, I looked around and found a place open not too far up ahead and took off running towards it, trying to get the strands of hair out of my eyes as they stuck to my skin. The diner was small and still open, the big windows showed nobody inside besides the girl behind the counter. I didn’t consider the way I looked as I threw the door open and stepped inside, alerting the girl as the doorbell chimed. She looked up and for a second we stared at each other, her eyes widening as her eyes wandered all over my body, making me sniff. At least I wasn’t sobbing anymore, just heaving for air. I must’ve looked horrible as I took off towards a table in the back, closer to the restrooms, but I couldn’t bring myself to feel embarrassed over my appearance. I fell against the cushion of the bench and tried to regulate my breathing, biting my lower lip as I realized my eyes were burning and my skin was ice cold. I couldn’t believe I was stupid enough to stand out in the rain, when it was so cold. I would most definitely catch a cold now and that was the last thing I needed right now, but it was due to my own stupidity. I wiped my face with my hands, which were slightly shaking, as the girl from the counter came over.

“Uh,” She shuffled around awkwardly as I looked at her, “Can I bring you anything? Or uh, help with anything?”

A slap in the face to wake me up to reality would possibly be the biggest help she could be offering right now—but I thankfully didn’t say to her. She already looked uncomfortable by not knowing how to react to my current state. I sniffed and went to reach for my wallet before I would look at the menu, I had no idea how much money I had on me. But I quickly realized I had only grabbed my phone before leaving, sitting inside a diner never being in the plan. So instead I went to check on my phone if I had any money on my card, but my phone wasn’t working. Nothing. No matter how much I pressed the button to start it, it didn’t work. Fuck, I forgot to charge it before stepping outside.

“Uh,” Now I felt embarrassed as I averted my eyes from the girl, “I don’t have any money.”

“Oh,” She sounded surprised, “Well, then…I mean, I don’t want to sound rude, but uh—I will have to ask you to leave, really, I have nothing against you, it’s just that—”

“Don’t worry,” I forced myself to smile as I looked up at her, her cheeks red from embarrassment of having to kick me out, “I get it. May I use the restroom before I leave?”

“Sure, of course!” The girl almost exclaimed as she pointed towards the little hallway which led to the restrooms, “But we’ll be closing in about fifteen minutes, so don’t stay inside for too long.”

“Yeah, I’ll just patch myself up a bit and then go on my way.” I muttered as the girl nodded silently and walked back to the counter while carefully watching me, making me roll my eyes. Okay, I might have been looking like a mess, but I wasn’t a walking bomb—no need for her careful gaze on me. It just made my blood boil as I tried not to stomp while I went inside the restroom, glad that I was alone inside. It was colder in here compared to the diner and I shivered as I realized the window was open. I headed towards the sink, eager to warm up my hands with a little warm water, but I gasped once I saw my reflections in the mirror. Jesus Christ, I looked horrible, no wonder the girl was looking at me like that and asking me to leave—even if the reason was me not having money on me. My hair stuck to my face and looked matted in certain spots. My cheeks were completely flushed with the tip of my nose red as well, and I had dark streaks running down underneath my eyes. I forgot to take off my eyeliner and mascara before going to bed and since they weren’t waterproof—here I was, looking like a character straight out of a fucking horror movie. I chuckled as I turned on the faucet and instantly sighed at the feeling of warm water against my hands, warming my freezing limbs a bit. I quickly gathered water in my palms and splashed it against my cheeks, warming them up as well, sighing in content. I was still shivering, my toes frozen, but this was helping.

『I don't care enough to miss you

After all the shit we've been through

My heart's comatose, comatose』

I let the warm water run as I ran my fingers through my hair, easing the knots in them and trying to make it look presentable as I basically brushed the wet strands back on my head, my hair already curling naturally. The next step was to get rid of the mascara and eyeliner streaks underneath my eyes and even cheek, so I quickly washed them off before turning the faucet off and grabbing some dry towel paper from the holder, drying off my face and hands. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, realizing that my chest felt so much lighter, there was nothing squeezing against my throat anymore.

“You’re fine,” I whispered to myself, gulping, “Fuck, you’ve got this, you’re okay, Y/N, you are okay. You’ve been pushing your feelings away for too long, of course they blew up in your face, you stupid bitch. I really have to stop doing this to myself, ugh—”

I rolled my eyes as I threw the used towel paper in the trash bin and then looked back at myself in the mirror, narrowing my eyes at myself and pointing a finger threateningly at my reflection, “Stop being a sappy bitch, alright? You’re better than this. Yunho’s got his shit together, why can’t you do the same, huh? Just go out there and find a fucking boyfriend, it’s not that hard—wait, no, actually don’t do that! I don’t need no man, got it? Got it.”

I nodded once firmly, a small grin forcing itself onto my lips, making me scoff at myself—sure, of course, bring Yunho into your peptalk, Y/N, very smart—but I just couldn’t help it. At least I was feeling better now, almost laughing at myself at how stupid I was as I stepped back and pulled my shoulders back, nodding at myself encouragingly. I got this! But now I had to run home in the pouring rain, that thought alone was enough to make me cry again, but I willed myself to stop. No more crying. No more sobbing—especially not because of the pouring rain. It was my mistake that I didn’t check the weather or bring an umbrella. I should’ve just gone to bed when I planned to, damn these stupid thoughts. With a last glance at myself, I decided that I was ready to leave the restroom and head home, my mother probably worried sick about me at this point since my phone wasn’t working either. I walked up to the door and grabbed the doorknob firmly, yanking it open a little bit too enthusiastically, but as I went to step outside, the male’s restroom door right across mine opened as well—and I paused, surprised.

Song Mingi was staring back at me just as surprised as I was.

❱❱ Next chapter

[kywaslost]

Maternal Affections - Grell Sutcliff

A/N: When I tell you I slaved over this one, I SLAVED over this one! @idyllic-affections asked that someone write this for them, and I liked the idea so I decided to give it a shot. Usually, I knock out requests or ideas in one sitting, but this, this piece took DAYS. I worked on it every day for hours and ended up falling in love with this. I really hope yall like this one! And as a reminder, I haven’t read the manga yet so I’m sure there are things in this that aren’t canon at all.

Request:  fanfic writers, i NEED you all to write grell PLATONICALLY taking care of a young (16-18 kind of age range) non-binary reaper and being like a mother/big sister figure to them. just... her knowing what it's like. her knowing and truly understanding how much pain they were going through in life, how bad it must have been for someone as young as them to end up as a reaper. her making damn sure absolutely no-one treats them like that again because god knows grell is hard to handle normally; lord forbid someone genuinely piss her off. grell just taking a young lil non binary reaper under her wing, it would be so sweet.

Warnings: mentions of suicide, sh, drowning. Proceed with caution please <3

The line between reality and unconsciousness was such a blur you weren’t 100% sure you knew where you were. The last thing you could remember was sitting on the edge of the dock, looking out over the endless sea. Then the feeling of water flooding your lungs as you slowly lose consciousness. You remembered there being a warm breeze, but now you seemed to be cold. You couldn’t grasp your surroundings, floating in and out of consciousness.

Then there were voices. Your breathing stalled for only a moment, fearing you had been found before you could die. And that’s when you began assessing your physical state. You weren’t in any pain, not like you were before you lost consciousness. In fact, you felt just fine, as if you had only fallen asleep instead of attempting to take your own life. And you were lying down. Did you wash up on shore? Last you remembered, you were too far under the surface of the water to be seen.

“Well, good morning dear,” you heard someone say to your right. “You’re finally waking up!” 

You stilled, unsure you wanted to open your eyes just yet. You didn’t recognize the voice, and feared it was a nurse, or a doctor, that you’d open your eyes just to see a hospital room. 

“You can open your eyes, you know,” the voice spoke up again. 

You slowly opened your eyes, only to groan and close them again when you were met with a bright light. Blinking back the tears that formed from the light, you rubbed your eyes and sat upright. The room you're in didn’t look like a hospital room, which made you feel a bit better, until you realized you had no idea where you were, and the person beside you was a complete stranger.

They had bright red hair, dressed in extravagant red clothing. They sat in a cushioned armchair in the corner of the small room you were in. Their legs were crossed at the knees, and they smiled widely.

“Hello, darling.” There was a slight accent to their words.

“Where am I?” you groaned softly. Looking down, you saw a thin blanket covering your legs, and suddenly you were grateful for the fabric. You fiddled with the hem of the blanket as you asked, “Who are you?”

The stranger smiled even wider, bearing sharp, pointed teeth. “Why, I am the infamous Grell Stufliff, the most beautiful reaper around if I do say so myself.” The reaper flicked her long red hair over her shoulder, looking over to you. “Welcome to HQ. You’ll be spending a lot of time here, reviewing souls and whatnot.”

You were so lost and confused. You couldn’t believe what was going on. Surely this wasn’t true. Maybe you were hallucinating from lack of oxygen. Maybe you haven't died yet, but in the process of doing so. But why were you dry?

“You’re confused, that’s common,” Grell said, pushing up off of the chair. “Follow me, and I’ll explain.” She walked over to the door, turning her head to look at you over her shoulder. “Coming, dear?” Snapping out of your thoughts, you pulled the blanket off of your lap, tossing your legs over the side of the bed and lowering yourself to the floor. You had no shoes, like you remembered, and you could feel the cold linoleum floor through your socks. Stumbling to the door, you followed Grell out into the hall.

“Am-am I dead?” you asked hesitantly, pulling at the hems of your sleeves. Grell turned around, walking backwards in order to talk to you. 

“Well of course you are darling, how do you think you got here?” She smiled kindly, leading you into a busy room, crowded with people trying on different outfits, much like a clothing store. “This is where people go after they end their lives.” Grell beamed at the sight of red, gripping your hand suddenly to drag you over to them. “Now, first thing’s first, a uniform. Most reapers wear black, but really you are allowed to pick whatever you like.” She let go of your hand to flick through the various tops, taking one off the hook and holding it up to your shoulders. “Oh, red suits you so well, darling! Positively stunning!”

You cleared your throat nervously. “Um, I’d prefer a different top, please.” 

Grell frowned, but nodded understandingly. “Aw, alright. I’ll help you, and explain more about why you are here.” 

As Grell helped you look for a new outfit, she also explained why you were with her, as well as what you are now. She explained the purpose of reapers, what to expect on the job, and the works, such as death scythes and the death schedule. You didn’t say anything, just taking in her words as you tried on various articles of clothing. 

You didn’t understand how you could feel so calm. You’d think waking up in a strange place with an unknown ‘human’ beside you would freak you out, let alone finding out you’re now a supernatural being. But death does that to someone, you think. You already felt safer in this new environment than you did back when you were still living. 

It wasn’t until you were dressed in your new clothes and led back down the hall that Grell asked for your name.

“Oh, I’m such a terrible woman!” She shrieked dramatically, falling onto you as you walked beside her. You pushed her away quickly, uncomfortable with her touch. She was still a stranger. “I haven’t asked for your name!”

“Oh,” you said quietly, looking at the ground and shrugging. “Y/N. Y/N L/N.”

And it was now that Grell finally took in your appearance. Your slouched posture, as if you were trying to hide within yourself. You let your hair fall into your eyes, and avoided eye contact. You wouldn’t say much when you spoke, and had such a soft voice it was hard for ehr to hear you sometimes. It left her wondering how old you were.

She decided to back off a bit for the rest of the night, calming down in hopes of making you feel more comfortable. She helped you pick out the perfect pair of glasses, and even recommended death scythes. In the end, she had finished walking you through the beginning steps of becoming a reaper, and it was beginning to get late into the night. Grell was growing tired, and she could see that you were as well.

“Every reaper is assigned a trainee from time to time,” she explained, leading you to yet another unknown location. “So each reaper is assigned a housing unit with spare rooms for the trainees to stay until they become fully-trained.” Grell smiled as she pushed open another door and led you inside. “Welcome home! Mi casa es tu casa, as they say.” She opened yet another door, revealing a decently sized bed with a small closet, and even a desk tucked away in one corner. “This will be your room for the next few months. Make yourself at home!”

The next week passed too slowly for your liking. You learned more and more about becoming a reaper each day, and to be completely honest, you didn’t mind becoming a reaper. Sure, you were lonely, and it looked like a tedious job, but it seemed much better than the life you had when you were living. At least here, there was some understanding of pain between everyone.

You wouldn’t admit it, but having Grell by your side almost 24/7 really helped. She trained you hard. Enough to challenge you and leave you sore, but not enough to hurt you in any way. Every night, once you both returned home, she would make your dinner while you showered and changed into your night clothes.

One night, sleep eluded you. You layed in bed for hours, tossing and turning, but you just couldn’t seem to fall asleep. So you decided to get some fresh air. Grell’s apartment had a small balcony, with the entrance in the living room. So you snuck past Grell’s room, hearing her snores from the hall, as you slipped into the living room and out into the balcony. There wasn’t any furniture, so you settled in the corner, leaning your head against the railing.

Breathing in the fresh air, you closed your eyes, letting the gentle evening breeze caress your face. There was a slight chill in the air and you shivered, curling into a tight ball. 

“Darling, what are you doing out here?” You jumped, not hearing the balcony door slide open. Shooting your head up you saw Grell standing in the doorway, blanket draped over her shoulders and another one bundled in her arms. “Mind if I join you?”

You didn’t say anything, only moving your feet slightly so the reaper could sit across from you. She leaned over you, tucking her second blanket around you before sitting in front of you. She let you sit in silence for a moment before speaking again. “Is something troubling you, dear?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you muttered, pulling the blanket tighter around you. “I’m sorry.”

Grell smiled kindly. “There’s no need to be sorry, love. Would it make you feel better if I stayed with you?”

You thought for a moment, then nodded. “Please?”

“Of course, darling.” Grell took this moment to analyze you again. You looked so young compared to the other reapers-to-be, and you were so quiet. The more she thought about it, Grell realized that she really didn’t know much about you. She only really knew your name, not your age, or how you died, or what caused you to become a reaper. 

“How old were you?” Grell asked quietly, also leaning her head against the balcony railing. 

“Hm?” you hummed, raising your eyes to meet Grell’s bright green ones.

“When you died. How old were you?”

There was a moment of hesitation before you answered. “18. I was 18 when I died.”

Grell inhaled sharply. “Oh, I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve to die so young.”

You shrugged, closing your eyes again. “I did. I deserved to die. But it’s ok, it’s nicer here.”

Grell placed a comforting hand on your knee. “No you didn’t. No one deserves to be pushed to kill themselves so young.” She received no response, and that’s when the reaper realized that you had fallen asleep. She sighed out of grief for you. She didn’t know how you died, or what pushed you to do so, but Grell had grown fond of you over the past week.

She could never have kids of her own, but she felt so protective over you in this moment, so motherly towards you. So much so that she carefully picked you up, carrying you back to your room and tucking you in. Stepping out only long enough to grab a pillow, Grell returned to your room, making a make-shift bed on the floor beside your sleeping form.

Two days later and you were running off of no sleep. You’d spent the last two nights staring at the ceiling, not daring to sneak back out onto the balcony. By the second day, Grell could notice that something wasn’t right. You were much quieter than usual, and your movements were growing sluggish.

The reaper quietly made two cups of warm tea, bringing them to your bedroom during the early hours of the morning. Knocking softly, Grell slowly opened your bedroom door. As soon as she entered your room, however, her heart sank. Your back was towards the door, but that didn’t stop her from hearing your quiet sobs as you cried into your pillow.

“Oh, darling,” she said quickly, rushing over to the bed. Grell lowered herself to sit on the bed by your hips, then placed the two mugs of tea on the nightstand. “It’s alright, dear. I’m here with you.” She rubbed your back gently as a means of comfort, letting you cry ‘til your heart’s content.

When your tears were reduced to soft hiccups and stuttered breaths, Grell spoke again. “What’s troubling you darling?” she asked softly. “You can talk to me, you know?”

You sniffled, moving so you were laying on your back. Grell brushed the hair from your eyes. You looked like you wanted to speak, but you wouldn’t say anything. With a sigh, you pulled your blanket up to your chin then sat up, leaning against the wall behind you. “I thought that once I die, I would be ok. I wouldn’t have sleepless nights or anything to worry about. I’d be dead.”

“Oh, love,” the reaper cooed. “I understand how you feel. I was once in your shoes. It’s hard to understand the supernatural world while also coping with memories of your past life.”

Tears welled in your eyes again but you refused to let them fall, wiping them away with your sleeve. “Haven’t I struggled enough? I mean, it was so bad I had to kill myself, wasn’t that enough?” You hid behind your hands as you began to cry again. “I suffered for so long, I just wanted it to end.”

Grell slid to sit beside you against the wall then wrapped her arms around you, pulling you against her chest. You let her hold you, stroking your hair and whispering comforting words into the crown of your head. She held you like she’d hold a small child afraid of the monsters under their bed. 

While rocking you back and forth slightly, your sleeves slid up just ever so slightly. Grell expected as much, the scars on your forearms showing just how much pain you were in in your past life. She had them too, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt her seeing your scars. When you noticed her green eyes staring at your arms, you quickly pulled your sleeves back down, crying harder.

“Honey, it’s alright,” she cooed. “You don’t have to hide them, I have them too.”

After what felt like years of crying, you lay against Grell and she ran a hand through your hair. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or the fact you felt so comfortable with the reaper at the moment, you began telling your story. 

“Drowning,” you muttered into Grell’s shirt.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that dear?” she asked quietly. “I couldn’t hear you.”

You repeated, “Drowning. I drowned myself in the river.” Grell’s grip around you tightened. “I’ve always loved water. It’s so calm and I feel like everything will be ok. It’s a nice distraction. So I drowned myself so I could finally have peace.”

Grell was silent for a moment. “I know you may have talked about it when you were living, and it did nothing to help you, but you’re here now. Whatever, or whoever, hurt you is not here anymore. So if you’d like to talk about it, maybe you can finally put it behind you. And if you tell me, maybe I can help you, dear.”

You rubbed your eyes, putting your full weight against the red-head. You then proceeded to spend the next two hours spilling your life story to Grell. You told her about anything and everything, from how you were treated by the world, to how you felt about yourself. You told her about the time leading up to your death, what your thought process was and how you were feeling during that time. The best part was the fact that she didn’t judge you in the slightest. She only held you firmly, rubbing your back or running a hand through your hair. 

By the time you finished your tale, you were practically asleep in her arms. There was so much she wanted to say to you, but she couldn’t bear to wake you, and she couldn’t decide what she’d even say. So she just continued to hold and rock you, resting her head on your own. She was definitely keeping you home for the day. There was no way she was going to risk the other training reapers hurting you, either physically or emotionally, while you were in this state. 

For your remaining life as a reaper, Grell took you under her wing. She was unbearable most of the time, you learned after speaking with William once. But you learned how to handle her and her crazy personality. After officially becoming a reaper, Grell requested that she be paired with you, and you with her when either of you were scheduled to work. And when she wasn’t paired with you, she’d follow you, hidden within arms reach at any point in time.

When you were given your own apartment, you were lucky enough to be next door to your favorite reaper. You were still young, afterall, and didn’t fully understand how to live on your own in this new world. You still spent a few nights a week at Grell’s place, especially if you had a particularly hard day or weren’t feeling well. 

Once, Grell caught wind of some of the newer reapers talking about you and how you dressed. Oh boy, they began praying real quick when they saw Grell storm over, chainsaw propped up on her shoulder. Needless to say, those reapers were out of commission for a while, and Grell came home so pissed off you had to force her to go on a walk with you to cool off. 

Now that she knew your whole story, and just how young you were when you died, Grell kept an eye on you at all times. If you had a bad day and she knew before you came to her, she’d make sure she makes your favorite food for dinner, as well as have your favorite warm beverage on hand. Her quest room was always prepped and ready in case you wanted to stay with her. 

If you had to be gone for long periods of time due to work, she’d clean your apartment and do your laundry, making sure everything was clean by the time you returned home. Grell saw you as her own personal child, one she couldn’t have on her own. So she made sure to look after you and take care of you in any way she could.

[softlyspector]

Solid Ground

Summary: Benny likes you a lot, you like Benny a lot. Both of you are determined not to get that.

Pairing: Ben "Benny" Miller x Reader

Word Count: ~13.2k

Warnings: idiots in love, pining, canon level violence, PTSD, mental health issues, panic attacks, mild harassment and threats of violence

A/N: Thank you for reading! Again, I am so very aware I’m writing in what is probably a dead fandom for a meh movie. That being said, please let me know what you think!

The afternoon is slow, hot. 

Like most afternoons at the bar. 

The Florida air is so heavy and thick with humidity, it feels like something you could swim through if you really tried. There’s a lethargic weight in the air, like you’re slowly sinking into the mire of your own life, the dreariness of the mundane and the everyday.

All the folding doors are open onto the deck that overlooks the lake, umbrellas open over the tables to keep the sun at bay. But the only patrons, a group of older men that come in at the same time everyday to drink together, currently sit inside beneath the lazily rotating ceiling fans. 

The only balm against the pain of manning a tiny bar in a small town that hardly saw any customers during the endless afternoon shift, is that the owner doesn’t mind you reading on the clock if there are no customers that need your attention.

John likes you well enough and knows you’re competent. He also knows how slow things can get, but refuses to close up shop during the afternoons. He’s ran the bar the same way for forty years, and he’d be damned if he started doing things differently just because the town’s population and tourist traffic had shrunk a little. 

So, once your regulars are taken care of, happy with beers and lowball glasses of whiskey straight, you take a seat on the barstool behind the counter and prop open your book against a bottle of tequila. 

Sweat drips down your spine as a warm, heavy breeze drifts through the bar, bringing you the scent of lake water and sunshine. A local rock station plays lowly from the overhead speakers, and a peace settles between your bones. The low conversation and sudden loud chuckles from the regulars, along with the buzz of crickets and cicadas, the lap of water against the wooden poles of the deck, make for good background noise. 

The front door opens and you glance up, trying not to look too excited, too giddy. But a smile pulls at your lips despite your best efforts. 

And Benny Miller smiles openly at you, unabashedly happy to see you. He beelines toward you, waving at the regulars who all know him by name in this small town. 

They know Ben Miller the MMA fighter, Ben Miller the soldier.

But they also know him as Benny Miller the troublemaker, as Will Miller’s little brother Benny.

“Hey, Ben,” they call and he glances over his shoulder to flash that famous Benny grin, hyena wide and begging for trouble. 

The breeze carries the scent of Benny’s soap and cologne to you. Though he’s in jeans and a t-shirt, you can tell he’s just finished up at the gym, the edges of his hair still damp beneath his usual backwards ratty cap. 

“Hey babe,” he coos at you, dropping a battered copy of the last book you’d loaned him onto the counter before rounding the bar to envelope you in a hug that nearly knocks you out of your seat. 

“Easy,” you remind him even as you fold one arm tightly around him, smoothing your fingers down his spine, that clean soap and earthy smell that’s distinctly Benny wrapping around you. “Hey, pretty boy.”

He clings onto you, his nose pressed against your temple, for just a tad too long. And you have to tap his back with a laugh when your lungs feel like they might collapse. 

He skims his lips across your forehead before releasing you, grinning big and wide at you as you snap your own book closed to give him the attention you know he's about to demand. “Miss me?” he asks as he takes a seat on the opposite side of the counter. 

“You don’t give me much of a chance to miss you, Miller,” you say, raising a brow at him. “We see each other almost every day.”

“And ya miss me every single day,” he confirms to himself with a nod, nudging the book he deposited on the counter closer to you. “I liked this one.” 

“Really? I’m a little bit surprised,” you pick the book up and flick through your worn copy of Stephen King’s Carrie. “Why’d you like it?” 

“Big fan of goin’ out with a bang,” he grins, leaning over the counter to brace his forearms against the bar and drop his head. You can hear his leg shaking where he bounces it against the floor on the other side of the bar. 

You shake your head and take the book to stack on top of your own. “You want another one or are you good for now?” 

“Sure, what d’ya got for me?” 

“Why don’t you come over to my place and you can pick something yourself?” You offer. “And you know you don’t have to get something else right away? You can take a break.” 

In the months you’d known Benny, he’d never struck you as a reader. But a couple of weeks ago he’d suddenly asked for a recommendation. Benny, you’re almost positive, has undiagnosed ADHD, so his sudden interest in something like reading had surprised you, though you'd been happy to recommend something to him. You were more than happy to have an excuse to invite him over to your place, if only to look through your book collection.

Benny preferred motion and action to something like sitting down with a book - MMA, fishing, running - literally anything but sitting down for hours on end. Stillness and silence did not suit Benny and you almost wonder how it was that he was getting through your books so quickly. 

Whatever the reason for his foray into reading, you're glad for it, glad to have someone to talk with about books.

“Nah, I’m good,” he laughs. “I got you to keep up with now.”

You roll your eyes, “Do you have to be competitive about everything?”

“Yeah.” 

“You want anything today? Or are you just bored again?”  

“No,” his eyes flick over you, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Just knew you’d be missin’ my company.” 

Benny never orders anything, not since the day you met him and not unless he hung around long enough for the dinner crew to start drifting in. He mostly just came in to keep you company - as he put it, or annoy you - as you’d put it. 

“That so?” You can’t help but grin, shifting in your seat to cross your arms over your chest, “And who told you that, huh?” 

He smiles wider at you. “You always gotta be so mean to me?” He jokes, lifting his gaze and peering at you from beneath his lashes, eyes wide and open and so pretty it makes your breath stall.

You glance away from him, skimming your thumb over the pages of your book instead, to avoid meeting his eyes, a gaze that hid absolutely nothing from you. “Any other thoughts about Carrie?” 

“Not about her, no.” 

“What about then?” 

“Thinkin’ about how I’m so smokin’ hot you can’t even look at me.” 

You flash your eyes back up at him, “Careful, Ben, I might think you’re flirting with me.” 

“Oh, honey, trust me, I’m trying.” 

You reach out and touch a yellowing bruise at the edge of his temple. He winces against your touch. “Maybe. Good thing I think you’re pretty when you’re a little rough around the edges, huh?” You try not to think about how he leans into your hand, reaches up and holds your hand to his face, even when you press your thumb harder into the bruise.

Benny Miller had stormed into your life for the first time a few months ago. It had been raining, a temperamental, torrential rain that had the bar’s parking lot flooded in minutes. 

He’d swung through the door mad as hell, his lip split, his cheek cut and bruised, soaked to the bone. His t-shirt had clung to him in all the right places, ridges of muscle and padding visible beneath. Cerulean blue eyes had been nearly eaten up by the black of his pupils. 

A bandage had been wrapped around his upper arm, partially undone and spooling down his bicep, boots thumping against the worn floorboards as he closed in on you at the bar. 

You had wondered for a half a second if you should be afraid of him, alone in the bar as you were, even the regulars kept away by the horrible weather. 

But he’d only sat at the counter and brusquely ordered a beer. Those blown out pupils - so easily mistaken for fury, had held something deeper. 

Fear. 

He had been terrified of something, fingers drumming nervously on the bar, a shake in his hand. 

“Little early for that, isn't it?” You’d asked, watching his brows tilt up as he ran a hand through locks dampened and darkened by the rain. “Rough day?” 

“Sweetheart,” he’d said, his voice low and graveled with just a hint of a twang. It was a voice that had made you melt, that softened everything inside you into mush. “You have no fuckin’ idea.” He sounded exhausted, breathing hard and fast like he’d just got done running a race. 

You’d raised a brow at that and handed him the beer you poured from the tap. For a few long minutes, you only watched him sip his beer.

Veteran, you’d marked him out easy. 

And he needed a distraction - so you chatted at him, telling him about how you’d rewatched Top Gun recently, mindlessly talking as the tension slowly rolled out of his shoulders and his grip on the glass loosened until his fingers weren’t quite so white with pressure. 

You still wouldn't be sure, even months later, if he’d heard a word you said that day. But your voice alone had seemed to be enough to ground him.

“I got a first aid kit here. Want me to take care of that for you?” You had eventually offered when his breathing stabilized, nodding at his busted cheek. “So you don’t go home with an infection. Gangrene or something.” 

He’d barked out an unexpected laugh at that. “Don’t think I’m at risk for gangrene,” he snorted. 

You shrugged. “Want me to or not?” His only answer had been a sheepish nod, an offering of his face to you with a jut of his chin. 

He hadn’t told you what happened and you hadn’t asked. You had only moved around the counter, cleaned the cut and stuck a butterfly bandage over it, dabbed the blood from his split lip where he'd worried a wound open with his teeth. You had changed and rewrapped the bandage on his arm. The gauze was old and clearly hadn’t been changed in awhile. 

And while it looked like he’d been shot, you hadn’t mentioned it. 

“What’s your name, honey?” he’d asked you when you finished, his voice saccharine to your ears, slow and sweet and so low, like gravel wrapped in sunshine. 

And, oh, you’d liked that. Liked how he sounded when he called you honey. Liked the slow, sweet drip of it.

You gave him your name, and he’d repeated it back to you, like it was something vital that needed to be committed to memory, your hand still on the curve of his bicep, your body still very close to his. “Ben,” he’d informed you, even though you hadn’t asked for his name in return. “Benny Miller. You knew around here?” 

“Been in town just a couple months. But just started workin’ here.”

“And you always patch up customers like this?” He’d asked, the last dregs of  anger and fear lingering around him dissipating fast, a smile that you would come to know as his signature look spreading over his face. 

“Only the pretty ones, Miller.” Without realizing it, you’d gravitated so very close to him, his thighs bracketing your body but not touching you as you worked on his face. Something warm had bloomed between you then, that made you step back and look away, that made you take your hand off his arm where his skin was so warm it burned. 

Something bloomed between you that would make Benny hang around for the rest of your shift, that made him walk you to your car, and come back the next day and the next day and the next…

“Not pretty,” he'd disagreed. “Handsome? Yeah. Hot? Fuck yeah.”

You laughed, watched him beam with pride at the sound. “With eyes like those? Ben, you’re pretty.”

And ever since that day, he’s made a point to stop in the bar during the afternoon. He claims he has time with the way his training schedule works out and you can’t really complain. Benny makes good company. He’s a good storyteller, loud and energetic and fun, and always interested in whatever you have to say even if he doesn’t always remember what exactly you say. 

He’s become a constant presence in your life, a fast friend that stuck. And soon enough, it became hard to imagine your life without him, without his regular appearances at the bar. 

More often than not he hangs around until your shift ends, walks you to your car, still talking, before asking you to take a drive with him. 

And you always find yourself saying yes. 

Benny can talk. He chats constantly about anything and everything - MMA, baseball, anecdotes from his time in the military, his little family of friends. Lately, he talks with you about the books he borrows, movies you watch and rewatch together. 

The military thing comes up suddenly and without preamble, like it's something everyone already knew about him, ingrained into his identity. And although he openly tells you about his service, there’s a pain that lies beneath, something that he’s not yet come to terms with, a crinkle in his brow that concerns you. 

Some days, his hands shake a little. 

Some days, his breathing isn’t ever quite even. 

Benny is going through something, and you think he hasn’t told a soul about it. 

You quickly felt at home in his passenger seat, going too fast down country roads, listening to him talk, radio all the way up, windows all the way down. 

Sometimes you go to the lake, sometimes to an empty, open field that Benny seems to know well - sitting in the back of the jeep with the seats down until the stars come out. 

You’ve spent almost all your free time with Benny over the last few months. You go to baseball games together on the Fridays he doesn’t have an MMA match, and spend most Saturday mornings fishing together. His face is usually stained yellow and green from the previous night, broken blood vessels blooming purple and red, a cut to the cheek and above his brow. You always call him pretty and he always pretends to hate it. 

You’ve gone to Topgolf together more than once and been kicked out each time for being too loud and rowdy and drunk. He’s taken you to the shooting range and taught you how to handle a weapon though you insist it's not knowledge you want or need, while Benny insists that it is. 

He somehow becomes your best friend, worms his way inside your heart, in such a short period of time that you can’t imagine your life without him, especially not in this town. 

Now, Ben leans back when you pull your hand away from his face, flexing not so subtly. You can tell by the way he sits, the bunched coil of muscle in his forearms twisting as he settles more fully in his chair, chest puffed out.

You roll your eyes at the display. Ben’s flirting is about as subtle as a hammer to the head. 

“Well, actually, babe, I have a bone to pick with you.” 

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Invited you to my fight and you didn’t show. You’re making a bad impression with my buddies. They’re starting to think I made you up.” 

He says it so casually, almost like it’s a joke, a megawatt smile still on his face, but you can tell Benny is hurt. Your heart gives a painful thump and you cast him a small smile in return. “I told you I wouldn’t be able to make it, didn’t I?” 

“Sure ya did,” he whines, leaning forward again, “But I thought you meant it in a faking me out kinda way so I’d be surprised.” Before you can respond, he continues, fidgeting with a loose bit of wood on the counter. “What was so important anyways? You have a date or somethin’?” 

You slap his hand away from the wood before he can damage the scarred bar more than it already is. Benny never stops moving, fidgeting, usually destroying napkins and paper drink coasters and straw papers in droves as he talks to you. “Yeah, actually. And what happened to that fidget thing I got you? The pop-it?” 

And the stress ball, you think. To help with whatever he was bottling up inside, waiting for the emotions to shake up and erupt in a bout of anger instead of dealing with them beforehand.

Benny ignores your question and goes deadly still, the vibrations echoing through the floor from his bouncing leg ceasing. “You serious?” 

You feign nonchalance, twisting the liquor bottles in front of you so their labels face out. “Yep. So serious. We fucked in the parking lot and he bought me Taco Bell after,” you deadpan.  

Ben laughs, the sound loud and unapologetic, so very Benny it makes something in you ache. But there’s something else in that laugh too - relief. “Really, though.” 

“For real,” you say.

You had gone on a date, but it had been a bad one. One in which you had been bored out of your mind. One in which your date talked at you and not with you. He had been so low energy - or maybe he hadn’t been. Maybe you’d just been comparing him to Benny, who made everyone seem low energy. 

You’d had dinner and left. There hadn’t been any random detours to the batting cages or a race against time down back roads, no here, honey, lemme show you this ice cream joint by the water-

It had been a date where you thought of a different guy the entire time, wondering if Benny was looking for you at his fight, wondering if he was getting his ass handed to him or making some money with a win.

The truth is - Benny terrifies you. 

You’re terrified of him, you’re terrified of the way he makes you feel, of the heart pounding, blood warming way he looks at you. 

And you know that he wants something from you. 

And it's something you aren’t really willing to give. 

Benny is a flirt, a curl of energy that bounced from thing to thing with surprising ease. The only constants in his life were his family and the military and fighting - and you do not fit into any of those spaces. 

Benny loses interest in things at a rapid rate, and you’re sure you’re just another stepping stone, something that would only hold his attention briefly. 

And you do not want to become just another thing that Benny Miller lost interest in. 

You don’t want a night with him, especially if it meant losing him after, of losing these conversations, these moments, all the things you’d done together and shared. You don’t want to lose his friendship. 

Friendship for Benny is made of much sturdier stuff, long lasting and fierce. 

And if Benny wanted more than that, he’d just tell you. He’s one to take the things he wants, or at least ask, instead of letting them fall into his lap. 

So you keep him at arm's length, knocking him back a step or two each time he hints at something besides this thing you have with him now. And meeting his friends, going to one of his matches, feels too close for comfort, feels too personal and raw and vulnerable. 

You would lose Benny and the things truly closest to his heart if you were to let that happen. 

Besides, you’ve been left alone before and you aren’t keen on it happening again.

He rolls his eyes at you, “Uh huh, sure.” Benny drums his fingers against the bar, though he doesn’t sound particularly convinced. “Listen, I get it's intimidating -,” he starts when you scoff at his assumption, “Hold on! Let me finish! I know it's intimidating but I’m always fine. And it would mean a lot to me. And the guys.” 

You soften. That he thinks you don’t want to go because you don’t want to see him hurt, makes your chest ache. 

“Oh believe me, Ben, I’d love to watch you get your ass kicked.” 

He flashes a smile at you, yanking the ball cap off his head to toss onto the counter. You lift a brow at him as he laces his fingers together against the back of his head, arms wide. “Oh yeah? Perfect opportunity right in front of you then,” he says with a shit-eating grin. “But I’m usually the ass-kicker.” 

You’re always surprised at just how much room Benny takes up, the space he occupies without a care in the world, summer gold skin washed out in the low lighting of the bar. You also really don’t mind the pull of the band of muscle in his arms, or the way his shirt rides up so you can see the flat of his belly, the dark trail of hair. “Of course you are,” you roll your eyes, forcing yourself to focus only on his face. 

Benny’s expression splinters, his smile fading for just a second, brows tilting down. “Is it something else? Why don’t you -,” 

He’s interrupted when the front door blows open and your name is called. You cringe, John’s horrible son Victor violently thrusting into you and Benny’s safe little world. You'd hated Victor before you met Benny, for the way he looked at you, the slimy innuendos he made, but you hated him even more after. 

He and Benny had gone to high school together, hated each other then too. And Victor never lets Benny forget that he thinks he’s trash. 

“Oh, and Miller is here too. How wonderful,” he snaps, the smile he’d been directing at you turning to a scowl when his gaze lands on Ben.  

Benny bristles immediately, standing up and knocking his stool back but not over. “What the fuck is your problem?” He asks loudly. “You always got some shit to say to me.” 

“Just wondering how you can get drunk in the middle of the day, everyday. Don’t you have a job?” Victor’s eyes flit over Benny’s broken face, the bruises that never quite faded. “Oh. Right. You get the shit kicked out of you for a living.” 

“Better watch your fuckin’ mouth,” he snarls, the converstaion of the regulars in the corner coming to an abrupt halt. Benny’s never afraid to defend himself, and he certainly wasn't afraid to make a scene while doing so. “I don’t lose much.” 

You hold out a hand when Benny starts around the counter. “Benny,” you say gently, “C’mon. Stop it.” 

Victor stops next to you, his hand going to your hip and you force yourself not to jerk away from his touch, as he intentionally tries riling Benny up. “Yeah, Miller. Stand down. We all know how good you are at following orders and not using your brain.” 

Benny’s chin tilts down, eyes on Victor’s possessive hand against your waist. Something goes dark in his gaze and this time he does come around the bar. 

You move quickly, grabbing Benny’s hat off the counter and both your books before shoving Victor’s stupid ass behind you as he laughs. “Fuckin’ idiot, it's like you want to get the shit kicked out of you,” you mutter at him as as you step in front of Benny. He's fuming, leaning against you, pushing with a gentle strength, unwilling to hurt you to get to Victor.

Benny would never hurt you, but he looks like he’s considering shoving you out of the way. His eyes go cold as he watches Victor over your shoulder and you don’t turn because you don’t want to know what gesture he’s doing behind you. You press into Ben, leaning hard against his solid frame, laying one hand flat against his sternum. “He’s not worth it. Let it go. For me, Benny?” You plead with a calm you don’t feel, “C’mon, I’ll walk you out. Leave this asshole to man the bar.” 

He smirks at that, sliding an arm around your shoulders, holding you hot and tight and close against his chest. You swear you can feel his heartbeat. “Anything for you, sweetheart,” he says, the lilt of fury still lingering in his voice. You pull out of his arms and he follows you out of the bar easily when you tug him after you. 

“You always do everything you’re told, Miller?” Victor calls after your retreating backs. 

“Fuck you,” Benny snarls over his shoulder. “Only when she’s the one asking.” And he sounds almost proud. 

Proud that you chose him, proud that you commanded him.

Something in you shakes, that this hot headed man listens to you. 

You keep one hand behind you, tucked into Benny’s elbow so that he doesn’t get any ideas about bolting back to give Victor the beating he very much deserved. 

“I hate that fucker,” he says when you finally pull him outside to cross the parking lot towards his jeep, his hand trailing down your arm to lace his fingers with yours. “Always have. Made all the girls uncomfortable in school. And the way he fuckin’ talks about you-,” 

“I hate him too, Benny,” you interrupt. “But he’s my boss’s son, what am I supposed to do?” You pause by the driver’s side door and reach up to tuck Benny’s hat back onto his head, cradling your books against your chest as you stroke some stray hair back from his forehead. “Go easy, darlin’. He shouldn’t fuckin’ talk about you that way either. Fucking snob.” 

“I’m used to it,” he says, breaking your heart just a little bit. “But you don’t hear the shit he says when you aren’t around. I should have knocked his teeth down his throat weeks ago.” 

You close your eyes briefly, hearing every horrible thing Victor has ever said to you about Benny. Namely that he was stupid and mean and not worth the time you spent on him. “Yeah, well, ditto,” you say bitterly, blinking up at him, the last argument fresh in your mind. 

“He’s a loser and he always has been. He’s lucky he has Will for a brother and feels like he needs to play catch up and get out of his shadow or he wouldn’t have made it out of high school.”

Benny watches you, eyes darting between the bar’s door and you, his expression souring by the second as he monitors you. “Don’t,” you warn. 

“Not gonna,” he says innocently. 

“Liar.” 

“Why don’t ya wanna come to my matches?” He asks abruptly, remembering what you’d been talking about before you were interrupted. 

You sigh, “It's not that I don’t want to. I’m just-,” you fidget on the spot, trying to decide how to put it, wiggling your fingers at him. “-I just worry about you.” 

It isn’t untrue, just not exactly the reason you didn’t want to go. 

“Bullshit,” he says, calling you out. 

“Benny,” you say gently, ducking your head to avoid his eyes. “I-,”

He shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it. I got you.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Just what I said. I got it. You don’t want to,” he yanks open the door and you’re forced to stumble back a few steps as he climbs in. The engine roars to life and Benny rolls the window down to look at you. “Forgot. Got this for you. Meant to bring it in with me,” he says, handing out something rectangular, wrapped in pink paper. 

You take it from him, peering up at him before you abruptly tear the paper and he groans, “Don’t open it now.” 

But you just keep shredding the wrapping paper until a book is revealed to you, a limited edition of one of your favorites. “Oh,” you say, running a finger down the cover. You’d been looking for this particular edition for over a year. “Oh, my God! Benny, how’d you find this?” 

He shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it. You like it?” 

You clutch it to your chest. “Fuck. Yes. Thank you.” You stare at Benny, and he stares back at you, the sweltering heat pinching at your skin. Since when did Benny go hunting for obscure books? Since when did he read in his limited free time?

“Fuck, Benny. Listen, I’m sorry, okay? I just don’t know how to explain it right. Can I ride along? Lemme go tell Victor to fuck off and we can go to my place for your book. Dinner on me?”

You know John won’t mind, not if you leave a note that you needed to leave an hour early and that his useless son came in before he was supposed to. 

The grin that cracks open Ben’s face could end wars. “Never gonna say no to that.” 

~

Benny really isn’t sure what it is about you that drew him in, like a moth to a flame, that first time he met you - dripping wet and mad as hell when he stormed into the first bar he came to. 

He’d just freaked out in a gas station convenience store - panicked and panicked and couldn’t fucking breathe for a full minute before he was able to leave - all because someone was too close to him and he was trying not to put his hand through a freezer door or through the guy’s fucking head. 

He hadn’t. 

He hadn’t and had been proud of that fact until he was back in his jeep and that tightness in his chest still wouldn’t go away, even though he was safe, even though he’d never not been. 

Benny had had half a mind to call Will, to ask him to come pick him up because he didn’t think he could drive, felt like maybe he was having a fucking heart attack. 

But then the anger set in, the irritation that now, after everything - this was happening to him. 

It was just another thing to add onto the shit that just kept stacking up. He’d heard about guys going through this when they came home. Fuck, he’d seen Will go through it. 

But why him?

Why now? 

After all these years? After he’d been home for so long?

Just because of the Colombia trip? It wasn’t even close to being the worst thing he’s been through.

Just because one of his closest friends, a man who was like his brother, had been killed in front of him? 

Fuck off. 

It’s not the first time - it hadn’t been that bad - 

For a while he hadn’t realized what was happening to him - why his chest would go tight and the air in the room felt like it had suddenly evaporated. 

Fuck, he doesn’t want to be having panic attacks, doesn’t want to think about what he went through, doesn’t want to think about why this was suddenly happening. 

And if he doesn't look at it, it can't hurt him. If he doesn't look at it, it would go away. 

So he ignored that it was happening at all. Even though it was happening more and more frequently. 

Still, that day, his chest was tight, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might explode. 

The anger suddenly burned up the tightness, made him so pissed off at himself for being so weak, that he knew he’d be no good in training, and decided to go for a drink instead. 

No, he hadn’t punched anyone that day.

And that was good, something to be proud of. 

Everything else? Shit. 

The cut on his cheek was from an unregulated fight in some fucking parking lot the day before, the bandage around his arm unchanged since he got home from Colombia two weeks before. 

Nothing had felt right since they got home. It was worse than before, worse than when he was discharged from service.

Fighting in parking lots? He hadn’t done that shit since high school. Everything felt like it was twisting down and away, the tentative grip he held on his life slipping away with every second. 

His first instinct was to do something stupid, to go find a fight or break a speed limit. 

But he couldn’t. He shouldn’t.

And so the bar it was. 

And you had been there - an unsuspecting buoy in a restless storm, so calm and rock steady, his exact opposite in so many ways. 

The immediate sharp burn of your presence, the steady way you’d looked at him, unfazed by the roll of anger that he tried to keep a lid on, how you’d not asked him a damn thing about what happened to him - why he was so torn up and spaced out and mad. 

He probably wouldn’t have been able to answer you anyways.

You talked to him as he nursed that beer, told him about a movie you’d rewatched recently - something old and he wishes he could remember now what it was - Top Gun? Back to the Future? 

No idea. 

Then you’d asked if you could help him out - one nonsensical, calm brow raised.

He’d known in that moment, that he’d never be able to quit you, so suddenly and quick, like a flash of lightning - something inside him locked into place.

But Benny had always been that way with his loyalty, a gut instinct that he trusted implicitly. 

He knew you were a person he should keep.

It was like when he’d known that his life would never be the same five seconds into his first day of basic training, like he’d known fighting was what he wanted to do the second he stepped into the ring that first time. 

He knew. 

Benny knew you were for keeps, that you were going to stick inside him like a burr, something that would be painful to rip out - just like fighting, just like the military, just like Delta.

You’re something he can’t quit.  

You’re something unchangeable and steady in his life. You become one of his constants only hours after meeting you. 

And he doesn't want you to quit him. Benny wants you to want him too. He wants you to hold on tight, to claw your way into him and make a home there.  

But fuck, do you make it difficult.

You are adverse to him making a move, knocking him back again and again. If you hinted that you wanted more he’d shoot his shot but you don’t indicate that. 

And that’s fine, it really is. 

He’ll be friends with you and nothing else if that’s what you really want. 

But that thing you lodged in his heart? It has sharp edges and its starting to fucking hurt, to ache, to bleed.

He spends all his time with you - you’re like a drug he doesn’t want to quit. 

And when he’s with you? That’s when he finally breathes normally again, when his blood settles down and he feels like Benny again - he can forget about what happened in Colombia, he doesn’t have to think about the spray of Tom’s blood when he was shot. 

He starts spending all his time with you, you become his best friend so suddenly it's almost shocking.

He stops fighting in back alleys and parking lots, and he can tell Will is relieved by the set of his shoulders when the bruising on his face actually gets a chance to fade. He can tell that you are relieved, because you note how his hands aren’t as shaky, you note that the bruises fade and that he doesn’t space out as much, breathing like he’s run a fucking race completely out of the blue. 

That fucks him up so bad too, that you’ve noticed the panic. 

Still, you don’t come to his matches, you don’t meet Will or Santi or Frankie. 

Maybe he’s just something temporary to you even though you have become a constant to him. 

And that’s never happened before, and it terrifies him. 

He’s always been the one to call the shots in his own life - he’s never had to wait for someone to decide on him. Benny has always been the temporary thing, jumping from relationship to relationship with ease. 

And fuck if he isn’t trying to tell you, to light the path so he can shoot his fucking shot. He started reading, and even though he’s coming to enjoy it a little - just because you light up like the goddamned sun when you get to talk about books - it's not easy for him. It takes concentration and frustrated brain power. He thinks for a while maybe you don't get it - but fuck if him taking up reading isn't a flashing neon sign of attraction, of trying to impress you and relate to you, he doesn't know what is.

He looked for a fucking book for you with an intensity he reserved for fighting, for missions, hunting and bidding and cajoling until he got it. Until he felt like he won a fight when he found it. 

For you. 

Now, he watches you unlock the front door of your apartment. He holds the screen door open for you as you fiddle with your keys, eyes locked on the curve of your jaw as you talk, intoxicated by the scent of you, the movement of your mouth, the flash of your teeth.

He’s pressed close to you, the heat of your body radiating into his as he leans into you. 

One thing he really appreciates about you? You’re good with how he expresses himself - the too loud way in which he lives his life, the way he likes to touch. 

Too many relationships had soured early - not that he was planning for the long haul but still - because he was too much. 

Too loud, too brash, too quick to temper. 

You’ve never told him he’s too much, never told him not to be the way he is. You say gentle things like easy to remind him not to squeeze you too tightly in a hug but that’s it and sometimes he needs the reminder, forgets his own strength. 

But you never tell him to stop, you never say that he’s too much. 

“Jesus, Benny,” you say now when the door finally swings open and you lurch inside. “You’re heavy.” 

He grins and toes his shoes off by the door as you do the same. “Sorry,” he says, not sorry at all, tucking himself behind you as he follows you to the kitchen. 

He loves your little studio, loves that he can see everything about you in one room, your bookshelves and your pink sheets patterned with tiny little strawberries, your vintage coffee table saved from someone’s trash and the stickers you’ve pressed into your kitchen cabinets. 

“I’m going to cook something.” 

“We can definitely just get takeout though,” he says, throwing himself down onto your couch with a groan. 

He doesn’t need to look at you to know that you’re rolling your eyes. “Ben, one day you’re going to be old and all that shit is going to catch up to you.” He hears you shuffle closer, and then you lean over the back of the couch, peering down at him, “And then you’re going to come to me and complain that I didn’t warn you and feed you better.” 

“You still gonna be hounding me when you’re old and gray?” 

For a second, your face cracks, an unreadable expression crossing your face before you smile again, some of the light gone from your eyes. “Sure,” you say, voice careful, “Someone’s gonna haveta.” 

“We can order pizza,” he says, trying to decide why the look on your face, that flash of uncertainty, made his chest tight, why panic is starting its slow unpredictable crawl up the back of his throat.

Maybe because it reminds him that you’re temporary. Maybe that’s why it's hard to breathe, why Tom’s face and the flash of blood imprints into his mind, why Will’s face stark white while blood drips down his side darts behind his eyes. 

Maybe you wouldn't be around to remind him, maybe you aren't planning to be.

Benny relies on very few permanent things, always moving, going, tracking forward and leaving most things behind. 

But there are essentials - fighting, Delta, the military - and now, you.

He wants to ask why you’re looking at him like that but the tightness in his chest is rising and he can’t speak. 

You place a hand on his chest, and it's heavy and good and it steadies him. His breathing stabilizes. “No pizza. I’ll make spaghetti.” You nod at your bookshelf, “Anything you want is yours, okay? When you’re ready.” 

And you walk away, back to the kitchen counter, searching through the fridge for ingredients. 

He’s glad you leave him, struggling to find the right rhythm in his breathing even though the breaths come easily. 

Since when did people leaving scare him so fucking bad? Since when did anything scare him this fucking bad? 

He wonders why you hold him at arm’s length, keeping yourself away from the most important parts of his life, of himself. 

Maybe you know you’re too good for him. 

He hears what that fucker Victor says about him, that you’re too good to be keeping company like Benny, that he’s an idiot and always has been. 

Benny isn’t sure how much of it you believe. 

When the pain eases, he stands and pulls himself to your bookshelf, scanning for the most battered copies. 

You abuse your books, but only the ones you like, the ones you read again and again, filled with notes and tabs and folded pages, covers shredded to bits. That’s how he knows you love roughly and hard, and it makes picking something out so easy. 

The cover of Carrie had been picked apart. 

He thumbs out one of the more ruined books and glances at the title - Howl’s Moving Castle. Something clearly for kids. Even better - it’ll be easy to get through. 

When he shows you, you smile - “There’s a movie too! We can watch it when you’re done.” You turn back to the stove, “You always have a way of reading my favorites.” 

God, the things you don’t realize. 

~

Hours later, when you’ve eaten and cleaned up the kitchen, settled onto the couch with a bowl of popcorn, he decides to try to ask you again about why you didn’t want anything to do with the things that were really important to him. 

“Be straight with me for a minute,” he says, turning onto his back so he can look up at you, his head pillowed on your thigh. “Why don’t you wanna come to my matches? Why aren’t you keen on meeting the guys? You don’t have to but I want a reason. It’s important to me. They’re important to me. You're important to me.” 

You look startled at his admission but quickly recover, shaking your head as you press your fingers down the center of his chest, tracing slowly back up to his shoulder, across his collarbone. He bites down the urge to say something about just how much you liked to touch him.  

“Can you try?” He pleads. 

You pause, and Benny waits, even though he’s never really been a patient person. But for you, he'll try.

“I’ve just never been good at being close to people, Ben. It’s hard for me not to feel like the rug is going to be ripped out from under me,” you card your hands through his hair. “I moved here alone. I’m always alone. It’s easier not to be so attached.” 

“You think I’m gonna cut and run?” 

You don’t answer for a moment and the only sound is that of the movie playing quietly on the TV that neither of you have paid attention to in a while. “No,” you say eventually, carefully. “You aren’t one to abandon your friends.”

Benny, he tries to understand, what that meant you thought about him, that you don't want to come any closer than you already are. 

Friends. 

He would have to be okay with that. 

But it’s late and he’s tired and your hands feel nice when they thread through his hair. “I kept the pop-it,” he says suddenly. “I know I ribbed you about it but I kept it and it helps. It’s actually starting to fuckin’ fall apart because I use it all the time.” 

He uses it when he reads your books, so his hands are busy. 

“I’ll get you a new one,” you say, like the fact you would means nothing. 

~

You barrel through the front door of the bar, the crash of music and laughter and pool balls clacking together assaulting your already delicate ears, a headache lingering from the day you’ve had. 

Benny hadn’t come in during your afternoon shift and you’d been stuck alone with Victor for a majority of that time, your pleas for help via texts to Benny going unanswered. 

“Thanks for coming back in,” John says when you meet him at the bar. “Some fucking fight just let out and Sal’s is closed tonight so we got their usual folks too. Promise this is a one time thing,” he adds.  

“No problem,” you say with a smile, swinging through the office door to drop your stuff and clock in. You catch sight of Victor as you pass back through the kitchen but avoid his gaze. “Hey, where d’you want me? Bar? Floor?” You ask John when you meet him back by the bar, tying your apron around your waist. 

“I need you to take those tables over there,” he points to the far corner. “They haven’t been served yet.” 

You nod and cross the bar, trying not to think about Benny, about how goddamned much you’d missed him and how any effort you’d made not to let him worm too closely into your heart had been severely thwarted. 

Your Benny hangover coupled with the amount of time you’d been forced to spend with Victor alone has you on edge, tired and unhappy. 

You take care of the couple sitting quietly together and a group of chatty girls before you move on to your last table, a group of guys. One of them, a blond with close cropped hair and a beard, looks strangely familiar. He tilts his head at you, like he knows you too and can’t place you. 

Ignoring the feeling, you plaster a smile to your face, the pounding at the base of your skull increasing in intensity. 

“Hey, sorry for the wait,” you start, laying down some napkins. “We’re a little bit understaffed tonight. What can I get for you?”

One of them, a man with fathomless, dark eyes and gray streaked brown curls, opens his mouth when a familiar voice says your name. 

You start to turn just as Benny slams into you from behind, knocking the breath out of you. You jolt into the table as he wraps an arm across your chest, one of your hands coming up to hook at his elbow, to steady yourself. “Benny? What are you doing here?” You turn your head to find him grinning widely down at you, beaming at you like a ray of sunshine, happy to see you beyond what is reasonable. 

“Could ask you the same thing, honey. Weren’t you here all afternoon?” 

“I was but we’re understaffed so I got pulled back in. What are you doing here?” You ask again. 

Benny’s face is a masterpiece of pain. He’s bruised up again, a scarlet cut above his cheek and near the line of his jaw, violent violet bruises starting to turn a painful shade of black and green. “Celebrating. I fuckin’ won tonight! Knockout within a minute,” he crows, looking proud. “And our usual place was closed.” 

And John’s words come back to you - some fucking fight just let out and Sal’s is closed tonight so we got their usual folks too. “Congratulations,” you say softly, realizing who the people at the table must be, realizing why Benny had been absent that afternoon.

Normally he told you when you had a fight but you don’t remember him saying anything about this one. He always made a point to invite you, even if he knew you’d say no.

Embarrassment pools in your belly, realizing how long you’ve been letting him hold you, how you’ve only looked into his eyes, his grip so comfortable to you that you hadn’t noticed.  

You frown as Benny finally releases you to sit down beside the man who looked familiar to you before. You suppose he looks familiar because he is. He can be no one else but Benny’s brother, Will. “I take it you’re who Benny’s been spending every minute with.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you try to joke, trying not to bolt away from the lot of them, as the careful separation in your mind between your Benny and Benny’s real life crashes down. “Ben’s got so many friends.” 

“Not friends like you though,” says the man with those dark eyes, something unreadable brewing in his expression, his voice like ice. Benny shoots him a look that says fuck off. 

Ben introduces you by name and then says, “My brother, Will.” He slaps the blond man he’d slid into the booth next to on the back. “Santiago,” he points to the salt and pepper haired man and then the man with the baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, “and Frankie. Better known as Pope and Fish.” 

“Nice to meet you,” you manage to say. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

“So have we,” Santiago says, his tone still crisp. “Nice to know Ben hasn’t been hallucinating you these past few months.” 

You suddenly feel like a mouse caught in a trap as you glance at each of them, the hardness in their gazes as they look back at you. 

Of course they wouldn’t be keen on you. Benny is like their little brother and you’ve been avoiding what is essentially his family for months, for no good reason at all, at least not in a way that made sense to anyone but you, though Benny had tried to understand. 

Your throat tightens and you open your mouth to respond when Benny cuts in, loud and gruff as he always is, “Fuck off, Pope. Leave her alone. Tell her what you want so she can get back to it.” 

You glance at them apologetically, avoiding looking at Ben, ignoring his outburst. “Beers? First round is on me.” 

“You don’t haveta do that, sweetheart-,” Benny starts, his voice infinitely gentler when he addresses you. 

“Yeah, I do,” you interrupt him. “Anything else?” 

A chorus of no’s resound and you nod without looking at any of them before briskly walking away. Your hands are shaking as you pour the beers, deciding at the last second to put in for a plate of nachos too. You’d hoped to avoid them, but you should have known better, that in a town so small you’d be bound to run into them at one point or another. 

You just don’t want it to hurt when Benny moves on, or for it to at least be as painless as possible.

But that’s not what it looked like to them, not what it looked like to Benny.

Fuck, he must think you don’t give a shit about him, not really. 

It wasn't like it fucking mattered anyways, the hurt is coming for you whether you let the closest parts of his life sink into yours or not. 

Benny has charmed his way inside you, his friendship like the serrated edge of a knife, cutting deeper and deeper until removing it would be to sentence you to death. 

You swipe at your eyes though you aren't in danger of tears and shuffle the beers over on your tray for the nachos before starting back across the bar. You’ve halfway there, paused near one of the wooden support beams so a large group can pass you on the crowded floor when Victor stops by you, awkwardly leaning against the pole and blocking your way. When the group has passed, drunkenly shouting their way out of the bar you grit out, “What do you want?” You're irritated that you’ve had to spend so much time with him today, and that he’s still bothering you.

“Miller’s here,” he says, an accusation in his voice, like you personally invited Benny just to piss him off. Jealousy drips off him. “And you got his table.” Like you'd plotted that too.

“Yep. Won his match. They’re here to celebrate,” you start to move away when Victor leans into your free arm and forces your shoulder back against the beam. 

Your breath flutters in your chest as you look up to meet his eyes. “What’s your problem, huh? Why do you hate me so much?” 

“You know why. You talk shit about my best friend,” you snarl up at him, something feral rising up in you and chasing away the calm you were known for.

But Victor has pushed you to your limit over the last couple months and you can see the glee in his eyes at getting a rise out of you. You were rapidly approaching your breaking point with him.

He barks out a loud laugh, and it's not pleasant the way Benny’s is. A couple of people turn to look at you but quickly go back to their own conversations. You squirm, trying to get your shoulder out from under his weight. An ache has started to creep up your arm. 

“Best friend. Right. Like Miller wants anything but to fuck you. You’re just a conquest, sweetheart.” 

“Fuck you,” you say lowly, not willing to admit how that bites at you, how that is exactly what you’re afraid of. 

Victor clocks it though, sees the break in your expression that confirms his accusation. “Haven’t put out yet have you? He’ll get bored eventually,” he says, finally pulling his weight off of yours, an ache twisting down to your wrist. “He’s always been that way. I know you’re new to this town but trust me, he tricks everyone with the golden retriever act. Hell, just fucking look at him. Military, Special Ops, can’t stop fighting to save his life. Always in trouble and looks to his brother to tell him up from down.” 

You can’t help it, you glance over at their table, Victor’s breath hot on your cheek when he leans in to whisper. “Not exactly stable. Never has been. How long til he does something like that to you?” 

Benny and his friends are staring at you across the dark bar. Will has a hand on Benny’s arm, keeping him in place, his fingers white with the effort.

“See, even now he’s itching for blood.” 

You wrinkle your nose and turn your face into his, refusing to look away from Victor’s beady eyes. You’re so close your noses almost touch, but you refuse to back down. You bare your teeth at him and grit out, “Another word. One more word against him, and Ben will be the least of your problems. You think Benny’s temper is bad? You’ve been fuckin' trying me all day and I got nothin’ to lose.”

You step closer and grip your tray in both hands to shove into his stomach hard. The glasses rattle but don’t fall. He makes a soft oof sound but doesn't look away, doesn’t back down.  

It takes a minute but his eyes drop and he steps back. “You’ll find out the hard way what kind of fucking people they are. All of them.” 

The fucker can’t even look you in the eyes as he says it. 

You roll your eyes and move away. “Fuck you, coward.” 

Your hands are shaking again, but for a completely different reason as you approach the table. 

Victor’s starting to get bold, and it's starting to worry you. How long until his obsession with you and your relationship to Benny becomes unhinged? It already kind of is, the way he follows you and watches you, the way he’s been trying to turn you against Ben for months now, the touches and the passing remarks - it's all headed to something unsafe. 

For all Victor’s talk, Benny has never made your shoulder ache, has never crowded you or tried to intimidate you or made you uncomfortable. 

No, it's not Benny you have to worry about. 

You pass the beers out, the plate of nachos, when you stop at the boy’s table. “All on me,” you say more cheerfully than you feel, unconsciously stepping closer to Benny where he sits at the end of the booth, pressing the back of your hand into his bicep, reassuring yourself that he’s there and real. “Yell if you need something else, okay?” 

“Hey,” It's Will’s voice that stops you from pulling away. “You okay?” 

You glance around as Benny covers your hand with one of his and squeezes your fingers reassuringly, gaze turned toward the bar, eyes tracking something.

“Yeah,” you confirm. “What, Victor? He’s a piece of shit but he’s harmless,” you say with more conviction than you feel. 

“Hell of a stare you got,” Santiago says, sounding impressed.

Frankie chuckles and meets your eyes, “Yeah, wouldn’t want you lookin’ at me like that.”

And fuck, you wonder if they heard. If Victor’s voice could have traveled that far. You pull away from Benny’s hand when he tries to tangle your fingers together and say, “Well, I just get protective sometimes.” 

You tuck your tray under your arm and turn to walk away when Benny tugs you back, “Sure you’re okay?” 

“Golden,” you answer with a smile but he doesn’t look convinced.

And when you glance at the others, you know they overheard you and Victor, because all hostility is gone. They watched you go toe to toe with an asshole for Benny, and now they know they’re missing some vital piece of the picture as to why you hadn't been around, the thing that really kept you away from them and Benny’s matches. 

And they’re too skilled, too observant, not to pinpoint exactly what it is. 

Benny might not know you’re in love with him, but his buddies suddenly do. 

~

Victor continues to bother you throughout the night but you try not to let it affect you, you try to stay calm despite your earlier threat, if only so there won’t be a scene and Benny can enjoy his win. 

The boys, when you stop by their table, have warmed to you entirely. They joke with you, rib you just like Benny does, and the fold you’ve been trying to avoid being dragged into has engulfed you in seconds. 

So when the bar finally clears out and their table is the only one left, Frankie gestures you in. “Sit down here for a minute, you’ve been workin' your ass off.” 

“Wasn’t too bad,” you say, slipping into the booth next to Benny and Will. “But it's definitely the busiest this place has ever been.” 

“So how come you don’t come to the fights?” Santiago asks.  

“Pope-,” 

“Maybe you guys intimidate me,” you say with a shrug of your shoulder. “I know how important you are to Benny.” You nudge an elbow into Ben’s ribs, “I’m just some waitress.” 

They laugh and you feel better, like maybe they might even like you. Benny scoffs loudly at your declaration, and you kick yourself for never meeting them before. Even if you lost Benny, you don’t want to hurt him now. “Just some waitress?” Benny rolls his eyes. “Honey, fuck off,” he says fondly. 

“So tell us how you ended up in this shithole town,” Will says. “And how you got this one so whipped,” he locks an arm around Benny’s shoulders. 

Benny doesn’t try to deny it, looks a little bit smug, almost happy at the accusation.

“I’m from a small town, different one, did the big city thing, fucking hated it. Ended up here.” You ignore the other question, not really sure how to answer it anyways, but you don’t comment when Ben drapes his arm across the top of the booth behind you.  

“Not back home?” Frankie asks you. 

“No one at home to go back to,” you say, revealing more than maybe you should. “Found I liked the company here anyways.” 

The conversation rolls along easily from there. They’re funny and loud and affectionate with each other in a way that makes your heart hurt. There’s a closeness there that makes you happy, and jealous that you're witnessing so rare a love and bond.  

And it makes you feel stupid, because they’re so welcoming to you, they tug you into the center of them and it feels like you’ve always belonged.

Eventually, John calls you away from the boys, wiping his hands on a dish towel - the exact opposite of his son, cordial and funny and kind. 

You aren’t sure what happened to Victor to make him so bitter, if he really just has a problem with you and Benny in particular.

“We should be heading out anyways,” Frankie says, laboring to his feet after Santi stands. 

You get hugs from all of them, a kiss to your brow from Benny. “We still on for tomorrow?” 

Saturday morning fishing, you would never miss it. “‘Course, always.” 

“And we aren’t invited?” 

“How about beers at Sal’s tomorrow instead?” you offer, not willing to give away your morning alone with Benny.

Santi and Will share a look that Ben doesn’t see, too busy examining the ridge of your shoulder where a bruise is forming from being locked against the beam.

“Sure, we can get you back for the beers tonight,” Will says, one big hand pressing between your shoulder blades briefly. 

“No-,” 

“Yeah, we are,” Santi says. “We’ll see you tomorrow.” 

You watch them file out, Benny turning to hug you hard, breath pressed out of your lungs at the intensity. “Fuck. Thank you,” he says. “For putting up with them.” 

“They’re nice.” 

“Glad you met ‘em? They’re meatheads but they mean well.” 

“They do and I am.”

~

Benny is almost to his jeep when he decides to wait for you. He wants to be with you, to ride along to your place and sleep on your couch like he has so many times before - so he can see you grouchy and soft in the morning sunshine before you get ready, drink coffee with you at your kitchen table. 

God, he’s going fucking soft. 

Domestic. 

It feels weird but right.

He waits along the side of the building where the back deck of the bar wraps around to the front stairs, the lights that normally line the walkway already out. 

He watches John leave, entrusting closing to you and Victor. 

Quiet descends, the chirp of the crickets loud and sweet, the sounds of safety and home, when he hears a crash. 

Then -

“-fucking stupid. What do you see in him?” 

“Why the fuck do you care, Vic? It’s not like I would want you, if I didn’t want Ben.” 

His brain statics, not sure he heard right. You want him? Is that what you implied?

“And what’s so fucking wrong with me, huh?” 

You snarl back, “Fuck. Really? You’re an asshole and judgemental.” 

“It’s not judgement if it's right. Call it like I see it. Ben Miller is -,”  

He doesn’t get to hear what he is. “You’re crazy,” he hears you shriek. “Fucking crazy! Even if he was everything you claim, I still wouldn’t want you!”  

A rage builds in Benny, and he’s about to move, to come to your aid, when Victor starts muttering lowly again - the conversation seems to peter out into something civil. 

Then - the sound of something slamming, a rattling of drink glasses, and low talking. “Fuck off,” you growl suddenly. “You know how fucking brilliant you have to be to make it to where he did? Where all of them did?” 

“Luck. And brawn and brother that would do anything for him.” 

You let out a disbelieving laugh, “I quit. You can finish closing alone. If your dad asks why I fucking quit, you can explain it to him.” 

The front door flies open, smacking back into the wood paneled wall as you go trudging down the steps and across the gravel of the lot. 

Victor follows you, catches up to you and jerks you to a halt. “Just give me a chance,” he pleads with you. “One chance. I can make you forget about him. You’ll see what you’re missing.” 

“No,” you say. “You couldn’t. No one can.” 

Benny’s vision goes red as the hand around your arm tightens, but he freezes when Victor continues, speaking something that Benny is afraid is almost uncomfortably close to the truth of his life. 

“He’s a fuck up and a loser and would have been in jail for something stupid years ago if he didn’t have his brother trailing him around and forcing him to make something of himself. It’s a good thing that kid got shoved into the military because he never would have made it otherwise. You’re just going to let him drag you down too.” 

“Shut up.” 

“I’m serious, you’re pining away after someone that’s never gonna measure up to you. You’re brilliant. He could barely fucking read in high school.” 

You jerk out of Victor’s grip, shaking your head and stalking across the parking lot, but he follows you.

Under normal circumstances, Benny would have been across the lot and in that motherfucker’s face in 5 seconds flat, but he can’t move, he’s frozen, watching the tension in your shoulders knot up. 

God, he’s waiting for you to agree, to turn and say that he’s right.

But you don’t, you keep moving. And when Victor touches you again, snags at your elbow, every bit of restraint he has dries up. 

He lurches away from the wall and stalks after the pair of you. He saw the bruise on your shoulder, he knows that Victor is the worst kind of dangerous to you - that and you’re his fucking girl. 

No one is gonna do fuckin’ shit to you without reprecussions. 

He’s nearly reached you when -

You turn and land an elbow into Victor’s stomach, he crumbles, curves at the waist and you bring a knee up to crack into his face. He goes sprawling backwards onto his ass as you tower over him with your shoulders thrown back. 

God, that was fucking hot.

He’s so proud of you, impressed with the absolute fury contorting your features. 

His girl, a fighter. 

Of course you fucking are. You’re his. 

And he likes this mean streak in you, likes the feral protectiveness that bubbled up. 

“Fuck you,” you say and he’s never heard such venom in your voice, such protective laced violence. You glance at him suddenly, looking startled to find him standing there before you lean over Victor’s crumpled, prone form. “I warned you Ben’s temper wasn’t the one you had to worry about, didn’t I? You don’t know a goddamn thing about him. Or me. And if you ever say another word against him in my presence, you’ll get much worse than a bloody nose. Understand?” 

“What’s your fuckin’ problem, bitch?” Victor’s back is still to Benny, has no idea that he’s there. 

Benny reaches down and hauls him up by the back of his shirt, gets the satisfaction of seeing him go white with fear, of hearing a squeak pass his lips in surprise. “Just makin’ sure you’re listening to the lady,” he says, jerking him roughly into place before smoothing Victor’s shirt out carefully. He gestures to you and crosses his arms, “Go on, sweetheart. Tell him.”

You grit your teeth at him, and Benny decides yeah, he really likes you mean. “I'm a bitch, huh? Because I won’t fuck you? Fuck off. I asked you a question - do you fuckin’ understand or don’t you?” 

“Yeah, shit, I got it. You want to be Miller’s special girl so bad it makes you look stupid. He’s not the settling type, babe.” He snaps at you, refusing to acknowledge Benny. 

“Damn, so much fucking confidence for someone who’s about to have his ass handed to him,” Benny growls. 

“Fuck you, Miller, like you even need the excuse. You aren’t gonna do shit. Neutered after all these years, huh? Contained to a cage.” 

Victor yanks out of his grasp and spits at your feet before turning to walk away. But he couldn’t have really expected to do something like that and get away with it.

Running on autopilot and adrenaline and rage - Benny yanks him back by the collar of his shirt and breaks his knuckles against his teeth, breaks the nose that you weakened with your knee. Victor falls again and Benny picks him up by the front of his shirt, slams him into the nearest car.

He brings his mouth to Victor’s ear, feels the tremble and shake of fear. “Ever touch her again, speak to her again - hell, even look at her - I’ll fucking kill you. Got it?” And then lowly, barely a whisper, "She's mine."  

He drops Vic to the ground, watches him stumble back and skitter away. 

As soon as he’s rounded the corner to the back deck of the bar, Benny turns and wraps his arms around you in a crushing hug, and doesn’t let go even when you tap your fingers against his spine. 

“Benny, easy,” you breathe out but you cling onto him harder, and Benny realizes how shaken you are, how scary it must have been to have a man follow you across a dark parking lot. “What are you still doing here?” 

“Waitin’ on you, honey. Good thing too, though I think you had it handled. Hell of a swing you got.” 

He finally lets you go, your eyes going to his bloody hand and you sigh. “God, we’re both gonna have assault charges," you murmur, tracing your thumb over the broken skin.

“He ain’t gonna say shit. He’s gonna tell everybody he fucked you and went toe to toe with me over it. He’s a liar and little bitch,” Benny says, curling his arm around your waist, his blood settling when you lean into him, hand against his chest. “He’s not going to fuck with you anymore.” 

You peer up at him, your gaze still holding a lingering fear, “Thanks for having my back. You coming home with me?”

He nods and you gesture him around the side of your SUV.

When you’re both settled, you turn your keys in the ignition and the engine rumbles to life, but you don’t pull out. You turn and stare at him through the dark, the AC wafting his hair gently. “What?”

“Did you mean that?” 

“What?” 

“You said - you said she’s mine. Was that just some macho bullshit or did you mean it?”

Fuck.

He licks his lips, thinks about lying, when he shakes his head, looks down, and sniffs. He’s tired of pretending. “Yeah. I meant it.” 

It immediately feels like a mistake to say it, and the now familiar icy clutch of panic closes a fist over his lungs, like he can’t breathe, like you are going to tell him to fuck right off. 

Like you’re going to yank the rug right out from under him. 

He’s done losing constants. He’s done losing the world around him for nothing. 

His lungs seize and he feels that familiar stupidity, what a stupid fucking thing to panic over - not killing, not gun shots, not fighting - but losing people. 

“Hey,” you say, pressing a steadying hand to his arm. “It’s okay. What’s got you bothered?” 

He reminds himself that you already know about the panic even if it’s never been directly addressed, and it hasn’t been too much for you yet. 

“You’ve -,” it comes out in a gasp and so he stops, takes a minute to breathe, to ground himself against your fingers when they tangle with his. “You keep batting me back, honey. It’s okay. Just don’t leave. I meant it but it doesn't have to mean anything to you.” 

“You think I’m gonna leave?” You ask quietly, “Why? I’m always thinkin’ the same thing about you, Benny.”

His head thumps back against the headrest. “Something’s wrong with me,” he says. “Don’t know what.” One hand rubbing at his chest like it might help the ache ease. 

~

You give Benny a moment to collect himself, for his breathing to even out, for the shake in his hands that he normally tries not to let you see to stop. 

“When did it start?” 

“We - fucked up mission in - we lost someone. Ever since it's like - I start thinkin’ I’m gonna lose everyone, everything. Got better since I met you.” He glances at you, shakes his head. “Comes and goes, I guess. But anytime it feels like something’s changing or someone is pulling back it’s like - fuck - it’s like I can’t stop seeing blood.” 

“You think you’re gonna lose me?” 

Benny laughs, his hyena-like wild laugh that you’ve come to love more than anything, “Yeah. Yeah, all the time,” he says. “You have a way of just - you keep knocking me back. You don’t want anything to do with what’s important to me - like you don’t really want anything to do with me and -,” 

“Benny you aren’t exactly…you aren’t someone who stays. But you stay with your friends.” You squeeze his fingers, “I would rather be your friend - so I can keep you.” 

He stares at you, wide blue eyes tracking your every minute move, adding up what you just said in his mind. You look away from his eyes. “You have a couple things you keep close - I don’t fit into that. And I’ve lost people before. I’m alone and I don’t want to keep being that way. I would rather keep you like this.”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he says. “And what if that’s bullshit? You fit in just fine. Too well maybe. You never said shit because you thought what? I’m feeling casual about you?” He huffs out a sigh. “I spend every goddamn free second I have with you, or thinking about you. Not just anyone I’d start reading for. You know what it took for me to find that fucking book for you? God it was worse than chasing down fugitives.” 

You scoff dismissively, not willing to believe yourself special. You’ve heard that one before. “Yeah, I know how guys like you are, hon. I know.”

“The fuck’s that mean?” He says, not really a question, turning fully to you, pushing you back into your seat, hands lifting to frame your face, large and hot and calloused against your skin. “Lemme tell you something, honey, it only took me a couple hours to know you weren’t something I’d be able to forget.” His eyes flick over your face, “Nah. Never. You are one of my constants.” 

“Oh yeah? And what makes me so special?” You say with a roll of your eyes. 

“Well for one you just punched the shit out of someone for me,” he says. “And just about everything else. Everything we get up to. We compliment each other. You understand me. We have fun together and you never tell me to be quiet even when I probably fuckin’ should be. You’re my best friend too.” 

You reach up and hook one hand against his wrist, trace your thumb over the veins there, softening a bit. “Serious?”

“Yeah. Fuck, yes.” 

You nod and move your other hand to his chest. “You punched the shit out of someone for me too.” 

“Shoulda happened a long time ago.” 

You smile at that and then frown. “You should talk to Will. About the panic attacks. It’s okay that you’re going through something. We’re here for you. But no one’s going anywhere. Not me, not anyone.” 

“I’m not either,” he says, ignoring your suggestion for the moment, clearly not wanting to think about the panic attacks or his brother. “I’m not going anywhere either. Trust that.” 

And you do. 

Benny’s never lied to you and he certainly isn’t cruel. You tug him closer, press your forehead to his and breathe him in until he seems like he’s back to himself. 

The closeness is familiar. It doesn’t feel strange to be wrapped up in him like this, you and Benny are this close all the time and it’s always felt right, natural. 

“You want me, babe,” he says suddenly, only ruining the moment slightly, and you hear the grin in his voice.

“Fuck off.”

“I heard you. I know you do. S’okay, I want you too.”

When his breath ghosts over your lips and your breathing hitches hard, he surges forward to kiss you roughly. 

Its a desperate kiss, one that sears into you, that lights your veins on fire. You push your hands into silky wheat hair, tugging at the strands until Benny shoves back the center console and drags you into his lap, presses you close and tight, his heartbeat matching yours. It’s a little awkward, your jaw smacking into his nose, Benny grunting before you find a good position, giggling the whole time before he’s kissing you again, the heat of him so good around you. 

Broad hands splay over your back, trace the line of your spine as you push your hand inside the collar of his worn shirt. 

But just as quickly it softens and Benny Miller is smiling into you so hard he can’t really kiss you properly. 

“Been waitin’ for this so long,” he says, his mouth brushing yours with every word. You jerk him forward by the back of his neck, pressing him as close as you can, laughing into him. 

“Have ya?”

“Fuck yeah,” he murmurs, hissing when you press your thumb into one of his bruises, a bad habit you don't want to quit. “Yeah, shit, I have been. Stupid gorgeous and puts up with my shit.”  

You grin, “Sure do, pretty boy.” 

He doesn’t correct you, just fastens those cornflower blue eyes on you and asks, “So you’ll be at my next match?”

“‘Course. Can’t wait to see you get your ass handed to you.” You pull back to stroke his cheek, trace a thumb over his bottom lip. 

He kisses you again and this time it’s deep and controlled and so good, familiar and unexpected rolled into one. 

Feels like home, like there’s solid ground beneath you for once. 

[xkaidaxxxx]

Megumi x reader

Love story

Once upon a time, in a small town, lived two kids named y/n and Megumi. They were neighbors and had been friends since they were little. They spent their days playing in the park, riding bikes, and having adventures together. As they grew up, their bond only grew stronger.

In their teenage years, Y/n and Megumi started to see each other in a different light. They began to notice the little things about each other that made their hearts flutter. They would spend hours talking on the phone, sharing their dreams and secrets. They supported each other through thick and thin, always there to lend a listening ear or a shoulder to cry on.

As high school came to an end, Y/n and Megumi realized that what they felt for each other was more than just friendship. They were falling in love. However, they were both hesitant to confess their feelings, fearing that it might ruin their precious friendship.

One summer night, under a sky full of stars, Y/n and Megumi found themselves sitting on their favorite park bench. The air was filled with anticipation and nervous energy. Finally, Megumi mustered up the courage to speak his heart.

"Y/n, I've known you practically my whole life, and I can't imagine my world without you. I think I've fallen in love with you," Megumi confessed, his voice filled with vulnerability.

Y/n's heart skipped a beat, and a smile slowly spread across her face. "Megumi, I've been feeling the same way. You mean everything to me, and I've fallen in love with you too."

In that moment, their friendship transformed into a beautiful love story. They spent the rest of the summer exploring their newfound love, going on picnics, watching sunsets, and creating memories that would last a lifetime.

As they ventured into adulthood, Y/n and Megumi faced the challenges that life threw their way, but they always faced them together. They supported each other's dreams and aspirations, celebrating each other's successes and comforting each other during tough times.

Years passed, and their love only grew stronger. They got married surrounded by their loved ones, promising to always be there for each other. They built a life together, filled with love, laughter, and adventures.

Y/n and Megumi’s love story serves as a reminder that sometimes the best relationships start as friendships. It's a testament to the power of growing up together, understanding each other's quirks, and cherishing the bond that forms over time.

And so, Y/n and Megumi lived happily ever after, grateful for the love and friendship they found in each other's arms. They cherished every moment, building a life full of joy, support, and endless adventures. Their love story was a beautiful journey that they were forever grateful for. ❤️🌟

More stories to come!!

Hope you liked this one