#still a child at heart. if the ice cream truck came by your house

[belphieslilcow]

i took a which tamagotchi are you quiz and i got marutchi.... they are just a lil baby and also a ball

[silver-weasel]

Diving (Deku x Reader)

Pairing : Deku x fem!reader (aged-up characters)

Rating : E, 18+

Tags : smut • fem!reader (she/her) • best friends to lovers / childhood friends to lovers • quirkless AU • p*rn with feelings (like. a lot of them) • public sex (more or less) • switching • hair pulling? • pining • Deku being flustered and an absolute angel what’s new • Reader being a teasing brat • It’s all soft and fluffy, I’m as vanilla as you can get 🤷‍♀️ • Happy birthday to the bestest boyyy I love him so much it hurts

Word count : 10 600 (Holy sh—)

A/N : Thank you @hoe-doroki my beloved and savior for beta-ing <3

Written for @rat-zuki​’s collab in honor of our favorite birthday boy, The Deku Agenda Escapes no One. Thank you so much for letting me join! (go check out the other amazing writers and artists!)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

The ground grinds repeatedly under your hiking shoes, some pebbles being kicked forward on your way. You’re way too deep in the forest to hear any cars passing by and during the two hours you’ve been here you haven’t run into anyone. The place seems empty, the only souls breathing the forest’s thick air being you, Izuku and the birds chirping all around you.

The afternoon is coming to an end, the sun sinking down on its way to hide behind the mountains. The remains of its soft light are filtering through the dense leaves all around and above you. You’re surrounded by green, lush and immeasurable greenery, every plant merging into another.

You’ve left the marked paths, now wandering deep in the richest, boundless part of a forest you both know like the back of your hand after roaming it all over innumerable times. All over, except for this part, in which you’re setting foot for the first time today. Your many previous hiking sessions were shortened by your questionable sense of organization, always arriving too late to explore further into the unknown.

Leaves brush against your knees with every single step you take as you follow Izuku on his heels. He’s moving at a steady pace, his hands holding tight the straps of his yellow backpack that he’s had for as long as you can remember. He’s always so organized, has everything you two could eventually need and generally never do. Two huge flasks of water, an entire meal he calls ‘little snacks’, with sandwiches, fruits, protein bars, even hard-boiled eggs. A first-aid kit with disinfectant, bandages, scissors and painkillers. Hell, you’re even wondering if he has any pads for you in there, in case of an unexpected period. You wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

You giggle lightly when you see him stumble for the sixth time since you got here; he can’t seem to keep his curious eyes from drifting up and around, looking in every direction, probably retaining every detail and logging it in some impressive mental database of his. And he’s commenting on every little thing he sees too; he makes you notice things you never would have if it weren’t for his candid interest in everything.

“Oh! Look at that bird!” he exclaims, pointing at a branch over your heads. “Do you see it, right there, with the red mark!”

You turn your gaze to where he’s pointing and see a little bird, very cute, but so tiny you’re wondering how one could spot it without specifically looking for it. That’s probably what you like most about Izuku: his attention to detail. That’s the thing—nothing is too small for him, everything is worthy of interest. His eyes always light up with such curiosity, this child-like wonder and it was always one of your favorite things to witness growing up.

When he came over to your house at age six, he was always running around with some bug on his forearm, calling your name, yelling, “Look at this!”

Most of the time, it was a snail or a ladybug, and that always managed to catch your interest. Sometimes, it was a spider or a beetle, and he had you screaming in horror more than once, running to your mother’s legs with weeping eyes. Those times, he always watched you go with wide, sad eyes and a wobbly lip, because, “I would never hurt her, Mom! I swear I didn’t want to scare her!”

“Oh, yeah, I see it! It’s so cute!”

And it is cute, the way his huge green eyes go even rounder in amazement. You treasure these hikes for providing occasions to witness this. But as much as you wish this moment could last forever, the sun is beginning to set, you probably shouldn’t go deeper in the forest at sundown.

“We should probably head back to the car, Izuku. It’s gonna be dark soon.”

“Come on, it’s still so light—there’s no rush!” His lips crook a bit into an impish smile. “Scared that a bear is coming to get you?”

“There aren’t any bears here—we’ve been coming for five years.”

“Because if it’s the bears you’re afraid of,” he begins, ignoring you on purpose, “you know I’ll protect you, right?” he says, sticking out his chest like he’s some superhero.

“Against a bear? Right.”

“You’re underestimating me? That’s just mean.”

You chuckle at his antics, shooting him a look of yours that says, ‘Come on, please?’.

His eyes soften a bit, but he’s used to that look; it’s been years since it worked on him as well as you’d like it to.

“We can just keep going this way, then we’ll make a loop and head back to the car directly! It’ll be even shorter this way.”

“Alright, let’s do that,” you agree, and the smile it elicits from him makes something tingle deep in your stomach.

You move forward again, sinking deeper within the forest. It’s becoming harder and harder to walk, brambly branches and huge leaves blocking your way more and more with every step.

You’re a bit ahead of him when you catch sight of a sparkle behind the bushes. Just a glimpse of light, but you’re positive you saw it. Is there water here? You never really looked at a map of the place before—you just always went wherever you felt like and used the same tracks on the way back. You hurry up a bit, curious eyes fixed on that glimmer of light.

Soon enough the dense greenery comes to an end, and you’re finally out of the bushes, finding your way into a little clearing. You’re standing, speechless, in front of a pond: it’s about forty feet wide, catching the last rays of sunshine in a dazzling reflection. The water is surrounded by gigantic trees big enough to be home to an entire niche of biodiversity, and a half-sandy, half-stony shore with reeds rising from the water on both sides.

It’s all calm and quiet and massive trees, branches pouring, cascading above still water. The air feels cool, filled with a pure smell of dew and spring even though it’s the end of a hot day of July.

Izuku is close behind you and lets out a very cute, “Whoa,” ditching his backpack on the ground next to you in the middle of the cove. The both of you just stand there for a moment in complete silence, aside from the birds chirping. Izuku breaks it first:

“How come we’ve never seen this before? This place is amazing.” He sounds distant as he speaks, soaking up his surroundings like he always does.

“I guess you never know everything about anything,” you say mindlessly, without detaching your gaze of the wonderful view ahead.

He’s standing close to you, very close. You’re only noticing now that you’re coming down from the high of your discovery. Your arms are brushing, you can feel his body heat from how close you two are. It wouldn’t be the first time; you’re no stranger to being physically close to Izuku. You’ve been playing together since you were able to put one foot in front of the other. And you wish you could say it feels any different right now, but that would be a lie. Being close to him always felt the same. Always felt like the only easy thing in your life. The only constant.

Yet it’s not enough. No matter how close, it’s never enough, it never was. You hate yourself for feeling that way; you’ve never been the greedy, unsatisfied type. You have everything with Izuku. Well, almost everything.

But right now this place—this very quiet, beautiful place with no one in sight is doing things to your fertile imagination. Despite the sun just beginning to set, the summer air still remains thick with heat. You find yourself staring in the abyss of that water, admiring the masterpiece of a reflection on the surface, a painting of leaves and clouds and blue sky. It calls you, sings an irresistible song of fresh water on sweaty skin and strong, freckled arms wrapped around you.

You don’t know if the slight, insignificant detail that you would have to undress in order to dive into that water—since you didn’t bring a swimsuit—is a better reason to do it or to refrain from doing so.

You’ve lost count of how many moments you’ve shared with him just like this one. So many chances for you to take. You never have.

Back to the original issue: can you see yourself walk out of that clearing the way you always do? Can you see yourself going home, adding this missed chance to your growing collection of lost memories, of hands within your reach that you chose not to take?

The answer pops in your mind, crystal clear for the first time since you met him.

You drop your bag on the ground, turning to Izuku with a delighted expression stretching your features. The look on your face reminds him of one he’d seen on you as a kid, bouncing on the balls of your feet in front of the ice cream truck. At this moment he just knows you’ve got some stupid shenanigan in mind, like you always do. Once again, he isn’t wrong.

“Wanna take a dip?” You’re squinting at him from his side, a mischievous smile lighting up your face.

“I-I didn’t bring a swimsuit,” he stutters.

It’s been a long time since he last stuttered in front of you. He got rid of it years ago, but it still resurfaces sometimes in front of intimidating strangers or in a socially uncomfortable situation. Never in front of you, though.

“Me neither,” you answer plainly with that same impish smile, and his eyes go round at your implications.

“Wait, you can’t be—Oh my God—”

His heart does a great flip in his chest when he catches you taking the hem of your shirt up over your head. In less than five seconds, you’ve got him scorching hot, feverish and suddenly he can’t tell right from left.

His reflex is to bury his face in his hands. He respects you too much to take a peek, but you’re making things very difficult for him. He can hear you move towards the water, can hear the thump of your forgotten shoes hitting the ground one after the other, can hear the soft pad of your naked feet on the rocks.

“For the love of God, please, put it back on…” 

“What? Look at this view, it would be a shame not to make the most of it!”

He’s not looking at the view right now, he can’t let himself. He knows very well he won’t be able to focus on the trees when you’re standing pretty much naked—although he’s not sure to what extent—in front of him. You could be entirely naked right now and he wouldn’t be able to tell, his burning face still hidden in his shaking hands. His voice comes out muffled when he stammers, “I-It’s starting to get late, we really should get back to the car…”

“What, you’re scared of the bears?”

He can’t see you, but he knows you’re sporting that smug grin of yours, the one he first saw when you showed him your impressive collection of Pokémon cards on your preschool’s playground. You’ll have to take a lingering silence for an answer.

“Izuku, come on. I don’t bite.”

He’s not entirely sure the sight of you won’t gnaw him to the bone, won’t melt his entire body down and leave him a hot mess. He won’t be a man anymore, just a walking flame fueled by the heavenly sight of you. No, he can’t let himself fall into that. Obviously you don’t know what you’re doing to him.

Nevertheless, you’re probably the most stubborn person he knows. And he’s friends with Katsuki Bakugou, for God’s sake. He won’t be able to get out of this as easily as he wants, especially as he hears the delicate noise of water splitting at your feet as you enter the little pond.

He slowly moves his hands off of his face. You must have your back turned to him, so maybe he can drift his eyes off somewhere—

You are in front of him, thigh deep in the water now. In nothing but your panties. Your white, flower-patterned lace panties that are doing a very bad job at covering your backside. He lets out a long, pained whine, standing in the middle of the little shore with his arms dangling down his sides, not sure what to do with them.

“Why didn’t you at least keep your bra on?” His voice comes out way more wobbly than he intended to.

You turn a little so you can look at him, and it takes every little bit of strength he’s got left to look you in the eye. But as you’re turning around, the smooth curve of your breast starts showing, and God, is that your nipple?

He wants a giant hole to swallow him right now. He wants some forest creature to come for him right this instant, anything to keep him away from you, keep him from doing things he might regret. To punish him for having such thoughts about you, because you trust him, you’re so oblivious, so innocent, and he’s so weak against this inner monster that’s eating him away.

With a little frown, you deliver the answer like it’s self-evident as you kneel into the water, the surface just above your chest:

“I didn’t want it to get wet.”

“But you’re okay with your panties getting wet?”

The realization of what he just said is slow but surely comes. And when it does, he wishes even harder to get erased from the surface of this planet he’s already lucky enough to share with you. There is a long silence, and all he can hear for a few seconds are the birds chirping and the violent pounding of his heart against his ribcage, straining to get out.

You turn back around to look at him, dumbstruck. 

“I’m more than okay with that—”

“Please forget I just said that,” he cuts you off. He’s not sure he can bear to hear more of this.

“I’m never forgetting you said that. It’s pure gold,” you scoff.

He can only answer with a drawn-out whine. He doesn’t have any choice in this, does he?

When you dive in the water, he takes both his shaking hands to the hem of his shirt and starts undressing.

What the fuck am I doing?

The water is so pure you can see underwater as clear as day: the few rocks at the bottom, the little silvery fish all around you, and the last rays of sunlight permeating through the calm surface above your head. The water feels a bit cold on your naked skin since the sunlight and summer heat must only hit the clearing at certain hours of the day. Still, the cold water isn’t enough to clear your foggy mind.

What was I thinking?

You’ve always been a bashful person, why is it changing all of a sudden? Maybe it’s the devastating effect Izuku has on you.

You try to calm down a bit, taking a deep breath. So, you’re pretty much naked in front of him. Well, it definitely wouldn’t be the first time, and it (probably) won’t be the last. Now you just have to go through with your stupid idea. It’s no big deal, it’s only Izuku. Only Izuku.

Only Izuku.

Fuck.

You finally surface, not only because you can’t hide underwater forever, but also because, surprisingly, you’re not a fish, you have to actually breathe.

You push your dripping hair to the back of your head, still careful to keep your breasts under the water. Izuku’s already in to his hips when you turn around to look at him, your vision still blurry from the water trickling all over your face. He’s merciless, standing like that, only the elastic of his boxers peeking out of the water. You’re a bit surprised by the plain, black color. You were expecting something along the lines of blue, yellow and red. Izuku is full of surprises.

But nevermind the color of his underwear—what you find just above is mesmerizing. Your indiscreet, incorrigible gaze can’t help following the thin trail of hair tracing up to his navel, then the stunning lines of his abs, partly hidden behind his freckled forearms shyly crossed over them. The freckles spread up his powerful arms, gently sunkissed, scattering all over his broad shoulders.

Is he actually hiding, though? Doesn’t he know he looks like he was carved by the gods themselves?

“Have you done this before?”

The sound of his voice startles you a bit. Ah, right. You were shamelessly staring. It takes you a couple of seconds to force your distracted mind back into focus. “Done what?”

“Skinny dipping?”

“No, it’s my first time. It looks like it’s yours too.” His big, bright eyes drift around like they don’t know where to look. It’s really cute.

“It is,” he admits, now kneeling into the water as well. “I would’ve thought you were used to this.” You arch a single eyebrow in an amused frown.

“What, do I look like I have a professional degree in skinny dipping?”

“No, it’s just…You look confident, it just seemed like it.”

Confident? You’re nowhere near confident—you’re terrified. You try to keep your cool, but it’s probably the first time you’re putting on an act in front of Izuku.

“Well, you’re not so bad at it yourself.” You don’t miss the little blush coating his cheeks at that. “Also, I’m not exactly naked.”

“You’re not exactly dressed either, that’s a...v-very small piece of clothing.” He’s blushing a bit harder, looking away.

“Oh, seems like you paid some attention to my piece of clothing then, good to know.”

Now he’s quite simply scarlet. A very cute, very hot, freckled tomato. He’s so easily flustered, it only makes you want to tease him some more.

“Were your legendary All Might boxers in the dirty hamper? That’s a shame. I’m a bit disappointed,” you say in a mockingly innocent voice.

He doesn’t retort, simply stands there on his knees, shooting you an unreadable look and a little pout. After a few seconds, you open your mouth to continue, only to be startled by a strong splash hitting you in the face.

When you snap out of your shock, hair and face dripping all over your shoulders, you look up at him with what must be the scariest look of betrayal. Or the most ridiculous, apparently, since he starts laughing, louder and louder, and can’t seem to stop.

“Oh, you’re pretty pleased with yourself right now, aren’t you?” You can’t help but chuckle while talking, his laugh is so contagious.

“I am, yeah!” he manages to articulate, only starting to calm down.

As the calm of the forest returns, you watch his eyes go back to their usual round shape bit by bit, his face relaxing again. His smile causes butterflies to fly up and around in a whirlwind deep into your belly. You chuckle a bit at the feeling, almost embarrassed by how he’s making you feel like you’re in some dumb, cliche rom-com movie. On the outside, you must look a bit like a maniac, but he’s a nice guy, so he simply asks, “What is it?”

And before you can overthink yourself out of it, you’re hurling yourself at him. He barely has the chance to stutter a weak, “Wait!” before you’re putting all your weight on him, sinking his head deep in the water. Izuku may well be a nice guy, but you know he isn’t going to let you get away with this, so you’re not surprised when you’re dragged underwater by your legs. He lets go immediately, a bit abruptly, even, like it burnt his hands to touch you.

You both emerge from the water soon, and it takes you a second to get rid of the water blurring your vision, but then it hits you. How tantalizingly close you are to each other now, your bodies an inch away from touching. You’re both on your knees, enveloped in the coolness of crystal clear water and the reflections of the canopy of leaves above your heads. A spark of electricity makes you freeze on the spot; you’re so close to him your breasts slightly brush against his chest.

After a little eternity, you find the courage to look up at his face. He looks mindblowing, really. Despite the two decades you spent together, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen the pure, astonishing details of his freckles from this close. You would remember it, you definitely would. It’s a spectacular view, one of those visual memories that comes back to hit you in flashes. His nose and cheekbones are covered in them, drawing a mesmerizing pattern, more complex than the Milky Way itself. They’re an uncrackable equation, like a weird quirk of nature that you’ll never understand but don’t question anyway. They spread a little more scattered, but still very present, up to his forehead and down to his delicate jaw.

And his eyes—you could just drown in them. There’s this bright, blinding light there that feels like laying in the grass and looking up at the sunlight coating the leaves of this tree, the one you grew up near and always played under.

You swear you didn’t move, neither did he, and still you manage to get even closer to him. Now it’s you against the inexorable attraction that pulls you towards him like a fierce magnet. And it’s a losing battle, you think, as you’re both entering each other’s personal space like you share just one.

There’s nothing friendly about the way he can’t look you in the eye, seemingly too obsessed with your lips. You drop your gaze to his and find them calling for you. It’s been so long, now the thought of kissing Izuku seems unfamiliar despite being ever-present in your imagination for so many years. Like repeating a word so much it ends up becoming a series of meaningless sounds to your confused mind.

He’s the one who finally closes the distance, his lips landing on yours so softly you can barely feel them. He doesn’t move, simply content with the contact. You’re both eight years old again for a minute. The kiss feels like the little peck a kid would finally give to his crush in the middle of their school’s playground before running away to his friends.

Time seems to stop for God knows how long, and after what feels like no time and forever all at once, his lips move hesitantly against yours, bringing you back to reality. Right then, it all crashes on you like a tremendous wave. The distant echo of your mothers’ voices from the kitchen and the stupid cartoons they made you watch so they could talk for ten more minutes. The games alone together because no one wanted to play with you two weirdos. The piggyback rides, the dumb jokes, the video games (you always won). The neverending texting sessions at night because one of you couldn’t sleep. The fights that never lasted long enough to see the next sunrise because you both are way too weak for each other. All those stupid places that wouldn’t have looked half as breathtaking if it weren’t for him.

His lips are soft but roughly bitten. Hot and wet from the water and maybe from something else. He doesn’t taste like anything other than home, and that’s more than enough for you. His hands went up to cup your face at some point, but you’re too drowned in all the feelings coming up to the surface to pay attention to anything other than his soft mouth pressing on yours, more and more, opening up—

And it’s already over. You only notice that you’ve closed your eyes when you open them again when you don’t feel anything against your mouth other than the summer air. When your mind manages to regain any sense of function, the blurry focus of your gaze settles on his eyes. Wide open. Pupils eating up the dazzling viridian that puts the forest to shame. And a terrified expression in them.

He’s looking at you like he hurt you. His lips should still be on yours, kissing and sucking, not frozen like they are right now, obviously trying to express something painful as a few weak sounds pass their barrier before he finally manages to speak:

“Oh—Oh my God, I-I’m s—”

You don’t let him finish his stupid sentence. You don’t think twice before you take his face in your hands and lean in to kiss him again, with shameless intent this time. No more pretending—you’ve been waiting long enough for this and apparently, so has he.

It’s nothing gentle this time when your mouths crash against each other, teeth clashing and lips bruising under the weight of twenty years. You hold to his face like a lifeline, fingers sinking just a bit into his cheekbones, the tip of your nails getting caught in the knots of his dripping hair just above his ears. It’s messy, your noses rubbing before he angles his face better. One of his hands loops around your waist in a tight grip, forcing your chest to crush against his, the other burying in your hair at the base of your skull.

The feeling is electrifying, indescribable. It’s nothing like the pale, miserable depiction of your imagination. It’s discovering life in color when all you’ve always known was black and white.

The water is cool, but his body scorches against yours, burns your skin in the most exquisite way. The kiss is desperate on both parts, but neither of you is confident. His lips suck on yours with tentative motions, and you respond in kind the best you can. They are hungry, starving for flesh but don’t know how to hunt.

Your hands are gripping more and more of his hair, pulling harder, sending waves of heat all the way down his groin, and he’s not sure he can hide the bulge growing there for much longer.

He has to be sure, he has to be absolutely certain you want this as much as he does, because once he starts, he may not be able to stop. But you feel so good, all pressed against him. Your skin feels so soft under his hand at the small of your back he has to dig his nails in the skin of your waist so he doesn’t cross a line. But the curve just above your ass is begging for him to grip at the tender flesh and squeeze, fill his hands with it. He’s been dreaming about this for so long.

No, he can’t just hurl himself at you like a hunting wolf the first chance he gets—what kind of friend does that?

It takes him every bit of focus he has left to break the kiss, to part away from you. You have to discuss this, he can’t just throw away twenty years of friendship! Now you’re looking up at him with puppy eyes saying, ‘Why won’t you play with me?’ He breathes out a shaky sigh, and begins:

“Um, look. Believe me when I say I’ve wanted this for a very, very long time, and I love you so, so much. As a friend, I mean.” He sees you frown at this, catches a glint of something he doesn’t like in your eyes, then panics. “No, no, no, I mean, a-as a friend, but also more than that, o-obviously. But I don’t know what you want, you might be...d-disappointed, or...um—” His face starts heating up like it hasn’t in ages. He takes another breath, tries to clear up the muddled mess happening in his head. “Look, I just want the best for you, but you look...good, very good, and you’re making things very difficult for me, doing...this—”

“Izuku.” The deafening hubbub filling his mind falls suddenly silent, your voice a comforting, steady rock for him to cling to when his mind is storming out of control.

“Yeah?”

You get even closer to him, since he gradually set some distance while mumbling his anxious thoughts out again. You cup his face in your hands, a gentle, featherlight touch, and look up at him with determination in your eyes. You pull his head down a bit to settle on yours, your foreheads and noses connected, never breaking eye contact. Your lips graze over his, both your breaths mixing there, your voice a quiet whisper as you speak again. “Do you want me?”

Out of the jittery mess of his mind, the answer comes out like evidence, plain and simple: “Yes.”

“Then shut up and kiss me.”

You take action immediately, kissing him once again and this time he doesn’t hesitate to put his—still rather shaky—hands on you. The feeling of you is addicting, pushing his insecurities further in the back of his mind. He starts at your waist, running his thumbs there, feeling the goosebumps rising on your skin. They wander up your spine, counting every single bump of your bones, all the way to your nape. Then dragging them back down to settle on your hips, his fingers digging in the soft flesh. The little sigh you breathe on his lips causes an impressive amount of blood to run straight to his dick. 

Your mouth is distracting, dizzying, sucking on his bottom lip, nipping playfully. His tongue slides over your lips, then against your own when you open up immediately for him. You’re pressing against him even more, your breasts rubbing against his naked chest and he swears you’re going to be the death of him. You’re hanging from his shoulders by now, your arms circling his neck, still gripping a handful of green hair, pulling. You have to stop doing this—he might cum right away. He doesn’t say it aloud, only lets a moan escape him into your mouth.

He wanted this, wanted this for so long, and now that it’s real, it’s beyond everything he could have imagined. The heat of your skin, the weight on his shoulders as you cling to him, your breath in his mouth, your little sighs.

He’s only now noticing that his hands have gone to reach their destination with a mind of their own. They’re on your ass underwater, feeling the white, wet lace, the sole cloth on your entire body—that thing is just there to tempt him. He’s unsure if you like what he’s doing until you release a whimper, louder this time, enough to send a vibration against his mouth (and straight to his cock at the same time).

Suddenly, he wants to taste a lot more of you. You’re all open up to him for the first time—he has to. He trails a series of open-mouthed kisses from the corner of your mouth to your jaw, savoring every little sigh escaping your lips, then to your neck, dragging his tongue up the column of your throat.

The water is fresh all over you, and he doesn’t miss the shivers running up and down your skin at the contact of the twilight breeze. He needs to warm you up, needs to make you feel good, needs everything to be perfect for you. With his hands still on your ass, he trails lower down to your collarbone, allowing some occasional nips on the way that have you shaking. He freezes, looking up at you from there.

“Is this okay?”

The answer comes out breathy, a little desperate: “Yes, yes, please!” It sends a wave of heat all over him, the way you like what he’s doing to you, the way he’s making you feel good.

He’s not experienced or anything, only had a few hookups a couple of times, so he’s not very confident in his capacities, aside from running his hands all over you because that’s how his instincts are manifesting. You know him better than anyone—of course you would know how lost he could be in this kind of situation. But he also knows you’re not much more experienced than him, and that thought is comforting.

He’s experienced in one thing, though. He feels like the worst, filthiest person on the planet for this, but it’s astonishing the number of times he jerked off to the thought of what’s happening right now. How many times did he fuck his hand in the shower thinking about the water trickling down your skin, about licking it off your breasts all the way up to your neck.

So he does what he’s been dying to do for years. your breasts are just above the surface, so he sits on his heels and licks down your chest. When his tongue finally reaches your nipple, giving it a tentative lick, you let out a gasp, encouraging him to get bolder. And he does, closing his mouth on it like it’s the sweetest lollipop; it’s all cold and hard and raised from the water, but it warms up really quickly against the furnace of his mouth. His right hand leaves your ass to cup the neglected other, running his thumb against the bud, squeezing the flesh. That’s when you reach out to bury a hand in his hair, and pull again. God, you can pull on his hair all day and night like this; he’ll never get enough.

His left hand, still on your ass, rises up to the small of your back, feeling you arching more and more, pushing against his mouth. A harder nip has you gasping and he lets his hands run all over you, wandering without direction. It’s messy and urgent; he can’t help it—you feel so good, so soft under his hands. He’s like a kid getting to open his Christmas gifts in the morning after an endless, sleepless night waiting for Santa.

You trail your hand down his chest and his abdomen, a gentle reminder that the power he holds right now could slip through his fingers any moment. He’s willing to give it to you, especially since he doesn’t really know what to do next.

Like you just read his mind, you take his hands in yours, stopping their chaotic race. He’s feeling himself flush a bit—was he going too fast for you? Did he scare you? Or did he just let himself become overwhelmed by his feelings and it didn’t feel good for you? His eyes are looking down directly at your naked chest, he realizes he never took a proper look at them, too busy throwing himself to taste them. They look just as good as they taste, as beautiful as the rest of you.

Tentatively, he raises his eyes to find your reassuring gaze and fond smile. You lead his hands down slowly, setting them on your hips, over the criminal lace fabric preserving your modesty. Your foreheads connect again, but you never break eye contact. Lacing your fingers together, you guide his thumbs into the elastic on both sides, and now that he gets what you’re trying to do, his mind just stops.

Your voice is barely a whisper, a mesmerizing caress on his lips when you speak again. “I think I’ve waited long enough, Zuku.”

Your tone is fond, but you sound so desperate, it’s unbearably cute. His mind fogs up, the smoke of your words filling his skull and he wants to drive you as mad as you drive him. Sure, you’ve waited a lot, but so has he. He isn’t going to rush this, not if he has any say in it.

He slides your panties down your thighs underwater inch by inch. It’s even too slow for him; right now he just wants to rip the stupid piece of lace off of you and fuck you and him both stupid in the water, hard and fast. But even more than that, he wants to take his time with you, wants to take you apart piece by piece. And the testy whine it elicits from you makes it all so worth it.

You shift a bit so he can take your underwear completely off and, in a second, it lays abandoned on the sandy ground of the shore. Just knowing you’re now completely naked in front of him, it sends boiling desire flowing through every single vein in his body. He can’t see that part of you yet, the water darkening along with the sky clouding his view beneath the surface, but nightfall can’t do anything about Izuku’s wild imagination. He’s dizzy, feeling himself slowly falling into a half-conscious daze, but you anchor him right where you are, bringing him back to the reality of your arms hooked around his neck.

He rests his hands on your hips, dragging his fingertips down the soft flesh of them. The idea of touching you down there is making his head spin, he can’t wait any longer.

“Can I—”

“Yes, I want your fingers inside me,” you say before driving your lips back against his.

Without further ado, one of them goes straight to your core, making you jump a bit, breaking the kiss just for a second. He runs his index between your folds, feeling hot slick already coming out of you despite the fresh water around. His touch is light, slow, hesitant as it glides up and down, testing the waters. He’s getting a bit further, putting a bit more pressure with every stroke and earning a few pleased sighs from your heavenly mouth.

He expected a sudden reaction as soon as he found your clit, but that doesn’t mean he was prepared for the drawn-out moan coming out of your gorgeous lips, wet from his mouth and from your dip earlier. He wants to hear that again, every day for the rest of his life. He drags his thumb over it, again and again, slow at first, but then quicker and quicker, and your voice grows louder with every speed-up of his finger.

Your hands go frantic over him, running up his chest and down his abs in repeated motions that feel a lot like it’s lust driving your limbs much more than your mind. You stopped kissing him at some point, your mouth too busy expressing every ounce of pleasure you felt to focus on such basic motions. Your face is buried in his neck, your hot breath crushing against his skin.

He presses his index inside, but he’s so focused on what he’s doing, trying not to hurt you, that he doesn’t notice the shift of your own hand leaning down until he feels it cupping the painful bulge in his boxers. His eyes go wide with a gasp, and when he looks at you, you already have a playful, but intense, gaze piercing right through him.

“Did you think I was gonna let you play all on your own, Zuku?” Your fingers graze over the soaked fabric, down his entire length and to his balls, throwing gasoline on the fire that’s been consuming him for ages. “Don’t be selfish,” you whisper directly in his ear as your hands slip his underwear down his thighs.

As soon as the piece of cloth gets to join your forgotten panties on the shore, you wrap your pretty hand around him. And when you start stroking, his eyes roll so hard he swears he can see the inside of his skull. It feels better than he ever could have imagined; it’s blistering, astonishing. The only idea his brain can manage to work out right now is that he wants you to feel just as good.

He only notices now that his fingers stopped moving, and they go right back to a steady pace, but it’s a matter of seconds before he drives another finger into you. Soon, you’re both fucking the life out of each other with your hands. You’re sucking and nipping at his ear, and every single moan he draws out of you ends up turning against him, breaking into the defenses he built year after year by your side. He’s simply fucking into your hand now. He can’t help it, you feel so good. He doesn’t even want to think about what it’s going to feel like to fuck into your tight little cunt, he might cum hard just from the thought of it.

The spongy spot he finds inside you feels like he just struck gold. It’s glorious, the sounds you make right now, higher, louder. You’re tightening around his fingers, but it’s okay—you can crush them for all he cares. He wants you to moan higher for him, wants you to keep riding his fingers like your life depends on it.

“Izuku, ah—I’m close, I’m so close, please…”

“I got you, baby. I got you, shit—”

He quickens the pace again, feels like his fingers are gonna fall off his hand the moment he gets them out of you, but fuck, what his princess wants, his princess is gonna get. Your orgasms shatter the both of you to pieces, and in the bliss of his high, he can hear some birds flying away, scared by the harmonious, but probably very loud, song of your combined moans.

While his cum strikes out by ropes into the water, his clouded mind can only think about one thing.

He needs more of you.

You can barely stand on your knees, worn out from cumming the hardest you have in your entire life. You actually have to lean on Izuku so you don’t fall into the water head first like some boneless ragdoll. You just let your forehead rest on his shoulder and count the freckles there, splattered in a fascinating work of abstraction.

But apparently, he has other plans. You’re swiftly lifted up and out of the water, huge scarred hands firmly holding the back of your thighs that immediately come to circle his waist.

“Oh, nice. I don’t mind getting carried around like a baby. Where are we going?”

“Not far,” he says with a little grin, walking out of the water. “Do you think you’ll be able to walk?” His voice holds a sarcastic tone, one you’re not used to hearing out of Izuku’s angel mouth.

“I think I can manage, yeah.”

He drops you to stand on your legs, and immediately goes for his backpack. The sun has just set, its last rays of light filling the pink sky over your heads. You can still easily make out everything around you, and Izuku’s body is no exception.

You’re watching him with a raised eyebrow, letting your shameless gaze follow every curve you couldn’t see underwater. The day he started exercising in high school was the day you knew it was over for you. It was the day you couldn’t deny what you felt anymore, you couldn’t deny your best friend was everything you needed, and everything you wished for. The physical factor was only a—very pleasant— addition to the list of things that made you fall hard for Izuku Midoriya.

Your eyes linger over his impressive figure, staring at the dimples at the small of his back. You always knew they were here, but you never allowed yourself to look at them, to imagine how they would grow repeatedly hollow with every thrust of his hips into you.

He finally digs out what he was looking for: a plaid picnic blanket, because of course he would have one in there. He’s wearing a little victorious smile when he stands and turns around to spread it on a grassy spot that looks a lot more comfortable than the hard ground. He turns back to you but averts his gaze to the side, hardly looking directly at you for more than a second at a time. The heat of his gaze tracing your curves through quick glances pools deep in your core. 

“You know you can look, right?” You sure aren’t refraining from doing so after all.

His face reaches its usual redness—hasn’t he learned anything from making you cum like crazy with just his fingers? It’s cute nonetheless; Izuku will never change.

He doesn’t answer your rhetorical question, only gives you a shy command in that tentative, very cute voice of his.

“Could you lay down on this for me?”

You saw this coming, but still, you’re a bit surprised he’s asking you that out loud. You gladly oblige with your legs pressed together, slightly bent. It’s another golden opportunity to tease him a bit:. “This isn’t exactly the right use for this blanket. Aren’t we supposed to eat on this?”

He smiles at the ground while kneeling at your feet.

“Maybe that’s exactly what I’m planning to do.”

Your sly smile fades away. His tone is a contradictory mix of shyness and determination, so it’s a bit confusing but also unbearably hot—you swear an astounding wave of heat is crashing through your deepest parts, untouched, just from some words and a funny tone. You rub your thighs together before he grabs and parts them to slip himself between them.

He crawls over you and leans down to kiss you, a bit more confident than earlier. His hips are pressing between your legs, where you can feel his hardness best.

He’s rutting more and more against you as the kiss intensifies. You could think it’d be a lot less exciting now that you know he’s going to eat you out, there’d be no suspense. Wrong. The little shit apparently likes to tease you to death, because he left your lips to kiss your face, nip at your neck, suck at your ears. Dragging his devilish hands everywhere, pressing harder each time you get louder. An especially heavy whine makes him buck hard, his mouth back against yours.

“The more impatient you get, the slower it’s gonna be,” he murmurs against your lips, and starts to make his way down to where you want him, kissing every inch of you, clouding your mind with desire. It’s way too much and still not enough; it’s maddening. When he finally reaches down, you’re on the verge of a second orgasm like you hadn’t just come down a few minutes ago.

He’s holding your thighs apart in a firm grip. Just the touch of his fingers burns your skin deliciously, and the look he’s giving you from between your legs...his eyes are clouded, half-lidded, looking at the part of you he’s never gotten to see before. It feels like he’s been looking forever and just a second at the same time.

He finally dips into you, leaving butterfly kisses all over your inner thighs, punctuated by little nips, nuzzling the soft skin. He’s not looking you in the eye anymore, his gaze lingering all over your body—all over except for your face. You can make out a slight blush on his cheeks despite the dimness all around. You know him better than anyone, so you immediately recognize what’s going on in his mind just from the slightest hint in his eyes. He looks like he’s fighting a battle against himself, his shyness against his hunger. And you know who you’re both rooting for.

He finally gives in, and it takes your breath away. A single, slight lick on your clit and you’re gone. And the next ones, more and more intense, more and more hungry, push you further to tumble over your edge. He grunts into your heat, multiple times. Moans like he’s the one squirming under your mouth.

His hands hold a firm grip on your hips, squeezing the flesh and keeping you in place—he doesn’t even give you an inch to move. You can only take and take and take. But you still have the luxury of your free hands, and they rush to bury in the knots of his messy wet curls, your nails dragging, scratching his scalp.

His lips close on your clit and suck just a bit, and before you can refrain, you pull on his hair, hard. He gasps, and the moment you think you hurt him, he breathes his loudest moan, right into you. You’re filled with the vibrations—they spread all over your body, have you throwing your head back, trembling from head to toe.

The louder you are, the hungrier he gets, filling you with his insatiable tongue. You have to look at him right now. And you expected quite a show, but you certainly weren't prepared to see this—him rutting against the ground like an animal. You realize he’s getting off just from your taste, just from eating you out. His hips roll repeatedly, making you salivate just to the thought of those same hips bucking into yours, fucking you into oblivion. And the more he ruts, the louder he gets.

Now if he wants to moan, you’re going to give him a good reason to. 

You hint for him to face you with a light tug on his hair. As soon as he’s back up, he dives in to kiss you. You don’t let him. In a second he’s on his back with you seated on his hips.

“What did I say about letting you play on your own, hm?”

The ‘deer caught in headlights’ look is so cute on him. And the rest is a marvel to look at. You’re straddling him and he has no other choice than to let you devour him with your eyes—not that he couldn’t bounce you off of him with just a thrust of his hips, but he already would have if he wanted to. You let your gaze wander mindlessly over him—it’s surreal. There’s no way he’s actually under you, waiting for you to please him back with his mouth and jaw still shining with your juices. It has to be a dream—it’s always been after all.

You shift so you’re straddling his parted thighs. You can finally take a look at him. The whole thing, that is. His cock is resting against his lower stomach, hard and swollen and thick. It’s a pretty, bright pink, shining with pre-cum at the tip. Your mouth waters just at the sight of it.

He’s looking down at you, his face as flushed as his dick, that usual blush still exquisitely coating his freckles. You take him in your hand, dive in to give a lick to the tip and his head falls back down with a whimper. You let your tongue drag over the whole length on the underside, and your lips close around the tip in a wet smooch. His hips jerk up a bit, startling you.

You finally take him whole in your mouth, and you can feel his whole body tensing under you. You start bobbing up and down, going a bit further each time, earning a series of shameless moans because this boy is loud. You expected him to express himself during sex since he’s such a mumbler—and frankly, it was always one of your biggest fantasies, hearing him come undone because of you, lose any sense of shame and self-restriction when he’s such a anxious person otherwise.

But you could’ve thought about it every night and day and still never be ready for this. It’s sinful. His hand goes to grab your hair just like you did to him, and now you get why he liked it so much. The feel of his nails scratching your scalp is electrifying, soothing and destructive at the same time.

Your tongue hits a precise spot just under the tip and he jerks up again, nearly screams, “Fuck—yes, right there, please—d-do that again!”

And you do, you can only oblige—he asked so nicely. Your lips go up and down, over and over, your tongue grazing this spot with a bit more pressure every single time. You squint over him, and what you find there is a mess. Trying so hard not to buck into your mouth but failing miserably. Sounding like he’s at Heaven’s gate.

“Easy, Zuku. You’re gonna scare the birds away,” you chuckle against him, your lips brushing the tip, dripping with your saliva and pre-cum.

“Do I need to remind you…how loud you were for me earlier?” He’s looking back down at you as he speaks, a tremble in his voice telltale of his approaching climax. “You sounded...so good, baby, I swear...wanna hear you again, wanna make you scream, just for me, fuck—”

You can feel yourself soaking the blanket, can feel the slick trickle down your folds and stain the plaid cotton. Is he aware of what he’s doing? Or is he just saying whatever is going through his chaotic mind? In any case it has you starving. So you let go of his cock and, before he can protest, crawl back to his face and kiss him desperately. Tasting both of your fluids in a mindblowing mix.

You pull back just enough to be able to speak, because you need him to understand you loud and clear when you say:  “Please, Izuku, I need you inside me, I’ve waited so long. Please.”

“Okay, okay, fuck—” He cuts himself off, his eyes slightly drooping like a sad puppy. “I-I don’t have any condoms.”

“You mean you probably have pads in there for me but no condoms?” you say with your eyebrows raised, your mocking tone hinting at a teasing remark, far from criticism.

He frowns in confusion. “How do you know I have pads in there?”

“So the legend turns out to be true. After all these years—”

“Shut up, you’re impossible,” he chuckles heatlessly, resting his hands on your back.

“It’s okay. I’m on the pill,” you assure him with a soft tone.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m on the pill, yeah.”

He rolls his eyes, then clarifies, a hint of hesitation clear in his voice.

“No I mean...you’re sure you wanna do this?” He marks a brief pause, takes a short breath. “With me?”

You don’t even think before answering, it slips your mouth like it’s not even your own words: “I don’t want it with anyone else.”

There’s a silence.

“Fuck, that sounds cheesy,” you scoff, looking away.

“It does, but we’re both cheesy idiots, apparently.”

You look back at him. His smile is so fond, so loving; it melts your heart in the best way.

“I wanna be your cheesy idiot,” you say against his mouth, looking right into his eyes, willing to fall in them.

“You always have been,” he nearly whispers. It fills your stomach with familiar warmth, intense and overwhelming, comforting.

There’s a bittersweet taste in your mouth, one of regret and lost time and God, we’re idiots.

Now it’s about time you make up for it all.

You look down at him, rolling your hips against him, dripping all over his cock, coating him in your juices.

“I think I asked you something, didn’t I?”

A whimper escapes him at the feeling. His hips buck up slightly, hands gripping at your back. When you do it again, you don’t get the chance to see his reaction; you’re on your back again, him towering over you, his thigh between your legs.

He’s looking at you with something in his eyes you don’t recognize, but the tone he speaks with has your entire body quaking.

“And you’re gonna get it, sweetheart.”

He holds himself over his left forearm, his hand thumbing at your cheek while the other strokes the whole length of your thigh. Your noses are brushing, your breaths crashing together. Your hands hold tight to his nape, playing with the short hair mindlessly as you’re waiting to be filled, finally.

You feel the stretch instantly. You try to focus on those mesmerizing emerald gems he calls eyes. They look right through your soul, eating you up and you barely feel the pain. He’s taking it slow, inch by inch, giving you all the time you need, caressing your cheek with a tender stroke of his thumb.

“Relax for me, baby.”

Izuku’s voice is a soothing sound over the incessant chirping of the grasshoppers. It was always one of your favorite things to hear, its every tone another blessing to your ears. It’s loving when he asks if you’re okay, comforting when he whispers sweet nothings to you as you cry on his shoulder, heartening when he’s going on about anything he’s passionate about.

He’s kissing every part of skin he has access to, over your face, your jaw, your neck. You feel yourself relaxing around him, and roll your hips up to give him the hint.

When he starts moving it’s still slow and careful. He doesn’t break eye contact, so you can see his every reaction, and he can see all yours. His hand is still playing with your hair, even as his pace speeds up with every second. The weight of him over you feels amazing, it holds him close against you, countless parts of you both rubbing together: your chests, your stomachs, your thighs. He doesn’t even have a lot of space to move. But getting to touch and get touched by him like this, it's incredible. You always had him so close to you, always right there and still so out of reach.

You still need more; you’re insatiable. You need to see him come undone under you, because of you. You push him to roll on his back, and you end up straddling him, setting the pace yourself. You start bouncing up and down on his cock, taking balance on the hard planes of his abs. He immediately reaches up to grab your hips, guiding you along.

His face tenses up, frowning, his nose wrinkling, his lips parted just to let out a series of breathy sighs. He looks wrecked and dizzy and stunning. He’s keeping his eyes open, fixed up on you, specifically on your breasts, bouncing with your every motion. And you can feel his gaze on your skin just as much as you feel his hands gripping harder at the flesh below your hips.

“Eyes up here, Zuku,” you coo with two fingers pointed at your eyes.

He doesn’t answer, only sits up easily and wraps his arms around your waist.

“You look so amazing, you have no idea what you do to me,” he says with a trembling voice, filled with bliss.

Your heart misses a beat at his words, they fill you with warmth and comfort because he definitely doesn’t have any idea what he’s doing to you. He delves his face into your neck, kissing and nuzzling, his breath coming shorter and shorter, crashing against your skin and his hands running all over you. The sound of his hoarse voice resonates through the forest and through your soul, echoing an enchanting song.

With little effort, he puts you back under him so he can pound into you with full force, and your legs immediately come up to wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper. Your hands grab his hair, tugging to see if you get the same reaction as earlier, and it doesn’t miss: he lets out a groan right into your ear, speeding up his pace again.

The sky is dark now, and all you can hear are his moans and yours and the slap of your hips coming together repeatedly. Your head is thrown back when he grabs you by the hair, forcing you to turn your head and face him.

“Look at me. I wanna see you.”

“Izuku, I’m gonna—”

“I know, baby. Let go for me, come on.”

Just the feel of his hand trailing down your stomach awakens something in you, this familiar pressure growing tight in your belly. And when his fingers reach your clit, a couple of strokes are enough to have you screaming his name, tightening around him, and pulling him towards his climax with you. His thrusts come franticly as you milk him dry, clawing desperately at his back, panting in his mouth as he leaned down to kiss you through both your climaxes.

As soon as he comes down, he rolls over on his side, still laying close to you, an arm thrown over you. You both take a minute to catch your breaths and, weirdly enough, you don’t hear anything aside from your panting. You really must have scared the birds away. Izuku breaks the silence first.

“Do you wanna...sleep at my place?”

He’s looking over at you and, despite the sky getting dark, you can easily imagine the blush coating his cheeks right now, like he didn’t make you scream his name, drunk on his cock two minutes ago.

You can’t repress your fond smile at his proposition.

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

You take a minute to gather your clothes from all over the place and get dressed, then grab your bag to tug it over your shoulder.

“You got everything?”

Izuku is waiting for you just outside the trees. You take a quick look around, making sure you haven’t forgotten anything, and turn around without a second look at the place.

Because although it was your first time setting foot here, it definitely won’t be the last; you will come back here with Izuku every chance you get, making it your shared secret, your own little wonderland.

You gladly take the hand he’s offering, making him blush a little harder, and you head straight back into the forest together.

You walk side by side as a comfortable silence settles, only disturbed by the grasshoppers’ incessant, boisterous chirping. The sky is utterly dark now, you can make out a few stars shining above the dense trees. You walk at a steady pace, but Izuku is going a bit faster with every step. Soon enough, he’s walking a bit ahead of you, still holding your hand. Another golden occasion to tease his eagerness.

“Are we in a hurry, Zuku?”

In the dark of the night, you struggle to make out the look on his face as he turns around to look at you. A second later, he’s running, and with your hand firmly held in his, you can’t do much but try to follow along. You giggle as you run, and it quickly grows into a belly-deep laughter. He’s fast, doesn’t get tired, but you follow him anyway, probably as eager as he is. You have to zig-zag so you don’t run straight into the massive trees standing in your way.

You get to the car in no time, but you’re both out of breath when you finally get in your respective seats, ready to go home.

Izuku doesn’t even wait to catch his breath before he starts the car, the engine roaring loudly in the silence of the night, probably scaring the birds away for the upteenth time that night. You catch his happy grin in the headlights glow before he heads back into the road.

You have a feeling the night is not over; you’ve only got twenty years to make up for after all.

[fivelakesinwriting]

Hi love your Barry content ( he deserves all the love). Could you possibly write something about Barry only being soft for his girl and his girl only. Or even him being super protective over her when a kook/or pogue hits on her

Author's Notes: Thank you so much, lovely - the character of Barry is so interesting to me, and I'm so happy you enjoy my content surrounding him. If this was your request - I hope you love it xoxo

Warnings: Guns, Mentions of drugs, Swearing, Sexual references - Sexual innuendos, Violence.

Requested? YES! Requests for OBX are OPEN!

*My work is not to be transferred, copied, translated or reposted to any other sites without my permission. Please see my masterlist for all other works and warnings. Thank you! xoxo

Vulnerable wasn't a state that came natural to him. Perhaps as a child, but he didn't really remember back that far. He was a soldier and he had to be tough, show no emotion. Don't get attached, it's just easier that way.

Even when he came home he found he didn't attach himself to many people. Or perhaps, there just weren't too many people around he wanted to cling to. He always had his back up around people. If they didn't get to know him, then he didn't get to know them and then his heart never got broken.

Until Her.

There wasn't really a timeline for their relationship, or when she started coming around. If he was honest, it all started to blend together. One day she wasn't there and the next she was. On his couch, perched on his lap with her fingers in his hair and her sweet voice in his ear.

Barry thought she was the sweetest girl in the world. Too sweet to be hanging around with drug dealing scum like him. Too soft, sweet and all around precious to be hanging around with a guy like him. Tripping over a loaded gun every step she took. She would give him those gentle, knowing eyes after she had gathered herself.

I know this is who you are, baby.

It was her unwavering love, patience and support of him for exactly who he was that helped him break his own walls down bit by bit. The way she didn't mind that his house was messy, all types of people from different walks of life knocking on his door. Or how she let him rest his head on her chest after a particularly long day, her fingers twisting the loose lock of hair the hung in his face.

Barry, quite simply, felt like he would die for her if it came down to it. He wasn't sure why he would ever find himself that in position, or why his sweet girlfriend, content on spending her nights cuddled on the couch with him or buried between the pages of book, would ever put either of them in that position.

But he would go down in flames for his woman.

"Baby?" Her voice was soft behind him as he sat at the table out in the sun-room, weighing out bags. His heart skipped a beat, and he felt like a teenager getting caught with his first dime-bag of weed.

"Hey. I was just finishin' up in here. Won't be long." He muttered with a clear of his throat as he turned in his chair to see her standing in the doorway, fiddling with the hem of her dress.

"Are we still going for a walk on the beach today?" She inquired, so sugary sweet it was a shock to his system. He felt dizzy, lightheaded.

Barry stood up, his work completely forgotten at her question. He had promised her that he would take her to the beach. A simple request, but he preferred to say "low profile" and the beach seemed like the least low profile place of all. But if she asked him, he would oblige without question.

"Yeah. Can go now, if you want." Barry nodded as he wiped his hands off on the back of his shorts before he reached for her hands. No part of his life, his work, would touch her. He still didn't know why she chose a life with him, but he took it day by beautiful day.

She took the small steps forward so her bare toes touched the tips of work boots, her hands reaching for his to lace their fingers. Barry looked down at their feet, passed their hands interlocked, at her little painted toes. It would take him a while to admit out loud that the bright colours she painted her toes made him just a little bit weak. The way she curled her toes against his shins when they were in bed together, or even the gentle way she rubbed the flats of her feet against his own to stay warm at night.

It made him remember he was still alive.

Barry loathed the beach. So many tourists, unhappy kids and parents, sun burnt and drunk college kids who just didn't know when to call it quits. All of it was terrible, but he didn't seem to notice all of those distractions so much when he was with her. Playfully kicking water at her as they walked the shoreline, a soft kiss to her forehead now and then. He wasn't too fond of large displays of affection, they seemed grotesque to him. A kiss to the forehead, or the squeeze of the hand was more than enough for him.

The looks of the frat guys around them didn't go unnoticed by the soldier. He was acutely aware of everything that was going on around them. He knew the toddler at the top of the hill, near the food truck, was going to fall the minute it started run. He could see it in his brain before it happened. He saw the teen girls ahead, and to the left of them, battling over who got to take the photo to commemorate the day.

And he saw the group of Kooks, more than one of them could be called a regular customer, eyes zeroed in on Barry and his girl slowly walking down the shoreline. He could see their lips moving, but he couldn't hear anything. A Kook Goon Squad, clad in overpriced bathing suits and Oakley's. He hated them, every last one of them.

"Here. Think that ice cream truck over there has that ice for little kids you like. Take this, I'll be right there." Barry grumbled as he reached into the back pocket of his shorts and pulling out his wallet.

"Super Hero ice cream is not for little kids, Barry." She scoffed, but graciously accepted his wallet with a peck on his cheek before she took off with a run through the water, splashing up her thighs.

Barry ran his hand over his chin as he made sure his love far enough away before he turned on his heel and stalked over to the Kooks beneath a beach umbrella, attempting to tap a keg.

"...too hot for him, though. I met her at this party a year ago but no deal. She's loyal as shit to him, dude."

The conversation made Barry vibrate with anger. She had told him about that party and how some guy had been unruly with her, would not leave her alone.

"The only way he could have been closer to me is if he had been inside of me. He was so creepy."

Barry clenched his fists as he made the last few steps up to the group of Kooks, ready to strike. He pulled his fist back, the blood in his head blocking out any other sounds than the pure rage he felt at the disrespect they were speaking about his girlfriend.

Barry pulled his elbow back and connected his fist with the Kook's jaw, unannounced. Not the most fair punch he's ever doled out, but he didn't think that hitting on another man's girlfriend was exactly fair either. He wasn't sure if it was the sheer force of his punch, or the fact that it was unexpected - perhaps a bit of both - but the Kook was knocked off of his feet, and onto his back.

"So, you like hitting on girls with boyfriend's? Being persistent? Man, if I was as persistent as you, I'd probably having my fucking money from your ass by now." Barry growled as he crouched down in the sand beside the boy as he groaned, clutching his jaw.

"Leave my girl alone, asshole." Barry spat as he stood up, glaring at the friends that stood helpless around the Kook writhing on the ground.

Barry walked away from the rich kids with too much time and money to spare, and found his girl at the front of the line for ice cream. He let out a deep breath as he wiped off his raw, bloody knuckle on the underside of his shirt.

"Hi, baby. You're just in time. I got stuck behind a group of like, ten kids. Do you want something?" She smiled as he walked up behind her and gently placed his hands on her hip as not to scare her.

"Nah. Share yours." He replied softly as he leaned in to press another kiss to her forehead.

"See? Super Hero ice cream isn't just for kids."

Hotties:

@vintageobx @starkey-babie @fashion-fasting @barrysjumpsuit @babeyglo @rottenstyx @pogueslandia @whcclxr @soph0864

@beauvibaby @plutooryectors @sodasback

*tag list is open, please let me know if I forgot you or you would like to be added/removed from particular posts. I've removed the people that don't pre-populate :(

Please let me know what you think if you have a moment! Thank you so much xoxo

Requests for OBX ARE OPEN!

[honklore]

invisible string | dreamwastaken

(requested plot by red string of fate soulmate au, dream is still a streamer, reader has commitment issues, dream just wants someone to love, chat is the best wingman, sapnap and george try but they suck, reader is timid but dream makes them feel brave, taylor swift references, this is not very deep or poetic at all, i don’t like typing y/n so after this i’m going to move to ___)

listen to: invisible string by taylor swift

In kindergarten, red strings were simply a crafting tool, and teachers never mentioned how much pain they would eventually bring.

Because when they appear, from a child’s eighteenth birthday and beyond, they tighten like a godforsaken high school ring that came in one size too small. Like the universe is a child tugging their mother towards the ice cream truck, you’re pulled around central Florida, passes faces you can’t memorize and voices too garbled to hear.

The string knows where you need to go, and when.

And you’re at the park, feeding ducks and trying to ignore that incessant pull that tugs at your pinky, when you hear it.

It’s a voice you know only because it’s a voice that’s been in your house before. At least, through your brother’s tablet screen. Some gamer online — a streamer, with a distinct wheezing laugh that you’d recognize anywhere.

And you do. Behind you.

You risk a small peak, and your heart drops into your chest. He’s tall. Too tall to not intimidate you. And his sandy hair is wavy, curling at the collar of his sweatshirt, falling perfectly into place when he runs his hands through it. When he does, you see it, the red string.

Which means he could see it too. All he’d have to do is turn around.

But you’re not ready. You haven’t been, not since you watched your cousin get rejected on her eighteenth birthday. Since you watched a string of fate get clipped in front of you, like the three fates had finally had enough of your cousin’s happiness.

It was enough to make you curl into yourself, and reject the natural pull set before you. So you run, and you try not to think of what would’ve happened if he saw you before you saw him. You try not to feel the clippers, but the blade feels tangible against your skin.

You don’t stop running until you arrive home.

“Hey chat, just wanted to do a few practice runs and catch up with you guys,” Dream mumbles into the mic, already restarting his game after deciding he didn’t like his seed. The donos begin rolling in, even before Sapnap and George have unmuted, so Dream flits his eyes to the display screen, subconsciously reading along with the text-to-speech voice, “Dream, what if we shared a string of fate? Ahaha, just kidding... unless... love you bestie.”

Dream chuckles, “Actually chat, I felt a tug today! Isn’t that weird? I was actually reading up on what that could mean, and it seems like either my soulmate is in a lot of distress, or they were in my vicinity. I’m hoping, for their sake, it’s the second one. How would you even comfort a soulmate if all you can do is tug on a stupid string?”

“Simp!” George finally unmutes just to be annoying, and Dream knows soulmates are a touchy spot for him, considering he wasn’t given a string on his eighteenth. Which is strange, but not impossible. Of course, chat doesn’t know this, because it would give them more hope of becoming George’s metaphorical soulmate, but it certainly makes for awkward conversations once Dream and Sapnap get into their own soulmate bonds.

“I’m not simping, George!” Dream feels a bit defensive, because he’s genuinely just curious. He has no interest in meeting his soulmate right now. At least, that’s what he tells himself. He has his streams, and his friends, and chat. He’s fine.

[abbywastaken donated $10: dream why don’t you go back to where you felt the pull and see if you feel it again? that’s how i found my soulmate. okay luv u bye.]

“Thanks, Abby. Love you, too. Um, honestly I was in a pretty public place, so I don’t know if they would even come back anytime soon. Also, this is Orlando, right? Tourists are everywhere.”

Sapnap snorts, and Dream thinks it’s funny, since he’s in the other room. “Just say you’re a coward and go.”

“I’m not!” Dream says. “It was just a small pull, okay? It wasn’t even a big deal.”

He feels another lurch when he says that, but this one is in his chest. It taps against his heart, a quick reminder that it beats for someone else, and he needs to watch his words. “Okay, it was a big deal. Sort of. I’ll go tomorrow, okay chat?”

Chat is spamming all types of messages, from encouragement to jealousy. Dream manages to read off a few donos and create his first nether portal of the stream. He answers as they appear, eyes scanning for a fortress. “No, I didn’t see them… I’m not telling you guys where I was, that’s weird… I’m wearing a sweatshirt and jeans… Hi, Sarah and Patrick…”

He trails off as the donos do, and works at getting blaze rods. George is talking about a riddle he just learned, and he’s trying to trick Sapnap into saying something stupid.

Lost in his own thoughts, he finally closes the stream after a hasty goodbye. “What if I missed my chance?” He asks the two boys on the other line.

“It’s a string of fate, Dream,” George says. “You didn’t miss your chance.”

“Maybe they saw how ugly you are and ran away,” Sapnap says, completely joking, but the thought lingers in Dream’s head.

Did they feel the tug, and run away?

You pour cereal for yourself, and when your brother shuffles into the kitchen, you make him a bowl as well.

He’s eleven, and as little brothers go, he’s pretty chill. Aside from the inappropriate jokes and hogging the bathroom when you have to get ready for work, you like hanging around with him.

You pass him his bowl, and he grins. “I’m gonna watch Dream’s new video on the TV, since mom’s not home.”

You furrow your brows. Dream must be one of the dozens of streamers he likes. Maybe one of his friends will be in chat with him, and you will be able to connect a voice to a face. “Can I sit with you?”

He gives you an odd look, and it’s true, you don’t ask to watch videos with him often. “I guess.”

You eat a spoonful of cereal and settle into the couch while he gets everything ready. He clicks on a lime green icon of a little white blob man, and when the first video appears, you’re taken aback by the voice.

That’s the voice you heard. It’s this one, out of all the random men yelling about a block game. It’s Dream.

“Why doesn’t he show his face?” You manage, wanting information about the person that shares your string.

“What?”

“Like, he’s handsome, right? Why doesn’t he have a facecam?”

Your brother snorts. “Handsome? He’s never shown his face, Y/n. Don’t you know who Dream is? He’s like, super famous.”

“Oh.” You think of his golden hair, as sunny and soft as the glow around his entire being. His voice right now, joyous as he gets chased by his friends. “I mean, I don’t keep up with streamers.”

He begins to explain Dream and his friends, along with lore in their role play server, and it’s all interesting enough that you sit and listen, holding on to the little bits of information you can collect about your soulmate.

You file these facts in a secluded corner of your brain and try to make a whole person, along with the hair and the laugh and the intense music he plays as he gets hunted by his friends.

By nightfall, you’re following all of his socials and binge-watching his old streams, holding on to the way he speaks to his friends, and the fond way he replies to donos.

[dreamwastaken is live!]

You click on it, bundled underneath your covers as if someone might see you and find out your secret.

“Hi, chat! I know I was just live yesterday, but I cut it too short and wanted to come talk to you guys.”

He uses his avatar to wave at the screen, and it’s kind of an adorable sight.

[gogysimp donated $25: did you go see your soulmate?]

Your heart stops. Does he know? Did he see you? Or even worse, has he already found someone else, and he just hasn’t severed the tie?

“No!” Dream’s laugh pulls you out of your worries. “I was busy with meetings today, actually. And I was too nervous. Sapnap also refused to come with me, so I’m just going to go another day.”

So he didn’t see you. He just knows you were there.

You click the donate tab before you can stop yourself.

[y/n donated $1: would you reject your soulmate if you didn’t like them?]

Dream mumbles the question, and you try to ignore the way your heart deflates when he skips saying your name. “I don’t think so,” he states plainly. “I mean, logically, a soulmate would be your other half, so I wouldn’t not like them. But I know some people just don’t click, or there are other issues. So, I don’t know. I guess the only thing I can say is that I don’t want to reject them. And I hope they don’t reject me. I mean, imagine finding out your soulmate is a Minecraft Youtuber. That would be pretty weird…”

You giggle to yourself as he trails off and answers another donation. So he’s against rejection. Okay. Maybe you have a chance.

[kyra donated $60: i’m your soulmate.]

“Meet me where you felt the tug, then,” Dream says sassily. “Chat, don’t be weird, okay? I can’t control who my soulmate is, and I don’t want you guys to exclude them if they become a pat of my life.”

Oh, you think. So his chat is vocal about their opinions, and apparently they mean a lot to him. You shiver despite your warm position and imagine how annoying you might seem to his loyal viewers: someone who only knew about him because of their brother.

Insecurity pushes against your chest, so you close the stream and push your phone away, hoping to forget this ever happened, that maybe you won’t have to deal with the inevitable if you don’t think about it.

Yogurt Barn isn’t the first place on your list of dream jobs, but it has decent pay and helps you pay off student loans, so you appreciate it nonetheless. The teal sweatshirt they gave you as a uniform keeps you warm as you scoop the frozen treats.

Your coworker, a girl named Madison, is busy manning the counter, so you check each flavor and refill the ones running empty.

“Can I ask you a question?” Madison met her soulmate, Anna, only days after she got her string. It was a textbook romance, two people meant for each other, no doubt in anyone’s mind. She might be able to help you now. That is, if you can even admit to who your soulmate is.

“What’s up?”

“I felt the tug,” you say, avoiding her eyes in favor of restacking the medium cups.

“No way!” Madison is perky in a way that makes you want to be included. You like this about her. “Did you see them? Did you talk to them?”

“He—” You want to say that the part of him you saw was perfect, enough to keep you up when you should be dreaming. But reality is nothing if not disappointing. “I ran.”

“Y/n…” Madison gives you a stern look — like a mother finding out their child didn’t defrost the chicken in time. “Why would you run?”

“I don’t want to be rejected.” The magenta swirls painted onto the walls are a stark change to the clay sidewalks of the strip mall. “And before you say he wouldn’t… It’s happened to my cousin. It’s possible.”

Madison frowns. “But that can’t be the only reason, right? I mean, we all know someone who has been rejected. It’s usually not the end of the world for them.”

“He’s a famous streamer,” you blurt, and you’re thankful the shop is as empty as it is. Just the words themselves sound fake.

Madison snorts. “Like, gaming? That’s what’s holding you back? He’s a gamer?”

“I don’t care that he’s a gamer!” You hiss. “I care that he has a loyal fanbase who more than likely all want to be his soulmate!”

“You can’t say that for certain,” Madison says. “I mean, everyone knows about the soulmate system. If you watch someone and don’t feel the pull, you know they aren’t your soulmate, right? So why wouldn’t they accept you?”

“I don’t know,” you say. “I’m just scared. I mean, he’s got this huge following and everything and I’m just me. I work in a yogurt shop for goodness’ sake.”

You head into the back to grab more cups, and the bell rings, signaling a new customer.

“Welcome to Yogurt Barn, what can I get for you?” Madison’s customer service voice pricks your ears.

You sift through the boxes to find the smaller cups and listen to the customer’s order. “Can I have a strawberry cone?”

Your string pulls, that same familiar voice filling your head, not on the screen but once again just a few feet away. He’s infiltrating your life, so close you could reach out and touch him, but it’s such a terrifying thought that you set down the cups.

You tear off your apron, and run into the break room to grab a water and calm yourself down.

It’s ten minutes before Madison comes back to find you. “Hey, are you okay? You disappeared.”

You take a deep breath and stare at the poster on the wall. It’s brightly colored, with a walking yogurt cup waving and reminding employees to wash their hands before scooping. “That was him. The guy— the pull— Dream— I can’t— Does he know? Is he following me?”

“It’s okay,” Madison runs her hand down your back. “It’s okay. He isn’t following you. When the pull starts it tends to draw the couple together until they meet. He probably doesn’t know it’s you.”

You nod and take your breaths in gulps. “Okay. Yeah, you’re right. You’re right.”

“Why don’t you go home early, okay?”

Dream is live again.

Fresh out of the shower, you pull a t-shirt over your body and burrow into your blankets. Earbuds in, you try to focus on the sound of his voice, ignoring every ounce of anxiety that’s been riddling your mind.

“Hi, chat. I’m gonna practice speed runs again. I think George is joining soon.”

You open the chat and scroll through the emotes, clicking the ones you like and sending them, just to calm yourself down.

[kylo donated $5: did you find your soulmate?]

Dream laughs. The sound makes your chest tighten with longing. Your fingers ache. “Actually, I went to the place I felt the pull again. I dunno what I was expecting, but they didn’t show up. But after that, I was running some errands and I felt it, chat! I felt the pull again.”

He trails off while his character starts to look for a lava pool. “I feel discouraged but I don’t want to like, chase them, you know? I don’t want to scare them off.”

You click the donation tab again.

[y/n donated $1: maybe your soulmate heard your voice and got scared of you because they watch your videos.]

It’s not the total truth, but it might help him sleep better. You don’t want him to feel discouraged, but you can’t bring yourself to follow the pull.

“That could be a possibility…” Dream crafts a portal and sends his character through. “But I wish I could talk to them. I wish I could tell them that it’s okay. Like, we don’t have to rush into anything.”

[y/n donated $1: They probably wish they could talk to you too]

“Thanks, Y/n.” He sucks in a breath as soon as he says your name. The Minecraft pause screen appears and the sound of a discord call can be heard.

Your heart pounds in your chest. Something about him saying your name just solidified everything. Your arms feel hot and cold all at once, like you’ve just been thrown in a frozen lake. He has to be feeling it too.

“Chat, I gotta go, okay? I’ll try to stream again soon.”

“Hello?” A sleepy voice comes in through Dream’s earbuds.

“George! Their name is Y/n!” Dream is so excited, his voice raising a few octaves as he talks. “Someone donated with that name and I felt like, super weird. I didn’t feel it until I said the name out loud.”

“That’s crazy,” George says, monotone but supportive. “Do you think the dono is actually them?”

“I don’t know,” Dream scrolls through their past donos and quickly screenshots each one. “I mean, they definitely could be.”

He shares the pictures in their group chat.

George hums. “It sounds like they’re trying to tell you how they feel without admitting that it’s them. Where did you say you felt a pull?”

“At the park, and at the yogurt shop down the road.”

“So go there again. Maybe all they need is a little courage. If you feel the pull this time, you should follow it.”

Dream thinks about it for a moment before finally agreeing. He changes the subject to their next jackbox stream, and George is now happily talking about how they’re going to team up against Sapnap.

He goes into Sapnap’s room that night. He sits on his desk chair while Sapnap sits cross legged on his bed, scrolling through his phone. “Do you wanna get frozen yogurt tomorrow? My treat.”

“Hell yeah!”

The new strawberry-lemonade custard is a hit. Not only are the colors aesthetically pleasing for the teenagers who want a nice snapchat story, but there was a promotional coupon in the mail that has people lining up to the door.

“It’s not even that good,” you tell Madison while the two of you are on break. You’re both using a sample spoon to try out the new summer flavors, and in your opinion, strawberry-lemonade isn’t even the best one. “Blood orange is better.”

Madison wrinkles her nose. “No, blue raspberry is best.”

“It’s sour, though,” you say.

“Guys! Break’s over and you’ve got a line!” Your manager stares disapprovingly at the cups of custard the both of you are indulging in.

“We’re coming.” You toss the cup into the trash and walk out, scratching at the sudden itch on your pinky finger.

Pulling on your gloves, you grab a scoop and address the first customer, “Welcome to Yogurt Barn.”

“Hi!”

You still like you’ve been caught stealing on camera. You look up, hand clutching the scoop so tightly you can feel the cold steel through your gloves.

It’s Dream.

It’s him. He’s tall, and his hair is a sunshine blond, dark at the roots and curling beneath his ears. And his freckles… little spots all across his cheeks so endearing that you get a little distracted staring at them.

Then he’s talking, and you have to focus on his jade-green eyes, not his lips, which are a warm pink. “It’s you.”

You blink. Fear strikes your spine and you drop the scoop. “I gotta go.”

“Wait!” Dream calls, just as Madison shouts your name.

You exit out the back door again. Your heart is pounding against your chest, ribs expanding, and all you can hear is the sound of your name coming out of his lips, just last night through a screen.

“Y/n?” Only it’s in front of you, a few feet away, and he’s searching your eyes for any reassurance that you won’t run away again. That you won’t reject him. “That’s your name right?” He keeps talking, a nervous smile flitting across his face. “The donos? That was you?”

You can see the string now, red and blaring, tightening with each step Dream takes. It’s signing off your fate, for better or for worse, and you can’t fathom why he’s trying so hard, why he cares so much.

It’s hot in Florida but you feel cold, chilled to the bone. You straighten up. You figure you owe it to him to look up in the eye.

He leaves you breathless, eyes shining in the sun. “It was me,” you say. “You’re Dream.”

“Clay, actually,” he says. His smile widens, and it’s magnificently bold. He’s triumphant, just from your reply, and that alone gives you the slightest bit of hope.

“Clay,” you say. “I’m— I’m not— I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“You don’t have to be.” Clay is quick to reply, hands open and palms up. It’s a complete surrender — putting it all in your hands. “We don’t have to announce it. We don’t have to be anything at all, if you need time. But I would like to be your friend. If— If that’s okay.”

But you want to be close to him. The draw of your strings pulling each other closer and closer makes you want to wrap your arms around him. If he hasn’t rejected you, maybe you can do this. “I– I want to be more than friends, but I’m terrified of you rejecting me. I’m afraid of the string getting cut.”

Clay set his brows, “I won’t let that happen. We’re connected. Fate, ya know?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, and it’s a sigh of relief. “Okay. Maybe I’ll give you my number?”

“I’ll give you mine!” Clay is animated, holding out his hand for your phone. “That way you can text me when you’re ready.”

The red string shines like gold in the Florida sun, and when your fingertips brush, it burns with a satisfying warmth.

[lemons3ason]

SK8 THE INFINITY (Late Valentines Special Headcannon

(A/n: I HAVE BECOME A SLUT FOR THIS SERIES SK8 THE INFINITY GIVES ME SO MUCH LIFE EVEN THOUGH ITS STILL SO NEW! DIDNT HAVE TIME YESTERDAY SO HERES THE LATE VALENTINES SPECIAL WITH THE MAINS FROM SK8 THE INFINITY)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Langa Hasegawa

-Sweet clueless child is a complete idiot when it comes to love and to make it worse you’re dense to his advances.

-Met you at school with Reki and would try to be as close to you as possible, letting you borrow his board so he could enjoy your smile as you skated.

-Due to personal reasons you were extremely touch starved and Langa was more then willing to hug you all day long but he’d find himself staring at your lips in want.

-Once Valentines came around he felt like finally confessing to you despite the holiday being a total cliche.

-Decided to make you chocolates, unfortunately he kept burning the batches so he had to ask his mom for help which resulted in her finding out about you.

-Wrote a message on the chocolates himself despite his terrible penmanship and hoped you would appreciate it and accept him.

-Almost forgets the chocolates the next day since he overslept and was late for school, wishes you a good morning over texts and asks you to meet him at the front gates to talk to you.

-Was bombarded by fan girls at school that wanted to give him gifts and found himself bumping into someone, just so happened to be you, but he realizes that he knocked something out of your hands and it got crushed under another girls foot.

-For the first time ever he actually saw your face pale and tears prick the corner of your (e/c) hues, he growled under his breathe shouting at everyone to leave as he wrapped his arms around you.

-You didn’t hug him back, you just silently cried somehow not making a sound and he sighed seeing you upset.

-“I’m sorry they crushed your gift, were you giving it to someone?”, he tried to hide the jealousy in his voice as he wiped away your tears.

-You nodded your head before explaining that they were meant for him. He blushed of course but a goofy grin plastered itself on his face as he cupped your cheeks and slammed a kiss against your sweet warm lips.

-He pulled away leaving you a stuttering mess as he presented you his little pink gift box. You took it and opened it giggling at what he had wrote, “We’re already friends Langa.”, you giggled showing him his incorrect kanji.

-“N-no I-I meant boyfriend, can I be your boyfriend pretty please?”, he begged as if he still had no chance with you.

-You giggled and smiled again before cupping his cheeks and returning his sweet kiss from before. Successful Valentines Confession.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reki Kyan

-Y’all already been dating but this was your first Valentines together so he wanted to make it special.

-“Gotta head to work bye Reki.”, you hummed kissing his lips sweetly before you skated away on your board.

-He smiled watching you disappear into the sunset but once you were out of sight he bolted the rest of the way home.

-He’s not your ordinary guy and he loves skateboarding so he wanted to protray his feelings for skateboarding and you into his next project.

-Stayed up day and night in order to finish it and rushed to your house Valentines morning to spend the day with you before he presented your gift to you.

-Treated you to your favorite ice cream shop and a shopping spree at the plush store where you excitedly bought all the cute anime and animal plushes you had been dying for.

-You presented his gift to him around noon by taking him to a very special skateboard shop that your dad owned, he got first dibs at all the latest equipment and parts he needed for future projects and you couldn’t help smiling as he gasped at your father for letting him keep everything he had picked out and wanted.

-Your dad dropped you both off at Reki’s house in a pick up truck since Reki and gotten so much and helped unload it while you went in to greet his mother and sisters.

-He ran to his garage to get your gift but started getting nervous thinking that you wouldn’t like it.

-“S-she’ll like it I know she will. (Y/n)’s always spoiling me so this will pay her back for being so wonderful to me.”, he thought hugging the board tight to his chest as he ran back in to see you.

-“H-hey (Y/n), can you come here for a sec?”

-He could hear you running towards him and smiled nervously as he hid the board behind his back.

-Has you close your eyes and places the board deck side down in your arms so you can see the custom design he made for you on the back.

-You absolutely screech in joy seeing the new board in your arms, you couldn’t believe it was actually yours. Reki has to grab you by the cheeks hold you in place and tell you it was yours like five times just for you to believe him.

-You can’t help but throw yourself against him to hug him and kiss his pudgy face all over while chanting ‘I love you’ over and over again.

-He’s so happy you like your new board, he’s so overwhelmed by your affection but he absolutely adores you and kisses you one more time before dragging you off to his room for a movie and cuddles.

-A dorky sweetheart you can’t tell me otherwise.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Miya Chinen

-YOU ARE VIDEO GAME BUDDIES!

-Met during an online gaming tournament, you actually beat him, you became rivals for each other.

-When you both met in real life he absolutely adored you, sweet, kind, outgoing, and obviously taller than him, he couldn’t help the blush that rose to his face upon meeting you.

-You two were a match made in heaven but he couldn’t bring himself to confess to you no matter how hard he tried and then he found out you had a crush on a boy from your school.

-Helps you shop for the perfect gift for your crush despite it breaking his heart and finds himself still buying you something in hopes of confessing to you first.

-Has a little Bunny plush holding a single sunflower in its arms in his room since he couldn’t bring himself to confess to you the day of Valentines.

-Doesn’t hear from you about your confession until the day after when your both playing online against each other.

-“Come on (Y/n), you could’ve easily deflected that! Don’t become a slime on me now player two.”, Miya yells into his mic regretting it immediately when he hears you sigh.

-“Sorry Miya I’m just not feeling it tonight, I’m gonna go to bed see ya later.”

-Your sad he can tell instantly from the sound of your voice, calls you on the phone to demand an explanation on why your sad and you burst into tears on the other side.

-“S-sorry...hkk...i-it’s just that I let myself get played. I got heartbroken yesterday by the guy I liked and I realized that I’m pretty much a weirdo that no one wants to be with. He laughed at me and tossed my gift out the third story window of the school and walked away with a prettier girl in his arms.”

-You don’t hear anything from Miya and sigh hearing the call end unbeknownst to you Miya was skating his way to your house as fast as he could to comfort you, his Valentines gift in his arms.

-You jump when you hearing tapping on your window and watch as Miya sneaks in with a little rabbit in his arms.

-“Then be my weirdo! Stay by my side and we can be weirdos together, you don’t need that slime ball when I wanna be the grand knight that protects my princess!”, Miya screamed extending the gift to you in hopes that you would accept his feelings.

-He feels the rabbit leave his hands and opens his eyes to see you smiling through your tears, he kinda panics and wipes away your tears with his sleeves and just holds you.

-He presses his for head against yours and sighs, “You don’t have to answer right now it’s just that...I-I umm...I want to be the Link to your Zelda i-if you know what I mean.”

-You giggle and hug him thanking him for his kind words and softly whisper, “I love you, Miya, and thank you.”, into his ear making him smile against your shoulder.

-Sweet baby boy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kaoru Sakurashiki

-This dipshit works Valentine’s Day and forgets about it due to all the orders for custom calligraphy messages for couples.

-Annoyed by all the sappy messages and honestly putting half his effort in any of them.

-Forgets he has an interview that day until he hears a knock at his office door and you nervously enter.

-His heart races seeing you for the first time, you look so adorable in your business casual outfit, and your nervous smile has him falling over himself.

-“H-hello my name is (L/n) (F/n), I-it’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Sakurashiki.”

-“She’s beautiful like a cherry blossom.”, he thought to himself.

-Overall the interview goes great, you’re just a year younger then him looking for a new job to pay for your new home.

-Loves you a lot and asks you to start immediately as his new secretary, you accept and start getting right to work. Eventually he notices you running around in your socks since your feet were hurting from the heels.

-Treats you to dinner once the shop is closed to welcome you to the team and falls in love with you more as you talk more about yourself.

-You are playful but still you have a calm and collected mind something he admires greatly.

-Waits till next Valentines to properly confess to you since he found it extremely hard to put his feelings into words.

-You surprisingly accept and he treats you to a rooftop diner where you both share a sweet dance under the moonlight.

-Dubs you his Blossom and spoils you with sweet gestures and shy kisses until he’s confident enough to kiss you properly.

-Laughs when he finds out you are jealous of Carla (his skateboard), you fume and decide to race him at S which shocks him because he didn’t know you could even skate.

-Absolutely loses it seeing you in your S wardrobe, a rather revealing kunoichi styled outfit that showed all the right parts leaving him wanting more.

-“Well Cherry Blossom let’s see what you can do.”, you smirked behind your fox mask.

-You end up slaughtering him in the race just from pure skill alone, Karla couldn’t keep up with your calculations and you won by a landslide.

-Gets jealous of the fan boys that suddenly accumulate over you once the race is finish, takes off both of your masks so he can kiss you silly.

“I won jealous cherry.”

“Shut up and kiss me little blossom.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kojiro Nanjo

-This large himbo had a whole plan to make you extremely jealous by flirting with other women until you were furious with him before surprising you with a special hotel room that he rented out for just the two of you for Valentines.

-Unfortunately he was unaware of some bullying and self esteem issues you were having because of work so you patience with him dried out fast.

-“Huh baby cakes what’s the mat-“

-“If they’re so pretty why don’t you just stay with them instead of someone useless and ugly like me!”

-Regrets everything he said as soon as he sees you running away in tears, ditches the fans immediately and skates off to find you but you’re already long gone.

-Calls Cherry who has you weeping in his arms and groans as his old friend starts scolding him for being a ‘Heartless Dumbass Gorilla’.

-Hugs you as soon as he sees you practically tackling you and Cherry in the process and begs for your forgiveness.

-You pout and refuse to forgive him which in turn makes him sigh, he scoops you up in his arms and tosses you over his shoulder to carry you away despite your protest and skates off to the hotel.

-“I swear I didn’t mean to hurt you, I wanted to make you jealous and then spoil you rotten. This wasn’t how I wanted today but if you’ll let me I’d still like to spoil you and make it up to you.”, Joe admits in a soft voice.

-You agree hesitantly and he puts you down, cups your face, and presses a tender kiss against your plump lips. Smiles against your lips when he feels your cheeks heat up.

-Takes you to the hotel, chuckles at your shocked expression to the huge lavish room and invites you for champagne in the jacuzzi.

-Leans you against his chest and wraps an arm around your waist, whispers sweet compliments and praises into your ear until a goofy smile is plastered over your face.

-Smothers you in kisses and cuddles even if you playfully try to escape his strong arms.

-Watches sappy movies with you and holds you tightly until your glowing with joy. Kisses you good night as he snuggles his head into your adorable chest and happily nods off to sleep as you play with his curly green hair.

“Happy Valentine’s Day love, I’m sorry and thank you for today beautiful.”, Joe hums kissing your cleavage sweetly.

“I’m sorry I ruined your surprise, thank you handsome.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hiromi Higa

-Meets you the 13th when you come in to buy flowers, there’s such a sad aura about you that he can’t help but gift you a fresh pink rose that brings a sweet smile to your face.

-Instantly falls for you as you ask for an arrangement to take to a funeral of a dear friend.

-Makes you a beautiful arrangement himself and let’s you take it free of charge despite your argument to pay.

-“Just try to be happy for me and that’s enough, you look beautiful when you smile.”, he simply says making a blush roll across your face.

-As nightfall hits the city he dawns his Shadow look for S and starts heading over but he stops after hearing a scream and finds you being attacked by a small group of idiots.

-Instantly picks a fight with them in order to defend you and wins just from knocking one out with a single punch and scaring the others away with a glare.

-Sees you trembling on the floor with a hand covering your left arm and sighs seeing the blood, you had been slashed by one of their blades so he carefully wraps it with an extra cloth that he had and picks you up carrying you to the train station.

-“Stay safe little flower, I won’t always be able to save you.”, he grins at you making you blush for some strange reason.

-“T-thank you for saving me.”

-He smiles at you and leans forward leaving a purple lipstick mark on your cheek as he disappears from sight.

-He skates his best that night at S while thinking of you.

-You appear again in the flower shop the next day, a bandage wrapped around your arm and a shy smile on your face as you walk up to him.

-He’s surprised to see you again so soon and prays that you didn’t recognize him from last night.

-You smile and press a kiss to his cheek, leaving a red stain on his cheek that has his face flaming up in embarrassment.

-You hand him back his cloth and a note and rush out of the store while shouting, “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

“H-huh well seems she did notice m-ehh... i-is this her phone number?”

[levbug]

𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏 — 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐫.

#pairing ー suna rintaro x gn! reader

#warnings ー nothing i think? best friends older brother! suna, which is a warning in of itself also, he knows.

#wc ー 1.3k

happy holidays everyone !!!

wandering the empty hallway of your best friend's insanely large house in the middle of the night was not a good idea. it didn't matter that you used to spend your free time as a child running down these halls, finding every nook and cranny, and squeezing yourself in it just to win another round of hide and seek; the house felt completely different at night. doors creaked as if they hadn't been oiled in centuries, floorboards squeaked beneath your feet, and strange shadows kept creeping up in the corner of your eye.

shuddering, you pull your cardigan tighter around you. despite being dressed in your warmest pajamas and thickest wool socks, the cold winter air still breezed past your garments and settled as an unshakeable chill deep in your bones. you'd think a house as fancy as this would at least have proper heating.

you squint as you navigate your way to the kitchen, your path is illuminated only by the twinkling christmas lights and dull streetlamps outside. one thing you had never gotten used to, even as a kid, was that the lights in the house were to be turned off by 9 o'clock, the only exception being if you were using the room. it was always a little silly in your opinion, but you respected the rule nonetheless. still, that didn't mean you hated it any less.

relief floods your being when you round the corner and see that the kitchen lights are on. good, someone else is awake too. you hurriedly scuttle towards the room, gasping when your sock-clad feet glide against the polished hardwood floors and you slide.

before you can fall, a hand shoots out and catches your wrist. "woah!" a familiar voice exclaims. "you okay there?"

embarrassment crawls through your being. "yes, thank you." you reply timidly, avoiding eye contact with the other person. slowly, you steady yourself with their assistance, shooting them a small, grimace-like smile when they ask you if you're sure you're okay. "i am, really. thank you."

"alright, just checking," he says, letting your wrist go. it isn't until he turns around that you allow yourself to look at him.

suna looks awfully different from the last time you saw him. maybe it was the fact that he recently just came back from college to visit home for the holidays, and he now he exudes an air of maturity that was foreign, yet befitting of him. or maybe it was because his hair is longer now, messy and disheveled and sticking up in different directions like arrowheads that can't decide where they wanna point. or maybe, you realize as suna now turns to face you, he just grew up.

long gone is the suna with cheeks filled with baby fat, the suna with a gummy smile and wobbly teeth. the boy who used to chase you and his sister around with snails and worms in hand and laughed when you would squeal in disgust. the boy who would talk endlessly about dinosaurs and robots, and how he wanted to be an astronaut so that he could take an alien from mars and keep him as a best friend. the boy who cried a river when he skinned his knee during a game of tag, and whose cries would only quieten if his mother bought him a character popsicle from the passing ice cream truck.

long gone is the boy.

instead, a man stood in front of you. a man who looked so familiar yet foreign at the same time. he was taller than you now, tall enough that you'd have to tilt your head up if you wanted to look him in the eye. his smile was more reserved, devoid of that childish glee it used to hold. he seemed to have gained confidence too: he no longer stood slouched, unsure of how to adjust to his sudden growth in height. suna was handsome now, and maybe he always had been, but you had never noticed because he was your best friend's brother.

maybe this change in him was the reason your heart was beating rapidly against your chest.when suna notices you staring, he smirks, the corners of his lips tugging upwards as dimples dig into the soft flesh of his cheeks. fortunately, he says nothing about it. "so," he says instead. "why are you up so late?"

"c-could ask you the same thing." your throat feels unnaturally dry, so you grab a clean glass from the counter and fill it with water. suna chuckles at your reply.

"never lost your wit, have you?" he asks, shooting you an amused smile from over his shoulder. it's then that you notice the twinkle in his eye. it's the same twinkle you used to see every time suna would receive a gift, like candy or toys. it comforts you to see that it hasn't diminished, that not everything about him has changed.

"suppose not," you respond dryly. inwardly cringing, you distract yourself by pouring yourself a cup of ice-cold water, the exact opposite of what you wanted. (you'd go heat some water, but the kettle is beside suna, and you're afraid to get too close to him.) swallowing thickly, you manage to ask, "uh, what about you? why are you awake?"

"me?" he hums, almost as if he wasn't expecting you to ask him. "ah well," he breathes out. "can't sleep. also, i remembered we still had cereal, and well, you know i could never resist." he adds, chuckling softly as he runs a hand through his hair.

you stifle a snort at his response by bringing the glass up to your lips. he seems tired, you realize. his movements are more sluggish and there's a slight drawl to his words. it's attractive on him. silence fills the air as you take a long gulp of water. you wince when the cold surface of the glass comes in contact with your lips, goosebumps rising on your arm when you swallow the cold liquid. from the corner of your eye, you can see suna staring at you with a thoughtful expression.

"you know," he says when you place your cup on the counter. "you haven't answered my question. why are you still awake?"

"uhm," you swallow thickly. "same reason as you, i guess. i couldn't sleep either."

"how come?" suna asks, stepping closer to you. the kitchen feels like it's getting smaller with each step he takes.

suna has never been shy, at least towards you. that fact is made apparent with how he keeps eye contact with you. it's the kind of eye contact that's uncomfortable, but you can't look away either.

"i-i've just had a lot on my mind," comes your breathless reply. he's closer to you now, close enough that if you wanted to, you could lean up and kiss his insanely soft-looking lips. but you don't.

the older boy hums, lips quirking up into a small smirk. "like what?"

warmth spreads across your cheeks. "things. l-like school, and stuff." you mentally curse yourself for your lame reply.

"really?" he leans down slightly, his face hovering just above yours. the warmth that radiates from him is comforting and intoxicating, and you want nothing more than to slam your lips against his.

"are you sure you haven't been thinking about someone?" his smirk widens into a knowing grin. it seems that your misfortune was the cause of his amusement.

before you can reply, suna pulls on the drawer just next to your thigh and pulls out a piece of silverware.

"heh," suna chuckles when he sees your mortified expression. "just needed a spoon." he smiles innocently as if he didn't just try to make your heart combust.

you watch, stunned to silence, as suna navigates his way through the kitchen and picks up his bowl of cereal.

"i'll see you around, (name). goodnight!" the boy waves his spoon at you. he doesn't even wait for you to register his words before he skips away gleefully.

when you come back to your senses, you slap your hand against your forehead. crap, you think to yourself, feeling the erratic beating of your heart against your rib cage.

suna rintaro left you feeling warmer than you've felt since summer that evening.

[manonblaqkbeak]

How We Met

here it is, my last fic for rowaelin month! thank you so much to everyone that’s read, liked and commented on my fics, it’s been so much fun reading and writing these last four weeks! i’m glad to know that i’m not the only one that is in dire need of more rowaelin content (srsly, i would pay sjm a truck load of money for a strictly rowaelin book bc i miss them sm)

here’s part 4 for the little series i had going on. i was so tempted to make this an angst piece but held back lol.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

cw: none

1.8k words

enjoy and thank you again!!! :) 💕💕💕💕

Gathering the ingredients for the cake that she and Ophelia were going to make for Rowan, Aelin plopped them down on the kitchen counter and tied her and her six year old daughters hair back. Even in the kitchen light, Ophelia's hair was a vivid shade of silver and when she turned to look at her mother, the golden ring in her eyes were just as bright.

“Up, mama!” Ophelia asked, pointing to the step ladder that Olive made for her little sister in her woodshop class at school. Getting it off from atop the fridge, Aelin and Ophelia started their baking session for today. It wasn't often that Aelin baked cakes from scratch but it wasn't every day that her firstborn turned sixteen—not that Aelin could really comprehend that her Olive was sixteen—but Aelin wanted to do this for her, wanted to make something special.

She hoped that it wasn't going to taste as bad as the last cake she baked. Rowan had been sick afterwards and didn't go to work the next day.

That was five years ago, so surely with gaining wisdom as people said when others got older, her baking skills grew too.

“Where did everyone go?” Ophelia asked, her little tongue poking out as she helped Aelin sift the flour.

“To get dinner for tonight. We're having Ollie's favourite.” Which was cuisine from the Southern Continent, there was a restaurant that specialised in the spicy food, and Aelin couldn't wait—she and Rowan often tried to recreate their favourite recipes, but it was never right, so Olive wanted to have the genuine stuff for her birthday and not her parents shoddy attempts.

Not that Aelin could blame her.

They continued making the chocolate cake, Ophelia babbling on about her day at school, when her little one asked, “How did you and papa meet?”

Aelin blinked at the sudden question, but answered it nevertheless. “At the grocery store.”

Ophelia furrowed her brows, and with the way her nose scrunched up, she looked so much like Rowan that it made her heart sing. When Aelin first realised that she was pregnant, she was nervous, they had only been married for seven months and while they spoke about having a child of their own, she didn't think it would happen so quickly—but Rowan's enthusiasm melted away her fears. She would never forget his tears of joy when she showed him the pregnancy test, his beaming smile when they heard her heartbeat for the first time. Aelin would walk through hell, as long as Rowan was by her side, or waiting for her at the end.

It wasn't always perfect, however, they had their ups and downs like every long-term couple, they had moments where it felt like they were walking on tightrope, either because of their own personal issues or marriage issues, or when Egan was fourteen and completely lashed out at Aelin, accusing her of replacing his mother—but she worked with her son, telling him that she had never intended to do that, that Lyria would always be the woman that brought him into the world, and that Aelin was raising him. Her heart broke in two at his pain, but she understood, he grew up with photos and stories of Lyria.

Or when they had the awkward conversation when Olive was eleven and asked why she didn't look like Rowan, and Aelin had explained her story, about Sam being her biological father, but he had given them space for Rowan to raise her instead. That had lead to brooding silences and confusion, but otherwise, Olive still saw Rowan as her dad, but she did ask from time to time about Sam, what he was like and what he was doing (the last update Aelin received from him via email that his wife was pregnant with their second child. Aelin was so happy for him that he was able to have a family, a feat that was made easier since Arobynn had been dead for years by this point) and that she would like to meet him properly one day; Aelin had kept that to herself, not wanting to tell Sam in case Olive changed her mind—Aelin hoped that she wouldn't.

Overall, their life together was what she needed, she went to bed each night loved and fulfilled. It was better than what she might have had with Chaol all those years ago, she was fairly certain that if she had married him, it wouldn't have been a long marriage.

“How did you meet at the food store?” Ophelia asked, her brow still furrowed as she and Aelin stirred the cake batter. It surprisingly smelled good.

“I needed something from a high shelf,” Aelin said, “and I couldn't reach it. Your papa was only a few feet away from me, so I asked him to get it for me.” She might have also subtly ogled him as his shirt exposed his tanned skin, and Aelin had damned near swooned at the sight of his six pack.

“Did you get married at the food store?”

Aelin laughed at the question. “No, we got married at the beach. And then you arrived not long afterwards.” Sometimes they wanted another, but things financially were going so well that they didn't want to jeopardise that by adding another mouth to feed.

“Can you have another wedding?” Ophelia asked, looking at her mum with wide eyes. “So I can go? Please?”

“I'll talk to your daddy about it, but I like the sound of that.” Kissing her daughters forehead, they continued. Just as they were putting the cake in the oven and the icing mix in the fridge, the front door opened and three booming voices infiltrated the house and the mouth watering goodness of food.

Aelin's eyes widened at the amount of food that Rowan piled on the table. It looked like they were feeding a small army and not a family of five.

Ophelia helped her older brother set the table, Egan ruffing her hair as he recounted their little adventure to the restaurant.

As they sat down, Aelin mentioned Ophelia's request. Rowan pretended to mull it over as their daughter pleaded, giving her best puppy dog eyes. It didn't take for Rowan to relent—he really had trouble saying no to her—saying that a second wedding was a great idea.

Ophelia squealed in delight and squealed even more when food was placed in front of her (she was very much like Aelin in that regard).

“How did the conversation of another wedding start?” Rowan asked as they all started eating.

“Phia here wanted to know how we meet.”

Olive snorted. “Yes, the ever romantic story of meeting in the toilet paper aisle.”

“It was not the toilet paper isle!” Aelin protested. “It was the cereal aisle.”

“At least you kids have inherited my manners,” Rowan said, “your mother didn't even ask nicely. She just came over to me and said, 'You're tall, could you get that box for me?'” It had taken him a moment to realise he had been spoken to, too focused on deciding what box of porridge to get when Aelin showed up, wearing a faded band shirt and shorts, pointing to the box of cereal that had far too much sugar to be healthy. He had said 'yes' because it was the nice thing to do, and had stayed behind, talking to her for so long in the aisle that his vanilla ice cream had started to melt.

It was the best decision in his life back then, he never thought he would have gained a friend in the grocery store—and that the friend would become his wife.

“I have manners. I said, 'Excuse you' first before I told you what I needed.”

“That's not really using manners there, ma,” Egan said, smiling as poked her tongue out. He looked so much like Lyria that it was almost scary—he still loved flowers and plants too, and was currently studying to become a florist and then one day horticulture. The backyard was full of flowers and plants thanks to him, making into a little wonderland instead of the barren plain it used to be.

“I did say 'thank you' afterwards.”

“You said 'thanks',” Rowan interjected, laughing as Aelin threw a chunk of her flatbread at his head. Ophelia's cute laughter rent through the air.

“It's the same thing!”

“If you say so, love,” Rowan muttered, his lips twitching. Aelin rolled her eyes in the dramatic way Rowan was used to, but he saw the mirth behind the movement.

“Like I said Phie, it's very romantic,” Olive said drily, sounding very much like Rowan. She had even inherited his scowl, which she was wearing now as she sniffed at the air. “Is something burning?”

Aelin had never run so fast as she did right then, the kitchen filling with smoke as she took in the blackened cake. Swearing viciously under her breath, Aelin chucked the cake into the bin, apologising to Olive as she did so.

“It's okay, mum, dad got me an ice-cream cake earlier today anyway.”

Aelin narrowed her eyes at her husband, who simply gave her an innocent smile in answer.

Rejoining her family, they talked well into the night, helping Aelin to forget her failed baking attempt. Ophelia asked more questions about their time in the grocery store and how that moment lead to friendship, to pining for the other without realising it, to a life together.

And to think, Aelin almost didn't go to the grocery store that day.

Rowan thanked the gods that he had remembered at the last moment that he had no porridge left, otherwise, he might not have met Aelin at all. Might not have had this life, this family. Part of him would always be sad that things had gone so wrong with Lyria, and he would always miss and love her. But he learned in therapy that it was good to have a life, and Rowan was glad that he heeded that advice.

He thanked the gods all the time.

And thank the rutting gods he did right now for the umpteenth time that Aelin deemed him tall enough to get her food for her, to stay in that aisle with him as they got to know each other.

Rowan was a very happy man indeed as he and Aelin went to bed that night, the smiles still on their faces at Olive's unrestrained joy at the sight of the car they spent weeks looking at second-hand dealerships at, hunting for the perfect car for their daughter.

Thank the rutting gods for all those moments in the past, present, and future.

Rowan couldn't wait to marry her again, and neither could Aelin.

Life was good.

[drabbles-mc]

Protective Detail (4/?)

Nestor Oceteva x Reader

Warnings: language, violence, blood, guns, mild injuries, Nestor being a goddamn thirst trap

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: This chapter is a liiiiittle longer than the others have been but hopefully that’s not a problem. Did I do a deep-dive on Gino Vento’s google photos to be able to know what his body art situation is?? You betcha. Enjoy! xoxo

Chapter Index

Protective Detail Taglist: @masterlistforimagines​ @sillygoose6969​ @mydaiilyescape​ @lovebennycolon​ @the-radical-venus​ @gemini0410​ @garbinge​ @slutformayansmc​ @paintballkid711​ (as always, if you want to be on my taglists feel free to let me know!)

Despite the fact that the only thing on your agenda for the day was going to the grocery store, you still came into the kitchen in the morning to see Nestor sipping coffee in yet another button-down shirt and pair of slacks. You wondered for a moment if the man even owned just a pair of casual blue jeans.

“I don’t know where the Galindos shop,” you said with a laugh as you poured a cup of coffee, “But the grocery store I go to doesn’t have a dress code. I thought you knew that.”

He shook his head but you could see the smirk pulling at his lips, “This is just how I dress, Y/N.”

He didn’t use your name often, but each time he did you felt your entire body turn into jello for a few moments before you regained composure again. You took your time getting ready, loving that you didn’t feel rushed or like you were on a schedule. You told Nestor that he could drive, pretending that you just wanted the extra space in his car for shopping purposes. But you were also testing a theory that if you let Nestor have his way more often, he would let you know a little more about who he was as a person. Plus, you had to admit, you didn’t really mind his driving too much. Even if he did drive without the radio on.

Having Nestor with you while you grocery shopped was nice because you got to leave him in charge of pushing the cart while you perused the aisles and picked things out to eat for the next few days. You’d shove produce in his face and ask him if he thought it was fresh, and he would begrudgingly help you out, rolling his eyes at how terrible you were at telling if cantaloups were ripe.

The two of you were walking down the cereal aisle and he was shaking his head at you while fighting back a smile, “You’re like a child with access to a credit card.”

“Listen, Nestor,” you stood on your tip-toes to try and reach towards the back of the top shelf, “Coco Puffs have no age limit.”

He reached over you with ease and grabbed the last box from the back of the shelf and placed it in the cart, not saying a word as he continued pushing onward. You smiled to yourself for a few moments before snapping back to reality and speed-walking a few steps to catch up with him.

He was helping you bag items at the self-checkout and if you were honest with yourself, every now and then you would forget that he was with you to keep you from getting shot or kidnapped. Sometimes you even felt like friends, as much as someone like Nestor would let a person be friends with him.

Once you were out on the road and heading home, you looked over at Nestor with puppy-dog eyes, “Can we stop at Starbucks?”

He looked at you, shaking his head the second he saw the way you were looking at him, “The lines are always ridiculous. The ice cream will melt.”

You sighed, knowing that puppy-dog eyes most likely weren’t going to work on him but it was worth a shot anyway. You leaned back in your seat and scrolled on your phone, wanting desperately to play music to break up the silence.

Nestor passed the street that you normally turned off to get home. You looked over at him and saw how tense his body was. You sat upright, putting your phone back in your purse, “What?”

He nodded towards the rearview mirror, “Car’s been following us since we left the store.”

Your stomach knotted and you tried to take a deep breath but it didn’t help to calm you down at all. You instinctively reached for the glove compartment like it was your own car, and you were expecting Nestor to stop you, but instead he reached and opened it for you, not having to take his eyes off the road to dig around and get the gun out for you.

“You shouldn’t need to use it,” he placed the weapon in your hand and his lingered for a moment, “But just in case.”

He did his best to stay on busier roads, hoping it would be a deterrent, and also hopefully make it easier to lose whoever it was that was tailing them. You felt your heart pounding inside your chest—you had been hoping that your father had dealt with everything and that Nestor really was just an unnecessary precaution, but that wasn’t the case.

Somewhere along the way, the road went dead. Nestor was white-knuckled on the steering wheel and you were trying not to let your hands shake. He had been steadily increasing your speed, but even so the car had kept up and pulled up alongside you. You tried to get a good look at the people who were inside, but before you could, Nestor slammed on the gas and tried to speed ahead of them in one last burst to lose them.

Before he could successfully get in front of them, they swerved and hit the back driver’s side corner of the car. With the speed that Nestor had picked up they hit you hard enough to send the car spinning. By some miracle the vehicle didn’t roll, but you swerved off the road and slammed into an embankment, trashing the front of the car and pinning Nestor’s side. Even if he wanted to open his door and get out, he couldn’t. It all happened so fast, you don’t think you would’ve been able to explain exactly how the two of you ended up in that position even if someone tried to pay you to.

The other car pulled up, opening their passenger door. You had already undone your seatbelt and you instinctively shot the gun in your hand, busting the glass window. You fired off a second bullet and got the man who was coming towards you in the leg, causing him to drop. You were getting ready to fire off a third shot when a third man jumped out of the car and dragged him back throwing him in the back seat, the only sound in the air was a slew of curses of the man who was bleeding. You froze up, unable to take an easy shot that would take someone’s life.

“Just fucking go!” the man yelled as he barely got his accomplice into the back seat.

The car started peeling away before the back door was even completely shut. Clearly, they hadn’t been planning on you being armed at all, let alone ready to shoot. You took a shaky breath as you put the safety back on the gun. You turned to Nestor, who had a harsh burn along his neck from his seatbelt, as well as a cut and a welt on the side of his forehead from where his head slammed against the window while you were spinning out. You unclicked his seatbelt and gently tried to wake him without shaking him, not knowing how hard he had slammed his head.

“Nestor?”

He groaned in response, “Fuck.”

“Oh thank god,” you let out a sigh of relief.

“How many?”

“At least three,” you gently and slowly turned his head, trying to get a better idea of his injuries. You had a feeling that it was nothing serious—he was just going to be bruised and sore for a few days. His side of the car got slammed pretty bad when you went off the road. You pressed your lips together for a moment, “Still got feeling in all your limbs?”

He laughed, although it was weighted with sarcasm, leaning back against the headrest, “Yea.”

“Good,” you sighed, letting your body sink back into your seat as well, “All things considered, this could’ve gone a lot worse.”

He looked over at you, “Looks like we’ll be using your car for a few days.”

You slowly shook your head, “The ice cream is definitely gonna melt.”

His next laugh was genuine, despite the pain he was in, “You have the worst priorities in the world.”

“Hey, I checked to see if you were alive, didn’t I?”

After a few phone calls made to your father and some of his connections, you had a tow-truck and a temporary replacement car there in no time. It was convenient, the only thing you weren’t thrilled about was the fact that your father was the one who delivered it.

“What happened?” he ran to you and wrapped you in a hug

“They followed us out of the grocery store,” you said, taking a slight step back when he finally released you from his embrace, “Nestor noticed right away. They never saw my house.”

He nodded, “That’s good at least,” he held you gently by your upper arms, “How are you? Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, “Neck is sore from getting spun out, but I’m alright. I should probably get Nestor home so I can get his cuts cleaned up.”

“You have things to take care of him?”

You nodded, “Yea of course.”

“Is there anything else I can get you?”

You shook your head, “No, I think we’ll be okay. I just wanna get home.”

He nodded understandingly, “Okay. I love you, mija, you know that right?”

You smiled, “I know. I love you too,” you hugged him, “I’ll talk to you later and give you a full download of the situation, alright?”

“Alright. Please, drive safe.”

“I will,” you kissed his cheek, “Te quiero.”

“Te quiero,” he walked over and shook Nestor’s hand, “Thank you for keeping her safe.”

He nodded, feeling like there wasn’t much to thank him for in this situation, “Your daughter is a very capable woman.”

“She is,” with a final nod and one last look over at you, your father went back to his own car and took off.

You and Nestor waited for the tow truck to finish loading the SUV before finally piling into the car your father had brought for you. It was pretty reminiscent of Nestor’s SUV and you knew that was probably by design. In the back of your mind you knew your father probably wanted it to be your car so he could finally give you what he considered to be a real car. Truthfully you hated driving bigger vehicles, but you weren’t about to hand the keys over to Nestor.

“I’m sorry,” he said one you were both in the car.

“What’re you sorry for?” you asked as you buckled in.

“It never should’ve come to that, to you having to use my gun.”

You shook your head, “Don’t do that. You were unconscious. Not even you are cool enough to be able to pull that off while knocked out. Thanks to you, I get to sleep in my own bed tonight. So don’t beat yourself up,” you waited for him to meet your eyes, “Self-pity is the only thing that doesn’t look good on you, so knock it off,” you offered a small smile as you started the car.

He smiled as he settled into his seat but he didn’t say anything. The drive passed in silence, and for once you weren’t itching to turn the radio on. Part of you wanted to reach over and cover Nestor’s hand with your own, but you fought the urge. He somehow managed to keep his eyes open the whole ride home.

Once you started getting what was left of the groceries out of the car, Nestor asked for the house keys so he could do a check. You told him not to bother, that there would be no way a second threat would be lurking in your house after what just happened, but he insisted. It wasn’t a battle you were going to pick, so you handed over the keys.

The house was quiet, and you didn’t make any comment on it as you started unpacking the groceries. Nestor was sat on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, and the look on his face made your heart feel heavy. You texted your father, asking for one small, very ridiculous favor, hoping that he would grant it to you.

Once all of the groceries were put away, you went and grabbed your first aid kit from the bathroom and sat down next to Nestor on the couch. This time, he didn’t look annoyed about the closeness you shared.

“C’mere,” you motioned for him to lean closer to you so you could start wiping and cleaning out the cut on his forehead. Neither of you said anything while you tended to him. He cringed slightly when you used the alcohol, but he remained silent. You told him that after he showered you would put a bandage on it just as a precaution, but the gash wasn’t really that deep. It was more to make you feel better about it. You wiped down the burn across his neck with an anti-bacterial rub, but there wasn’t a whole lot else that you could do for it.

“How’s your side?” you nodded to his side that got slammed into the door of the car when you hit the embankment.

“It’s fine,” he wasn’t looking at you.

“Can I see it?”

He stood up, ready to go shower and wash the day away, “I said it’s fine.”

“Well if it’s fine then there’s no reason not to let me see,” you weren’t yelling but it was a firm tone that you hadn’t used with him before.

He sighed, not having the energy to put up a fight. He untucked and un-buttoned his shirt, pulling the one side out so that you could see his chest and ribcage. There were a few bruises starting to come in, but it didn’t look terrible. You tried to stay focused on the real reason you wanted to look at him, but you had to admit that you let your eyes linger a little longer than medically necessary. You hadn’t been expecting to see so much ink on his skin.

“Can I go shower now?”

You nodded, “Yea. Thank you.”

You didn’t have the energy to go and get changed, so instead you melted into the couch, pushing the first aid kit to the floor. You heard the shower turn on and then, for the first time, he put music on. Your eyes went wide, thinking for a moment that you must’ve hit your head at some point too and were hearing things. After a minute went by, you finally let yourself relax, not even wanting to turn the television on and risk drowning out the melodies drifting out of the bathroom. You didn’t know what kind of music you were expecting Nestor to listen to, but what he was playing was much more mellow than you thought it would be.

You were resting with your eyes closed when there was a light knock on the door. You got up, smiling because you knew what it was. You opened the front door, smiling at your father’s newest assistant who looked like he was only a couple weeks out of college. He stood there with a smile as he held out a brown paper bag to you.

“Your dad said you needed these?”

You smiled and nodded, “Yes, thank you so much,” he nodded and went to walk away when you caught his attention again, “Hey, I never caught your name.”

“Ricardo. You can call me Ricky.”

“Thank you, Ricky.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N. Have a good night.”

You shut and locked the door and put the bag in the freezer, grinning over the fact that your father was still willing to indulge you in silly things like this even after all this time. You snapped back to reality when the sound of the shower and the music both shut off. The door creaked open and you fought the urge to peak into the hallway.

After a few minutes went by and Nestor didn’t reappear in the living room, you took it upon yourself to go to him. You grabbed the bag out of the freezer and two spoons before making your way down the hall.

You knocked lightly on the door, not used to it being shut. His voice was quiet on the other side, “Yea?”

You opened the door and fought to not let your jaw hit the floor. Nestor was lying on his bed, eyes closed, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. All you could think about, though, was the fact that he was lying there with no shirt on, just a pair of sweatpants. You truly couldn’t believe the number of tattoos that the man had. His chest, stomach, and arms were completely decked out in ink of all kinds. You hadn’t given much thought to him having tattoos—you saw the one on his neck and his hands but other than that it never really crossed your mind. Your quick glance earlier didn’t do his extensive body art justice.

And his hair wasn’t braided—his long, thick curls were thrown up into a messy bun on top of his head. You were certain that there would never be a better look for him than that. You wished it didn’t take such a rough day to get it out of him. You cleared your throat slightly, chastising yourself over how your mind instantly flew to some very unprofessional places.

“I come bearing gifts,” you said as you walked over and sat on the edge of his bed, “Well, gift. It’s just one.”

He opened one eye, smiling as you set the pint of ice cream and spoon on his nightstand, “Which of your father’s assistants had to drive that over?”

You laughed, “The new one, Ricky.”

He forced himself to sit upright, “Poor kid.”

He reached for the ice cream and your eyes were glued to his forearms, figuring it was the safest place for you to study as you digested all of the new ink that you were seeing. You were trying not to gawk but he was making it really difficult for you. You bit down lightly on your bottom lip, unable to force yourself to look away.

He noticed you staring and immediately became very aware of how he looked, “Fuck, sorry. Let me grab a shirt.”

You shook your head, “Stop. This is your home too for now. I don’t give a shit,” you laughed, “After today you can wear whatever you want,” you took a scoop of ice cream out of your pint, “Your hair looks good like that, by the way.”

He smiled, slowly pulling his legs up so he was sitting cross-legged by his pillow, “Thanks. You tell anyone and I’ll kill you.”

You laughed, “Hey, man-buns are in right now.”

He chuckled as he methodically scooped away a layer at a time. You pulled your feet up and sat the same way he was, the two of you facing each other. Neither of you said anything as you ate, and you soaked up the moment.

“Can I put a bandage on your cut?” you asked as you put the top back on your ice cream container.

“It’s really not that bad.”

“I know but it’ll make me feel better.”

He shrugged, nodding, “Sure.”

You gathered up your spoons and what was left of your ice cream and walked out of the room. You tossed the containers back into the freezer before going to grab the first aid kit off of your floor. After thinking about it for a moment, you made a pit-stop in your room and changed out of your clothes, opting for a pair of sweats and a baggy t-shirt.

By the time you walked back into his room, Nestor had put on a t-shirt moved to the edge of the bed, swinging his legs off so his feet hit the floor. You sat down next to him and looked at his forehead. You sifted through the different-sized bandages you had before you found one that was satisfactory. You leaned in, gently applying it to his forehead.

You rested your palm on the side of his face, lightly tracing your thumb over the bandage to make sure it was completely on. Nestor’s eyes were closed, and without thinking better of it, he leaned slightly into your touch and you froze, not wanting to give up the contact. You tried to relax your body, but you couldn’t.

A few seconds later he opened his eyes again, and realized what he was doing. He sat upright and cleared his throat, not sure what to say or do. You forced yourself to break the silence, “Need anything else?”

He shook his head, “No. Thank you. I know I’m here to keep you safe but you definitely saved my ass today.”

You chuckled, “And you can save my ass tomorrow,” your expression grew a little more serious, “But really, you good?”

He nodded, “I’m good.”

“Okay,” you rested your hand on his knee for a moment, “Goodnight, Nestor.”

You went to take your hand away as you stood when you felt his come to rest over it, completely enveloping it, “Goodnight,” he gave your hand a soft squeeze.

You walked out of his room, shutting the door behind you. you turned off all the lights in the house before going to your room and collapsing onto your bed. You stared up at the ceiling, trying to process everything that had happened that day. You traced over the top of your hand where Nestor’s had been and, despite the day the two of you had had, you found yourself smiling.

[maatryoshkaa]

young god | chapter 11

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

word count: 5.3k

warnings: ryu says: be extremely careful with this one. extremely triggering; extreme descriptions of violence, domestic abuse, sexual abuse of a minor, child abuse, foul language, traumatic/suggestive descriptions

description: Han Jisung finally recounts the dark events of his past, revealing just what made him into the monster he is today. the world as you knew it has flipped on its head in the span of one night, and time is running out for you to decide who you’ll stand by.

watch the trailer here!

11| young god.

“Rock-a-bye baby, on the treetop,

And when the wind blows, the cradle will rock.”

Mama’s singing voice was soft in Jisung’s ears, her gentle fingers smoothing out the locks of his hair. He was curled up into her side, his tiny fists, which had been clutching stubbornly at her nightgown, finally loosening as his heavy eyelids drooped. Jisung couldn’t even remember what nightmare he had been having before he had cried out involuntarily and woken his mother, the warm embrace that followed immediately soothing the tightness in his chest and drying the tears on his cheeks.

Mama was always so warm. Mama was home, and Mama was safe.

This was the earliest memory Jisung could remember — every time something triggered all the flashbacks, the nightmares, he would always find himself back here — in this memory, in Mama’s arms, everything growing less and less clear every time. It was like wading through muddy waters, a thickening shroud of fog, as if his memories had become a frayed photograph — blurred at the corners and fading out of focus. 

Eventually, he had stopped trying to remember altogether, and the lullaby became nothing more than white noise ringing in the back of his mind.

━━━━━━━━

“Well, aren’t you going to open it?”

The box was wrapped in gold paper, complete with a red bow and ribbon. Covered in little Santa Clauses and Christmas tree patterns, it was small, but weighted enough to make Jisung’s arms slightly sore from holding it. Father would have called him weak had he said anything, so Jisung bit his lip and sucked it up.

“Man up, boy,” he would bark, delivering a slap to the side of Jisung’s head that was hard enough to make his eyes water. “Don’t tell me I raised a little girl?”

Mama would tell him not to mind his words.

Father was watching him now, leaned back on the couch. Maybe there was a glint of impatience in his eyes, but Jisung didn’t notice it as he slowly undid the bow, fingers barely touching the paper for fear of ripping it as he unwrapped it. He never got gifts on his birthday — in fact, Father didn’t even seem to remember the date at all, and Mama never had the money to buy him anything. Christmas, though, was easier to remember.

The fluttering paper fell away to reveal a black box, and when Jisung lifted the lid it something shiny — metal? — caught his eye. 

“Cost me a damn fortune. Old geezer down at Young Wings gave me a load o’ shit...”

Mama glanced over at his father, a hand hovering above his arm before withdrawing it timidly. Jisung’s attention was still fixed on the present — it was a camcorder, and brand new; the polished silver metal winked at him, and Jisung pulled it out with wide eyes. He flipped open the screen, fingers fumbling with the power button. The red recording light blinked at him like a rabbit’s eye. Grinning, Jisung held it up to his parents, smile not faltering despite Father’s disinterested eyes and Mama’s tense features.

Mama smiled into the lens. “Merry Christmas, ‘sungie.” Jisung turned away, too fascinated with the present to notice how the smile never quite reached her eyes. 

They didn’t celebrate any more Christmases after that.

━━━━━━━━

“February 22nd, 2005.” Jisung cocked his head, squinting at the viewfinder as it came into focus. “Yes! That’s what I’m talkin’ about.” His tongue ran over the gap where one front tooth used to be — he’d lost his first tooth a couple days ago, but he could swear the strange, metallic taste of blood was still in his mouth. He scrunched up his face. Blood didn’t taste good; he decided he wanted as little to do with it as possible.

Jisung was sitting cross-legged on his bedroom floor, the dying rays of the sun filtering through the window and spilling onto his hair. He had been filming video logs since Christmas — dramatically narrating battles between his old teddy bear and action figurines, or pretending he was a celebrity showing guests around the house. On some days, he would prop up the camcorder and hum a radio tune stuck in his head until he fell asleep. After all, Mama said he was too little to play outside with the other kids, and Father certainly didn’t play with him.

“Darn,” Jisung mumbled as the camcorder screen went blurry again. “Why do you keep doin’ this?” He got to his feet, pacing around his room while pointing the camcorder at random items. When it still didn’t focus, he opened his bedroom door and wandered into the hallway. His father was home — Jisung hadn’t seen him all day, but he had heard sounds coming from his parents’ bedroom — and surely, Father would know what to do, right?

“Father?” Jisung called, his voice coming out more timid than he’d intended. “Um, I—I know you don’t like to be bothered, but my camcorder isn’t--isn’t working. U-um...could you, m-maybe—”

Jisung’s stutters were cut off by a loud, strange gasp that made him freeze at the door. It sounded as though someone was in pain, but not quite. The door was shut, but when he listened closely he could hear...heavy breathing...heavy breathing, and a woman’s voice. 

“Mama?” His voice was barely above a whisper as one hand scrabbled for the doorknob, twisting it open. Inside, it was dark — but his camcorder was zoomed in, and Jisung watched as it finally focused on two figures on the bed. One, his father.

And two, a woman who was definitely not his mother.

Jisung’s gaze darted wildly. Clothes were strewn all over the floor — a red cashmere coat, his father’s dress shirt. His wide, confused eyes flickered up again, adjusting to the darkness. Father wasn’t hurting the woman — no, he was kissing her; she was on top of him, touching him, and he was letting her, and Mama was nowhere to be seen, and — and — 

His camcorder clattered to the floor and Jisung felt his heart stop, both heads on the bed snapping in his direction.

“Baby, we have a little visitor.” The woman spoke first, the cool calmness in her voice turning Jisung’s skin to ice.

“Get out.” His father had locked eyes with him, and when Jisung’s feet stayed frozen in place, his father pushed the woman off and strode towards him. “GET OUT!”

Something in Jisung clicked and he unfroze, fingers slippery with cold sweat as they grabbed at the fallen camcorder and he dropped to his knees. His father was standing in the doorway now, Jisung scrambling to push himself away — back into the hallway, back into the light.

“If you ever speak a word of this to your mother, boy,” his father’s voice was a low rumble above his head, like thunder before a tempest. “I’ll ram that camera right into your skull.” His finger came to rest on Jisung’s forehead before pushing, hard, and Jisung fell backwards, watching his father’s dark face disappear behind the closed door. His head hit the floorboards, hard, but he crawled to his feet, breaking into a run back into his bedroom and slamming the door shut.

Jisung glanced down at the camcorder, a pounding headache beginning to ebb and flow between his ears. The red recording light was still blinking with the comical innocence of a child’s eye — as if forever oblivious to the things it had seen. He slid to the floor, feeling like he was about to throw up, and punched the button to stop the recording.

━━━━━━━━

“June 3rd, 2006.” The ice cream truck rushed past him, and Jisung lightly whistled its tune as it disappeared around the corner. “This is my neighbourhood! Here’s the basketball court—” He pointed the camcorder through a chain-link fence, where a couple of older boys were in the middle of a game. “There’s Levanter Park—” — a children’s playground surrounded by tall lavender flowers — “And in the distance, that’s Miroh Heights.” He shifted the camcorder upwards to film the tall buildings looming in the distance, behind the suburbs. “And we’re back to my house!”

Ever since Mama had started working more shifts, Jisung had been able to sneak out more without anyone noticing. When Father got home, Mama would have to leave, and vice versa. 

Jisung had tried his best to forget the woman in Father’s bed — after all, he hadn’t seen her since, having begun avoiding his parents’ bedroom altogether. Sometimes, he wondered if it had happened at all. It was all so strange. It must have been a nightmare.

He swung open the front door, reaching down to unlace his sneakers — and froze. On the doormat sat a pair of red heels.

Did...Mama own red heels? 

He ran into the kitchen, a familiar nauseous feeling settling in his gut. There, sitting on top of the kitchen counter, was the woman from months before. She was wearing the same cashmere coat despite the summer weather, loosely draped over her frame so her bare shoulders were exposed. 

Jisung’s breath caught in his throat. Somehow, he willed his feet to move, every fibre of his being screaming for him to run, to run into his room, to run out the door, to run anywhere that wasn’t here. But instead, he lifted his camcorder, shaking as he tried to focus on her face. This was real. He needed something to show someone that this was real. Sensing the movement, the woman turned, eyes widening in surprise before a dark smirk curled across her blood red lips.

“Well, well. Look who we have here, hm? Filming something?”

“I-I won’t tell Mama,” Jisung blurted, and the woman’s face darkened. “P-please don’t tell F-Father—”

“Oh, he’s not home, pet,” she chuckled, and stood up. Jisung felt as if his feet had rooted in place, throat painfully dry as she slowly walked up to him. “It’s just you and me.” 

There was a red Zippo lighter in one hand, and the other fished in her pockets as if looking for cigarettes. She lit it with a crackle that made him jump, and ran a long finger down the side of his cheek before glancing down at the camcorder in disdain. “Naughty, naughty. You look just like your daddy, though. Same pretty-boy eyes.”

She held his chin between two of her long, red nails and Jisung shrank away from the touch, the sound of his ragged breathing filling the air as his eyes brimmed with tears. “Not quite a man yet, though, are we?” The woman chuckled, her breath reeking of cigarette smoke and liquor. With a smirk that made Jisung’s gut flip, she shrugged the red coat off her shoulders, the heavy fabric hitting the kitchen floor. 

She was wearing nothing but lace lingerie underneath, her catlike gaze flickering back to Jisung. “Say, mama’s boy, want me to teach you how to be like daddy?” Jisung was frozen, pupils quivering as his eyes darted back and forth. “Just give me your little camera, hm? You can touch me, too. I’ll make you feel real good.” Her hands were touching him, they were grazing his shoulders and chest and roaming lower, and lower, and — 

Jisung shook his head frantically, hands shooting out to push her away — but a red-taloned hand caught his arm and halted his feeble attempts. The woman scowled, and before Jisung knew it his arm was burning  — she was pressing the lit cigarette into his forearm to snuff the flame. With a choked gasp he squirmed in pain but she wouldn’t let go, red nails digging into his forearm like a snake’s fangs as his nostrils filled with the smell of her perfume and his own burning flesh. His fingers were trembling violently around the camcorder, clutching it close to his chest for dear life.

She pressed harder, and a scream of agony ripped through his throat before he could stop it, making the woman loosen her grip in surprise. Seizing his chance, Jisung yanked his arm away before a voice thundering through the house made him halt in his tracks.

“What the fuck is that?”

So his father was home. 

The moment Jisung’s eyes shot up to meet the woman’s, it all made sense. She was leaning back on the kitchen table, red lips spread wide in a Cheshire Cat’s taunting smile. She was toying with him — she knew that the moment his father came down, wrenching the camcorder from Jisung’s hands would be child’s play.

Snapping out of his horrified state, Jisung finally willed his legs to move and he sprinted out of the front door. The woman’s high-pitched laughter was ringing in his ears even as he made it to the sidewalk and ran out of his neighbourhood, as far away as his legs could possibly carry him. The sky had darkened, the red hues of the sunset making him shiver involuntarily. When Jisung finally collapsed, it was in a field of lavender flowers on the outskirts of town.

He threw his head back towards the sky, and let the sobs rack his body until he lost consciousness.

━━━━━━━━

“December 31st, 2009.”

His own voice sounded foreign to his ears, barely above a hoarse whisper. His house was always so quiet — tip-toes and whispers and furtive glances, for as long as Jisung could remember, as if one wrong move would set off a bomb.

What Jisung would give for quiet in moments like right now.

He could hear shouting and banging on the other side of the house, shaking the walls and making him jolt with every sound. The moment it had begun he’d froze, bare legs hanging off the side of his bed before — as if by reflex — snatching the silver camcorder off of his dresser. He hadn’t picked it up in months — no, years — hadn’t been able to touch it since without feeling nauseous. The moment his skin brushed the cold metal, the memories would shoot through his head like electricity. The grits of dust it had collected bit into his palm now, his own erratic breathing filling the room.

“You fucking whore — you want to leave me? That it? Do I need to remind you that I’m the reason you’re still alive?” 

Father. Father’s voice always carried no matter how far away he was. Jisung heard pounding on the floorboards, the sound of someone running — no, crawling; his mother’s fingernails were scrabbling at the base of the stairs. There was a crash, and the struggling stopped momentarily.

“N-n-no, pl-please—” choked sobs were closing up his mother’s throat; Jisung could hear the thick tears in her voice through the paperlike walls. “You can h-hit me, y-you can — I won’t mention your--your other woman, just--God, not in front of Jisung.”

Jisung heard his father wheeze an incredulous laugh. “Jisung,” he spat. “You should’ve gotten rid of him when I told you to, eh? I’m telling you, Ji-Eun—” his mother’s name sounded foul in his father’s mouth — “I never wanted any of this.” There was a blow, and a cry of pain. “But you just wouldn’t get rid of the baby, huh? You just had to fuck everything up, and you still bitch about how hard your life is every fucking day.”

“N-not Jisung,” his mother gasped desperately, “Chungho, he’s your son—”

“THAT BOY IS NOT MY SON!” His father’s sudden roar made Jisung leap to his feet, eyes darting around his room frantically. “I never wanted a son, that boy is a mistake you made and kept.” There were footsteps coming up the stairs now, getting louder and louder — and with a jolt of horror, Jisung realised that his father was dragging his mother towards his room.

Before Jisung knew it, there was a deafening bang on his door that nearly sent him toppling to the floor, as if a body had been slammed hard on the other side. The fighting had never happened so close before — it was always, always on the other side of the house, always downstairs, as if Mama had wanted him as far away from it as possible.

Mama always told him to stay far, far away from the danger, from Father — but it had never been this bad. Jisung would always stay in his room and pray for it to end — pretending as if the shouting, the banging, the screaming was all just static from the TV he could tune out if he tried hard enough. But he knew it had been getting worse as the years passed, Father’s drunken rages growing more and more violent; Mama’s face growing sickly pale and paler still.

The sound of his bedroom door cracking at the hinges snapped Jisung back to reality. Shaking, his eyes shot to the window, under his bed, then to his closet doors. Feeling as though his feet were dragging through wet cement, he felt his legs propel him towards the closet, not even managing to shut the door properly before his bedroom door came crashing down in an explosion of splinters and plaster.

Father was crushing Mother’s weak frame into the ground, both their faces scratched from splinters of wood. Jisung’s body was pressed against the back of the closet — he was long past the age where he could hide away from the fighting in the closet. He was taller than he was years ago, his limbs having grown awkwardly lanky and so he barely fit anymore. The camcorder shook violently between his fingers as he aimed it through the tiny crack in the closet, the small crack of light revealing a fragment of the hellish scene.

Father’s huge hands were wrapped around his mother’s throat and every fibre of Jisung’s being was on fire, every inch of his body screaming for him to open the door, to save her, to stop him. His mother’s voice echoed in his ears, telling him to stay away from the danger, to run, to stay away — but Father was killing her, he was killing her—

He lowered the camcorder, trembling fingers ready to push the door open — and froze. At that moment, just outside the closet, his mother tilted her head upwards. Her eyes met his, wide and bloodshot with fear, and Jisung felt his heart stop. Mama, I’m coming, he wanted to scream, Mama, Mama, I’ll save you— 

Face contorted with pain, swollen eyes locked on his, she shook her head ever so slightly. Then Father’s fist came down with a sickening crack, and her eyes rolled backwards into her skull.

The silence that followed seemed to swallow Jisung whole. 

This couldn’t be. This wasn’t happening. Mama wasn’t — Mama couldn’t be. But her whole body had fallen limp like a rag doll, and the house felt infinitely emptier, and at that moment Jisung just knew what horrible thing had just happened.

Father’s erratic breathing on the other side of the door brought him back, if only momentarily. “Shit,” the man muttered. There was so, so much blood pooling from beneath Mama’s body, slowly leaking a trail towards Jisung’s hiding place. “Bitch fucking--fucking asked for it. Had it coming…” 

Little broken sobs were beginning to bubble in Jisung’s throat as the horror sank in, pathetic hiccups growing louder the harder he tried to shove them down. His vision was growing hazy. His head was throbbing. And when his father wiped his bloodstained hands on his dead mother’s body with the nonchalance of wiping on a rag, something in Jisung’s chest snapped.

Jisung tore through the closet doors, the hoarse sobs licking like flames in his throat giving way to a roar of anguish. His eyes were burning with tears, gaze tinged with crimson red, ears ringing as his face contorted into something animalistic, something he had never felt before, something that wasn’t him. Everything was spinning; the floor was collapsing beneath his feet and threatening to swallow him whole. His hand wrapped around a long fragment of broken wood, and, as if it was an anchor to the last bits of sanity he had left, Jisung let out a bloodcurdling wail and plunged it deep into his father’s neck.

The man howled in pain, wheeling his large body around, but Jisung had already sprinted through the splintered doorframe and tumbled down the stairs. There was dark, slippery liquid all over the floors that reeked of blood and alcohol, shattered glass from bottles sinking into the soles of Jisung’s feet as he ran, his father’s heavy footsteps shaking the ground right behind him.

Jisung found himself in the kitchen, and the caricature before him turned his blood into ice. His mother had been cooking: a pot boiling over on the stove sending hot water splashing onto the tiles and onto his bare feet. The corners of his vision were blurred like a fish-eye lens, the camcorder dented but still locked between the fingers in one hand and slippery with blood. Little details jumped out at him. An open jug of cooking oil. An abandoned meat cleaver on the counter.

He whipped around just in time to see his father lunge for him, and Jisung’s mind went blank. He felt his fingers find the handle of the meat cleaver, his eyes bulging out of their sockets and trained on his father’s chest — and charged forward.

Jisung drove the knife straight into his father’s flesh with a terrible force he never knew he had, a neverending scream tearing through his vocal chords -- and brought it down again, and again, over and over and over, until several eternities later, when Jisung’s screams had finally given way to quieter, quivering sobs, his hands stiffened and he dropped the knife with a clang.

Suddenly, the house felt enormous, a seemingly endless silence flooding the suffocating air. Somehow, he got to his feet and limped out of the kitchen, stumbling back up the stairs.

“Mama,” he mumbled. His vision was blurry, eyes darting everywhere and refusing to focus. The camcorder was forgotten in his hand. “Mama?” Jisung dropped to his knees by her side, shaking hands touching her hands, her blood-drained face. 

Jisung didn’t know how long he stayed like that, by her side, silent wails racking his body as he felt the warmth slowly seep from her skin. Mama was always so warm, Mama was always safe, Mama was all he had—

And Mama was dead.

He wrapped his arms around her limp frame, trying to lift her from the growing pool of blood and down the stairs as best he could. His legs gave way before he had reached the bottom, toppling down the steps, and he landed hard on his side, dragging his mother’s body the entire way down. As Jisung’s hands scrabbled to push himself back up, crawling forwards into the kitchen, his mouth went dry as he caught a full glimpse what he had truly done. 

Red. That was the only way he could describe the remnants of his father, a giant crimson mass soaking the white kitchen tiles. Red blood on his own raw, bruised hands. And a familiar red lighter that had skidded from his father’s pocket and was now lying in the mixture of fluids on the floor tiles. The cooking oil was still on the countertop, and the moment Jisung’s eyes fell on it there was only one thought coursing through his mind.

In a single, final motion he lurched forward and brought down the jug cooking oil, feeling it sear his eyes as it splashed all over the floor, the walls, the body — before fishing the the red lighter out from the pool of blood and vodka. With the last of his strength he flicked it open, eyes mesmerized momentarily by the tiny flame — and let it fall to the ground.

Flames erupted from the floor, enclosing him in a circle of fire and heat. It was like a bomb detonating, the walls shaking violently as black smoke flooded his lungs. Choking, Jisung’s hands blindly snatched at the flames for his mother’s body, desperately trying to lift her out of the fire. The camcorder’s acrylic strap was sticking to his palm, melting into his skin as it grew unbearably hotter, flames licking at his skin as he limped forwards, no longer able to tell if he was dragging himself out of the fire or further inside of it.

Jisung’s palm smashed the screen door and it burst open. The blast of freezing winter air that hit him as he stumbled out of the building finally leached the energy from his bones, and Jisung collapsed, skinned knees buried deep into the fallen snow. The night sky was a hollow purple, the weak lights of stars drowning in the black billowing smoke from what once was his home. Cradling his mother’s lifeless body as the house burned to the ground behind him, weeping with the agony of an angel cast to the infernos of hell, Jisung could almost hear a familiar lullaby ringing in his ears.

Rock-a-bye, baby, on the treetop

When the wind blows, the cradle will rock

When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall

And down will come baby, cradle and all.

Somewhere, a firetruck sounded, followed by the growing wail of police sirens approaching — but Han Jisung was laughing like a madman.

━━━━━━━━

“They told me that there was nothing left from the fire but bones,” Jisung had told you. “The delivery lady — Old Mrs. Hwang, I think — was the one who called the police. I woke up right before the paramedics arrived and hid the camcorder’s memory chip in my pocket. It was like I already had the reflexes of--of a murderer.”

“What happened then?” You had asked him, your voice barely above a whisper. “Did they…”

“Find out? Never. How could a ten-year-old single-handedly burn down a building? More importantly, why would he want to? I must’ve looked traumatised enough, because the whole thing was written off as a gas explosion. Faulty pipes, something leaked, and the moment my father turned on the stove the house went up in flames.

“I was famous across the country,” Jisung’s voice was ironic, but his eyes were flat and hollow. As if he had already condemned himself long ago. “Everybody pitied and swooned over the poor, orphaned boy — but after a month had passed I became a ghost again, floating from orphanage to orphanage. Then I met Minho—” his eyes snapped up at you— “And after the kidnapping case, it was like everything had snapped again. I couldn’t run from what I had done — I could still see it, every single time I closed my eyes.

“I couldn’t save her. I should’ve died that day — no,” he had chuckled hollowly, “maybe, I never should have been born.”

The moon was three-quarters full, a pale teardrop outside your bedroom window. Your mind had been in limbo for hours now, shifting endlessly back and forth between what Jisung had said, what you had heard, and everything you had seen until now.

Jisung had finally fallen asleep beside you on the bed, his eyebrows slightly furrowed but his breathing otherwise even. You had made him stay the night, a request that surprised the both of you — Jisung, who had still been respecting the distance you had forcibly wedged between the two of you — but you couldn’t bear the thought of him having more nightmares. Especially not after tonight.

Funnily enough, you thought, you’d much rather have a wanted serial killer safely sleeping next to you than out roaming the streets doing heaven-knows-what. A voice in the back of your mind mentioned how you had never expected that your first time with a boy in your bed would be under circumstances that were...less-than-favourable, but it wasn’t like you could do anything about it now.

It all made sense. It all fit together like a grotesque puzzle: the way Jisung reacted with the colour red, all his strange, uneasy symptoms, why all the victims were known to be abusers or mistresses, and oh, God — his family. Your mind flashed as you imagined him bringing the knife down on his abusive father, the scrap metal on his kidnapper — and the stone on the dead man from the Yellow Wood. It was like he had his own Mark of Cain — whoever hurt him would have the pain and wrath reenacted upon them thousandfold. 

Maybe it should have felt wrong, what you were feeling — you should have been repulsed, you should have turned him in on the spot, you should have written him off as a monster, a murderer — but you didn’t. No matter how much you tried, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him. You’d seen the moments his facade had cracked and revealed the raw, vulnerable, broken boy underneath; you could feel the regret and torment he was living with every day, eating away at him from the inside like a disease. And, most of all, you saw the flashes of the boy he might have been in his wide, sheepish smile and bright, mischievous eyes, in his gentle hands and soft voice. In the fleeting moments of happiness that had been robbed from him too young. And now, you realised that you were certain about one thing.

You were absolutely, hopelessly in love with Han Jisung.

Your eyes wandered to his sleeping face, studying the dark circles beneath his eyes, the stress ingrained in the lines of his features. You had seen the same shadows in Lee Minho’s expression — these boys who had grown up with worry and pain etched into their faces like scars.

Jisung shifted slightly, mumbling incoherently and changing sleeping positions. After hesitating for a moment, you gently took his wrist in your hand, gingerly studying his hands and ankles.

Sure enough, there were faint white lines where cable ties and rope had once burned into. Jisung’s shirt had hitched up slightly, revealing rosy skin dappled with numerous bruises and mapped with more miscellaneous scars that all told the same, horrible story.

Your eyes finally settled back onto Jisung’s face again, a knot of bittersweet emotions festering in your chest. Outlined in the silver moonlight, he looked ephemeral — like a young god with too much power thrust into his hands, cold and damaged and beautiful; capable of the most terrible things. 

You didn’t know what was going on inside his mind, and you had no idea how things would change when morning came. It felt like he was slipping from your grasp the harder you tried to hold on. Was this how Minho had felt? Out of control? If so, you were beginning to understand why the coroner had wanted to help Jisung in the first place, to mask the ugly truth. To protect his friend, the only brother he’d ever known.

“Trust me, y/n, I was in your position once, too. You’re just like how I was.”

Maybe you weren’t so different from Minho, after all. Because as you watched Jisung’s sleeping figure, felt his body warmth pressed up beside you as something in your chest swelled in both tenderness and pain — you knew you were more than willing to lie for him, too. If you could save Han Jisung’s life, if you could bring back the boy with the happy, angel-like smile from your very first date — no, if you could keep even a fragment of the light and peace left in his eyes, then that was what you had to do. You would hide everything until — until the case was closed.

And maybe, you thought as the moon burned into your drooping eyes, just maybe, everything will be okay.

[cosmiccandydreamer]

Stability Chapter 7

Otis Driftwood x Reader

( I don't own these gifs)

"I'll never be your beast of burden

My back is broad but it's a-hurting

All I want for you to make love to me

I'll never be your beast of burden

I've walked for miles, my feet are hurting

All I want for you to make love to me"

Otis heard you before he saw you, dancing and singing in your cut off shorts and tired shirt. Your walkman swung dangerously back and forth on your hips as you sang to the rolling stones song while you washed your car. It was a super hot summer day in the unforgiving heart of texas. The car was your baby. It was a gift from Otis for your birthday, you had fallen in love with it when they towed it to the house after the last group of victims was captured. You told him you always wanted one of these so he and Rufus secretly fixed it up for you. He still insisted you go everywhere with him in his truck but you convinced him to let you drive yourself once in a while ( but not too far ) Spraying the hose over the hood you leaned over to get the farthest part, your ass poking out in the air.

"Am I hard enough?

Am I rough enough?

Am I rich enough?

I'm not too blind to see"

It was obvious the music was so loud you didn't hear him as he dragged a screaming victim toward the shed in the back. He stopped dragging her for a second to watch you and laugh softly. Well, that's adorable and hot as shit he thought to himself. The poor girl he was currently dragging took this opportunity to claw and bite at his hand in an attempt to get away in. For A split second she did, She wiggled out of his grasp and tried to take off towards the road. He quickly grabbed her and threw her on the ground pulling her by the hair back towards the house. All this while you were none the wiser, enjoying your song on your headphones. He resumed his spot leaning against the house staring at you.

"I'll never be your beast of burden

So let's go home and draw the curtains

Music on the radio

Come on baby make sweet love to me" 

 

You sang the last part a little louder using the sponge as a microphone. You were getting into this what you assumed was a solo performance. Swinging your hips back and forth you grabbed the hose and sprayed all over the trunk of the car. He was thrusting the girl back and forth by her hair to shush her as he leaned against the side of the house watching you. "Damn bitch shut the fuck up!, I'm trying to enjoy the view". He looked toward her in disgust that she would dare shrek and distract him. "Mister please let me go, I won't tell anyone". " I SAID SHUT UP" 

He suddenly heard the music better now, he looked up to see you with your headphones down now around your neck the music softly playing in a muffled tone. Staring at him with a smile slightly leaning against the car. " Whatcha doing there is handsome?". " Watching you " he smirked. 

"Am I hard enough?

Am I rough enough?

Am I rich enough?

I'm not too blind to see"

"Oh are ya now? So ...what are you gonna you do with her?" You pointed with the sponge at the dry heaving girl still on the ground with her hair in his fist. "Ah I don't know" he looked down at her then back at you " any ideas?" He lifted an eyebrow at you. "Maybe a few" you bit your lip a little tilting your head to the side. " I was going to tie her up in the shed and try that experiment I was running with you the other night but I don't think she's gonna survive. She also won't stop squirming", he chuckled and thrust her a little bit more back and forth. She muttered something inaudible. "That's fine," you said, tossing the sponge into the bucket. " We can tie her to the bed after she might stop squirming then." You flashed him a wicked smile.

 He winked at you, "my god woman you are wicked...have I told you I love you lately?" He asked, clearing his throat, the bulge that started to grow in his jeans was becoming more and more distracting. "Hmmm" you replied " maybe but you can show me how much you love me later" you leaned on the hood of the car allowing for him to get a good view of your shirt.

 He hastily sucked in the air standing up quickly, "hold that thought" he says turning back toward the shed. "Hey! " You shouted he turned back to you real quick, spinning the poor girl as well, her feet and legs dragging.  You took the soapy sponge and tossed it at him, smacking him in the chest soaking his white shirt. He cursed under his breath then laughed, wiping his face with his other hand. "You are gonna pay for that as soon as I'm back from tying this bitch up". He looked back at you one more time while heading back to the shed. 

Oh, little sister

Pretty, pretty, pretty girls

Ooh, you're a pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty girl

Pretty, pretty, such a pretty, pretty, pretty girl

Come on, baby, please, please, please

 

"God I hate this fucking song can you change it?"... "OTIS hello?". Baby sat up from the floor of the van and snapped her fingers at Otis. "Hey get your goddamn fingers out my face woman the fuck is wrong with you" he angrily swatted at Baby's hand as she attempted to snap in his face again. " I said I don't like that song so change it" "I don't give a flying dick what you like, I'm drivin' and we're leaving this song." She slumped back angrily onto the floor. Earning a chuckle from her father Spaulding. "S'not funny daddy" she snapped at him crossing her arms. "Oh lighten up there kiddo you know the rules, the driver picks the music". 

Spaulding had finally met up with both of them at the motel. Although it had taken him a while due to some personal delay he arrived there in the nick of time to help finish off torturing the poor victims. After killing the rest of the family the daughter of Roy and Gloria was left to wear her father's skin on her face and be hung up behind the door to scare the unfortunate housekeeper when coming to assess the room. unable to get her father's skin off and running in a frantic the daughter unknowingly ran into the highway to be hit by a semi-truck. Using the van they stole from them they attempted to meet you at the next stop. 

Otis only hoped they weren't too far behind you. Suddenly Baby perked up and glanced at the passing billboard." Just in case anyone's interested, I think I'm gonna be wanting some ice cream in about 10 miles" she excitedly looked back toward her father and then to Otis. Otis looked over at her and repeated her [in a mocking tone]  "I think I'm gonna be wanting some ice cream in about 10 miles." Baby looked back at home with an angry expression "Hey DON'T you fucking imitate me, it's fucking rude!"

Otis:" Fuck you", Baby: "Fuck you! "Two fucking seconds for the kid, is that gonna kill you?" Spaulding interjected getting real sick of the interaction between the two of them.

"Yes, it is going to kill me! I have calculated the time, and two seconds is the exact amount of time that is a hazard to my fucking health!" Otis replied visibly getting more and more annoyed with the idea of stopping. " What the fuck is your problem? I'm in and out in two seconds!" Baby snapped at him. 

   

Spaulding laughed a little "You know? I think I'm gonna get me some tutti fucking fruity." "Tutti fucking fruity, that sounds good!" Baby said nudging her father. "I'm glad that finding y/n doesn't mean shit to either of you now I know who is taking this seriously" he gripped his hands on the steering wheel in anger. These fucking idiots he thought to himself. " Wow excuse you…. How dare you imply I don't care about finding my BEST FRIEND. You know she meant the world to me before She meant the world to you, she was my best friend before she was your wife ok? I met her first… don't think because I'm not sulking like you I don't worry about her. But she's stronger than you give her credit for and you've been treating her like a child!!!". Otis didn't respond to her, he was getting madder by the second. He simply gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

 "I suggest we go see Charlie lay low there for a night before heading to the next motel," Spaulding said looking over at Otis. " Why the fuck would we do that?" Otis asked, slightly gripping the steering wheel even harder. Being away from you this long was not good for his mental health. It was throwing him off his game. It was making him anxious and nothing made him anxious. This was a very foreign and uncomfortable feeling to him. He wanted to get rid of it and to do that he had to find you. He only anticipated being away from you for maybe 12 hours and even the thought of that made him very uncomfortable. 

It's now been days this is unacceptable he needs to find you. "Look I saw on the news that the police are already on your tail. It's best that we throw off their scent a bit and lay low one more day can't hurt y/n is a smart girl she's gonna be alright". Otis didn't reply, he simply looked at the long stretch of road. Spalding continued, "I would hate to lead anyone to her Otis, Baby is right we care about her too but she's tough and smart I'm sure she's seen the news she will get the idea why we aren't there". "I don't trust that fucker Charlie" Otis finally replied with a sigh. Spaulding chuckled "yeah welp get over it". 

They drove through the rest of the afternoon only stopping for ice cream of course to prevent any distress from Baby and Spaulding. Pulling up to Charlie’s fun town, Otis’s annoyance grew more by the second. He hasn't been back here in years, he used to come on occasion to enjoy some of the girls here, but that quickly changed when you came around. He didn't like or trust Charlie, he had an inkling that this man was only out for himself no matter what Spaulding said. 

[cozy-neko]

born to be alone

now playing: around - NIKI

summary:  "right now I've nothing to lose because you love me, and i love you." except he doesn't love you the way you love him. // kita shinsuke

theme(s): age-gap, one-sided pining, song-fic, hurt & comfort, angst 

warning(s): 7-year age difference (in case anyone is uncomfy with that big (?) of an age gap), indirect implications of child negligence, father issues 

word count: 4645

rating: light | medium | heavy

know where i've been where i'm from | 9 + 16

the first time you met kita shinsuke was on a chilly fall day. you had met him by chance, sitting all by yourself on a swing set in the middle of an empty park in the lonely hours of dusk. swaying lightly back and forth half-heartedly, you had wished instead that there was someone to give you the small push you needed to take flight and soar through the clouds.

how pitiful, you think to yourself as the creak of the rusty swing echoes and drifts away with the wind, isn’t there anybody out there for me?

you can’t help the tears that are dripping down your nose and onto the floor, and you're trying your hardest to stop your sniffles. you’re convinced that there's no one, but it’s the sound of heavy footsteps and crunching leaves approaching you that tell you otherwise.

you hold your breath, eyes still fixed onto the floor, your little nine-year-old mind refusing to believe that this was a sign sent from the heavens. a pair of loafers approach your line of sight, and the owner of those shoes silently kneel in front of you so that the two of you are in the same line of sight of one another.

vibrant golden orbs lock onto your own muddled ones. it’s the soft smile on his boyish face and intense eyes that make your cheeks flare up; you’re not used to someone looking at you so intimately and for such a long time at that.

“are you waiting for someone to pick you up?” his voice is just as kind as you had expected it to be. after all, the emotions hidden in people’s eyes do not lie; that much you knew from experience.

“there’s no one,” you whisper under your breath. there really isn’t and there never will be. the onii-san’s eyebrows furrow at your reply. he opens his mouth, about to speak, but gets interrupted by his friends calling for him.

“one second,” he calls back over his shoulder. his attention is on you again, this time a troubled expression on his face. you watch with curious eyes as he lifts his hand up in what looked like an attempt to wipe at your tear-stained cheeks, but he stopped halfway almost as if debating if it was alright for someone like him to touch someone like you.

“it’s cold out tonight,” he chooses to say instead. “would you like to come home with me and wait for your parents instead? i promise it will be warmer.”

no matter how hard you tried to suppress it, it was virtually impossible to stop the chattering of your teeth and the trembling of your body from the thin shirt you were wearing in the middle of a particularly cold autumn. the onii-san unbundles the forest green scarf around his neck and wraps it around yours a couple of times.

“kita!! hurry up, man!”

"you guys go home first," he tells his friends. waving goodbye, kita turns around to face you once more, a gentle smile back on his face.

kita...san... you say his name over and over again in your mind the entire time on your walk back to kita's house. you clutch the wool scarf in your hand tightly, nuzzling the warmth of the fabric against your wind-bitten rosy cheeks, your other small hand holding onto kita's bigger and warmer ones tightly. other than the howling wind and crunch of leaves, the rest of the walk home is silent, but surprisingly comfortable for the both of you.

you watched as my legs and pride grew tall | 14 + 21 

"please be more careful," kita chastises you with a sigh. you're sitting on the back of his truck, kicking your legs childishly as you lazed around, enjoying your melting popsicle.

"oh, don't be so serious, kita-san," you playfully chastise back while licking away the sweetness that dripped down your fingers. you know he's not talking about the sticky mess you're making, but more so about the two blooming scrapes on your knees courtesy of you falling during physical education earlier in the day.

it had been a hot one today, the sun beating down onto the two of your backs still despite the day starting to set. summer was approaching quick, with the cicadas singing morning and night and humid winds ruffling messy hairs and uniform skirts.

kita was finishing up his day’s work on the rice field and you had joined him as soon as school had let out for summer break. the walk from school to the fields was a long distance, but one you did not mind trekking if it meant you got to visit kita.

“what are we gonna do with you?” kita sighs.

his back is to you as he continues his work, but you can tell that there’s a smile on his face. kita didn’t have to always be facing you for you to figure out his mood. you had known him for a while now, and you were absolutely enamored with him ever since you were younger. you had always thought your feelings for kita were comparable to a younger sister admiring her older brother; someone who you knew would always look after your well-being and doted on you even if he didn’t show it on the surface. but now as you watched the silver-haired man hum a soft tune and dutifully attended his rice crop, you weren’t so sure if those feelings didn’t hold a deeper meaning.

you nibbled the bottom of your lip nervously as you pondered your thoughts. you didn’t even notice kita was making small conversation with you until he stood directly in front of you. snapping you out of your reverie, you then realized how close kita was. you flushed furiously, eyebrows furrowing and a small pout adorning your face.

“what?” you ask huffily. kita reaches out a gloved hand and encloses it around yours. you react with a squeak as he brings your joined hands to his mouth. before you realize what had happened, kita had finished the last of your sad and melted ice cream and kissed away the melted cream from your fingers.

“you’re dirtying your uniform,” he says nonchalantly before letting go of your hand entirely. your face is burning as you try to process what had just happened. “it’s getting late; i’ll drive you home.”

you can’t believe how calm kita is after such a bold move. but could you even consider it a bold move if it had come from kita? kita was a good man; he was diligent and respectful, and not one to perform actions he didn’t truthfully mean. but over the years that you got to know him, you also knew that he was a man who was often unaware of unnecessary feelings and emotions.

“why would you be nervous?” you once remembered him questioning you when he tutored you in math. “if it’s something you practice on routine, then there should be nothing to be nervous about on the day of your test.”

it was almost infuriating sometimes, you’ve come to realize, the fact that he could be such a simple and earnest person at times, and you couldn’t tell if what had just happen just now was one of the times kita had simply acted because he thought it was the right thing to do.

sighing, you decide it wasn’t worth it to fuss over for now. instead, you respond to his declaration. “i don’t wanna go home.”

kita eyes you wearily, and you almost feel bad for saying whatever had just come out of your mouth. you knew he had been working nonstop in the blazing sun all day and could probably do without your brattiness right now.

“your father might worry,” kita says calmly in which you scoff.

“there’s no one waiting for me at home and you know it.” you take the silence from kita as a chance to hop off his truck and make your way to the passenger seat.

“y/n,” kita says warningly, but follows your lead and hops into the driver’s seat. he turns on the ignition of the truck and begins the slow drive out of the acres of fields. “you know that’s not true.”

“it is true and you know it, kita-san!” you stomped your foot once and crossed your arms, slinking down in your seat. “you’ve known me since i was literally nine, and within these four years, when has there ever been a time where someone was waiting for me when i came home from school?”

honey orbs you’ve loved a little too much analyze you carefully. you feel exposed whenever kita looks at you so closely, but if there was anyone who you wanted to be able to be the most vulnerable with, it was with kita and kita only. you can tell he’s trying to think of something careful to say with the way he absentmindedly tugs on the front pieces of his black-tinged bangs whenever he was thinking thoughtfully.

“i’m sorry, kita-san,” you apologize. "if you could, please do take me home after all. i should probably tidy up my house a bit and make dinner." you didn’t mean to put him in an uncomfortable situation; you knew he was only trying his best to be respectful of your father. you pick at the fresh scabs on your right knee. kita gently stops you and holds your hand in his left one. you look up at him in surprise.

“don't pick at it; i don't want it to scar. and, i apologize. i stepped out of bounds,” he says and gives your hand a squeeze. "let's eat dinner together tonight."

you feel your face heat up once more at the small touch of affection and realize something; it wasn’t just your hand that he squeezed, but also your heart.

for the rest of the ride back to kita’s house, you notice that his hand was still holding yours. there’s butterflies in your stomach, and you wonder how kita would react if you were to interlace your fingers with his slender ones.

shyly, you look out your window and decide to test the waters by intertwining your fingers with his. for the rest of the ride back, you’re elated that kita doesn’t pull away. in fact, he even brushes his thumb soothingly across your knuckles once and your heart soars at his small but significant affection.

ah... you think. i love you.

you know who took me to prom* | 15 + 22

"have you ever kissed anyone, kita-san?" you ask one summer evening. kita chokes on his barley tea at your sudden question.

you giggle and reach over to pat him on the back as kita coughs his lungs out. crimson adorns his high cheekbones from embarrassment and the sudden force of liquid going down the wrong way.

"why the sudden question?" he mumbles, averting his gaze and hiding his flush behind a hand to his mouth.

"just curious," you sing-song and turn your back to him to continue leafing through the manga you were reading. you're glad that your hair acted like a curtain, hiding the way your ears burned at your own bold question.

"well curiosity killed the cat," kita hums and stands up from the small coffee table.

"aw, kita-san," you pout and thumb through another page. "i bet she was cute!" you tease, but what you didn't expect was a shy response back.

"...she was," kita says quietly from the kitchen after a pause. you freeze mid-flip. kita returns from the kitchen and places a tray of two strawberry cake slices on the table. "granny stopped by today with some cake she baked. come eat while it's still fresh."

you stay still in your spot on the engawa, letting the cool breeze ruffle your loose camisole and cotton shorts. suddenly you don't feel so well. kita's response had left an unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach.

"y/n?" kita calls. you turn your head and take in the sight of kita sitting formally at the low table, cake slice in front of him and waiting patiently for you before digging in.

"my stomach doesn't feel well," you mumble weakly. kita hums once and beckons for you to come over. you sit up and crawl over to him. he pats his knees and helps you lie down, your head now on his lap.

"i told you not to wear loose shirts that can expose your stomach," kita gently scolds you and threads a hand through your hair.

"it was really hot today, kita-san," you counter weakly. your eyes slowly close at the comfort kita brings you as he continues to thread his fingers through your hair.

"you can still catch colds in the summer," kita responds.

"idiots like me won't catch summer colds," you answer back without a skip of a beat. a soft chuckle leaves kita's lips. you look up at him and are greeted with a warm smile. you can't help the one that blooms on your own face in reciprocation. he's looking down at you so lovingly, but you know the love that's on his face doesn't match the level of the one on yours.

it was undeniable that kita had grown more handsome over the last two years. his boyish face back in high school was replaced with more defined features, one of a young adult. the bangs framing his face needed a trim and his lips were a little fuller. but his eyes were the same from back then; always warm and inviting, and deep enough to get lost in. i want to kiss you...

"will you feel well enough for tonight?" kita catches you off guard. you blink, trying to process what he just asked you.

"huh?" you respond dumbly.

"for your date. you're going to the firework festival with a boy from your class, are you not?" his fingers catch against a tangle in your hair.

you had forgotten about your date for a moment. actually, that was main reason why you were at kita's house right now. you didn't want to go on that date in the first place, and you had escaped to kita's in hopes of ditching said date.

"oh..." you really didn't want to go; you wanted to be by kita's side for the remainder of the night, his hand soothingly playing with your hair. you wanted to eat strawberry cake with him and make a mess in his kitchen pretending to know what you were doing while cooking dinner with him.

"actually, he changed his mind..." you lie, averting your gaze from kita's curious one. his fingers stopped untangling your hair altogether and his eyebrows furrowed. kita took your silence as you being upset about the change in plans.

maybe you shouldn't have lied; you didn't mean to put kita in an awkward situation again. sighing, you turn your head upwards, planning on confessing about your lie. instead, your eyes widen at the close proximity of kita's face to yours. he was hunched over, his nose only mere inches away from your own. kiss me...please.

"do you want to go with me instead then?"

such a simple question, but it has your heart doing somersaults.

"are you sure?" you whisper. kita gives you a faint smile and nods.

"what kind of question is that? if i wasn't sure i wouldn't have asked you, dummy." a soft chuckle rumbles from within his chest and his fingers once again begin to stroke your hair like clockwork.

after a quick dinner, the two of you make your way to fireworks festival. kita leads you up a hill, promising you that this would hold the best view compared to the thick crowd down below. as the two of you take a seat, you wish that you had worn your prettiest summer yukata instead of the ordinary clothes kita was used to seeing you in. 

as the two of you make small talk and nibble on candied apples, you can't help but feel even more worse now, knowing you had stood up your unknowing classmate. but you had kita all to yourself for the rest of the night. you just wished that he saw it as a date the way you do. unfortunately for you, kita only saw it as kindness to make up for your pseudo-heartbreak. for the rest of the night, you don't pay attention to the hanabi display and instead wish you could lay your head on kita's shoulder the way other surrounding couples were.

*a/n: instead of writing something based on this lyric, i took inspiration from it and wrote something completely different instead to fit the story better with a cliché firework festival replacing prom. :')

i wanna be the one you call drunk | 16 + 23

your cheek stung. you had just gotten into an argument with your father which resulted in his palm connecting against your cheek. your father was a piece of shit, that much you had always known. you didn't even know if he deserved to even be called your father for how often he was absent since your childhood and the number of milestones he missed.

"he's still your father.... y/n. no matter what," kita had once told you. you hated how kita always had to give people the benefit of the doubt. no matter how many times you would rant about your absentee father, kita would always be there to remind you that he was still your father. maybe it was because kita had lost his when he was too young to remember, but you didn't think yours deserved even a mere thought. kita's heart was filled with love from his granny and friends, and he had always been raised to see the good in people; it was what made him who he was today - kind, patient, and sometimes too good for his own soul.

your scuffed boots crunched against the snow. it had just snowed last night, so the temperature had dropped considerably the next day. you tucked the bottom half of your face under your green scarf in hopes of it shielding you from the biting cold even just by a little. as you trekked across the white field, you pulled out your phone and numbly dialed kita's line only to be met with his voicemail after a few rings.

sighing, you stuffed your phone back in your pocket and looked up at the gloomy sky. you forgot that kita had a high school volleyball reunion today. he was probably too busy getting coerced into singing karaoke and drinking games.

life seriously sucks right now, you think to yourself. you exhale again, watching your breath mix with the brisk air. it was cold and you felt the loneliest you had felt in a while. hot tears welled up in your eyes and threatened to make their way down your cheeks. if kita was out, you didn't know where else to go; your safe haven was suddenly unavailable.

your phone ringing cut through your misery, prompting you to pull it out and take a look at who was calling. kita-san. you scrambled to swipe your frozen fingers across the screen to pick up the call.

"kita-san?" you sniffle. there's no reply on the other end, but instead loud laughter and the sound of the phone fumbling in someone's hands. "hello?"

you're about to hang up, dejected in thinking that kita had accidentally butt-dialed you, until you hear his voice.

"y/n." it's short and merely a greeting, but it has your heart reacting to him nonetheless.

"hi, kita-san," you reply back in a small voice. "how's your volleyball reunion? are you drunk yet?" you joke, a small laugh escaping your lips.

"is something wrong?" kita cuts you off before you can say any more.

"what do you mean?" you try to brush off his question and do your best to not sniffle.

"you were crying. i can hear it in your voice." and just like that, the dam breaks and tears run down your face. it's amazing how even the smallest of things kita is able to pick up on despite not physically being with you.

"i'm alright," you try to convince him, but you aren't even convinced yourself with the way your voice breaks in between sobs.

"where are you? i'm coming to you."

"no, it's okay. please don't come." at this point, you're crying harder at kita's concern about you. you don't want to cause him any trouble; you've already burdened him enough for the past seven years.

"kita! where are you going?" you hear his friends calling after him through his end. you can tell he's scrambling to put on his coat to leave and find you.

"meet me at the park," kita tells you. he doesn't even give you a chance to retort back as he hangs up the call.

your heart swells at the thought of you burdening him once more, but it also soars with the thought of getting to see kita when you needed him the most.

twenty minutes later, kita finds you sitting on the same swing he had found you seven years ago. he's out of breath, having run from the karaoke place in the middle of town all the way to the park he had promised to find you at. his hair is matted against the sweat of his forehead, and he's feeling too warm for his thick winter coat, but he's glad to see you waiting for him. what he's not glad to see are the tearstains on your swollen cheek.

kita approaches you and kneels to be eye-level with you. he reaches out a gloved hand and gently cups your swollen cheek, a frown marring his pretty face. he's still slightly breathless, and you can smell the alcohol from his breath. he must've had quite the amount of drinks considering the rosy glow on his face and the slightly glazed eyes. kita's mind is slightly hazy from the copious amount of beers atsumu shoved down his throat, but that's not new to him; he refuses to admit it, but his mind is always slightly hazy when he's with you.

"i'm sorry," kita apologizes. you feel like a hot mess with your wind-blown hair, puffy eyes and cheek and runny nose. to kita, you're still the most beautiful thing in the world. a pretty crier, he had called you once when you were eleven as he stroked your hair soothingly to calm you down.

you had often thrown temper tantrums when you were little, not understanding that it was the negligence from an absent father and dead mother that had built up the thorns that tried so hard to protect your fragile heart. kita had felt pity for you when you were younger and crying your eyes out. but now, seeing you at sixteen, the peak of your teenage years with tearstained cheeks and hiccupping breaths, hurt his heart.

"i'm sorry." his breath fans across your face as he leans in to touch his forehead with yours. you sob harder, your grip on his coat tightening and refusing to let go.

right now i’ve got nothing to lose because you love me, and i love you | 17 + 24

a lot can happen in one year, you tell yourself. you're staring out the window of the train, the scenery passing by in a blur, but you're hardly paying attention. how could you when the only thing you can think about is where you're headed.

in the past year, you had fallen hard in love and had gotten your heart broken. but within that one year, you had also somewhat rekindled your broken relationship with your father who had begged for your forgiveness and promised to be a better father. you had reluctantly agreed to try to repair what little relationship the two of you had and were now on your way to live with him in sendai. he had promised you a better life in a new town, and you felt that moving might give you the fresh start you knew you needed. staying in hyogo was only starting to weigh you down with memories filled with kita.

you remember that day in the park where kita had kneeled in front of you, comforting you. you remember the way his forehead leaned against yours, your breaths mingling in the chilling cold. you remember closing the gap between your lips, salty tears mixing with the bittersweet tang of soft lips. you also remember the way kita's lips did not respond to yours the way you thought they would. and you devastatingly remember the way he pulled away from you, rejection and sadness evident in those eyes that you loved too much.

you remember the uncomfortable silence shrouded between the two of you as kita walked you back home. for the remainder of the year, kita felt a responsibility as the older one to try his hardest to make things normal between the two of you, but you didn't have the heart to reciprocate the effort. how could you, when the man you have loved for half of your life didn't love you back the same way you did? you didn't think your relationship with kita would ever mend, but as seasons changed, you found it slightly easier to start talking to him again little by little. before you knew it, you came to realize that it was simply enough for kita to hold you as one of the most important people in his life.

"i'm moving to sendai with my dad, kita-san. he asked me to move with him so we could start over and i'm thinking of going with him."

kita's eyes widened, and his movements stilled. he whipped around to face you, but you still had your back to him. he wondered what kind of expression you were making. you've been happier lately, kita had noticed, and he wondered if it was because of what you had just told him.

"that's wonderful, y/n," he tells you after drawing in a deep breath. kita stands up from crouching over the bed of flowers he was watering in his small garden and crouches down next to you. your eyes finally steadily meet his after two long months. "i'll miss your company." he wishes instead he could tell you that he would miss you altogether.

"i'll come visit when i have breaks." you're grinning, but kita knows it's not genuine. "i don't regret it, you know." you tell him suddenly and stand up straight. kita looks up and squints, the sun blinding his eyes.

"regret what?"

"loving you." your hands are clasped behind your back, and you're fiddling your fingers, but your posture is tall and straight. a small huff comes out of kita's mouth, and his lips break into a smile.

"yeah. thank you," he replies, and he genuinely means it.

kita stands up to his full height and reaches a hand towards your face. you flinch on instinct, squeeze your eyes shut, and hold your breath. delicate fingers ghost across your cheek before making way to tuck a small daisy in your hair. kita ducks down to your height-level and brushes his lips against your cheeks in a chaste goodbye kiss. you breathe in his scent, the comforting sun mixed with clean laundry detergent. you hope to keep a piece of him with you always.

[now approaching sendai station. please make sure to collect all your belongings and enjoy your stay in sendai]

ah... you think bitterly. a lone tear drips down your cheek as you exit the train and step onto the sendai platform. in this world, we were born to be alone after all.

[nuoyipeach]

Restart

May 21st 2021

4 years later...

“Arin, bring your brother down. We’re about to leave.” Taeyong shouted from the hallway downstairs for the children upstairs to hear. He Just finished putting on his coat then looked at his wife going through her bag one last time, confirming that she had packed everything. He smiled at the sight of her before moving next to her giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“What?” Seulgi chuckled and he shook his head. The couple turned to the stairs hearing footsteps running down, each child carrying their own backpack. Seulgi looked at them and smiled before carrying up the younger. “So I guess we’re all ready to go.”

“Yes mum!” Arin exclaimed as she hugged her father’s arm. “I’ve never been to Japan, I’m so excited! And we're meeting uncle Yuta too!”

Taeyong laughed as he locked up the house and went to the car where Seulgi had just buckled up three year old Hajun, then turned to help Arin in her seat. He went ahead and checked the last bag before closing the trunk and sat in the driver's seat.

The way to the airport was filled with music (mostly Hajun’s songs) and twelve year old Arin helping her younger brother sing the words clearly, followed by Seulgi leading them, and Taeyong's smile never left.

Three months after Hajun's birth, Arin was finally awake after almost two years. She didn't lose her memory, but it seemed the young girl didn't at all care about the sudden change in her life. From having a new father, to a baby brother, nothing made her question what happened while she was asleep. She was surprised at first, no doubt, but she had no hesitation accepting it.

While Seulgi was busy with the baby, Taeyong did everything to help Arin catch up on school and attend rehabilitation classes with her. As always Seulgi was worried if Taeyong felt it as a burden, however he kept reassuring her every day that Arin was his child now too and he loves her.

Of course at some point Arin had to know the truth, and oddly yet not surspisingly enough, it was Taeyong who ended up telling her.

"He didn't want to stay, he..."

"He didn't like us anymore, didn't he? He left us for other people?" the nine year old asked straight away, not wanting her father to beat around the bush. Taeyong sighed and pulled her to his chest, combing her hair.

"I'm sorry Arin."

"Why dad?" she looked up with a sudden but sincere smile. "You don't have to say sorry. You're my dad now, and I'm happy. You're the best dad anyone could ever ask for." she exclaimed hugging him tighter.

On the plane, Arin sat with her father while Hajun with his mother since he still needed extra care from her. It wasn't too long, but the children fell into naps the moment they took off. Both parents lifted off the middle arm rest and let them lay on their laps, Hajun having his milk bottle still in his mouth.

Once landed Arin was quick to wake up and help her mother while Seulgi strapped up a still sleeping Hajun to Taeyong's front. They went across the airport until they came to the baggage claim.

"Mum, can I go to the toilet real quick?" Arin suddenly asked, to which Seulgi nodded directing her to the nearest restroom. Knowing her child, she wasn't too afraid of her getting lost so she allowed her to go on her own.

After finishing up and washing her hands, Arin was just about to leave the restroom when she bumped into a man coming out the of the male one next to her. "Oh, sorry. Are you OK?" the man spoke and crouched down patting her head. Arin rubbed her nose and smiled at him reassuringly.

Only for her smile to drop in an instant.

She stared at the man, but she knew she had to be quick. "I'm fine. Sorry. Bye." she spoke quickly before running away towards wherever.

Why's he here... I can't tell mum and dad...

"Hey hey hey." she stopped at a halt when she felt a hand grab her shirt from behind. "Where are you running off to young lady?" she turned on her tiptoes and faced her father before squirming out if his grip and suddenly hugging his torso tight. Taeyong stood flustered by her actions before crouching to hug her back, her face in his shoulder as he heard her uneven breaths and knew for sure something wasn't right.

After a minute she seemed to have calmed, his hand combing through her hair and another now pulling her up to carry her away with him. As he neared where his wife sat with their luggage, he stopped and instead sat a little further away, out of her sight.

"Arin." he called calmly and pulled her out of his shoulder, cupping her face in one hand gently. He waited, for her to pick up enough strength to look up at him, which took a minute for her to do. He smiled at her and brushed her hair back. "Tell me. What happened?"

Arin bit her lip, not wanting to ruin their trip on the first day itself. But if there was one person she'd never lie to, it was Taeyong. She took a deep breath, before leaning against her father's chest. "Daddy..." she spoke softly, voice breaking in fear. "I love you."

"I love you too Arin." Taeyong replied softly, petting her back.

"You're my only daddy."

"Yes Arin. I'm your only dad."

"Even if I run into him, I'd choose you any day."

The father and daughter kept it a secret, knowing the last thing Seulgi would want to hear on their family trip is her ex husband's presence in the same town as them. It was already their second day and they were visiting the Universal Studios theme park in Osaka with the Nakamoto family. Taeyong took note of Arin’s emotions, so far seeming overjoyed. He didn’t tell Seulgi this either, but the past two nights they were here, Arin had cried in her sleep, and when he asked why all she could say was seeing her biological father’s face in her dreams.

He didn’t understand why it was taking such an effect on her. Did she actually miss him but didn’t want to say so? Did he do something wrong back then? Did they talk at the airport?

Tonight as they returned, he decided he needed to talk to Arin. He needed her to come clear about this, because that was the only way he could help. As Seulgi washed up and tucked in Hajun, he excused himself to go check on Arin who slept in the room next to them in the hotel suite.

Looking into the room, he saw Arin just getting into bed and stared smiling at her. "How was it today?" he asked taking seat right next to her as she tucked herself in. The young girl smiled wide.

"It was great! I loved the minions!" she exclaimed. Taeyong chuckled combing her hair, his mind however filled with thoughts on how to speak about the topic.

And he decided the best way was to be straight forward. "Arin, be honest with me."

"Yes daddy?"

"Did something happen between you and, uhm... your ex dad?" he realised how badly he worded it, but nothing was coming to his mind. "You've been acting strange since you bumped into him..."

Arin bit her lips, her heart hurting. In all honesty she had no ounce of affection, she never missed him. But seeing him after so many years, especially after coma, it hurt her.

"I really don't know daddy..." she teared up. Taeyong got in under the cover next to her and pulled her to his chest, the young girl letting go of her tears immediately into her father's shirt. "I just, it hurts. I don't know why... When I saw him, he looks so normal, he didn't even recognise me. I don't even miss him, but it hurts..."

He shushed her, making white noise as he combed her hair when she suddenly pulled out and looked at him. "Please don't take it the wrong way." she quickly said before hugging him tight. "I love you daddy, I hate that man. I'm sorry he's making me cry. I know I promised I wouldn't cry over guys, but I can't help it..."

Taeyong chuckled sadly, shifting in his place so that she laid on his chest, head on his shoulder. "I'm not mad Arin. I'm worried about you. You're my daughter, I don't like seeing you sad." he let out a sigh and kissed her hair. "Let's try to forget that from now on, OK. I'll help you."

Taeyong knew that he couldn't just force her to erase the memory of her biological father just like that, no matter how much they love each other. Arin didn't lose her memory, she was a smart child even back then when she knew her father's love was absent. She knew, the moment she woke up and accepted her new reality, that he left them even before Taeyong told her anything. And no matter how much she despised him, it was no surprise that it broke her heart when he really didn't recognise her after all these years, and if Seulgi found out, it would've broke her heart too.

On their last day, they stayed at Yuta's house as Sooyoung was persistent to have them overnight for one day at least. The children played out in the backyard while the dads started the barbeque, and inside the mothers cooked up some ramen and sides. Not too long after they heard an ice cream truck, and soon enough the kids were at the dads feet begging to go.

Yuta wasn't one to resist and took out some money, handing it to Arin who's the eldest among both family's children. "Knock yourselves out. Don't eat too much though, your mums will kill us." he winked.

Arin led the three younger out to the front road where more neighbourhood children lined up. She stood holding her brother's hand while her two friends conversed in Japanese with their friends. She didn't speak much, but could understand.

"Who are they Nako?" a kid asked Yuta's older girl, a year younger than Arin.

"Our friends from Korea. Remember, my mum's Korean."

When it was their turn, Nako helped choose while Arin payed, stuffing the change in her pocket. Yuta's kids were now playing hopscotch on the pavement with the other kids, Nako tugging her and Hajun to join them, though the three year old was mostly running across the lines.

“You are Nako’s friend?” a young boy, seemingly five or six, suddenly spoke to Arin as she stood aside to finish her ice cream. Arin was shocked to hear him speak korean but nodded in response. “That’s cool! I’m half korean too just like her.” he smiled raising his hand for a high five to which Arin responded smiling back.

“How?” she asked curiously.

“My dad’s Korean. My name is Akito, I’m five.”

“I’m Arin, twelve.” she looked away after responding, turning her attention to Hajun to make sure he wouldn’t get hurt. Nako suddenly called her to go back home and she grabbed her brother. “Bye Akito.”

As the children entered the backyard they heard Nako’s mother yelling. “I swear to God Nakamoto if you send them out alone again I will have your head on the barbeque instead!”

“Arin was with them...”

“She’s new here you idiot!” Seulgi yelled along. “What if they were lost! What if they were kidnapped!”

The kids quickly ran away to the living room, trying not to laugh at both mothers yelling at Yuta and finishing off the last of their ice cream before they were caught. Taeyong soon came in and sighed shaking his head, helping Hajun wipe his face to get rid of the evidence. “Please not one word about the ice cream.” he whispered, knowing Hajun was still too young to understand the concept of keeping secrets.

Luckily the young boy’s attention was taken away by the other kids playing with toys, and Taeyong returned outside to see the others were back to normal, except for Yuta’s slightly sulking face. They finished up with the barbeque and set it on the picnic table they had, the mothers bringing in the ramen and sides. The kids were called to eat, and surprisingly enough they ate more than expected despite the ice cream. Soon Arin and Nako helped clean up, while Yuta pulled out the mini pool for the kids.

While he filled it up, Arin was the first to come out in her swimsuit and helped throw some toys in, when she heard a familiar voice.

“Hi Arin!” she looked to see the young boy from earlier, Akito, waving. She waved back, when her face lost all colour. “Look dad, she’s the girl I told you about.”

Yuta knew all too well, and looked at Arin to see her completely still. He then looked back at the child who’s father now stood beside him, but he could tell he didn’t recognise her. “So she’s your new friend? Isn’t she much older than you?” he joked with his son.

“Arin noona is really nice.”

“Arin?” the man raised a brow once hearing the name, looking back at Arin then smiled.

Yuta could tell Arin’s discomfort, so he dropped the hose and went to her, crouching to her ear. “Go inside. Don’t tell your mother, go straight to your dad .” he whispered to which she nodded and quickly ran inside, not stopping until she reached her father. Taeyong had just finished helping Hajun into his swimsuit and let him run out, when Arin’s body came crashing into him and held him tight.

“He’s here...” she spoke softly, fear in her voice. “He’s outside.”

Taeyong pulled her out and looked at her shocked. “Are you sure?” she nodded.

“Uncle Yuta saw him too, he sent me inside... Dad, what if he takes me from you? I don’t want to go...” tears welled up in her eyes and Taeyong wiped them off and hugged her tight, holding in his own.

“No one will take you from us Arin, not as long as your mother and I are alive.”

Taking her hand, Taeyong walked out to see what was going on so far. He peeked out the main door and saw the kids already in the pool, Yuta and Sooyoung attending them. But his wife was no where to be seen, and upon noticing his presence, Sooyoung ran to him. “Taeyong, he was here. When Arin ran in she saw and came outside to check. They’re talking outside the gate...”

Taeyong let go of Arin and quickly went to the gate and, as bad as he felt, eavesdropped over their conversation.

“Well, I married and moved here now. It is my wife’s hometown.”

“I see...”

“Arin grew a lot.” his muscles tensed hearing her name from the man. “Glad to see her up and healthy. How long did it take?”

“Two years.”

“Does she remember me?”

The question made both the couple tense up even more. If Seulgi said yes there’s a chance he’d ask to see her, and if she said no he’d be sceptical about it and still ask to see her.

Hearing his wife silent for a minute, Taeyong decided it was time for him to step in. “Seulgi come, Hajun’s looking for you.” he walked out as if he heard nothing, pretending to be surprised by her ex’s presence. “Oh, hello. Long time no see.” he said extending his hand to shake. The man nodded with a smile taking his hand.

“You too. I see you two married, Hajun must be your child. Glad you moved on quick.” he chuckled. Seulgi nodded, still a little uncomfortable, before Taeyong took her hand and held it reassuringly. She looked back up at the man and sighed.

“He’s also Arin’s father now, I asked him to adopt.”

“That’s good.” the man replied, his face seemingly without much care. “Well I best be off, don’t want to ruin your party. Bye.” he bowed before walking to where his son was, and the couple watched him take his hand and head back home.

The rest of the barbeque went on as if nothing happened before. Arin seemed to have enjoyed herself to her parents relief, and they themselves stayed optimistic not wanting to ruin the mood. As night fell, the kids were all sent to bed. Taeyong tucked in both his children into bed and noticed Seulgi standing next to Arin, the mother daughter simply exchanging gazes. He could see both love and hurt in their eyes and moved to their side of the bed. Taking Seulgi’s hand he gave it a chaste kiss before bending to Arin and kissing her forehead.

“Sleep well. We’re going back to Korea tomorrow, and to your grandparent’s house after so it’ll be tiring.” Arin smiled at her father as he did so after whispering, before he got up and walked out the room with his wife. Once in the other guest room where they were sleeping in, the two sat on the bed sighing.

“Why here...” Seulgi mumbled. “Everything was going great, and he just had to appear...”

Taeyong turned to his wife and moved closer, holding her hand in both his. “Nothing happened Seulgi... Honestly I don’t know why we were so scared? It’s not like he would actually want to take you or Arin back right?”

“You’re right...” she sighed again before hugging Taeyong, cuddling up into his chest. “He’s moved on even before everything happened. I have no reason to think about it like that. I have you and Arin and Hajun, and that’s all I’ll need for the rest of my life.”

“You should visit us next time. Will you be coming fo Chuseok this year?” Seulgi asked her friend as they stood outside the Nakamoto house, Taeyong putting their lugguage into the back of Yuta’s car.

“Maybe, my parents have been missing the kids a lot.” Sooyoung replied. The women hugged before Sooyoung went back inside after the children said their goodbyes too. Yuta got into the driver’s seat and started the car while Taeyong closed up the back.

“Hey.” he looked behind, freezing for a bit at the presence of Seulgi’s ex again. “I know you probably hate to see me, but I just have something.”

Biting his lip, Taeyong made sure Seulgi and the kids were already in the car before nodding to him. “What is it?”

He suddenly pulled out a bag from behind him and handed it to him. “When you reach home, give this to Arin please.” Taeyong looked at the bag, then back at him and the man noticed the fear before he chuckled.

“I’m not taking her away from you if that’s what you’re thinking. I don’t plan on ruining your lives, I’ve done enough of that I believe. But... one thing I do regret was hurting Arin. I did fall out of love with Seulgi, I won’t lie about that, but I genuinely loved Arin. It was just hard for me to be a good father when I wasn’t in the relationship I wanted to be in. I probably sound like an asshole right now, but I was so caught up avoiding Seulgi and wanting to be with my current wife, I neglected Arin too when I really had no intention to. Then with how you were always around with her, it made me realise that you deserve them more than me. That’s why I was easy admit everything and let Arin go after the divorce. I loved her but I knew I couldn’t make up for what I failed to give her. I knew you were a better father to her than I ever could be, and I was right.”

The man's words didn't leave Taeyong's mind even as they went to bed. After reaching Korea they drove straight to his parents' house to visit and decided to stay the night before going home the next day. What he said in the end was what stuck to his mind the most.

"If possible I'd like to see her again sometime. My family don't know and I don't want them to get involved, I just hope to see her again after all these years. I know I was absent as a father, I just want to see how she feels about me."

He didn't tell Seulgi but he knew without her permission he had no right to decide on this. Arin was still her child, and this case involved the man who stepped out of their life. As he laid in bed staring at the ceiling, his worried face didn't go unnoticed by his wife as she got under the covers next to him. She moved closer and cuddled up to him taking his attention.

"What's bothering you? Looks like something has been in you mind all day."

Taeyong sighed and turned on his side to face her, thinking of a way to tell her everything. "So, you know when I was loading our bags into Yuta's trunk when we were leaving?" she nodded confused. "Well, Jongin came to me, with a gift for Arin I still have on my bag. He told me how much he actually missed her, and regrets ignoring her just because he was with someone else behind your back. He said despite what he felt with you, he still loved her as his child."

Seulgi looked down to his chest biting her lip, fingers playing with the buttons of his pyjama top. He caressed her hair soothingly before he continued. "He said, if it's alright, he'd like to meet her again, properly. He won't take her away, his current family doesn't know about him finding us. He just wants to see her again."

looks like a part 3 needs to happen😅 this is what happens when I write unplanned😐

[nalgenewhore]

Slipping Through My Fingers - Three

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter 

warnings: none 

an: let the games begin bitches 

Lorcan was desperate. 

The five-year old sitting on the floor of his room refused to get dressed and Lorcan’s nerves were getting frayed. He looked more like Lorcan than his mother, but his features softer than his father’s, his eyes brighter - a pale doe-brown. The freckles over his button nose were Essar’s, no doubt about it.  

“No, Dad.” Despite his words and negation, Lorcan was forever grateful that they spoke his mother tongue at home, as well as Essar’s. That their son was able to speak their languages, for their cultures and people to be kept alive for one more generation. They tended to mix and match with the two tongues, one from the northernmost part of Doranelle, and the other from deep within the Bogdano jungle. 

He sighed and ran a hand down his face, rubbing his eyes before he too sat on the floor. “Prince, please. Please just put on your pants.” 

“No, Dad. Don’t wanna go to school,” Kohana* said, his arms crossed tightly, glowering menacingly. He was already wearing his long-sleeved t-shirt, sweater and puffy jacket. The child insisted on wearing all his layers, even though it was hardly fall and he would definitely become way to warm by the end of the day.

“I know, kiddo,” Lorcan said, wishing that Essar was here to convince him. She’d always managed to soothe their son and sometimes - most of the time if he were honest - Lorcan felt like a failure. He’d asked every god, multiple times, why him. “I know you don’t.” 

His tone was defeated and Kohana looked up at him, his brows lowered. “If you know, why telling me to go?” 

That was a very good point. An excellent one. Lorcan resorted to his last point: bribery. “Alright, if you go to school, tonight when we get home, we’ll get ice cream and watch your favourite movie. Deal?” 

His son looked between the pants and him, narrowing his chestnut eyes, just like his mom. Finally, Kohana nodded. “Ok, Dad.” 

Ten minutes later, Kohana was concentrating on his laces, his tongue sticking out as he tied his shoes up. He was successful and clapped his little hands, “Look! Tied my shoes!” 

Lorcan smiled, his heart cracking just a bit, “Good job, baby.” Kohana stood up on the front hall bench and lifted his arms. Lorcan scooped him up and tossed him up, catching him before setting the little one down on his feet, smiling at his son’s pealing laughter. “We ready?” 

Kohana grabbed Lorcan’s pinky and ring finger after Lorcan helped him put on his mini rainbow Kanken backpack. “Yep! Go time!” 

As Lorcan opened the door, Kohana froze, “Oh no! I forgot to say bye bye to Tigger!” He raced back into their house, seeking out Essar’s old ragdoll cat. Lorcan had a love-hate relationship with Tigger, but even he smiled when he heard the kid’s little voice saying good-bye. He looked in the mirror beside Essar’s picture, noting the length of his hair had just finally begun to brush against his shoulders after he had cut it, out of respect and honour for the passing of his wife. 

It made his throat close up, this feeling that he was moving on and forgetting her - when he’d once promised to never forget her. Lorcan had meant it that dark day in that sterile hospital room and he meant it now. His gloomy thoughts were interrupted by the pattering feet of their son as he came racing back and crashed into Lorcan’s legs. “Ready to go.”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Kohana chattered the entire way to his school, looking out the window as he kicked his feet, sitting on his booster seat. Lorcan grinned and conversed with him, only slightly worried about the amount that he talked. 

Kohana was a fairly quiet child, reserved and freakily observant like his dad, and preferred to silently ride in the truck wherever they went. Soon enough, they pulled up in front of the school and Kohana fell silent, nervously glancing out at the other kids and parents. 

“You need a minute, Ko?” 

Kohana slowly shook his head, “No, I ready. Go time, Dad.” 

Lorcan stifled his chuckle and unbuckled his seatbelt, turning off the engine and making his way to Kohana’s door. He opened it and Kohana unclipped his seat belt and stood on his booster seat, waiting for Lorcan to pick him up. Lorcan did, propping him on his hip as he got his backpack and shut the door, clicking his keys to lock the truck as he strode through the parking lot, unaware of the stares and attention he drew to himself as he walked to the school. 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Elide checked the time again, reassuring herself that nobody was late, considering the bell didn’t ring for another fifteen minutes. She breathed out slowly, checking over her class list and making sure that each little desk (who knew kindergarten desks could be so cute) had a velcroed name label on it. She figured she would let the kids choose their seats and go from there once she knew the different dynamics. 

She checked over the reading area, making sure the toadstool-patterned pouffes were placed correctly and relative to the bookshelves and toy area. What she had wanted was a whimsical, faerie-woods like reading area and Elide was happy with what she had done. She'd even managed to find a tree-throne inspired wooden chair made by a local artist. 

The art corner was all ready, it had been the first area she set up, and Elide walked into the cubby area, which was separate from the rest of the classroom. 

Unlike the desks, the cubbies were designated to each student and she made sure that the velcroed labels stuck on well. Elide did not need wild little ones pulling things off at random. She popped into the little bathroom they had, thanking her gods and goddesses for being one of the few kindergarten classes with their own toilet. There was a sign with diagrams on correct hand washing and a step stool up to the sink, soap and paper towels in easy access. 

She looked at herself in the mirror, running an eye over her outfit: a pair of raw-edge, blue mom jeans and a slouchy lavender sweater, paired with a pair of delicate silver hoops, her hair twisted into a low-bun and held together with a silver hairpin, a gift from her ex-girlfriend. She wore her everyday, white sneakers, her makeup simple with just mascara and a light dusting of blush. 

Perfect for meeting parents and kiddos. Comfortable and still somewhat professional for the first day of school. Aelin had asked her to model some things for her newest collection and had dumped a bunch of custom made pieces into her arms. A congrats-on-your-new-job present, she’d said, so needless to say, Elide was well-equipped and excited for her new outfits. 

Someone knocked on the door and called out, “Hello?” 

Elide squeaked and hurried into her class, “Hey, I’m— Lorcan?” Oh gods, what was he doing here? Elide subtly checked the available exits, in case something went sideways. “What are you doing here?” 

Just then, she noticed how shocked he looked and the children’s backpack that dangled from his hand, not to mention the nearly identical child who held onto his other hand in a death grip. “Um, I- kid- school-” he stuttered out, his jaw still dropped as the child tugged on his hand.

“Dad?” The dark-haired child looked up at Lorcan in confusion, his brow wrinkling. Elide genuinely thought that every kid was cute, but by the gods, this one took the cake. She had the sudden urge to kiss his round cheek and clamped down on the desire. 

He was a father. And she was his kid’s teacher. And she should not be thinking about how he held her up and fucked her against a wall three nights ago or how the way his lips parted as she got on her knees for— 

“Oh my gods, sorry,” Elide said, snapping out of her shock. “Hi!” The kid looked nervous and hugged Lorcan’s legs, hiding his face in his father’s navy painter pants. 

“Ko,” Lorcan said, crouching down in front of his son. Elide scanned the class roster, landing on the name Kohana **Tangaroa-Salvaterre. Lorcan began to speak in a language she discerned as ***Ozuye from hearing it during her gap year, but she didn’t comprehend a word, her mind reeling. 

Even if this wasn’t the situation, she still wouldn’t have been able to understand a word on account of not speaking a language other than the common tongue and Blackbeak. 

“Ok, Dad,” Kohana whispered. He walked over to her, his light eyes wide as he clasped his hands together in front of him, “Hello. My name is Kohana. I am five.” 

Elide huffed a laugh and crouched down in front of him, “Hi, Kohana. My name’s supposed to be Miss Lochan, but you can call me Elide.” He smiled and nodded, running back to Lorcan to grab his backpack and grab a quick hug before saying bye with a tight hug and an accepted top-of-the-head kiss. He quickly ran back to Elide’s side. 

Lorcan laughed quietly and nodded an only semi-awkward goodbye before ducking out of the classroom. “Alright, Kohana, why don’t we see your cubby?” 

“Ok,” he said, following her closely as she led the way to the coat room. 

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Hellas save him, this was a mess. How had he managed to sleep with the one person that would be his son’s teacher for ten whole months? 

Lorcan stopped at a red light and hit his head against the steering wheel, swearing low. If Essar could see him now, she’d be crying in laughter. That got him to smile, even if it was forced and unnatural. 

He drove in utter silence to the mechanic shop he worked at, alongside Fenrys and Malakai, trying to think about anything other than the sounds she had made when he was inside her. He was not successful in the slightest. 

It had him in a foul mood when he parked and got out of his truck, stalking into the back room. Fenrys was sitting at the table and drinking a cup of coffee when he walked in. “Woah, who pissed in your coffee this morning?” 

Lorcan sighed and braced his hands against his locker, hanging his head. “I fucked Ko’s teacher.” 

“Wait, just now?” 

He snarled and spun to glare at Fenrys, “Yeah, in the five-minute period I was dropping my kindergartener off at school, I took her in the cubby and fucked her real good.” He walked over to the blonde and slapped him upside the head, “Fuck is wrong with you? She’s the girl from the bar.” 

“Well. You two are fucked.” 

That was exactly the problem.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

*Kohana is a Lakota name that means swift 

**Tangaroa is the Māori god of the sea! In this story (and all things i write) both Essar and Lorcan are indigenous - Essar is Māori and Lorcan is Lakota because you can never have too much colour 😌✨

***Ozuye is the fictional tribe of my own invention, it’s very largely based off the Lakota nation

@mythicaitt​​​ @tinywolfofeyllwe​​ @schmlip-scribble​​ @the-regal-warrior​​ @westofmoon​​ @empire-of-wildfire​​ @rhysands-highlady​​ @city-of-fae​​ @shyvioletcat​​ @alifletcher2012​​ @tangledraysofsunshine​​ @ttakeitbacknoww​​ @tswaney17​​ @ourbooksuniverse​​ @flora-and-fae​​ @thesirenwashere​​ @queenofxhearts​​ @maastrash​​ @mynewdreamwasyou​​ @cursebreaker29​​​ @superspiritfestival​​ @empress-ofbloodshed​​ @queen-of-glass​​ @sleeping-and-books​​ @beccasophia95​​ @exersize-me-i-dare-u​​ @thewayshedreamed​​ @hizqueen4life​ @ifinallygavein​ @bat-wing-rhys​ @awkward-avocado-s​

[theladyofdeath]

Alone in the Ashes {24}

A Court of Thorns and Roses fanfction, characters belong to Sarah J Maas. Modern au. Revolves around Nesta x Cassian, Feyre x Rhysand, and Elain x Azriel. Other characters appear throughout. Based on multiple prompts sent in by anons tbr below.

Warning: Mature content. Alcohol abuse, verbal abuse, drugs, sex, language, eating disorders.

For summary & chapter index, click >  Alone in the Ashes {Acotar}

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Remember that one time when Lucas and Nathan faced off on the rivercourt for Peyton’s affection? Yeah. Good times.

Anyways, even I said “What the fuck” at the end of this chapter...Enjoy “The one before the finale”. x

“I'd always thought death would be some sort of peaceful homecoming - a sweet, sad lullaby to usher me into whatever waited afterward.” ― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Wings and Ruin

“Lain?”

It was the week before Rhysand and Feyre’s wedding, and everyone was going out to celebrate. All but Elain, who offered to stay home with Mila so that Azriel could enjoy himself. He’d been on edge too often, lately. He needed a good night out.

Besides, Elain was pregnant and nauseous and the last thing she wanted to do was be out with a bunch of people when she couldn’t drink and was too damn tired to dance. 

“Yes?” Elain asked from where she was perched on the other side of the couch.

“Is the baby in your belly a boy or a girl?”

Elain chuckled. “We don’t know yet. What do you want the baby to be?”

Mila took a minute to think about it. “I don’t care. I just want someone to play with.”

Elain’s smile softened. “Well, soon enough, baby will be here.”

“I be a big sister?” she asked, with hope in her sweet, innocent eyes.

“Sure will,” Elain confirmed. “The best big sister!”

“Is Uncle Azzie going to marry you?” Mila asked. “Like Rhysie and Feyre.”

“Maybe,” Elain said, in all honesty. “But not right now.”

“I want you to marry Uncle Azzie,” Mila said, sighing as she pet Elain’s cat, Ginger. “We could all live together in a big house. Me, you, Uncle Az, and baby.”

Elain watched Mila as she kissed the kitten’s forehead. “I would like that, too.”

“Good,” Mila beamed. “Can we watch t.v.?”

“It’s getting late,” Elain said, huffing a laugh, a hand on her stomach. The morning sickness wasn’t as bad, but it tended to linger throughout the day. 

“Please?” Mila sang, big eyes pleading.

“Alright, but only for a little while,” Elain said. “When i say it’s time for bed, it’s time for bed.”

Mila jumped up on the couch, arms in the air. “Yay!”

Elain turned the station to a kid’s show as she pulled out her phone and texted Azriel, What did this child have for lunch? She has enough energy for all of us.

Azriel’s reply came a second later. Chicken nuggets.

Then, it was followed by, A cherry icee might have happened, too.

Elain laughed to herself as she typed out, Oh, good. Get her all sugared up then leave her with the pregnant woman.

“Lain, do you have ice cream?”

Elain shook her head. “How about an apple?”

Mila groaned. “Fine.”

As Elain went into the kitchen, her phone vibrated in her hoodie pocket. Azriel had said, I can always come home. I’m only ten minutes down the road if you need me.

Have fun, Elain had texted back. Enjoy yourself. We’re good over here. After adding a green heart emoji, she pressed send. 

After washing an apple and cutting it into slices, Elain walked back into the living room, where Mila was snoring, using Ginger as a pillow. Shaking her head, Elain took her place at the other end of the couch.

When she pulled her phone out of her pocket, it read, Kiss Mila and the baby goodnight for me.

Elain’s cheeks turned pink as she smiled. Every night, Azriel pressed his soft lips to Elain’s stomach, to the bump that had formed there.

I will, Elain had typed back. Always.

~~~~~~

“I feel bad for leaving Elain,” Feyre frowned. “She deserves to have fun, too.”

“She offered,” Nesta reminded her. “Besides, she’s been up at the crack of dawn puking her guts up. The woman needs to take sleep when she can find it.”

Feyre agreed before taking another shot.

Shots were on Mor, and the rounds kept coming. Feyre had already texted Rhysand once, to see where Cassian and Azriel were taking him, but he had replied that he didn’t know, that it was a surprise, and that he was scared shitless because any surprise that involved Cassian was asking for trouble.

Feyre didn’t disagree. 

“One week from today,” Amren began, eyes bright, intoxicated, “you’ll be a married woman.”

“Any idea where you’re going for the honeymoon?” Mor asked. “Rhys let anything slip?”

“Not a thing,” Feyre groaned. “And it’s been driving me crazy.”

“Any guesses?” Nesta asked.

Feyre took a second to think about it. Yes, she had guessed a few times over the past weeks, but Rhysand had let nothing slip. “My guess is Adriata. He knows I love the beach.”

And even now, as Autumn was beginning, Adriata was as warm and sunny as ever. But every time Feyre had guessed as much, Rhysand just shrugged and said, Guess you’ll have to wait and find out.

The handsome bastard. 

“You know what we should do?” Mor asked, then looked to Nesta. “Designated driver, pull the car around, please. We have to get the bride prepared for her honeymoon.”

Feyre groaned, but Nesta was already on her feet, hurrying out the door.

Five minutes later, they were gathered together in Nesta’s car, driving down Main Street. 

“Where are you taking me now?” Feyre asked, exasperated.

“You’ll see,” Mor crooned.

The endless list of surprises was about to drive Feyre insane.

They pulled up to a little lingerie shop and dragged Feyre out of the car.

“Is this necessary?” she asked. “Rhysand prefers me naked.”

Mor rolled her eyes as Amren said, “You can’t go on your honeymoon without a solid selection of overpriced lingerie.”

Feyre laughed, unable to argue as they entered the shop.

The room was filled with lace and silk, varying in styles and choices.

“Fine,” Feyre sighed. “Everyone pick out something and I’ll get it, no questions asked, but after this, we drink!”

Feyre was answered with laughter and hollering as she crashed in a chair near the dressing room. 

She would be married, Rhysand’s wife, in one week. It almost didn’t seem real. Everything was going so well, so smoothly, so beautifully, even with the rushed planning.

One week, with her girls by her side, and apparently a bag packed full of lingerie, ready to go wherever the hell Rhys was taking her after the ceremony... She would be her best friend’s wife.

~~~~~

 The back of Cassian’s truck was down, a twelve pack of shitty beer sat on the unhitched gate, and rock music poured from the radio as the three friends played basketball on the small court along the Sidra. 

Rhysand’s mom used to take the three of them there, from the time they were in middle school and fell in love with the sport. It had always been a safe haven, so it made sense why his two closest friends would gather an ass-ton of beer and take him to the court for some bonding before he got hitched in a week.

Cassian had a beer can pressed to his lips as he dribbled the ball to the free-throw line. 

“Anything new about Eris?” He asked.

Azriel cleared his throat. “No, but Amarantha calls and leaves a voicemail every other day, claiming the prick won’t give up. Which, I believe. Eris isn’t the type to be told he can’t have something and drop it.”

Azriel had gone to court a few days prior, and Eris had left furious after he’d been granted nothing. It was a win, but Rhysand could tell Azriel’s worry lingered.

“No matter what happens, she’s going to get older, you know? Eventually, she’ll have questions about them both, and I’m going to be the bad guy for saying, your mom’s in prison, and your dad’s a dick. Sorry, can’t see either of them.”

“Doesn’t make you a bad person for wanting to protect her,” Rhysand said. Cassian raised his beer in agreement.

“So I hear,” he mumbled, and surely Elain had been constantly telling him the same thing. “Nervous?” Azriel asked, where he stood beneath the hoop, undoubtedly hoping to get the conversation off of him.

“About playing against Cassian?” Rhysand asked. “Hardly.”

Azriel chuckled. “About getting married, dumbass.”

Rhysand grinned. “Not really. Nothing to be nervous about.” 

People were still around, the sun yet to have completely sink down, walking or jogging along the walk by the river. None of them seemed to care that they were drinking in a public area, or that their music was obnoxiously loud. 

“I’d be nervous,” Cassian muttered, throwing his empty can at his truck bed - and completely missing. 

“If you were marrying Nesta?” Rhysand asked. “Fuck, any man would be nervous. Or, you know, completely terrified.” 

Cassian snorted, but didn’t deny it. “About getting married in general. Everyone staring up at you, watching you stare lovingly into each other’s eyes as you proclaim your love…”

Azriel laughed, taking the ball away from Cassian and dribbling it up to half court. “That’s bullshit, you love attention.”

Cassian’s grin only widened. Rhysand said nothing as he watched Azriel dribble up to the three point line, all he could do is laugh as Cassian took a step forward to block his shot, but stumbled.

And yet, Azriel shot the ball and it missed the backboard by a foot.

Maybe they’d all had more to drink than they had thought. 

But none of them chased that ball as it rolled off the court, and out onto the grass, near the riverwalk.

Where a young man picked it up, saw Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel, and grinned.

So did his companion. 

Rhysand froze, and Cassian started charging forward, but Azriel quickly grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him back.

Tamlin chuckled. “That’s right, control your bitch.”

He and Eris stopped at the edge of the court.

Those walking past must have sensed the tension, because they began receiving strange looks as they stood atop the court in silence. 

And yet, they all kept walking past. 

“I hear you’re getting married next week,” Tamlin went on, strutting onto the court, ball bouncing on the concrete. “I suppose I should congratulate you. And my beautiful Feyre.”

Rhysand said nothing, but Cassian spat, “Leave.”

“How about we play?” Eris suggested, but he was looking at Azriel. “It’s been a while since we played.”

“You’re not welcome here,” Azriel said.

“Where is my daughter, by the way?” Eris said, looking around. “With your whore, no doubt.”

Now it was Cassian’s turn to grab Azriel by the arm. It only made Eris’s grin wider and far more wicked. 

“We don’t want trouble,” Rhysand said, plainly. “Give us our ball back and go.”

Tamlin did no such thing. “I think a game would be fun. Me and Eris against Cassian and Az. Rhysand, you could referee. Wouldn’t want you getting injured so close to your big day. Feyre will need you to be able to...perform. We all know how needy she is in bed, especially on her wedding night.”

Rhysand’s jaw hardened. “Why are you here, Tam?”

“We were walking by,” he said, shrugging. “We can’t stop and say hello?”

“No,” Cassian said, plainly.

“Then perhaps we’ll stop and say hello at the wedding, instead,” Tamlin crooned. “I hear it’s not far from here. By the woods, along the Sidra…”

“If you show up at the wedding-” Rhysand growled, but he was cut off.

“You’ll what?” Eris laughed. “Ask us to leave like you’re doing now? How’s that approach working for you?”

“I’ll handle it,” Cassian said, voice low. “And, considering the state I left you two in after our last encounter, you know that’ll end.”

Eris’ smile faded. “You were lucky, filled with that unholy rage that’s landed you in a jail cell more times than I can count.”

Cassian took a step forward, and this time, Azriel didn’t stop him. “You know what you’re problem is?” Cassian asked, looking between the two of them. “You grow up, spoiled, getting everything you’ve ever wanted, and now, you have this unwavering entitlement that makes you think you’re fucking invincible.” He took another step forward. “But you’re not. One day, you’ll get what’s coming to you, and your daddys won’t be there to help you out.” 

Tamlin grinned as he met Cassian in the lane, closing the distance between them. “Spoken like a true bastard, who killed his own mommy and whose daddy didn’t want him.”

Cassian’s body went still.

Azriel’s face went pale.

Yes, Cassian had a lot of anger. And that anger came from somewhere. And that somewhere was just declared, outright, from Tamlin’s mouth.

Cassian didn’t talk about it, but Rhysand and Azriel knew. In high school, Cassian had found his mother dead in their living room. Then, unable to handle the pain of loss, he fled for weeks and no one saw him. The rumors that came from that were unbearable. But that’s all they were, of course, fucked up rumors.

That Rhysand was certain Tamlin and Eris had been the ones to spread.

“You need to leave,” Rhysand warned.

But Tamlin didn’t move.

Nor did Eris.

Instead, Eris pulled a small knife out of his pocket and flicked it open. He used the sharp tip to clean the dirt out from under his fingernails.

Utter rage consumed Azriel’s face. 

That man was Mila’s father.

Cassian was unleashed.

He instantly tackled Tamlin to the ground, Cassian’s fist colliding with his jaw. Then Eris was on the move, charging at Azriel, but he stood his ground.

Rhysand’s can fell out of his hand, spilling across the pavement as he moved toward them, one foot in front of the other, to where Tamlin now had Cassian held down, just barely, by his throat.

What happened after that was a blur of blood and chaos.

Women who walked past walked by quickly, and a few men eventually came to try and break it up, but they were only swept into the fight themselves.

It became an all out war.

“Call the police!” a woman yelled, and Rhysand had hardly heard her above the madness surrounding him, above the pounding in his ears. 

He had just brought a man down that had gotten him good in the nose when Rhysand spun around, and saw it.

Eris had Azriel pinned against the ground by his knees, one hand holding his face still, the other holding that knife to Azriel’s neck.

Azriel laid perfectly still, breathing hard. Any movement, and the blade would get him.

Rhysand screamed Eris’ name, but when he started to run that direction, he was caught by a random jogger who threw him against the court. Cassian was still tumbling around with Tamlin, completely unaware of what was happening outside of their feud.

It was then that a middle-aged man, who should have been nowhere near the court, stepped behind Eris and tried to haul him off of Azriel.

But Eris was strong, much stronger. He pulled the knife away from Azriel’s neck, only to push the man down with such force that Rhysand could hear him hit the concrete. Rhysand was already on his feet, moving as quickly as he could toward the scene, but he was still too far away.

Azriel took Eris’ distraction to his advantage, though. He grabbed the knife from Eris’ hand and stabbed him in the side. Eris cried out in agony, but Azriel was pushing Eris off of him, and was hurrying to the middle-aged man lying on the concrete, hazel eyes full of horror. 

“Call a fucking ambulance!” he screamed, his voice so loud, so panicked, that the fight surrounding them began to dissipate.

Even Tamlin looked at the sight, looked at Azriel hovering over the man, in horror.

Because he knew that man.

Cassian’s face paled as he dropped Tamlin to the concrete and, blood running from his nose, ran to his truck for his phone. 

Because lying on the ground, still as stone, was Isaac Archeron. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Prompts:

{ “I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever met that asshole” - Feysand } -anonymous

{ “How about Nessian needing to fake date when they go home for the holidays?!” } - anonymous

{ “could u pls do like an elriel fic where azriel is like this mysterious bad boy and elain is a goody two shoes lik aaaaa i cant get that image out of my head” } - anonymous

[zecretsanta]

FIC: Four Times Hazuki Kashiwabara Almost Lost Her Kids (and One Time After They Found Her)

To: @mortellanarts​

From: @grumpsterkitty​

For mortellanarts for Zecretsanta 2020 – “Lotus and her kids on Christmas”. This story mentions a near miscarriage.

AO3 LINK

(1)

It was an accident.

An honest accident.  Not like the ones that would happen at home.

She asked to watch the surveillance tape, after, once she had seen the doctor and she had reassured her that everything was fine.  Even in black and white, she could see the horror on Wendy’s face as she tripped over the electrical cord.  She replayed the moment when Wendy stumbled into her, knocking her into the copier.  Watching as her pregnant belly seemed to compress to an impossibly small size.

If she had lost the girls, she probably wouldn’t have been able to forgive Wendy.

To be honest, she hadn’t forgiven Wendy.

Which wasn’t entirely fair; perhaps the bulk of the blame was on the repair technician, or whoever decided to put the copier against the west wall, which had fewer power outlets, or whoever built and wired the building to begin with.

The blood - her blood - looked dark grey on the video.  It looked innocuous, like spilled soda.

She left the job three months after the twins were born, when she was sure they’d all be able to transfer to her husband’s insurance.

(2)

She cursed under her breath as she dropped the first aid kit.  The alcohol wasn’t even in here, she remembered, as she saw the band-aids scattered across the ground.  A tiny drop of blood slid down her ear and onto the Ace bandage.

The doorbell rang just as she managed to find the alcohol in the clutter under the sink.  She sloppily splashed some on a cotton and glanced at herself in the mirror.  The blood hadn’t gotten on her outfit, at least.  The doorbell rang again, and again, and again, as she barreled down the stairs.

“Dammit, when did you get so impatient?  Girls, Liz is early, are you done with -?”

She was cut short when she entered the dining room and saw their dinner plates still on the table, barely touched, and her daughters nowhere to be found.

“Girls?”

The doorbell ringing continued, but she ignored it.  She went through the rest of the house, picking up the pace as each one was empty.  She was only upstairs for what, ten, fifteen minutes?  Just long enough to change and put on her damn earrings. She called out their names as their babysitter kept pressing on the doorbell.

In panic and rage, she stormed to the front door and flung it open, ready to scream.  But it wasn’t Liz, just Nona and Ennea standing there with popsicles in their hands.

“We didn’t realize the door would lock behind us,” Ennea explained.  The grating music from the ice cream truck got louder as it came down their street.

Hazuki allowed herself a sigh of relief before she chastised them.  “You left, without even asking, to get dessert, before you finished dinner?”

Nona just shrugged while Ennea at least had the decency to look embarrassed.  “Mom, come on.  You know they’re the only one who have the blueberry ones we like.  We’ll still eat our dinner.  We promise.”

“We promise,” Nona reiterated.  “Even the carrots.”

“Maybe half the carrots?” Ennea said, a grimace on her face.  “I read if you eat too many, you can turn orange.”

“You eat too many blueberry popsicles, you’re going to turn blue.  You have a perfectly reasonable portion of carrots on your plate and I expect them to be all gone when I’m done.”

Her daughter’s expression changed, from disgust to worry. “Mama, what happened to your ear?  Daddy … he didn’t come by, did he?”

“No.”  Hazuki kneeled in front of them.  “Remember that paper I told you about?  He can’t come here or he’ll get in a lot of trouble.  It’s just been a little while since I wore earrings and my holes must have closed up.  I tried to force it through and I shouldn’t have.  Now finish up your dessert and eat your dinner.”

Her twins exchanged a glance before heading to the dining room.  She took a deep breath and went back upstairs to finish getting ready.  As much as she had wanted to wear her new jewelry, she could see the earlobe swelling up.

There would be time for wearing earrings, later.  Now that she didn’t have to worry about her husband ripping them out of her ear.

(3)

It started to drizzle, but she stayed on the bench. She could see Deanna about to cross the street into the park.  She had her hand on the stack of hundreds in her purse.  Deanna waved at her and Hazuki clenched her teeth.

It was silly.  Nobody had tailed her, she was certain.

Deanna sat next to her, seemingly uncaring that the bench was wet. Hazuki handed over the envelope of cash without a word.

“It’s definitely done?” Deanna asked.

“I think he could appeal, but he probably won’t.  He didn’t actually want the girls.  He just wanted to hurt me.”

“I hate men.”  Hazuki must have made a face, because Deanna laughed.  “I can hate men and still be a hooker.”

“I thought women in your price range called yourselves ‘escorts’.”

“We’re all the same.  Just because I don’t stand on a street doesn’t make me better.”

“Well.  Thank you.”

The smile faded off Deanna's face.  "I've done this before. That wife wanted to get out of a prenup and take his money. Which I could respect. Guy was an asshole. Do you have a picture of your kids?"

The sudden shift in topic left her mental gears spinning for a moment. She supposed there was no danger in it; she had researched Deanna thoroughly before emailing her.  She dug into her bag and pulled out her keys, with the keychain the girls made for her last year.  The picture inside the heart-shaped frame was of the three of them, the girls flanking her on either side, all of them smiling.

As she handed it to Deanna, the other woman looked like she might cry.

"I see my boy a few times a year, and that's it," she said finally.  “My ex didn’t have a problem with what I did when he got to benefit from the money I made.  Then I found out he was having an affair and he needed to tell the court I was an unfit mother so I wouldn’t get custody and he wouldn’t have to pay child support.”

“System is biased against women.”  She took her keys back and tucked them back into her purse.  “I work hard, take belly dancing lessons, and already started dating again.  That was enough to make the judge question if I was a good mom.  If you hadn’t been willing to –”

“Nobody’s going to protect us.  We have to do it ourselves.”

They sat there in silence for a few moments as the rain started to taper off.

“What does your ex do, exactly?”

Deanna snorted.  “He works for a health insurance company.”

“Any idea how good their firewall is?”

(4)

“Excuse me? Hello? Does anyone work in this hospital?!”

The nurse who came over looked exhausted, with dark bags under her eyes; any other day, Hazuki would have felt bad being so harsh, but she had been there for almost ten minutes and hadn’t gotten a single answer.

“Which kid is yours?” the nurse asked in a near monotone.

“Nona and Ennea Kashiwabara. I got a call they were brought here.”

“Ah, the twins.  Yes.  I’ll find their doctor.”

“Wait, are they okay?”  The nurse seemed to ignore her as she walked down the hallway.  “Can someone just tell me if they’re okay?  What the fuck is wrong with you people?”

She felt a hand on her shoulder and almost took the man’s head off when she turned around.  He was entirely too tall, with a well-chewed pen stuck behind his ear.

“I’m Detective Lynch.  Can I help you?”

“I just want to find my damn kids!”

“Kashiwabara, right?  The staff here are a little overwhelmed, but your kids are in good hands.  And your girls are okay.  Nona has a scrape on her knee, but that’s the worst of it.”

“Did you interrogate them?  They’re minors. You can’t –”

He held up a hand.  “I met the detective who rescued them at the pier.  I rode with one of your girls here.”

“Did you say the ‘pier’?  The – but – I was told they were found in a building in Nevada.  Where – what the hell happened to them?  They were missing for days!”

Lynch opened his mouth as if to respond, but suddenly seemed distracted by something just off to her left.  She turned to see what he was staring at, but he reached out and took her hand.

“We’re looking into it,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.  “When the nurse comes back, go be with your daughters.  Take them home.  I’ll give you my card.”

He barely took his eyes off her as he pulled out a business card and scribbled something on the back.  He handed it to her and walked off without another word.  His cursive was sloppy, but she could clearly read the message – not safe, text me, I’ll call you.

“Mrs. Kashiwabara?  Your girls are in room 407.”

When she turned around, there was no one there but the tired-looking nurse.

“The … the policeman who found the kids, where is he?  Is he still here?  Can I talk to him?”

“No, ma’am.  I think he went back to the station.  407 is this way.”

She realized she was clenching her fists and had crumbled up Lynch’s card.  But the writing was still legible.

(+1)

“Are you really sure you’re both okay with this?”

Nona cracked open the oven and clucked her tongue.  “Not quite.  And yes, mom, although it’s a little late to ask again now.  And stop eating all the deviled eggs, or you won’t have room for dinner.”

Hazuki rolled her eyes; before she could grab another egg, Ennea swiped the plate out from under her hand.

“Need me to help with anything?”

“Sure mom, you can make the cranberry sauce.”  Nona handed her can and an opener.  Hazuki sighed heavily as she cut the lid off and schlorped the dark red jelly tube into the bowl.

“There, sauce is made.”

“It’ll be good to see Mamoru again.” Ennea told her.

“Oh, you’re on a first name basis now?”  Nona teased.  “What happened to Detective Watanabe?”

“He hates formality and you know it.  Did you know he shares a name with a porn director?”

“Seriously?”

“Girls.”

“It’s true, though,” Ennea insisted.  “The guy did a film called Virgin Rope Makeover.”

“Did Mamoru tell you that?”

“No, mom, the internet is a thing.”  Nona peeked in the oven again. “Ah, finally.”

Hazuki tamped down the urge to remind her daughter that the turkey pan would be hot and heavy and to be careful.  She had never been one of those mothers while her girls were growing up, but ever since … ever since, it was hard not to be overprotective.  As soon as Nona had the turkey out, Ennea put in the pie.  And then the doorbell rang.

“Okay, please no mention of porn directors,” she told her daughters.

Ennea rolled her eyes as she set a timer and followed Nona out to the living room.  When Mamoru came in, he had to duck his head to avoid hitting it on the doorjamb.  He inexplicably had a large cardboard box in his hands.

“Hey, so, uh, hi.  I brought wine, but then I realized I didn’t know if you liked red or white, to I got both, but the girls couldn’t drink it, so I got grape juice, but then I realized I didn’t know if they liked red or white, so I just got both of those, too.”

Nona took the box from him and grimaced as if she hadn’t anticipated how heavy it was.  “No worries.”

He shrugged out of his coat and Ennea giggled as she took it from him and put it on herself.  It was so big on her it was practically a dress, and when she held up her arms, it was clear her hands were where his forearms were supposed to be.

“I call it … Three and a Half,” she declared.  Hazuki smiled and Nona chuckled, but Mamoru looked puzzled.

“Oh,” he said finally.  “’Cause I was Seven.”  With that, he let loose a loud guffaw.

“Go on,” Ennea told him.  “Dinner is basically ready.  Do you feel like carving the turkey?  Mom and I usually butcher it when we try.”

“Uh, sure.”  He followed Nona as she hauled the box of beverages into the dining room.

As Hazuki put her arm around Ennea, she heard Nona ask, “Is it true you share a name with a Japanese porn director?”

(fin.)

[addisontea-please]

Hi! I really like your writing and I saw that your ask box is open, and I wanted to make a Sally Face fanfiction request. Pre canon cuz I like pre canon, young Sal, maybe 6 years old, has a panic attack at school, his first one. Im not sure what would trigger it, maybe like, an assembly and he got overwhelmed or something. So, Sal has a bad panic attack so his dad has to come pick him up from school and help him calm down. I'm sorry it's a little weird. Sorry my spelling is bad it's 1am. Bye!

This sounds like fun~ 

Hope you don’t mind me taking some creative liberty with this ask. I made Sal around 8-ish just to fit with the timeline.

_____________________

“Am I speaking to Mr. Fisher?”

“I, um, yes. This is Henry Fisher.”

“This is Richard Thompson, the principal of the elementary school. It’s about your son, Sal Fisher. Nothing serious has happened-”

“Is he alright?”

“He’s fine. However, he’s had a bit of a behavioral outburst. If you could come pick up your son as soon as you can...”

A sigh. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thank you.”  Click.

Mr. Fisher hung up the phone on his desk, running a hand through his thinning hair. He was going to have to talk to his boss about leaving early so he could pick up his son. Another family emergency. Surely his boss would understand...

_______

Halloween.

A time of innocent spooks and scares. Of ghosts and ghouls and movie marathons and costumes. Of haunted houses and parties and friends. And, more importantly in the mind of a child, candy! Lots of candy.

For Sal, Halloween was a time to fit in, as twisted as that was. Or at least he tried.

He hadn’t had his new face long, only a few months as he came back for the new school year. Bright pink, a color not fit for a young boy in the mid-1980’s. Especially not with his quiet personality, and his hair growing a tad too long. Long story short, he was weird. He was peculiar, a freak, something different. And when children find things different than they are, different than what they’re used to seeing, they’re prone to poke and prod at it. Explore it, mess with it. Simply a child’s way of trying to understand.

And prodded at him they did. Several of the more callous children (or maybe they were just too young to develop any sympathy) knew his fear of dogs. Heard the wild tales of how the freak lost his face. Some details embellished, most made up completely, but they knew Halloween was the best time to mess with dear ol’ Sally Face. So they dressed as dogs. As werewolves and furry fanged beasts. At lunch they ran at him snarling in little kid snarls and ketchup blood around their mouths. They laughed at the way he froze as the group came barreling at him. They laughed at the way he ran and screamed, almost tripping himself over his own feet and the grass in the field, blinded in terror. And they chased him around the playground, over and over. Jumping out at him, reaching for him...

Sal lost them by the time he ran behind some of the older school buildings. The weight of everything came crashing down on him as his wobbling legs buckled underneath him. Paying no mind to the stinging of his scraped palms and knees, he sat up, bringing his knees to his chest. His heart hammered in his chest a mile a minute. His vision swam. As much as he tried to breathe, he felt like he was drowning, like his throat was closing up. He hiccuped and coughed and wailed. His body trembled violently.  Eyes on him. He could feel its eyes on him. Feel its phantom teeth. Feel it’s breath on his neck. It was going to kill him. He was going to die.

His hands started clawing at his porcelain face, yanking his hair.

“Momma...” he cried, over and over again, like a montra.

“I want my Momma...!”

_______

He realized he wasn’t dying when he felt like he wasn’t suffocating anymore. When his desperate gasps slowed into shaky breaths, and his heart, still heavy, began to calm. But when Sal felt a touch on his shoulder, he flinched backwards, expecting teeth, or claws, or pain.

“Sal?”

Henry kneeled before his son in front of the couch; he tried his best not to cringe when his son jumped at the touch on his shoulder, continuing to feel helpless. But he saw his son as he was screaming and wailing, quaking and trembling, refusing to let anyone touch him as they tried to guide him into the old beat up truck. Crying for Diane. He saw his son as he grew extremely distant on the way home, physically here but mentally far, far away. He could wait a moment more for Sal to come back, even while it tore his broken heart into more pieces.

“It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re home. You’re safe. Take some deep breaths, okay kiddo?”

Slowly he could see Sal’s eye, the good one, begin to gain some clarity. The child looked around a moment, suddenly realizing he was not on the school playground anymore. Or at school at all. Just a living room, on a couch, the TV on some random station he couldn’t quite focus on. He turned back to look at his dad. There was a small moment of quiet, where neither one moved, or talked. Then Sal launched himself at his dad, clinging for dear life. His small body shook.

Hesitantly, his dad wrapped his arms around Sal. “You’re okay. You’re okay,” he murmured, over and over, until the young boy calmed enough to detach himself from his vice-like grip.

“Hey buddy,” his father spoke up. “How about we watch a movie to get our minds off everything, okay? I’ll get us some pizza and ice cream for dinner. A good ol’ Halloween treat, just for you and me.” Sal nodded, and Henry let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Standing up, he turned towards the VCR.

“So. Ghostbusters or E.T.?”