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thiniceofeternalyouth · 5 months

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MISLEADIN' ME SERIES: CHAPTER EIGHT

COLD WASTELAND

⊳ Gojo Satoru x f!reader

series masterlist

Genre: angst, fluff, sci-fi, cosmology.

Words count: ~13k

(hey im still alive and i will release three more chapters next week)

⊲ previous

[December 6, 2019; 12:32 am; Hopetown].

All the possible scenery that Gojo could have seen on the way home was invisible to him - you and your grateful expression were in front of his eyes. There were no sounds of the surroundings and no one's voices for him – only words spoken aloud and those that never left his lips were rushing in his head.

One random tap on his shoulder was what made Gojo come to his senses. He was already standing in the middle of the living room, and the place was overly hectic, but it wasn't the kind of bustle that was inherent in the holidays. All the whispers and quiet conversations in the room spread across his back like someone's bony hands, leaving behind only an aching sensation and a chill. A single girlish sob made those hands pierce the flesh, running the cold deep beneath the skin. "What's going on here?" asked Gojo, confused, shifting his gaze from Frank to the crying Danielle.

Frank fussily poured water into a glass. "Son, I'm sorry I pushed ya. Didn't even notice ya," he hurried over to the lump-like Danielle sitting on the couch and handed her the glass; the girl took it with trembling hands and took a couple of convulsive sips as Frank wrapped her tighter in the blanket. Pulling away from Danielle, Frank turned to Gojo. "Ya just don't worry too much. I don't know how it happened, but Megumi ended up in the void. I've already sent Kyle and Issu, now Rachel will be back too, I'll feed her quickly and send her back to search. Everything will be fine."

"I-" Danielle started, but was interrupted by her own sobs. "I-I don't know how it happened- We- We were just lying there, talking, a-and then all of a sudden- Oh my God," with each word she managed to say, the lump from the new tears coming up clenched her throat more and more, and when the limit was reached, she started crying again. "I don't know, I just saw a flash and he disappeared. I-I don't know," pressing the glass to her forehead she shook her head with such force that water spurted over the edge.

The bad news sounded absurd, but with each passing second, the tight feeling in his chest only grew. The single question knocked everything else out of Gojo's head and began to flit back and forth until it was on the tip of his tongue. "Is this some kinda joke?"

"I'm afraid not, son," Frank clapped him on the shoulder, and at the same moment, a faint purple flash showed somewhere in the distance. "There's Rachel. Give us fifteen minutes," the man had already thrown on his jacket. "It'll be okay," he added quietly before heading out the door.

Gojo stayed in the room with Danielle, and he knew that if he couldn't let his emotions out in private, he had no right to do so in front of the child.

He walked over to the couch where Dany was sitting and clumsily plopped down. Gojo put his foot on the leg and glanced stealthily at the girl - she still sat shrunken and twitching. "You know," he said, smiling nonchalantly. "He is very much like his father. Not just in looks," the smile was replaced for a moment by a grimace of disgust. "Megumi's just as stubborn, and just as much of a pain in the ass. Also tenacious, to top it off," Gojo sighed and leaned his head back on the back of the couch, still keeping his eyes on Dany. "Trust me, if you knew his dad, you'd know what I'm talking about. So... He'll be fine," he added, but already addressing it himself more than Danielle.

After a while, Danielle's sobs began to fade, but her sleepy restless sighs grew louder. She never changed her posture and fell into slumber in the same way she had cried, sitting up with her knees to her chest.

Gojo tried his best to fall into the arms of Morpheus, but each time, at the boundary between sleep and vigor, he unconsciously raised his head and looked at his watch; time was indeed dragging for him in slow agonizing snatches.

He was about to lay his head on the armrest in another desperate attempt to sleep, but he jumped up before anything could happen. Whether it was the violet light through the floorboards or the loud rumbling in the room above - before he could think which came first, he was running for the stairs.

Gojo opened the door to Megumi's room with such force that it nearly flew off its hinges. His student was lying on the floor, his limbs barely moving, his chest heaving, and though there was plenty of oxygen in the room, Megumi was pressing the ill-fitting mask to his face as hard as if his life depended on it.

Gojo sat him down and leaned him against the wall in one motion, trying not to pay attention to the mask or ask hasty questions. He squeezed Megumi's cheeks with his hands and immediately grimaced – boy's skin was burning cold. "Oh, you cold as ice! Is the gut of your soul coming out?" Megumi shook his head weakly as if warding off an annoying fly. "Alright, let's go see Shoko. Better yet, to doc. It's kinda his thing."

"I'm fine," Megumi said weakly in a hoarse voice, and he even had the strength to shove Gojo's hands away from his face - a clumsy and careless movement. Something tinkled in Gojo's ear, and at that moment, something in his soul snapped. He tried not to notice, tried not to ask any questions, tried not to look around - all in vain.

Megumi had seen all sorts of expressions on Gojo's face: happy, condescending, serious, mocking, disgusted, all of which made him want to punch that man as hard as possible. However, what was that expression now that he was examining the watch on his wrist, where was that frightened look coming from? "Megumi, where-" the voice was also barely recognizable; it was as if it was not his teacher, but his ghost that sat before him. "Where did you get that watch from?"

[Timeless, void]

Your frostbitten skin was so tight that every slightest change in your facial expression created new bleeding cracks in your face. Even though they healed in minutes, new ones replaced them almost immediately.

Your running had long since changed to pacing, and you were dragging your feet without realizing what you were doing - everything was automatic. The feeling of sand in your shoes was so unpleasant that you thought: what if it had gotten under your skin? Everything inside creaked as if grains of sand were scraping against bones.

You climbed stubbornly up the next hill, but it was hardly a great climb; you were bent over, clinging to the surface with all your limbs. The sand kept seeping through your fingers, forcing you to dig your fingernails in even deeper until your hands sank to your elbows in the earth.

Once again, you pushed your palms into the ground with a little more force than necessary: your hands were in the sand, and your face was in the there too. You didn't immediately find the strength to raise your head, but you exhaled angrily.

How long have you been here? A week? Two? A month?

In the midst of all those thoughts, you didn't immediately notice that your numb limbs were tingling. You lifted your head and brought your hand closer to your face, trying to get a better look at it and make sure it wasn't another trick of this place. You twirled your palm, examining it. Other than the cracks, the hand looked perfectly normal. If it wasn't a trick, however…

Did that really mean it was getting warmer in this area?

You immediately snapped out of it - how long had it been warmer? Your arms began to work faster and harder, and you were no longer annoyed by your own mistakes and sliding down when you made them - you kept climbing anyway. You tried to keep your breath short: it was worth saving your strength, because if it got warmer, it could only mean one thing.

Somewhere nearby was a settlement.

The same horizon - but now its violet flames were even brighter - was still before your eyes, and you slid down the slope and breathed a sigh of relief that the path across the plain would be less thorny. Your hands were clutching at aching places - your sides, your right hip, and your left calf was cramping, and you stumbled through your own leg with every step.

Still you went forward, and the farther you went, the more immobilized bodies you saw: some of them were almost buried under the sand; some had hardly a dozen grains of sand on them. Here the rifts loomed up one after another, and each time you looked at them, your heart sank with longing - in space, you were barely a few dozen feet from home; in time, give or take infinity.

The closer you got to the settlement, the less the light cast glare, and everything began to appear just like a mirage: slow and smooth.

There was only one straight street, flanked by huts made of scrounged wood and scrap metal. The metal sheets were of different sizes and squeezed into various places in the dwellings - they looked like they were about to fall off. Some of the walls in the houses were replaced by welded mesh fences, and it was all askew as if it was tired of everything that was happening.

The houses didn't even have doors; like a mockery, they had ridiculous pieces of wood swinging on their hinges. There were no garbage cans, either; trash was piled in huge heaps in various corners. The finest thing was at the end of the street: as if showing their place among the humans, on a rise stood the buildings of demons, and they were not made of dying and outmoded materials. Everything looked solid and fancy, and in these buildings were mixed so many styles of architecture, which was not known even to the most enlightened person in this case. Even the parts that fell off the houses never really fell - they slowly and smoothly began to run in circles around the place, illuminating everything with a cold violet light as if without it not everyone here froze to the bone.

You dragged your feet along the street; from every side came the sound of sobbing noses and coughing, and it was of such force that you wondered whether the lungs of such a person were still there, or whether they had been spat out on the ground. People here either wandered from place to place or stayed in the huts, but some of them curled up in a ball or leaned their backs against the wall and sat motionless in the street.

You woke up from a push in your shoulder - a person was running past you, and they didn't seem to notice you as much as you didn't notice them. You couldn't see their face, it was hidden under a hood, but you guessed what you could see: a skinny face, huge black circles under their eyes (if they were there at all), sores on their skin. You glanced up to see where the person had retreated from, and at the same moment, you were skulking into the alley between the houses - the demon was chasing them; maybe the demon was running in their direction for a different reason, but you didn't want to stay in the front of the line.

You circled the huts and found yourself in the tentative backyard; luckily, a few of them had loopholes inside. There was no use thinking about which one to go into first - none of them would be any good, anyway - so you took a couple of steps and went into the nearest opening.

No matter how hard you squinted, it was dark in the shack, and there was only the rustle of activity to tell you that you were not alone. Before you could even take a step forward, a beam of light was shone in your face, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut and take a step back. "Who the fuck are you?" you only wanted to answer as you felt several cold pokes on your neck through the fabric of your uniform. Closing your watery eyes against the light, you looked down - a stick with nails at your throat. As you tried to turn your head to try to see who was holding the melee weapon, it was immediately and violently pulled back to its previous position.

You slowly raised your hands, the cold nails turning into teeth that dug harder into your skin. "Guys, I don't really want any trouble. We're kinda in the same boat."

"Oter, make sure she doesn't mess around," the man behind you, though he didn't take the stick from your throat, grabbed you by the hair and pulled your head back. The light from the lantern in the room flickered in different directions and was no longer aimed directly at your face - the man holding it was searching his pockets for something.

Footsteps sounded, and the man came closer and closer. He put his hand over your face, and you immediately felt the rough fingers and uncut nails - he tried to tear your mask off. It didn't work. "What is it?" it was no longer your voice; it was the voice of accumulated fatigue and hunger - mocking and arrogant. "Ya hands shaking or something?"

Your eyes were watering again - not from the light, but from the sharp pain in the bridge of your nose. Something warm and sticky dripped from your nose and down your lips. "Now you got the dangers of opening your mouth when you're not asked. Here," he barked and grabbed your forehead with the palm of his hand and pressed it into the man behind you. "Sniff," you felt something under your nose, but you couldn't see what it was. It didn't smell like anything. After a couple seconds, the man, seeing that you had no reaction, exploded with a roar. "I knew it, bitch! These things can't smell it! Youcan'tsmell it!"

"I just have a poor sense of smell," you sniffled, trying to suck back either the snot or the blood that was leaking out.

The man ran his hand up your cheeks, squeezing them. "And you're still being sassy? Didn't the previous time teach you anything?"

"Man," you whimpered in a voice strangled from behind puffed cheeks. "Have ya ever thought about the course of action? Ya broke my fucking nose. How am I supposed to feel anything?"

He babbled conspiratorially, his grip on your face weakening with each word. "Oter, we have to hand her over to them. Even if she's not one of them - look at the way she's dressed. She wasn't dragged here by force, and if they find her here, we are dead."

"That's enough," you hissed, and slashed your dagger at the tendon of the hand that held the stick to your throat; the man behind you immediately dropping it and howling weakly. You saw the man in front of you raise his fist to strike; you grabbed him by the wrist of attacking hand, pulled him to you, and punched him twice in the bridge of his nose with the hand clutching the dagger. Eye for eye, and nose for nose.

The man grubbed his face and bent over - no time to waste, you and your seething anger grabbed him by the hair and dragged him over to the man who was desperately clutching his arm, trying to stop the blood. In the darkness, you could just make out the glint in the other man's panicked eyes, but if you weren't being treated kindly, there was no reason not to return the favor. Gathering your strength, you kicked him in the knee, and there was a crunch - it seemed that calcium was a rare part of the diet here. With a final breath, you slammed the head of the man floundering in your hand into the other man's head, and both of them fell to the floor, their hands pressed to sore spots. You had to hand it to them - they didn't even whimper, just sputtered quietly from time to time.

You felt like a pendulum in a clock, swinging from side to side. You saw some shelves and drawers in the darkness, and you went toward them; as you took a step, you tripped over the stick with the nails, and your body almost collapsed on the rotten boards. You kicked the wood irritably with your foot toward the men. "Pick up ya toothpick," you hissed and waddled back to the shelves.

You grabbed the handle of one of the lockers and pulled the door toward you; the handle was still in your hand, but the locker collapsed to the floor with a resounding thud. A heavy sigh involuntarily escaped your lips as you stared blankly at the mess you had made. "Ya have any water?" you glanced back over your shoulder.

The response was so immediate that for a second it felt like knives, not words, were coming at your back. "Fuck you," spat out the man - the one who'd probably been the instigator of the altercation.

"Well, ya need to take me on a date first," you drawled, inspecting whole shelves as carefully as you could, barely touching them. "I'm afraid that's not possible right now, though. Ya have to be patient."

There was a screech of a metal layer behind you as if it was being bent aside - you tried to turn around, but your head only spun more violently. "What's going on here?" the man's voice was so stern and set that you immediately wanted to straighten up.

"Legally, a criminal offense," you mumbled to yourself as you continued to open drawers. "In practice, a fucking circus."

There was a growing creak of floorboards behind you. The man was moving toward you, and the closer he got, the more you could see the violet color that lit up the room. You hated to admit that you were a cornered, wounded animal, but the words fell from your lips against your will. "If ya touch me, ya'll lose both hands."

"I'm not gonna hurt you," the voice sounded close, almost above your ear, and though it remained just as set, it was no longer harsh. On the contrary, the owner of the voice was trying to sound as soft as possible. "Calm down. You're not gonna find anything here anyway," hearing the soothing tone, you immediately gave up and leaned your back against the wall; you thought you had enough strength to stand like that for some more time, but you, against your will, started sliding down it. "Here, water. Drink some," the man pulled the bottle toward you.

"Didn't ya say there was nothing here?" you asked quietly but indignantly.

The man chuckled. "There really isn't anything here. I brought this water just now. The daily... Or weekly... Anyway, the regular dry rations the demons give us," he sat down beside you and set something on the floor that looked like a glass oil lamp, only inside it, instead of a flame, was a levitating little pebble that gave off a purple glow; it was like the ones that circled around the demon buildings.

The man opened the bottle for you; you nodded gratefully, took the bottle from his hands, and took a couple of sips.

"What are you fiddling with her for?" hissed one of the battered men from the far corner. "You know that she can't smell black orchid?"

"No," replied the man in a cold tone, sitting next to you. "The only thing I can see is that you're jumping on a woman who can barely get her feet off the ground. Have you forgotten what it feels like?" the man in the corner immediately hushed. "Don't be cross," he turned to you, his voice changing as fast as if he had a switch somewhere. "In a place like this, people quickly become angry paranoid."

Despite the water you'd drunk, your parched lips were still struggling to open. "It's okay," you said, waving it off.

The man looked at you intently, not at you to be precise, but at your tattered but still durable uniform. "Uh...," he began, and an awkwardness hung in the air. "Where are you from?"

In a place like this, the question felt odd, and there was no way to answer it accurately. What did he want you to say? The place where you were born? The city you lived in now? The time you came from?

"From the height of my years, I can say that it was in the North that the first hunter appeared-"

"North," you said and were taken aback: the answer came off on its own, without your consent.

"Oh," the man said so cheerfully that you could almost hear the corners of his lips raised. "I didn't know hunters could come in here now," you were interested and it never faded, but you didn't have the energy to ask. The man noticed your surprised look. "My wife was a hunter. The powder that asshole shoved under your nose was just grinded black orchid. She's the one who gave it to me."

"Powder?" you asked. "The extract's a little more potent, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry," the man apologized jokingly, shrugging his shoulders. "It's a lot easier to carry around powder than liquid," he hushed, and you could see him running his intertwined fingers over his hands. "Listen, you... maybe you know my wife? Her name is Olivia."

"Uh, it'll be a strange to ya, but... Do ya remember what year ya got here?"

The man scratched his frayed gray beard. "In 1935, I think."

An unpleasant feeling in your chest made you press your lips together. "I'm sorry, but I, uh... I don't think I know your wife."

"It's nothing," the man smiled, but his clouded gaze told you otherwise. Only now did you notice how deep the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes were. "I really didn't have much hope. Everyone you ask around here comes from a different time. If they even understand what you're asking them. The language barrier is the least of our problems, but sometimes it gets in the way. So... It's a good thing you didn't have that problem," he awkwardly shook his palms off his pants and held out his hand to you. "My name is Jonah."

Though weakly, you still shook his hand in return. "Y/N," you said shortly and then fell silent, but Jonah was in no hurry to say anything. You rarely felt shame, but right now it was choking you with such force that you immediately wanted to find a mirror and check your neck for brightly colored bruises. "Jonah, I'd love to justify your joy at the news that I'm a hunter, but I'm afraid I can't get ya out of here. Something's come up and... uh, I dunno," you wiped your face with your hands, trying to push away the rushing blood. "Hopefully ya have an extra dumpster here where I can stay."

"I'm sorry, we have some real slaughters going on here for trash," the man chuckled, rising to his feet. "But I can spare you a spot on the floor. You make yourself as comfortable as you can, and I'll find you some clothes," he headed for the entrance, and you could hear him in a quiet but warning tone instructing other men to behave, and something about saving the lantern. "One more thing. Y/N," he addressed you again. "Take the mask off. You're a little... stand out."

There was nothing to object to, so you nodded in response. With a firm hand, you pulled your phone out of your pocket and set it on the shelf, then moved closer to the lamp Jonah had left behind - at that point all your confidence was gone, eroded, drained away. You stared at yourself in the dark screen, and the more you looked at yourself, the more it began to itch under your skin. Able to challenge anyone, but unable to challenge yourself - that's what you were. A weakling, a coward, unable to look at your own face.

Slowly, you ran your fingers up to your ears and wanted to trace down the lines to your chin, but you couldn't. Your fingernails dug into the skin, and you didn't loosen your grip even when your fingers got wet and sticky. "I told you she was crazy," you heard a grunt from the corner of the room, but no one attacked.

It was just a mask, but why did it feel like you were ripping your skin off? You began to scratch your face where your nails had dug into it. There was only one thing you wanted to do right now - to keep the tears from running down your face with the blood. You exhaled sharply and ran your fingers along the line from your ears to your chin.

Something was staring at you from the phone screen, and it had a bloody face. However, here was the odd thing: the reflection had the most ordinary eyes, the most ordinary features, and it didn't look angry or cruel. If you ignored the oddity of the blood running down its face, it was a human.

[February 19, 2020; 05:56 am, hunters' hq]

Mission after mission, assignment after assignment, whether it was a powerful curse or a completely weak one, Gojo agreed to everything; but on his free days, the ones he now considered cursed, he was here in the workroom, even though he knew with his mind that he would be better off staying away from this place.

Every day there was less and less of you left in the workroom. All the things you'd left behind or scattered about had long since been either cleaned up or thrown away; your scent was long gone, and no matter how much Gojo pressed your pillow against his face, he felt nothing - it had been washed a dozen times since you'd disappeared.

Gojo was desperately clinging to the specter of your vanishing presence, otherwise why did he jump up every time a notification sounded on his phone? Why did he check every time to see if his messages had reached you? Why did he still feel the unceremonious poke of your finger on his forehead when he ignored the alarm clock and why the hell was he so angry at the sleep that never came? After all, it was the only one who gave him the chance to hold you one more time.

He hated himself just for thinking it, but he was so angry with you. You'd disappeared just when he'd given up on being alone.

It was as if Gojo could see himself through his clouded mind: he got out of bed, and with barely a shuffle of his feet, he went into the bathroom, and now he could see his reflection in the mirror, holding a brush in his hands. He'd long ago given up trying to get rid of the bags under his eyes - at the very least, he needed a good full night's sleep. All he could do was come up with more jokes on unnecessary questions about his well-being.

Each time he hoped that if he left the workroom, he would breathe easier, but each time the hope was false. Well, if sleep didn't come, maybe this time he'd get one bite of food down his throat.

Once in the kitchen, Gojo immediately noticed Rachel wobbling in her chair. He peered over her shoulder - she was staring at the screen of her phone, which had a picture of a man open. Why was she clutching the phone with such force that her knuckles even turned white? "Who is it?" he asked and Rachel twitched, but immediately locked the screen. "Another poor guy you plan to break the heart of?"

"Back off, leech," Rachel barked and threw the phone on the table. Gojo shrugged and walked over to the fridge and opened it; it was full of food, but he didn't even want his favorite one. Leaning, he glared blankly at the contents - or looked through it. "If ya're not gonna eat, close the fucking fridge," Rachel mumbled drunkenly.

It was enough for him to finally snap; Gojo turned around sharply, snatched the unfinished bottle of wine off the table with a jerk and tilted it over the sink, glaring at Rachel, swinging the bottle mockingly.

"Don't ya dare," Rachel hissed, trying to rise from her chair, but barely making a couple movements, she abruptly put her hand over her mouth.

Gojo, trying to suppress his disgust, raised his eyebrows defiantly and tilted the bottle even more. It may have been an immature act, but what if all the despair, all the longing and bitterness poured out at that gurgling sound?

Rachel leaned back in her chair and stared at him. "Why ya so mad?" she asked, confused in her words; his silhouette blurred in her eyes no matter how hard she focused.

"Me? Mad? Wow," grinned Gojo, tossing the bottle into the trashcan. "Not one bit."

"Yeah? Well, then I was wrong. Your face just looks like ya've been drinking shit-"

"You know what I'm curious about?" snapped Gojo and his outburst, though expected, did not lessen its harshness. "Is this how it runs in your family? One of you goes missing and the rest of you live like nothing happened?"

"That's it," Rachel lazily clucked her tongue. She pushed back closest chair and indicated for him to sit down with a drunken nod, but he only crossed his arms over his chest. "God, stop milling around and just sit down already. Otherwise I'm gonna throw up."

Gojo hated being lectured, and then they added the smell of alcohol and fume. The only reason he was willing to sit next to Rachel was that she was your sister. Maybe she had one word in her pantry that would calm him down.

"I'm a little surprised," Rachel said and was about to reach for the glass, but when her hand grasped the air, she glared angrily at Gojo who already had it in his hand. "Ya of all people should know how everything ends for us. Sooner or later, it would have happened. And still, ya're freaking out," Rach was silent for a second, but then she chuckled. "Or ya just upset that ya never got to get into her panties?"

In a different situation, Gojo would have been embarrassed by such a question, or would have winched or foolishly guffawed, but Rachel's timing was wrong: if before this question his anger had simply broken his bones, now it broke his years of trained restraint. "Would you rather be torn apart or be deprived of wine?" Gojo stood up, and sniffing the wine that was in glass, immediately grimaced and poured it all down the sink. "You've got three more bottles in the fridge-"

"God," mumbled Rachel and a feeling of disgust made her wrinkle her nose. "It's that serious?"

Gojo did not say a word. It was all too fragile and so intimate for him that he dared not even discuss it with himself, let alone trust a drunken and talkative interlocutor.

"Oh, forget it," waved Rachel's hand. "Even if ya were serious, it would never work," she said, and he almost gave in to the provocation: he had to bite his tongue, and the word 'why' tasted very bitter.

Rachel was silent, her hand tracing wood patterns on the table, her eyes dimming with every movement of her finger. For some reason a heavy weight fell on his soul: this was why he'd never liked serious conversation, and in another situation he would have left without bowing. So why did he feel that his soul could take a hundred more such weights if such a conversation concerned you? "Ya know, adoptee...," Rachel began suddenly and quietly. "She's always done that. She'll say at parting 'I'll be back soon' or 'see ya' like she's gone to get some fucking bread, and then she is just... She disappears. And then," Rachel's voice began to break, and it happened as easily as if spring's thin ice was breaking underfoot. "Then this little piece of shit comes home, and it's like nothing happened. She didn't disappear anywhere, and she's acting normal. And whether she's really dumb and doesn't get it, or whether she just expects us to act like nothing happened either, I-I dunno," her voice was on the verge of breaking, and while Rachel was emotional, she also had enough experience and courage in her to keep the tears from rolling down her face. "That's what makes ya different from us. Ya just haven't lived with her enough yet to get used to this kinda thing."

If Rachel had been a child, perhaps Gojo could take her in his arms and shake her, or start mimicking her, parodying the pathetic whimpering that was the most he could do. He had no idea how to soothe a grown person. Rachel sniffed her nose, walked over to the refrigerator, and there was another bottle in her hand. "Haven't you had enough already?" asked Gojo irritably, trying to get her to put the wine back with a glare.

There was no trace of that momentary sadness left on Rachel's face - just a slight drunken blush. "Ya know, I thought we just accepted the idea that she disappears from time to time," she dipped her lips to the bottle, but immediately grumbled - she'd forgotten to open it. Rachel started fumbling through the drawers in search of a corkscrew. "But no. We've probably accepted the fact that one day she won't come back," the clatter of cutlery was followed by a 'crack' and Rachel finally took a couple of sips. When she turned around, she nearly choked on her wine - whereas his skin had always been white and almost glowing, now it was as pale as a dead man's. "Geez, I'm just kidding," she put her arm around him drunkenly - he didn't even move. "Don't ya worry about it. We all don't really sweat it because ever since she went missing, we kept going into the void. And ya know what? Nothing's ever changed there, never flipped. We're right back where we left off. Ya see what I'm getting at?"

The answer followed immediately. "She still in the void?" he asked, and how amazing it was how hope could change a man's voice.

"And she's still alive," Rachel nodded contentedly, nearly hitting her head on the nearby fridge. "I'm telling ya, ya could care less about her. She is more tenacious than any cockroach," she said and pulled the bottle to her mouth again.

Nothing was impossible for Gojo, but no matter how much strength you had, and even if you could swap the poles of the Earth, he couldn't stop worrying about you. Perhaps only when he could touch you again would he be able to get rid of the lead in his heart, and the very thought that it would be easier for him to give it to you made him shy and flush.

"Stop drinking," Rachel still didn't understand why he mumbled the words so embarrassedly, but there was no time to speculate - he tried to take the bottle from her, but only woke Rachel up to the drunken berserker in her. "Why can't you go a day without a bottle?"

"Fuck off," Rachel snarled and pulled the bottle toward her. "Ya spill my wine again, and I swear to God, I'll put ya on the very bottle you poured it out of."

You were sitting on the porch of the very hut where you'd been sheltered; it was hardly a porch, really - just a dilapidated step that was more often tripped over than climbed. People wandered languidly from side to side - maybe they were just stretching their bones, or maybe sitting in one place was more painful for them.

The wardens glimmered among the men, but they disappeared as quickly as they came into view. What kind of order were they keeping here? What was not allowed and what was allowed? After all, a few moments ago one man had nearly beaten another to death, and no one had come to separate them.

"Regeneration."

You didn't look at the bloody body lying there. No matter the outcome, it was all you could do for him now, though you were barely regenerating yourself. "You awake?" came Jonah's voice from behind you. "I don't mean to lecture you, but you really should get some rest."

You let his words pass your ears, and he, instead of leaving, sat down next to you. "Do ya have a cigarette?" you asked.

Jonah grinned good-naturedly. "Actually, this is one of our local currencies, but I can give you one as a new one."

He handed you a crumpled cigarette; it looked like it would break at the base if you touched it. "Thanks," you mumbled and gently wrapped your fingers around the filter. "And the lighter?"

"And here's where the trouble starts," Jonah said, pulling a lighter from his pocket. "Oxygen is in short supply here, so you'll have to be patient," he looked at you warningly, and you clamped the cigarette between your lips and leaned over to cover the lighter with your palms.

There was no time to count, so it was hard to say how long Jonah had been pulling the wheel-cross. Maybe fifteen minutes, maybe an hour, but there it was - the edge of the cigarette finally colored orange, and you took a long-awaited puff. "You're welcome," Jonah said courteously. "How's your nose? Sorry, we don't even have anything to fix it with."

"It's okay," you said, exhaling smoke. "It'll heal quickly enough."

Jonah nodded in your direction. "What happened to your cheeks?" he continued curiously.

"A bad trip to the beautician."

There was obvious bewilderment in his eyes. "Who is that?" he asked, squinting his eyes.

A chuckle escaped you, and you choked on the smoke trapped in your lungs and coughed. "Just a 21st-century acquaintance," you wheezed.

Bewilderment turned to complete incomprehension, and Jonah decided to tactfully change the subject. "What's that thing?" he nodded at your hand.

You scrolled through the phone in your hand, trying to ignore the keychain jiggling on it. How could you answer that question to avoid an hour-long lecture about future technology? You thought about it for a moment. What was important - the phone still had the date on it. "It's...," you drawled uncertainly. "This thing is the only thing that connects me to the place I came from," you said, shrugging confusedly.

"So it's very important to you, then?" asked Jonah, rubbing his hands together anxiously.

"Aren't ya up to something already?"

"No, you'd just save that thing. Better to hide it altogether," Jonah suggested, and once again he looked so simple - minded and guileless that you had no choice but to nod in agreement. "Uh... Sorry, I couldn't find better clothes for you. If only I'd known," you looked around in confusion at the wide, stained T-shirt that had probably been white before, and the pants that were clearly not your size; you had to tear the sleeve off your uniform and make a makeshift belt so they wouldn't fall off every second. There were still no shoes - you still had on your heavy boots, but they weren't visible under the wide pants. "If I'd known, I would have tried to find you some more closed clothing."

You furrowed your eyebrows. You didn't see any reason to apologize - the clothes, though a few sizes larger than yours, were proof of the kindness of the man sitting next to you. "What are ya talking about?"

"Well, you... You're so, uh," he stammered and scratched the back of his head in embarrassment. His chapped lips tightened and loosened as if searching for words.

"Well, what am I like?" you interrogated in a playful tone. "Pretty? Charming? Smart?" you listed merrily, watching the man's head sink further and further into his shoulders. "Oh, no, don't tell me, I know!" you waved your palms and almost dropped your cigarette. "Peerless!"

"You're all scarred," he said on an exhalation, and the itch in the back of his neck began again. He had seen your hands, and they were like an old unwanted canvas that had been used to rage against more than once - all torn and scarred; if no one cared about a forgotten painting, you had an inept but dedicated restorer - your own body - that had covered them with whitish paint. Jonah glanced furtively at your throat, and it hurt him to swallow.

"Oh," you exclaimed quietly, examining your hands. The look was as if you were seeing them for the first time in a long time - surprised and excited. "Thanks for reminding me of that," you smiled and nodded to Jonah.

He didn't hear a hint of reproach or resentment in your words; you sounded as if you had thanked him sincerely. Jonah immediately stifled the incipient pity he felt for you and buried his desire for further questions about what had happened. "So... What are our next plans?"

You took another puff and looked up at the demon buildings. "Even the animals in the slaughterhouses are better cared for, but still, it's important to the demons to keep ya fresh- uh, alive. So... I can probably find provisions or at least something useful in there somewhere. Do ya have a backpack or something?"

"You're not gonna go there, are you?" stammered Jonah fearfully, trying to get you to look at him. "No one's come back from there. You don't have to go."

"Not that we have an alternative," you snuffed out the cigarette butt on the porch, and,\ digging a hole in the sand with the toe of your boot, chucked it in there.

***

The light at the top of the settlement was brighter the closer you got to it, and you had to squint every now and then to keep the annoying glare off your eyes. You could see the first building in sight - you had to lift your head to see the top of it, and even then. you could hardly see anything. The walls were dark, and as you approached, it resonated more and more; once you were near one of the walls, you noticed that it wasn't solid material at all - it was millions of tiny particles reaching for each other but never coming together. You leaned your hand on it - nothing. It didn't sink, it wasn't pushed away; it was like touching ordinary concrete.

There was a faint crack, and a dozen grains of sand broke off from the spot your hand had just touched; they immediately flew upward, and you couldn't see what had happened to them, but there was a chance that they had landed on one of the glowing stones that were circling the buildings.

You walked carefully around the building; there were even some semblances of windows, though they looked more like an architectural mockery. They were arranged in an unstructured and incongruous way - there were even corner ones and all different shapes, though the most appropriate word for such windows was 'shapeless'.

You lurked under one of those windows, listening for every possible rustle and knock. When you heard nothing, you peered inside. Empty. So empty that there weren't even any demons, just four bare walls.

You clung to the ledge and climbed into the room, keeping silent with every step. As you crossed the room, you pressed your ear to the door - no sound. Opening the door, you found yourself in a long corridor and involuntarily wrinkled with indignation - the building was obviously bigger inside than outside. Where to go now?

Figuring out a route in an unfamiliar place is a lost cause. You should have started by exploring the area, so once you'd picked a side, you just moved forward.

The floor felt solid under your feet, but you couldn't shake the annoying feeling that it was about to split apart. No matter how long you walked, you couldn't see any doors, but you couldn't see the end of the corridor either.

The feeling of a trick never left; it seemed that not only your palms were sweating, but your insides were sweating too, but what was strange was that you felt no observation, heard no footsteps behind you, no one's presence nearby. It was as if the danger was coming from your very surroundings and for good reason - the particles beneath your feet began to quiver restlessly. You tried to lift your foot and take a step, and though they didn't touch you, they refused to lag behind. You accelerated, and the more steps you took, the more sand grains enveloped you. You hopelessly tried to shake them off, but they only stuck more. When you started to run, you didn't try to look down - who knows, they might have crawled up your stomach.

A sharp pain went tangentially across your back, something almost crushed your heel; after that or at the same time, there was a deafening rumble behind you that made the grains of sand fall down, and they did it as sharply as if each of them weighed a ton.

When you turned around, you nearly slammed your nose into the wall, and at the same moment, to the left, a passage opened with a similar rumble, revealing another corridor. Instead of cursing the place, you exhaled a sigh of relief - so that was the feeling.

Still, what did the grains of sand want you to do? After all, they weren't doing bad or good, but they seemed to be warning you about shifting and opening passages, and anything that helped you navigate was useful except for the aching back that had nearly been broken by one of those walls. It was as if the closer you got to the shift, the more the particles enveloped you.

After a few thousand steps, you were beginning to despair - was it really as empty as it seemed at first glance? Even if there were doors, there was nothing but disappointment behind them - just bare walls and suddenly the smell of corpses. It was so strong that it was as if the bodies were still here. When you opened the first door, you involuntarily held your nose against the sudden and pungent odor, but you hardly paid attention to it at the tenth door. What was important was that none of these rooms had windows so you had to move forward, if not for provisions, then at least to get out of here.

Coming here without rest was your main mistake. However, how was it possible to rest with a rumbling stomach that had long ago digested itself, and with a throat so dry that it wanted to drain the river?

You went into one of the rooms and threw off a ridiculous backpack that was made of patches, and it wasn't zipped up - it was pinned together with pins. You fluffed it up like a pillow, laid your head on it, and closed your eyes. Your hand, as if separated from your body, with a will of its own reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone and something jingled against it. You opened your eyes slowly, and the keychain was dangling on the phone, swaying quietly from side to side.

What happened to you? You did not let this thought come to you for so long, but when you lay down alone, your soul turned into a flame - not the one that warms you gently, but the one that seeks to burn you to the ground. Moreover, why did that flame jump from the soul to the internal organs, making vomiting come up to your throat?

You told him you'd be back in three days, and even then you weren't sure he'd wait. So what now? You exhaled. Your eyes widened, and your hand flew to your mouth - why was your exhalation so convulsive?

Hastily putting the phone away and shaking your head, you closed your eyes as if ordering sleep to come, but it never obeyed anyone. On the contrary, it was rather a dream that submitted people, and its loyal subordinates in the form of a soft cool pillow and a warm blanket forced them to abandon all their affairs.

On the other side of your closed eyes, he was a scorched brand - neither to erase, nor to stop thinking. For such a flighty man, it was surprisingly calm around him, but as it was, it wasn't even worth allowing the possibility of hoping he was still out there. Even if he didn't plan on sticking to the treaty anymore, he didn't seem like the kind of man who could wait.

Your mind was foggy; thoughts came one after another, but you couldn't catch any of them. Your body shook restlessly; the only sound was the rustle of a tattered backpack under your head.

GET UP!

You jumped up as quickly as if someone had grabbed you by the shirt front in an importuning grip and pulled you hard. You gasped for air, looking around the room with a haggard stare. No one. "Oh, come on...," you began, trying to regain your breath. "Fuck ya, asshole," you mumbled into your hands, which you used to try to wipe the tiredness from your face. It was the unknown that pissed you off the most - was it Rei who had gotten into your mind in some elaborate way, or had you just lost your mind?

As you tried to come to your senses, it took you a moment to hear a low murmur somewhere far behind the door. You stood up and listened: it sounded like voices. You pulled on the doorknob and looked around; a violet glow appeared at the end of the corridor, just as if someone on Earth had turned on a light in a room. You moved quietly in that direction, the voices growing closer.

Once you were near the door, you leaned your back against the wall. You could hear the sounds of smirks, swear words, some rustling and grunting, and you could even hear someone smacking their lips as they took another puff. "Bite me," someone said, and even without seeing his face, you could tell from his voice the expressiveness of his grin. "Straight flush," something slapped - most likely, someone throwing cards on the table.

"You think I'm gonna believe you, you fucking cheat?" howled the other, and something rumbled. "Show me what's under the table!"

"How about you learn how to lose?" the first demon grinned. "I've got nothing, look," even from here, you could hear the second one breathing heavily behind the incomprehensible fuss. "Convinced? Now to the betting. Remember what you promised me?"

"Take that whore," the other demon snapped, and you heard footsteps approaching. Your blood started to boil, and this bubbling seemed to give you strength - as soon as his face appeared in the doorway, you grabbed his cheeks and squeezed them so hard that he didn't make a sound. Before he could even squeak, he took two dagger blows between the collarbones and crumbled into eternal oblivion.

All the while, a desperate whining had been growing in the room, both painful and pleading. Before you even looked into the room, you knew what kind of show you were in for.

Swallowing thick saliva, you appeared in the doorway. The demon was standing half-turned toward you, and in front of him, on her knees, was sitting... A girl? A woman? Behind the dirt, blood, and torture it was hard to tell her age. What she was being forced to do, even the most foolish could tell - even now, her forward head movements and squelching sounds mixed with muffled screams spoke for themselves. The pain in your body intensified, making you grin.

You always tried to keep your own rage in check, but at times like this, the roles were reversed. "Hey," you called out quietly and surreptitiously to the demon. He immediately turned his head, but instead of meeting his black eyes, you first examined his clothes and glanced at the naked girl, and only then met his frantic gaze. "Your jacket is, uh... well, ya know. It's cool."

***

It was small and peculiar, but still a jackpot. You were already digging through one of the wooden crates, and there were a number of different canned goods - corn, sardines, tuna, there were even a few jars of peaches. Perhaps the search would have gone a lot faster if it hadn't been for the annoying white noise in the background. The girl's crying, though it had changed to a quiet whimpers, was still horrible to your eardrums. You'd already set her down in a chair, pulled a jacket over her, and set the water bottle you'd found in front of her - it was all you could do for her now.

You looked in a couple more crates - besides water and canned goods, there was even sugar, tea, and to your great surprise and happiness, chocolate bars.

You removed the pins from your backpack and began to put provisions in there, pressing bottles and canned goods as tightly as possible; there was even room for a pack of sugar, a pack of salt, and a pack of tea and collected playing cards.

You zipped up your backpack, pricking your fingers a couple times in the process, and looked at the girl. She was hiding her battered face in her hands, and she was doing it like if she couldn't see anything, nothing could see her either. Her body was shuddering, and every twitch looked agonizing as if it wasn't happening of her own free will.

The girl never touched the water bottle. "Get up. Let's go," you didn't intend for the words you said to sound like an order - it came out spontaneously. The girl only flinched even more, but did nothing, only burrowed harder into her arms.

You stood up against her. "Why don't ya drink water? Don't ya wanna live?" you asked, and you hardly sounded soft and soothing; it was as if there was a threat in your words. She refused to look at you and you squatted down, pulled her hands away and grabbed her chin. "Either ya drink it or I'll start pouring it down your throat. Got it?"

Her sticky eyelashes made it impossible to catch her frightened look, but her body language spoke for itself. She grasped the bottle with difficulty as if the water in it were not cool, but boiling. She seemed about to drop it. You grabbed the bottle with her, unscrewed the cap, and brought it to her lips. You saw that she took the first sip, though with effort.

"Regeneration."

You didn't know if she was feeling better, but her sips didn't look as painful as before. She was now drinking water greedily, but for you it felt like the liquid she had just absorbed was coming out of her body through her tears.

The girl finished her drink and her fingers immediately unclenched, causing the bottle to fall to the floor. "That's good. Now let's go," you mumbled and wrapped your arms around her slumped body.

You had to hand it to the girl - maybe she was only doing it for looks, but she was still dragging her feet. You checked every room you could find for a window; you didn't care what part or how high up you were just as long as you got out of here.

When such a room was found, the girl stopped moving. You had to check her pulse, but as it turned out, she was even still conscious - when you put two fingers to her neck, she nodded weakly.

You sat her down on the floor and looked at her bare feet then looked at your own, and without further ado began to take off your boots. What appeared before you was a picture of once white elastic bandages that were now a dirty red color. "Completely unsanitary. I can't offer ya anything better, though," and with these words you began to pull your heavy boots on her. Suddenly, the girl became hysterical.

"Don't touch me!" she shrieked, and tried to shove you off with her foot, either accidentally or deliberately, but the impact was weak either way. "Don't fucking touch me!" her voice got louder, and the number of times her fists hit the floor increased.

You tried to ignore it and catch one of her wriggling legs. When you succeeded, the girl made a sound as if she had been grabbed not by your hand, but by a snake that had followed her for a long time, and that it was not your nails but the snake's fangs that were sinking into her skin. She pitched forward with all her might and hit you in the face with a clumsy movement. "Get your hands off me!" the plea was no longer pitiful and desperate; the girl hissed as if trying to mimic an enemy.

There was a slap in the room, and everything went quiet. The girl looked at you as she had just come to her senses and leaned a hand on her cheek, began rubbing the sore spot. "Relax. I'm just tryin' to shoe ya."

Not without adventures, but you still laced up your boots on her. The girl, even if she looked in your direction, did so with distrust, and there was as much of it as fatigue allowed to show.

"That's it, let's go," you said, tying the laces on the last knot. You picked her up again and walked over to the window. "Better get ready."

"Relocate."

When you were already in front of the familiar hut, you gripped the girl's waist tighter. She was no longer twitching, no longer wobbling, but only slumping. You stepped inside as quietly and carefully as you could, the violet light from the lamp Jonah had brought with him was hitting your eyes. How long does a lamp like that last?

You met with dumbfounded looks, but even those quickly changed to pitying ones, but none of them dared to ask a question.

"Holy shit," a whisper came to you from the corner of the room, followed by a whistle. "She's back."

Without paying attention, you laid the girl against one of the far walls - away from the people present. You were about to say a few words to her, but as soon as her body touched the floor, she shrank into a ball. Pressing your lips together, you decided to leave her alone. You walked over to one of the shelves, pulling your backpack off your shoulders. "How long have I been gone?" you asked Jonah who had been looking at you curiously and anxiously for a minute now, having given up trying to pick the rotten boards off the floor. There was a pile of smoldering but unburned wood in front of him.

"I have no clue," Jonah drawled, scratching his chin. "We slept about twice. How are you doing? You okay?"

"As much as I can be in a place like this," you said, smiling. You were already sorting through the contents of your backpack - canned goods appeared on the shelf like a magical click, a few bottles of water, and as you pulled out the salt, there was a meaningful cough behind you. "What?" you asked in surprise, looking behind you, but none of them made eye contact with you. "I thought it would be less bland to eat all this with salt."

"That's not the point," Jonah muttered, looking down. "It's just that as one of their punishments. Demons make us eat a pack of salt."

"Oh," a sympathetic interjection came out of you, and you quickly put the salt away in one of the drawers. "Got it. I won't be carrying that stuff around anymore, then."

"Are you planning to go there again?" came a startled gasp from behind you, and you turned around. The man who'd punched you in the nose was already standing in front of you, but he wasn't looking at you - he was trying to see what you'd brought. "Damn it, there's even peaches in here!" stunned at this insolence, you didn't react at all to how deftly and quickly he grabbed the canned fruit. He immediately took out a rusty nail and started picking at the jar. The man did look funny - he looked more like an overgrown and ungroomed bush with a hat on than a human being. "Uh...," he mumbled. It was obvious how focused he was - the man even stuck out his tongue, for the jar yielded with difficulty and creaking. "Sorry about your nose."

You chuckled. "Is that the price of trust? A can of peaches."

"It's not just peaches!" exclaimed the man angrily, and even a little resentfully. He finally got rid of the stubborn lid, and in spite of the sharp edges, stuck his fingers inside, and the peach slice was immediately in his mouth. The way he chewed it might have seemed disgusting, the slurping sounds seeming to reach as far as the next huts. However, for some reason it only whetted your appetite more. "Ah yes, where are my manners," the man said, and after wiping his fingers from the candied syrup on his clothes, he held out his hand to you, and you shook it. "My name is Bjorn. And that bulky guy in the corner over there is Oter," he nodded his head toward the man. "He's not a talker, but he's very emotional, so you'd better stay away from him when he tries to say something. He might slap you in the face."

"Whatever ya say," you said, trying to wipe your sticky fingers. "I've got something else here," you stuck your hand into the backpack, and when you pulled it out, the man almost choked. "Cards."

Oter mumbled excitedly and happily, getting up from his seat. When he came closer, you handed him the deck of cards without question. He looked into your eyes in disbelief, looking so naïve and childlike that it was at odds with his size. You nodded and brought the deck forward, and he, gently clasping it in his fingers, finally took it. "Who are you, warrior?" murmured Bjorn reverently, but he clearly wasn't expecting you to answer, too mesmerized by the deck of ordinary cards.

Jonah rose to his feet, abandoning all attempts to light the fire. "So, guys," he began cheerfully, putting his arm around both of their shoulders. "Poker?"

Your head instantly turned to the girl, but she was lying so still that you wondered if she was even alive. "If ya wanna play poker, go outside," you said quietly.

"Why?" asked Bjorn.

"I'll tell ya later. That's it, go on," you said, and the men looked at each other. Jonah nodded toward the girl, and then they all left the hut without question.

You weren't going to push her or pester her with questions - she wasn't going to answer any of them. Not now, anyway. You walked over to her quietly and sat down at her feet, leaning against the wall, and glimpsed at her. The girl seemed to sense your gaze, otherwise, why would she squirm even more? "Can ya at least tell me your name?"

You didn't expect an answer, but this silence felt too heavy. She'd rather be sobbing or even crying herself to sleep than burying herself quietly in the filth she'd been forced to go through. "Like it or not, I'm gonna get ya out of here," you said quietly but firmly and licked your parched lips. There was a scolding outside, but it was neither threatening nor dangerous. It was more like the kind of cursing that cronies usually exchanged. You lifted your head and looked through the holes in the metal roof: no stars or clouds in the sky, just an all-consuming void that had no end or edge. "And then... Then I'll kill everyone who did this to ya. Ya could do it yourself, but it would be a good idea to survive first. So... just live, 'kay?"

The girl didn't answer, and you didn't know what else to say. You rose from your seat and headed for the exit, but immediately turned around when you heard a barely audible wheeze. "Nora," she whimpered weakly. "My name is Nora."

"Well...," you sounded confused, as you didn't expect her to find the courage for even one word this day. "Nice to meet ya, Nora," after which you still went outside.

The men were sitting here, right on the sand; the cards were already laid out, the canned goods opened, and each had a bottle of water. You could forgive them for such wastefulness, but only for today.

Jonah raised his head and looked at you, and you saw the glint in his clouded eyes for the first time. "I take it we need to look for more clothes?"

"Sorta."

"Not now!" Bjorn hissed at you, not taking his eyes off his cards. "We'll play the rest of the game, and then you can do whatever you want. Come on, play with us."

"I dunno how to play poker," you said, shrugging absent-mindedly.

"Well, that's not a problem, is it?" said Bjorn. "We'll teach you, sit down," he tugged at your shirt, and it was no longer an invitation, but a demand.

While you were sitting as comfortably as possible on the cold sand, time seemed to slow down around you. You tried desperately to make sense of all the things they were explaining to you, but you kept getting confused by the Full houses, Royal flashes, Straights, and at some point, all those words came together for you. Oter was always mooing something unintelligible - you could hear the threat, the jeer, the joy, the sadness. Jonah would put his arm around your shoulder and shake you a little when you started to realize something obvious, and Bjorn would shout curses in a foreign language. Maybe they weren't swear words, but it was hardly the tone to praise a man. The atmosphere was as if you had not bottled water but apple cider, and instead of sardines, you had caviar sandwiches or even ordinary chips, even if they were in your least favorite flavor.

In the midst of this bustle you made a promise, albeit to yourself: to take these people out to where the star warms the horizon through the shroud of ozone.

[March 1, 2020; 7:01 pm; Tokyo Prefecture, Tokyo, Cafe Q]

"There you are," Mei-Mei purred, taking a seat at the table. "I haven't heard from you in a while," her voice was quiet, flirtatious and soothing at the same time, but the café was so deserted that Gojo could easily hear everything she was saying.

"Work," he replied briefly, without bestowing any greeting on her - he didn't even glance in her direction.

"I'm not gonna take up a lot of your time," Mei-Mei rolled her eyes. "I just want my share," Gojo finally looked at her over his glasses, and his eyes read the usual nonchalance, but there was something else lurking behind it as well. She shrugged. "The girl's dead," she barely said the words before she realized what lurked behind his supposed levity. A threat.

Gojo's finger was rubbing the edge of the napkin that lay on the table. "First of all," he began calmly. "She's not dead. Second, forget everything I told you about the treaty, and third, Mei-Mei, listen. This is the most important thing," he raised his index finger upward, as if he didn't realize that all her attention was already on him. "You don't look good in red lipstick. So wipe it off," he pushed the napkin toward her with the palm of his hand, remembering to smile sweetly.

Mei-Mei, smiling back, irritably crumpled the napkin. "If you want me to selectively lose my memory, it's not free."

"I didn't think you'd say it any other way," Gojo crossed his arms over his chest and lowered his head, trying to burrow into the collar of his uniform, completely oblivious to the fact that he was now wearing a shirt. "Just tell me how much you want."

"As much as they offered you," Mei-Mei replied instantly, and began coquettishly twirling a curl on her finger. "I'm not much interested in resurrection, though. Let me put it this way. I'll be satisfied with ten times the amount you paid me for a letter of recommendation to your students."

He didn't think over his answer for a second. "Okay," taking advantage of either the opportunity or her good mood, he added: "It'll be even better if you forget the way to their house."

"Fifteen times as much, then."

"Getting greedier every year," grinned Gojo at the thought that even the devil could be negotiated with. "Fine."

"God," she exhaled, and reached for his cheek; he immediately pulled away, leaning back in his chair. "I couldn't even imagine in my mind that you could ever look this pathetic."

"Mei-Mei," his voice remained as soft as a feather, but even that could make a human choke. "You're only still alive because I respect you as a colleague."

"Come on, don't be rude. I know how rude you can be, though. I don't even mind," she giggled, and without waiting for him to make at least one of his usual backhanded vulgar jokes, she sighed and mirrored his pose. "Anyway, I've been offered a job abroad anyway. I'm expecting the money within the week."

"What if I transfer them in eight days?" asked Gojo, and there was a distinct sneer in his voice.

"I don't know," Mei-Mei drawled, tapping a finger on her chin. "Does her big brother know why you stayed by her side in the first place?" she whispered conspiratorially, moving closer to him.

"You win," he threw his hands up in the air like a captured man. "Well, I hope we have a deal."

"The sweetest deal of my life," Mei-Mei chirped, rising from her chair. "But it might be even sweeter if you celebrated it with me," she hinted, expecting him to get up now, but he didn't move. She got the impression that he had missed her words altogether. This caused Mei-Mei to laugh uncontrollably. "Though, you know, I liked you better when you didn't have a heart. Okay, I hope to see you again," she said, and fluttered out of the café like a bird.

"I hope not," he exhaled quietly under his breath.

You'll be back, Gojo knew that for sure; all he needed to hold on to that thought was a few reassuring words from your sister. He didn't need to reach into the depths of his own soul to realize that you could handle this on your own, but if he had the slightest chance of keeping you safe, and especially if the price was money, he would gladly part with it.

You were entering the hut in your own way, and if there had been a door, you'd probably have kicked it open. You could barely fit everything in your hands, but the only thing that was trying to slip out were the windbreakers you'd gotten. "Here I am!"

"Hey," Jonah responded, trying to make tea in the cold water. "Where did you get this?" he asked dazedly, looking at the clothes in your hands.

"We can sell that for a couple of packs of cigarettes!" exclaimed Bjorn hoarsely, quitting pounding the nails into the board. "Maybe even three."

"Actually, I didn't bring these for sale," you said, wrinkling your nose. "Ya'll be coughing your lungs out soon, so ya'd better put it on yourself," you turned to Bjorn and tossed him one of the windbreakers; you doubted you wouldn't see it tomorrow. "I found this place in the last building. I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming. Honestly, I still can't believe it!" someone behind you pinched your shoulder hard, and you shuddered, grasping at the sore spot.

"Oter!" the men exclaimed in a chorus of indignation, and behind you there was a resentful grunting. You glanced over your shoulder at Oter; he sat down in the corner next to Bjorn like a guilty child.

"Let me help you," Jonah said, coming over to you and taking some of your things. He set them down on the floor, and Bjorn jumped up and started going through them at once - in addition to the jackets, there was thread and a needle, matches, a couple of plates with spoons and forks, a bar of soap and a tube of ointment.

"What about food?" grumbled Bjorn sadly, continuing to rummage through things.

"You always only think with your stomach?" asked Jonah indignantly, and began sorting through the shelves and drawers you had found, trying to establish some order.

"A natural need," Bjorn muttered under his breath and immediately went back to hammering nails into the wood.

You walked over to Jonah and shove him uncertainly with your shoulder. He looked at you questioningly, and you nodded your head at the girl lying in the corner. "How's Nora?" you asked in a whisper.

Jonah spoke in a low voice too. "Still not talking. She ate well today, though."

"Not bad," you clapped your hands approvingly, pleased with at least some progress.

You silently continued to put everything in its place, occasionally wondering where to put this or that thing. "You know," Jonah began quietly. "We had nothing to do here before you at all. Just sat in corners. Can't say that's a bad thing," the man chuckled nervously. "Because the ones who did get taken away by demons, we never saw again. And with you here...," he twirled a spool of thread in his hands and tossed it into the air, catching it deftly. "We can do at least some human things."

"It's just threads, Jonah," you tried to guffaw and immediately changed the subject. "I'm going in there again now. There's so much more there. I only caught a glimpse, but there was even climbing gear lying around."

"What do you think," Jonah began and was quiet for a moment. "What are these things?"

You faltered - you didn't feel like answering a question like that directly. "I think ya know."

"Yeah..." sighed Jonah, and the bar of soap he was trying to place on one of the shelves suddenly felt in his hand like a lump of all the souls that had died here - it became incredibly hard to hold.

"Anyway, they don't need these things anymore. But we do," you said firmly, taking the soap from his hanging hand and placing it on the shelf.

Jonah wasn't surprised at the cynicism - others didn't survive in places like this, he'd seen it more than once. "Why don't you take a break? One guy in the hut next door has a guitar. I could say we'll sit by the fire, but that's unlikely," he grinned sadly. "So, more like a handful of smoke-smelling wood."

"No, ya go ahead. Try to talk to Nora, It might be good for her," you said, but there wasn't much hope. Still, the attempt would be deliberately unsuccessful if nothing was done. "I'm gotta go, though. I'll see ya around."

"Relocate."

"Fucking dark wizard," Bjorn muttered as your silhouette disappeared from their sight, for which he received a hard poke in the shoulder and an angry mooing from Oter.

next ⊳

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cluelessatthispoint · 1 year

Note

I just saw a video of some cupcakes and for some reason it reminded me of your blog, probably bc of your pfp. Anyways, im not sure if requests are open so my bad if they aren't, but I was wondering if I could ask for something for Yandere Engineer with a reader who is a Soldier from the opposite team. Idk there is something about the idea that makes the worms in my head go crazy, once again sorry if requests are closed hope you have a nice week 👍

I love this! YAY CUPCAKES! Yes, requests are still open! yandere Engie is the fuel that I live off of.

~~~~~~

Battle was always something you looked forward to. It is a good way to de-stress and a great way to earn some money. The way that you can feel every breath you take and how your lungs burn after running for an ungodly amount of time make you feel alive. In a strange sort of masochistic way. It's not necessarily a bad thing to enjoy the feeling of pain. Pain is the body's way of saying "I'm still alive!" But these past few battles...have been rough. On top of the fact that your team lost about three times this week, you've been taken out by an extremely well-placed sentry more times than you can count.

Hearing how the enemy Engineer laughed to himself as you bleed out on the field sent chills down your spine. He placed sentries in all your spots, and he seemed to be only targeting you. The way he smiled when staring at you locked in a fire fight. How he seemed to cock his head slightly to the left as he stared you down in your final moments before respawning...It was unsettling.

But today is a new day. Checking in with the team and making a battle plan was always the best part of the morning. Finally at long last the sights and smells of the battlefield enveloped your senses. The enemy Engineer and his nest being nowhere in visible sight was a comfort.

Running through the warzone you moved with stealth that was more fitting of a Spy. The way your heartbeat within your ribcage felt near painful. You let out a shaky breath that you didn't know that you were holding in. Ducking under a makeshift lean to you moved forward and check your surroundings.

"Thank God that jerk isn't here."

Slowly walking forward, you scan the area then take another few steps then scan the area again. Finally finding yourself in a winding corridor with dark musty walls you make your way carefully towards where the enemy intelligence is stationed.

"Well, hey there Soldier....You going somewhere?"

Your blood freezes in place. Your eyes widen as you recognize the owner of the voice, that familiar rough Texan accent makes you inhale shallowly. Slowly putting your hands up you turn around slowly. The sound of a gun cocking makes fear shoot up your spine. The enemy Engineer slowly walks over to you. The sharp smell of his alcohol on his breath reaching your nose make your stomach turn. He stops walking when you both are face to face and chest to chest. You can feel his body heat through your layers of clothing. His sudden closeness to you makes your face flush slightly. But the feeling of the barrel of his gun pressing into your lower abdomen makes you still.

"Well now, it's good to see my little Soldier so close to my intel."

You glare into his eyes as he calls you his little Soldier. A flare of anger wells up in the pit of your stomach, only the threat of the gun pressing to your abdomen keeping you still.

"What the hell do you want Engineer.." You grit your teeth as you speak. The way his eyes shine with a dangerous glint makes you bite your lip softly. You can't help but feel nervous...like a new wide-eyed recruit.

He chuckles softly and a sudden shot rings out. The sudden noise, and the flash of pain make you yelp out in surprise and pain. White hot pain spreads up your leg and you slump against the wall behind you. Tears fall from your eyes and your breaths are hard and ragged. Staring up at the enemy Engineer through your tears you see him crouch down before you. His face so terribly close to yours. Feeling his moist warm breath ghost over your face you whimper and grunt out each breath with pain.

"Don't worry Darling...I won't kill you. Not today. I just wanted some company for today's battle. And when it's over I consider sending you through respawn."

You huff softly and relax as much as you are able to. You figure that you might as well get comfortable because you won't be leaving anytime soon.

~~~

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cartooncadet666 · 2 years

Text

He heard whispering all around him, 'Is he okay?', 'Woah, he has freckles still!', 'What kind of ghost is that?', 'He looks too soft to be here.' ,'Oh goodness! What's wrong with his eye?!'

Filled with anxiety, he looked up to see ghosts towering over him, their bodies shifting backwards when they all made eye contact. 'Holy sh*t, his eye...' He started shaking and creeping away from the souls, hot tears were falling down his face in quick paces.

"Hey, you okay kiddo? You look spooked..." A fire ghost floated closer to him, "We get it, it's scary the first time around, but you'll get used to it-" The flaming soul reached out to him, only getting a shock of cold energy throughout his body. "OW! WHAT THE HECK?!"

"S-STAY AWAY FROM ME! LEAVE ME ALONE!" The new ghost sobbed uncontrollably, trying to stay as far away from each of them as possible, but he could only get so far. More whispers of concern drifted from every single mouth, that plus all of his crying gave the young one a headache.

"Dude, it's okay.. No one's going to hurt you, we wouldn't dream of it..." One of the souls said, the new soul's reaction to all of the current events made some of the creatures hurt on the inside. The older generations of them, mostly, felt heartbroken hearing his cries.

On the right of him, Inky, Blinky, Pinky, and Clyde were watching his movements, an expression of both confusion and worry on their faces. "Is it only me or does he look familiar?" Pinky pointed at the poor thing and whispered to the boys, "I swear I think I've seen him somewhere..."

"Nah, he doesn't ring a bell, a lot of people look the same to me." Blinky crossed his arms.

"Poor guy, he seems so scared of us.." Clyde whimpered.

"Look all we need to do is give a ghostly welcome, he's really new, that's why he's spooked." Inky flashed a smug grin, and flew towards to the freckled ghost. Appearing behind him, Inky cleared his throat and grabbed his attention. "Hey there new guy, don't worry you're one of us now."

The freckled soul had his hand covering his corrupted eye before letting it go. When both ghosts made complete eye contact, flashes of traumatic experiences entered both minds.

"DON'T LEAVE ME, DON'T LEAVE ME! I'LL DIE WITHOUT YOU-"

"JAMIE! DON'T YOU DARE DIE ON ME! JAMIE!"

Inky gasped and rushed backwards, the freckled ghost flinching from the sudden movements. "I-Im sorry! Don't look at my eye! I'm so sorry!" He cried, tears still falling down his face as he desperately tried wiping them away.

The rest of the ghost gang rushed over to Inky to ask what happened and what he saw, but all the commotion seemed to anger Betrayus and his assistants.

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF EVERYTHING UNHOLY IS HAPPENING OVER HERE?!" He yelled, both of the twins behind him. His usual cold glare then softened by shock when he saw the quivering soul in the center of the crowd.

As if by instinct, Lord Betrayus rushed over to the younger soul and knelt to get down to his level. He watched the soul cry and weep away his emotions, both hands still covering his eyes as he sobbed. Betrayus frowned, he hasn't seen or heard a child inside the Nether Realm ever since his own or the ghost gang, and there's a reason why he didn't want any down here.

The ghost uncovered his eyes for a second to catch a glimpse of the lord before jolting from surprise, "STAY BACK!" He put one hand before him as a cautionary defense, he just so happened to do the same thing to Betrayus as he did to Inky.

*gunshot*

"STRATOS!"

The lord only flinched from the event, his glare still remaining on the scared soul. His glare was soft towards the fearful youngster, seeing the ghost tremble and sob was painful to even watch. He felt his heart shatter watching him cry, the reason he hates a child of any age to be in the Nether is because they're still young to die.

"Are you alright?" He gently pulled the ghost's hands away from his eyes, "What's your name?"

Still shaking, the ghost finally replied: " Skeebo..."

"How are you here? Who or what killed you kid?"

Skeebo looked behind Betrayus to see the twins have the same sad expression on their faces, he felt anxious when he saw Dr. Buttocks scanning him.

"Do you not want to say it?" Betrayus asked him. "Was it that bad? You don't have to say it if you don't want to."

Skeebo whimpered, a few tears keeping his face damp, "Please don't make me.." He looked down at his body, a visible scar and gauze piece attached to it. "I don't want to talk about it.."

"You did this to yourself, didn't you..?" Betrayus whispered to him and patted Skeebo's head as an attempt to sooth him, obviously working on the teen. He felt even worse when Skeebo nodded to the question, but he didn't show much surprise, he had a death quite similar to Skeebo's.

"Butler! Take our scared friend and soothe him down, we don't want any negative emotions to stay inside of him." Said the lord after he patted Skeebo's back after making him float. "And doctor, make a patch for his corrupted eye, make sure he won't take it off."

"Yes sir.." Both brothers said as they went to do their tasks.

"The rest of you, go back to what you were doing, he'll be fine!" Every ghost immediately followed their leader's commands, even though they all worried for the new ghost.

#pmatga #original au #pmatga au #skeebo #skeebo au #lord betrayus #dr. buttocks #butler #ghost skeebo #ghost gang #inky blinky pinky and clyde #suicidal au #i need therapy #wtf is wrong w me

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heliads · 2 years

Note

Hello hello! Congratulations on 5k and sorry if im late with this request but can i ask for a finnick fic with prompts 3,17,25 and if possible also a newt fic with the same prompts? Thank you very much! 💓

newt req will come out in a few days, here's finnick!

masterlist

You don’t think you ever noticed just how quiet it gets in the Capitol until right about now. It’s always been loud around here. The buildings are filled to the brim with chattering elites, so many packed in side by side that they’re occasionally disgorged to the balconies, the windows, the roof so that more can fit in.

If you’re not with your mentor or fellow tributes, you’re displayed for show in front of the cameras. If you’re not panicking to the point of shutdown over the thought that you only have a few weeks until the Hunger Games begin and your life ends, you pretend that you have never known fear in your life, and bat your eyes at the interviewers until you think your lids might be weighted down with iron for all their aching burden in keeping you awake.

But now, midnight in the pristine halls of the tributes’ quarters, there is nothing. No whir of ancient lights, no creaking or groaning as beleaguered cooling systems try their hardest to convince you that you might feel something other than endless waves of heat. You suppose that has to do with the fact that the Capitol is richly furnished and would never have to deal with aged machinery, but you’re too far gone on old habits to ever fully make the remembrance stick.

There are guards posted somewhere around here, but they keep their presence to themselves. No Avoxes can be seen lurking in the shadows, but you have no doubt that they’re here somewhere, letting their eyes run wild with sights that their mouths can no longer hope to express.

All living things decide to leave you be on this night of nights. It must be tradition to not mess with the sacrificial lambs until they’re needed for further entertainment in the Arena, or maybe everyone else is out getting drunk on honeyed wine and spirits until they can’t remember how horrifying it is to send twenty-four souls to their deaths every year.

You’ve only been in the Capitol for a few days, so the layout of the buildings is still somewhat foreign to you. You wonder if you could wander down here forever, stuck in a whitewashed maze that will never let you out. No sound, none but your footsteps. No sights, none but the seeming same four walls. It is enough to drive anyone mad. You would not be the first.

When you first hear a sound echoing through the sterile halls, you wonder if it’s already started, the madness. Your mind could at least be polite and wait until the first moment you have to murder someone in the Games to lose itself, but it appears you won’t have that kindness quite yet.

The sound comes again, and you’ve just decided that no, you’re not mad, there actually was something there, when someone swings out of an open door to your side and comes to a sudden stop in front of you.

You stare at the boy in front of you with exhausted exasperation. “From the bottom of my heart, what the fuck. There was no reason to do that.”

The boy’s delighted grin falls in a flash. “You’re not supposed to react like that. Can you at least pretend to be a little frightened? I thought that was the whole point of a jumpscare.”

You snort. “You know, for a jump scare to work you have to actually be scary. Not just disappointingly cavalier in your methods of introducing yourself to strangers.”

The boy quirks a brow. “Is that what we’re doing? Introducing each other?”

“Well,” you reply, “seeing as you just came out of nowhere and I have absolutely nothing better to do, we might as well.”

The boy groans, the sound so rich with melodrama that it could have come straight from the stained lips of Caesar Flickerman. “You know, most people are usually far more excited to talk to me. I suppose just ‘nothing better to do’ will suffice for now, but I hope you’ll come to think of me far more favorably. I’m–”

You cut him off. “Finnick.”

The boy’s teeth flash again, as bright a white as the immaculate halls of the Capitol complex surrounding you. “So you do know who I am!”

It’s hard not to know who he is, but it’s not as if you’re about to say that to his face. Finnick Odair seems to suffer from a grievous overabundance of confidence, and you doubt his ego could use any extra boost from you. Of course, one would have to consider the fact that he’s out here wandering the halls at midnight just the same as you, which would raise the questions of what could keep him from sleep for so long, but that’s beside the point.

“I do know who you are,” you hedge, “A lot of information has been forced on me unwillingly.”

Finnick tilts his head back and laughs. “Unwillingly? I think I’m hurt.”

“Wonderful,” you say crisply, “Well, it was nice to meet you. I hope you don’t die a gruesome death once we get into the arena.”

You turn and continue your walk down the passage. To your surprise, Finnick jogs to catch up with you, his long strides allowing him to easily keep pace with you.

“Oh, you didn’t think you’d be rid of me that quickly, did you?” He asks brightly.

“I had hopes,” you mutter, “I assume I was wrong to harbor anything of the sort?”

“Precisely right,” Finnick grins, hands in his pockets as if the two of you were old friends out for a casual stroll. “It’s not like either of us have anything better to do, as you so wonderfully pointed out, so we might as well get to know each other.”

“Why?” You ask, unwilling to budge even an inch in your hostility. Finnick is your rival tribute and thus your enemy. You cannot afford to make friends out of people who are wishing for your death with every word they speak.

“Because I adore your charming personality, obviously,” Finnick says. “Actually, I’m sick to death of everyone pretending that all is well, and the fact that you don’t is a breath of fresh air. I might be developing an early case of cynicism.”

You turn to him questioning, but Finnick’s cheerful demeanor doesn’t change. For the first time, you wonder if you might have misjudged him. Perhaps Finnick isn’t a silly flirt but the best actor you’ve ever met.

“Well,” you say carefully, “if you’re in the mood for cynicism, I’ve got a lot right here.”

“Perfect,” Finnick responds happily. He meets your gaze at last and flashes you a wink. “I have a feeling we’re going to get along just fine.”

You hold his stare for a second longer, then break into incredulous laughter. “I take it back. You’re absolutely insane.”

Finnick grins as well. “Then we’ll have even more fun. Will you join me in being mad, Y/N L/N? If we only have a few weeks together, I want to spend all of it engaging in as much tomfoolery as possible.”

He offers you a hand with a mock bow and flourish, the gentleman. You chuckle and take the accepted palm. “I would like nothing more.”

Finnick straightens up and, grabbing your hand, begins to sprint down the hallways, all but dragging you after him. You run beside him, tearing down the identical corridors as fast as you can.

“Where are we going?” You shout over the thunder of your footsteps, “And what on Earth are you doing?”

“No idea,” Finnick calls back delightedly, “No idea at all.”

A laugh starts to build in your chest, so free of stress and fear that you almost don’t recognize it as your own. You haven’t laughed like that in quite some time, and it takes that last bit of terror clean out of you. Forget the cameras, the interviewers, every citizen in this twisted Capitol who wants to see you dead. You laugh at the lot of them.

Thus begins what might be the best thing to ever happen to you. What had once been a place of nothing but paranoia becomes host to your best friend, the one person you look to when all else breaks down. Finnick meets you most nights; neither of you can sleep, neither of you bring it up.

Instead, you explore every inch of the place, memorizing how the city looks from the roof and which doors lead where. Some handles turn out locked, some knobs won’t open no matter how many times Finnick jokingly slams his body against them. You get lost so many times you think you might have accidentally ended up in one of the districts, and just as you lose all hope of ever seeing your bed again, you and Finnick take a turn and come back right where you started.

You don’t think you’ve ever laughed harder or more often than when you are with this golden boy. Who gives a damn about the Hunger Games at this point, it’s going to happen and there is nothing you can do about it anymore. What you can do is make your days worthwhile, and that is precisely what you mean to accomplish.

You and Finnick delight in confusing the interviewers as much as possible. You start speaking in cryptic riddles whenever you’re recorded, and the Capitol practically tears itself to shreds trying to figure out your hidden meanings. Finnick busts out some poetry about a long gone lover, which the two of you had carved out the night before after he got the idea at one in the morning.

This is living, you decide. It’s funny that you would only realize it so close to dying, but this is the best time you have ever had and the thought of your imminent demise is secondary to the fact that you get this right here, right now.

As the days tick down to the Hunger Games, you try to push the intrusive fears from your mind as much as possible. You almost succeed, too, until the night before the Games hits and then you’re reeling in your own head.

You try to get some sleep, at least to help keep your body strong for tomorrow as much as anything else, but you just can’t manage it. At last, when you can take it no longer, you crawl out of bed and pad across the room to leave. Just as you swing open the door, the figure on the other side raises his hand to knock. You and Finnick, on the same wavelength yet again.

He doesn’t even have to ask, you nod and let him in without a single word exchanged. Finnick slumps into a heap on the edge of your bed, knee pulled up to his chest.

“What are we supposed to do, Y/N?” He asks quietly, voice half obscured in his tangled mess of limbs, “There’s only one victor. Somehow, one of us won’t make it out.”

“I know,” you whisper, and you feel the sheer agony of a thousand moments slip out with it, “I know.”

Finnick looks at you beseechingly, and you take a seat on the bed next to him. Finnick stretches out an arm and pulls you close to him, your head resting against his shoulder.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he says.

You look over at him. How many times have you been lost in those eyes now? How few times you have left. Maybe if you’re lucky you’ll get to witness this sight one more time before you die.

“We knew this day was coming all along,” you remind him, “there’s nothing we can do about it. We’re going to get through this night, and then we’re going to worry about ourselves. You keep yourself alive and I’ll work on myself. That’s how it’s going to work.”

Finnick nods mechanically. “So this is the last night we have for us.” His gaze turns twisted and fierce. “I need something from you.”

“Anything,” you promise rashly. You don’t take back the words, even knowing what he could ask as a rival tribute. If he asked you to fall on your sword tomorrow, you would do it with a smile.

Finnick lets out a gasping sort of breath. “Tell me you love me. I need to hear it just the once. Lie to me if you have to, make it all up, but I need to hear it. Let me pretend that I might not be alone in this.”

You can feel your heart drop through the floor. “What?”

Finnick’s gaze is an endless whirlpool of sea green. “I want to fool myself into thinking that I might have met someone in this world who could need me as much as I need you. Say it once, and I’ll go to a happy death. Just say it.”

You reach out and take his hand, squeezing it against yours. “I don’t need to lie, Finnick. I love you. I love the fact that you make me feel so alive that the thought of dying in the Games doesn’t seem real. I love that you have never given up on me. I love that you’re the only one here I would be content with missing me.”

Finnick’s breath constricts in his lungs, and then he’s leaning over and kissing you like you’ve never been kissed before. Every other kiss before this was nothing, nothing to this at all. You have never felt a love like this, and perhaps you never will. All will come to be undone in the Games, but this moment will never be taken from you. You can carry this kiss into death like a talisman, and it will protect you for all eternity. No shield has ever tasted so sweet.

hunger games tag list: @w1shes43

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notsarareallynot · 3 years

Text

Loki x Reader flinching during an argument

pairing: Loki x Reader

Summary: After you put yourself in danger on a mission, you and your boyfriend Loki have an argument and you flinch.

TW: yelling, crying, blood, cursing

Word count: 1.3k

(Also in this Story Loki is part of the Avengers.)

I'm sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes...

"What the hell where you thinking y/n ?!" Loki yelled at you.

"I'm sorry okay ?!" You scream back at him.

You all just got back from a mission, that went almost very wrong.

As you where arguing with your boyfriend the memories from today played in your mind again.

_________________________________

Everyone had his own task on the mission, yours was to get files that hydra had in their Computersystem.

"Y/n you got less then 3 minutes before everything blows up, you got it?" You hear Tony grunting trough his earpiece, as he takes out Hydra agents somewhere on the base.

"I'm on it Stark, but these fucking computers are probably older then Steve"

"Hey Language!" Steve says through his earpiece.

You put a USB stick into the computer and the files where finally loading, but way to slow.

"Y/n 2 minutes left!" Tony reminds you.

"It's almost done..." you try to sound convincing.

You looked at the progress bar on the computer screen in front of you "78%!"

"Bucky,Sam,Thor and Loki , you 4 need to cover the north side of the building and clear the path for us.

Natasha and Wanda cover the east side. Tony and I are going to cover the right side and clear a path for y/n!

"Hey Steve? Could you make sure that y/n is back out in time?" Loki asked.

"Of course" Steve replied.

You couldn't get this stupid computer to move faster, no matter what you tried.

The bar was now at 92%.

"90 seconds! y/n, where are you?" Steve asks concerned.

It's going to be close thing the bar was at 95% now. You started to calculate by now how long your way out would probably be.

"3 stairs up and the hallway down ... maybe 40 seconds." You say to yourself.

"60 seconds! Y/n get the hell out now!"

"Im on my way" you lie.

96%. 97%.98% Shit you have come so far, you can not leave not, not if your this close.

99%

"30 seconds! I don't see you y/n!?" Steve yells.

"Y/n!?" You here Loki screaming trough your earpiece.

"I'll go in!"

100%. You yanked the flash drive out of the computer and run towards the door, screaming out into your coms, "No Steve! I'm coming!"

You knew the time would not be enough, to get out in time, but you tried anyways.

You breathing got heavy as you sprinted the stairs up and it felt like your lungs where on fire. All of the sudden the explosions start and the alarm of the base was going off.

"Shit!"

You could see the exit on the end of the hallway, it's gonna be a hell of a run if you wanted to get out there alive.

You see Steve and Tony waiting at the exit door.

"Don't stop running and don't look back!" Steve screams, panic spreading out on his face.

"Faster!" Tony screams too.

You feel the heat of the explosion growing behind you.

All of the sudden peaces of the ceiling started crumbling, falling down.

You try to not get smashed by big pieces.

Then you feel something hitting you, knocking you out.

You see the blurred lights of the exit and see two silhouettes hovering over you.

Then everything goes black.

You felt your body getting lifted up and you try to open up your eyes, to see Steve caring you out.

Your head was hurting and your ears where ringing.

You see Steve looking down at you with fear in his eyes, his lips where moving but you couldn't hear anything.

You pass out.

"Come on wake up!"

"Y/n!"

"Hey kid! C'mon!"

"Please open those eyes..."

Someone was shaking you awake. Loki.

When you open your eyes you see that you are in the Quinjet with everyone looking down at you.

"Ohh thank God....." Loki sighed out, hugging you tight.

"I'm okay..." you say.

When you gained full consciousness back again you sit up feeling the back of your head.

"Ouch.." you bring your hand up to see blood.

"That was close" Steve says.

"I know, but I couldn't leave those behind" you reach into the pocked of your suit. "Here."

You hand Tony the USB over.

"The Wintersoldier Programm. Everything and everyone who worked for them is on there."

Bucky looked at Tony and then at you "You almost died, because of this ?"

"Well, I can't let them get away with what they did to you..."

"Why?"

"Because we are a team Bucky" you tell him.

Loki's furrowed his brows at you, holding you in his arms.

_________________________________

You get pulled back to your argument with Loki.

"You risked your life for those stupid files, for him!" Loki shouts.

"Oh my God. You are unbelievable Loki! That's what this is about? You are jealous?!" you scream looking disappointed at Loki.

"No! I'm not jealous y/n! I'm disappointed in you alright!"

"Loki, love, you're not listening to me. I had a good reason"

"I understand you perfectly, y/n" Loki groaned in frustration and raised his hand. You immediately flinched back just before his hand continued it's motion of running trough his long hair.

Loki noticed you flinched and lowered his hand again.

"My love?"he asked, his voice was now calm and low.

You backed away from your boyfriend and made your way out of your shared room.

"Bruce wanted to see me again, because of my head"you almost whisper and moved passed him.

Loki looked after you walking out of your room and closing the door behind you.

He was very confused and couldn't understand why you would flinch at him raising his hand.

He stayed right there where you left him standing and thought for a while until the door opened again and you step in. You look at Loki, he didn't looked angry anymore.

"I'm going to shower" you say wanting to walk pass him again. Loki could tell you where crying, your red puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks gave you away.

"Darling, please can we talk? I- I would never hit you. You know that, don't you ?" He looked at you with a pained expression.

You where shaking and tried to catch your breath. "I know Loki. I know you would never hit me but... my ex boyfriend he- every time he got so angry and then he would..." you stared sobbing uncontrollably.

Loki had a mixed expression of anger and sadness on his face. He takes you in for a hug and hushes you stroking your head.

"Hey Hey... it's ok... I would never do that. Ever. And I promise I will never yelled at you like that again" he said placing kisses on your hair.

"I don't want anything to happen to you. That's why I got so angry at you. When I saw you laying there like this, after the explosion... I was so scared to lose you, because I love you so much"

"I'm sorry. I love you too." You say crying in his chest.

You look up at him, he had tears in his eyes.

"You will never lose me." You say wiping his tears away with your tumb, kissing him.

**********

I know another Loki one .... But I love him,so sorry not sorry.

#loki tv #loki of asgard #loki show #loki (marvel)#loki fanfic #loki smut #loki fluff #loki imagine #marvel smut #marvel #the avengers #winter solider x y/n #marvel mcu

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electronikmilk · 3 years

Text

Papa’s Punishment

alternative title: Accidentally Fucking Around and Finding Out

ive been working on this for so long and im sick of lookin at it

rating: explicit/nsfw

Copia x f reader

contains: dom copia, possible abuse of power, spanking, and pet play.

You had dozed, then awakened to find that you were still bound in Copia's ornate bed-chamber deep within the abbey walls.

No, he wasn't Copia anymore. He was Papa now. And you had to address him as such when he wore the paint. That was what he said when he had his Ghouls drag you into his chamber after you had called him the silly little nickname that the other sisters called him behind his back as a joke. Ratman. It was innocent enough since he was fond of the small rodents, or so you thought. Copia's face had grown dark as soon as you uttered it, and it frightened you enough to fall silent after a fit of giggles. Then he reached out and gripped your chin tight before leaning close to address you.

"Mm. Funny." He said in a way that sounded like he didn't find it funny at all and glared down at you, "It is bold of you to be disrespectful to your Papa when he wears the paint. And that is all I will be to you now. I'm not Copia, not Cardinal, and especially not Ratman. I am Papa, and I will not accept any other title, sister. Perhaps a little lesson is in order so you will remember this."

Before you could say anything, Copia snapped his fingers, and that was when his two Ghouls surrounded you, grabbed you by the arms, and marched down the halls with you in tow. Everyone within the corridors stopped and watched as the Ghouls dragged you along. Two sisters from the convent whispered to each other and turned their gazes away as if they might be taken away at any second too. They knew where you were going, and it was sure as hell somewhere they didn't want to be, for it was a place of great shame and mystery. You let your head drop in humiliation before your peers, not standing the way they saw you. It was a relief when you finally arrived at Copia's chamber and were taken inside. You said nothing to the Ghouls as they fastened leather cuffs around your ankles, then bound your hands over your head with silk rope.

"Sorry, sister," One of them had said. They removed the coif and veil of your habit, then pulled out the pins that held your hair in place so that it fell loose, "We're just following Papa's orders. I'm sure you understand."

All you gave them was a contemptuous look until they left.

You had struggled against your restraints until you eventually gave up, falling asleep despite your buttocks pushing against the hard stone wall behind you. How long had that been? There was no clock or window in the room, so it was hard for you to tell. Perhaps a few hours. Long enough for you to wake up with a sore neck, anyway. The room itself lay in shadow and unbroken stillness. You winced as you turned your head to look around the room. The only illumination offered to you was from a small antique lamp on an ink-stained writing desk in the corner. The dim light threw long uneven shadows on the high arched ceiling above. A king-sized bed sat against the wall opposite you with a canopy bed frame draped with black cloth. It made it look like a dark, cavernous mouth that was ready to swallow you whole. A tall mahogany bookshelf containing several taxidermied rats positioned in various poses stood near the door. You made a face at the furry ornaments. It was definitely Copia's room.

Your stomach growled, and the sound of it in the stillness of the room made it seem more like a lion's roar. How long Copia planned to keep you in here and what his intentions were, you didn't know for sure. You just hoped he wouldn't starve you. The thought sent a sudden jolt of panic through you; your mind flashed images of you left to rot in a cell in the abbey basement. You knew that the cells had been abandoned for centuries, just collecting dust and acting as storage for Yuletide decorations. But Copia had changed since he finally became Papa Emeritus IV. You had always thought him awkward as a Cardinal, sometimes even amusing in his antics, but he was always just that: awkward, no one to be scared of. It was a curious and abrupt transformation; He held his head high now, and his stride was no longer unsure or clumsy. When he wore the paint, he had an air of authority, of strength and pride no one knew he had. He wanted respect, and he demanded it among the clergy with an iron fist. Everyone was to address him as Papa only and woe unto anyone who didn't comply. At first, you had to admit his newfound confidence in his power was something to admire, covet even. That is until the sisters of the order were no longer safe from his wrath, then it became something to be feared. Copia had forgiven slips of the tongue and had given warnings that he said he would only offer once. If it happened again, however, there would be a severe punishment to follow.

Sister Claire was the first to be punished. Claire had always been hotheaded and often butted heads with her superiors for the sake of her own amusement. She had been no different with Copia two months ago. On your way to your weekly duty to clean the chapel, you stumbled upon Copia, two Nameless Ghouls, and Claire in the middle of the empty hall. You seemed to go unnoticed by all four. Curious, you slipped into one of the corridor's alcoves and peeked around the corner, as not to be seen. As you listened closely, you caught the tail end of a heated argument over the state of the abbey's gardens. Claire was on a tirade, ranting about how Copia's lack of dedication to employing a proper gardener made the grounds look like it was in shambles. She had addressed the new Papa as Cardinal several times, much to Copia's irritation. The former Cardinal stood back with folded arms and a frown while the hot-blooded sister babbled on about how this needed attention and how that needed fixing. She addressed him incorrectly the entire time. It amazed you how bullheaded Claire could be.

"Cara," Copia finally interrupted after Claire had called him Cardinal for the fifth time, his voice becoming stern. "I understand that you're upset, but I have made it more than clear that everyone within this church is to call me Papa. And frankly, I will not tolerate your blatant disregard for my rules."

"Don't you 'Cara' me!" Sister Claire shot back, " And I'll call you Papa when I'm damn well good and ready. But until then, I think I'll keep calling you Cardinal, Cardinal."

"Basta! Enough!" Copia shouted suddenly, grabbed Claire by the wrist, and dragged her behind him as he headed further down the hall, luckily away from your direction. "I have been patient with you, sister, with all of you. But no more!"

Claire resisted, trying to wrench from his grasp and yelling at him to let her go. Copia ignored this and tugged her along anyway. When she started cursing and slapping at him, Copia gestured for a Ghoul to take her about the waist and carry her. Claire shrieked like a banshee and kicked her legs in the air when she was lifted. Copia gave the Ghoul a sharp command for them to silence her, and the Ghoul clapped a hand over Claire's mouth, muffling the scream as they hauled her away. You watched the whole display in shock, unable to move or look away. When all four of them disappeared around a corner, you crept out from your hiding place on shaky legs. You quickly made your way to the chapel without encountering anyone else, and it was a relief to you. You tried to put what you saw out of your head, but as you tended to your regular duties, the sound of Claire's screams resonated in your head.

You didn't see Sister Claire again until late into the evening. She seemed no worse for wear, having neither a bruise nor scratch on her. But she was timid, quiet, and obedient, you noticed when Sister Imperator asked her to sweep and wash the floor, which she almost scurried to do. When the other sisters asked her where she had been, Claire just shook her head frantically. Her pretty face grew red, and a look of shame and fear that concerned you twisted her features.

"I can't tell you!" was all she said and nothing more.

It wasn't too long until other insubordinate sisters fell victim to Copia's fury. Each one disappeared into his chambers for hours at a time, and when they were set free, none of them spoke of what they went through. You could only speculate, and what you brewed up in your head terrified you. All manner of dark medieval tortures often raced by: pears of anguish, iron chairs, Spanish donkeys, breast rippers, and thumbscrews. You knew all of that was impossible, however. None of the other sisters had a mark on them when they returned; they barely even a hair out of place, so what kind of punishment was wicked enough to force them all into silence? Whatever it was, you tried so hard to avoid it. You never spoke out of turn, tended to your duties without complaint, you even baked a cake for Copia on his birthday. But despite all your effort, misfortune still befell you over a joke that wasn't even that funny. Your throat tightened as tears began to prickle behind your eyes, and you dreaded what kind of torment waited for you in this dark room.

You were almost lost in your contemplation of it all when you heard the heavy wooden door open. You saw the tall, lean figure of Copia enter the room and close the door behind him, a plate of food in one hand and a blood-red velvet bag in the other. He almost seemed like a specter, dressed in a figure-hugging black suit --the one that you said he looked handsome in to gain his favor. His face was bare of paint, save for his eyes. He had lined them with black, smudged eyeliner, making his mismatched gaze smoldering and intense.

He made his way to you with both items in hand. He stayed back a few feet, the velvet bag swinging slightly at his side. The faint aroma of roasted chicken found your nose, and the delectable smell of it made your mouth water. Copia gazed at you with narrow eyes, his expression unreadable. You lowered your eyes and sucked in a breath, petrified of what was to come. You waited for yelling, cursing, for the food to be thrown at you, anything, but Copia just muttered something under his breath, went to place the plate and bag on the bed, then returned to undo all your restraints. You stood there free with stiff, aching arms. You wanted to stretch them but didn't dare make any movement that Copia might disapprove of. You kept your eyes down, only bringing them up once to see Copia sit on the edge of the bed with the plate in his lap, then darting them back to the floor. You felt the subtle pressure of his gaze on you for what seemed like a long time.

"Come here." Copia finally broke the silence.

You obeyed and took a tentative step forward.

"No." He said sharply, making you freeze, "On your hands and knees. Crawl to me."

Your head jerked up, eyes wide in shocked disbelief. Your breathing hitched, and your heart started to hammer. You hesitated, and Copia frowned at you. He raised his gloved hands and slapped them together once, hard. It sounded like the cracking of a whip in the quiet. "Now, sister."

You let out a little yelp and dropped to your knees. You hurried as you crawled over to Copia, stopping just before his feet. He gave a hum of satisfaction.

"Ah, excellent. You're obedient. That is good, my dear. It will make your ordeal go more smoothly."

Ordeal. The word made you shudder.

"But first, you must be hungry, si? You've been waiting here a long time."

Your stomach let out another grumble. You said nothing. You kept your eyes fixed on the glossy leather of Copa's black shoes as your apprehension deepened. You didn't want to look up at him; all at once, he seemed large, mighty, and terrible, like he could crush you underneath those patent leather soles if he so desired. He could make you suffer, and no one would witness it. It was just you and Copia. You and Papa.

"Say 'yes, Papa' or 'no, Papa,'" Copia said. "And I'm sure I don't need to tell you to be respectful."

"I...I-" You stammered, then you swallowed hard, trying to compose yourself, "Yes, Papa."

"Good girl." He said. "Now, kneel up and look at me."

You did as commanded, and you realized as you looked up at him that you were crying. Through the blur of tears, you saw Copia's hand reach for your face. You flinched a little, then relaxed when you only felt the fingers wipe away your tears and smooth your hair back almost affectionately.

"Oh, come now. I have not been mean just yet, my dear. Don't cry." He soothed, "There will be plenty of time for that later, but if you're well behaved and do what I say, Papa will be gentle with you. Do you understand?"

You nodded, sniffling and letting Copia caress your face. It comforted you, if only a little bit.

"Answer me properly,"

"Yes, Papa. I understand." You said.

"Very good, very good," Copia said. He leaned down and pressed his lips to your forehead before letting you eat the slices of succulent chicken breast on the plate with your hands. After you finished, he took a sprig of green grapes and fed them to you one at a time. He watched in obvious amusement when you spat the seeds into your hand and timidly discarded them onto the plate, careful of every move you made. When he got to the last three, he took one and held it up just out of your reach. He smiled when you blinked up at him, confused.

"Up, cara," He said, "Show me a trick."

You bit your lip, blushing, and again, you hesitated. You shook your head before you realized what a mistake it was. Immediately, Copia took the plate, set it aside, and then gathered you up to toss you over his lap so that your legs dangled over the floor. You gasped in surprise and fear when he flipped your skirt to expose your panties. When you felt the sting of his gloved hand spank you hard, you couldn't help but let out a cry. One great slap after another fell on your buttocks, sounding thunderous in your ears. You heard yourself taking in sharp gasps of pain with each strike. His hand seemed solid and heavy like a paddle as it spanked you, over and over, hitting you on the right cheek, then the left, and then covering your thighs with smacks while your ass stung and throbbed. You clenched your teeth to stifle your cries, and when you tried in vain to wiggle away, Copia held you in place and rewarded you with more vigorous blows, swift ones that whipped you like a strap. And soon, you realized you were becoming frantic, tears streaming down your cheeks. You tried to be still, but your body squirmed and writhed of its own accord. Now Copia worked only the backs of your thighs, where the punishing hand lingered and struck hard until you were sure that the flesh there was red and inflamed.

"Papa, please!" You finally wailed and broke into choking sobs.

The blows stopped. You didn't move. You just shut your eyes and wept as Copia's hand now moved along your buttocks languidly. He stroked your thighs as if to soothe them.

"Now, do you see why I ask you to do as I say?" Copia crooned, "I can be cruel, sister. Much more than this, I assure you. The other sisters know what I can do, especially Sister Claire. She knows the worst of it. Lucifer's name, she was like a devil herself, all teeth and claws until I tamed her. The other Papas have spoilt her and the others rotten. Not just the sisters, but the brothers, too, and the priests, the bishops. They all have little to no manners, no respect. So I have to take it upon myself to teach them."

You shook against his legs as he told you this. He rubbed little circles in the small of your back, then he squeezed your buttocks, sending a rush of sensation along your body that made you flush. You thought of poor Sister Claire and what she must have gone through that was enough to break her. Vivid images of whipping belts, heavy wooden paddles, and flesh crisscrossed with angry welts made your stomach sink, so you stopped.

'I have to be good.' You thought. It was better to surrender than suffer the same fate as the others, better to leave with your good reputation with Copia intact. After all, he said he would be gentle if you obeyed, and you decided you would. You hoped he would keep his word, and you let your body slacken in resignation.

"I like to play games with them." Copia continued, "I like to order them around the room, fetching whatever I throw for them because it pleases me or whatever else suits my mood. Sometimes I even strap them down and use the paddle. But I never hurt them, not severely. I happen to be a reasonable man, after all. Oh, but that would be too hard for you, wouldn't it? You're too sweet for the paddle, too soft. It's just a pity you disobey me, call me names. Do you think yourself too good to call me by my proper title, sister? Too good to follow my direction?" His hand tightened threateningly on your thigh, then you felt it leave your skin, and you were terrified he might spank you again.

"No, Papa," You said in a panicked whisper.

"Do I need to punish you like the others?"

"No, Papa. I'll be good, I promise."

"Yes," Copia sighed, his hand now playing with your hair instead of punishing you, "You will be perfect for me, won't you?"

"Yes, Papa."

"Good."

Copia pulled you back up and set you on the floor. You had stopped crying, though your lips still trembled. You knelt there and awaited his command. Again, he took a grape and held it up for you. This time you didn't hesitate to take it from his fingers with your mouth. He held the next one high enough to make you raise yourself up on your heels to get it. He then tossed the last grape into the air, over your head so that it bounced and rolled a few feet away when it hit the floor.

"Fetch, little puppy." He commanded, a smirk playing on his lips.

You obeyed shyly. When you crawled back and dropped it into Copia's open hand, he let out a hearty laugh.

"You're easy to train." He said and popped the fruit into your mouth, "Perhaps I should make you my little pet when we're finished here."

You didn't really want to eat it, but you did anyway, seeds and all. Copia beamed at you, his smile genuinely kind.

"Lovely, my dear." He whispered, his voice low and sweet. Then he gathered you in his arms once more and kissed you deeply. It sent a shock through you, settling into a knot in your stomach that made you shiver against your will. Copia kissed the smoothness of your forehead, kissed your soft hairline, your eyelids, and the tip of your nose. They were tender, gentle, like butterflies that brushed against your skin with their silky wings, and you lifted your head to receive them. He kissed your cheeks, then returned to your parted lips. You let out little sighs as he kissed you despite your fear, which now melted away a little bit as your body seemed to soften all over. Copia moved and rose to stand, pulling you up with him into his embrace. He pulled you closer to his body once you were steady on your feet; his kisses left your face to explore along your jaw and the line of your throat. His slim arms were surprisingly strong as they held you, and his lips were soft. They tickled against the sensitive skin of your neck as they trailed down. His hands started to roam your body, stroking your hips, groping at your ass and the backs of your thighs. It sent delightful shivers along your skin and down your spine. It made you feel weak, dissolving, aroused. Any fear you felt a minute ago faded into a haze of sudden lust. You couldn't stop yourself from throwing your arms around his neck and moaning. The action made the kisses harder, more fervent. When you felt Copia open his mouth to bite you here and there as if to taste you, you whimpered, and your body melted all the more. You felt your breasts against his chest, and you wanted to press them to him harder. You almost did when Copia pulled away, slipping out of your arms. The loss of sensation was nearly gutting.

You stood there dazed, swaying, and taking in uneven breaths. Copia's own breath came heavy and deep as he straightened his clothes to disengage himself. You could see his arousal through the tightness of his pants, and you bit your lip. If only your punishment could be just this, but you knew it wouldn't be. Copia appeared to be fighting to contain himself, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Once he was composed, he let out a quiet laugh. It was almost musical in its softness. Your body burned as you watched him, aroused but at the same time fearful of punishment. You would do anything to please him, to keep him gentle like this, so you waited.

"Pardon me, cara. You gave in much faster than I anticipated, and I almost lost myself." Copia said, catching you in his gaze again. His lips spread slowly into a grin when he observed you flushed with desire. "And still, you wait for my command. I admit I didn't quite expect you to be as obedient as you are, and I would reward you, but I want to play one of my games with you first."

Before you could protest, he took the velvet bag off the bed, opened it, and plunged his hand inside. He pulled out a spiked leather collar that looked like it was meant for a large dog. A black leash was affixed to it. You felt your breath leave you when Copia undid the collar and eyed you with a deliberate leer. You swallowed, then lifted your head so that Copia could fasten it onto you. He shook his head.

"Not yet." He said, "Take off your clothes."

Your face burned as you obeyed. You took a few steps back and hurried to shed your dress, slip, shoes, and stockings, but you hesitated yet again once you were in your bra and panties. You felt so naked already, so vulnerable. You didn't know if you could bear it to be completely nude. You tried to shield yourself by bringing your hands up and wringing them. It did little to conceal you. Seeing this, Copia approached and kissed your temple.

"You can keep them on. Now, my little puppy..." He buckled the collar to fit snuggly around your neck and left the leash dangling between your breasts. "You have been very, very good so far, apart from your little slip of decorum, but I want to see just how obedient you can be. You know a well-trained dog always follows its master's commands, yes?"

An icy prickle crawled up your spine, sending shivers through your arms and making your heart clench in your chest before hammering hard again.

"Yes, Papa..." You said as expected though uncertainty and fear laced your voice. Copia rubbed your shoulders, his hands firm and soothing at the same time. His touch made you feel almost woozy, dreamy even in your unease.

"I will make it simple: Tonight, you're my pet, sister, and I am your master. As your master, I will give you commands, and you will do them as perfectly as possible to please me. Do what I tell you, and you will be rewarded. Disobey, and you will be punished. Ah, don't be afraid; I don't think you will disappoint me much, but..." Then he pressed closer to you, leaning in close to your ear so that you felt his breath caress your skin, "I confess I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy spanking that plump bottom of yours." His hand slid down and grabbed your ass before giving it a playful swat. You blushed. You felt the arousal rise in your core again. It flooded in, threatened to sweep you away in its erotic current, and you lowered your head, overcome by shyness. Copia lifted your chin and shook his head at you again.

"No. None of that." He admonished, "I want you to keep your gaze up and your manner attentive. And don't hide your body. I have been fair enough to let you keep your underwear on. Now let me see you." He took both your wrists and forced them down to your sides, then prodded your shoulders so that you straightened your back. You stood erect and grew embarrassed now that your posture didn't hide you. Copia nodded in approval, "Yes, much better."

His eyes roamed up and down your body, taking every inch of you in. You wanted so desperately to cover your stomach, your chest, to tear off the collar. Of course, you didn't dare any of it. You couldn't imagine what he would do to you if you were foolish enough to disobey him again; you didn't even want to think about it.

For a moment, Copia seemed to be thinking, then he smiled. His eyes gleamed like gems in the lamplight. He took the leash and wrapped it around his hand a few times to make it short.

"Clasp your hands behind your back and keep them there. And open your legs wider." He said, then nudged your feet apart until they lined up with your shoulders. You kept your hands behind your back as commanded. It was worse than keeping your hands at your sides. This position arched your body a little more and forced your breasts out. You felt dreadfully exposed, and what was even more excruciating was having your legs apart. But what could you do other than what was commanded? Could Copia be so cruel as to punish you even if you threw yourself at his feet and begged for his mercy? You weren't sure, and you didn't want to risk it. He would have his way, and there was nothing you could do about it. Then you wondered, did you even mind? The pleasure that had built now ebbed away slightly, but it wasn't far from reaching you again. If Copia touched you, it would surely wash over you again. Part of you wanted to drench yourself in that pleasure, to swim and melt in it completely. A corner in your mind wished with all your might that Copia would let you; the rational part of you recoiled at your desire, it being so undignified and sudden. You tried to let your head drop a little, and immediately Copia pulled the leash up with a quick tug that snapped it back in position.

"I said to keep your head up," He said, his voice low, menacing. His hand didn't drop or loosen the leash, so your head remained up. "I will not tell you again, sister. Now be still and don't move until I tell you to."

Copia gazed down at you with such ferocity that you stood rigid and kept your lips pressed together tight. The new Papa was frightening looking but very handsome in the dim light that made his face angular, his eyes even more smoldering. You marvelled at him for a moment, then with a shock, you felt Copia's free hand on you. You felt his fingers trail down the side of your neck and down to your breasts. He grabbed at your right breast, cupping it as if to feel its weight, then kneaded it slowly until it sent shivers through you. His thumb brushed over your now hardening nipple through the material of your bra. He did the same with your left. He then imprisoned the nipple and squeezed it rhythmically between his fingers before reaching for the other to give it the same treatment. A rush of shameful pleasure shot through you and settled between your legs, making your sex grow warm as if it could also blush, and you held back a moan with great effort. Copia pulled on the leash, making you lean slightly closer to him.

"Kiss me," He whispered. As soon as he commanded, you moved to catch his lips in a deep kiss almost too quickly, still keeping your hands behind your back. Copia sucked at your mouth, then opened it with his tongue as his hand went between your open legs and, without warning, stroked your sex through your panties. You uttered a sharp cry against Copia's lips before you could stop yourself. Your body immediately acknowledged him with a twitch of your hips and a soft discharge of fluids while you struggled to swallow another moan. You squirmed, resisting the urge to close your legs with everything you had. Copia broke away from your lips to kiss your earlobe, then he nibbled at it as his hand continued to stroke you. His fingers moved in slow circles now, pressed harder until they found the sensitive mound of your clitoris through the moistening cloth. You gave a soft, open-mouthed gasp and your hips jerked forward in supplication. You wanted to grind yourself on his fingers, rock your hips for more, but the sheer gracelessness of it seemed too much for you. Besides, you weren't sure if it was something he would approve of or chastise, so you stayed as still as you could, your legs starting to shake under your weight. Copia pulled back and smiled at your flushing face, then pulled the crotch of your panties to the side and glided two of his gloved fingers along the delicate folds of your labia. The fingers teased at the moist lips and continued to massage your clit in more circles, even slower ones that drew out the sensation. Breathy moans spilled from your lips. The pleasure washed through you, mounting and mounting as he worked you. Beneath your ecstasy, you felt a twinge of embarrassment at how quickly you had become wet for him. It was forgotten in an instant once Copia slid a finger inside you, then a second. You shuddered and cried aloud. Your sex quivered at the sudden penetration, and your cry melted into a long, low moan. Copia kissed the corner of your mouth.

"That's it," Copia said softly, pulling his fingers out, then sliding them back in slowly. Then again and again. "Don't resist me. Be a good girl for your Papa."

Your hips moved forward at the sound of his voice. Once so frightening, but now smooth and rich as velvet. He was so close to you now, and for the first time, you could smell his cologne. It was warm, spicy, and delicious to you, almost intoxicating. Your eyes stared through heavy lids at Copia's lips. They were full yet strong, set into a faint smile that struck at a cord of desire in you that made the penetration even more pleasurable. You wanted to kiss and kiss those lips until you had your fill. You felt your sex start to throb, and you began to gasp, but before it became too much for you, Copia dropped the leash, withdrew his fingers, and pushed you back, that seductive little smile still there. You let out a disappointed moan that would have been humiliating had you done it to anyone else.

"That's enough for now," Copia said, "Get down on your knees."

Your mind whirled as you let yourself float down until you sat on your heels on the floor, your legs still slightly apart. Your thighs trembled under you, and your throbbing craved relief. You kept your hands behind your back. You feared that if you let them fall to your sides, you would lose control and throw yourself at Copia in desperation. The only thing you allowed yourself to do was writhe, clasping your hands as tight as possible. You felt the wetness of your sex between your legs, sticky, slick, and hot.

You let out a sigh, looking up at Copia, your lips parted, your body wanting more. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor.

"All fours." He ordered.

You fell onto your hands and knees. You arched your back, your buttocks lifted as if to be presented. Your body tingled in arousal at doing so, knowing that Copia could see you doing it. You wiggled your hips a little bit, and you were shocked at your own boldness.

'Fuck it, I don't care. I don't care.' You thought.

Copia stepped forward, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat.

"Good girl," He said, and he crouched down to take a closer look at you, "Does my little puppy want more?"

"Yes, Papa." You said softly, "Please."

"Then I think you should clean up the mess you made." Copia held up the hand that touched you. The gloved fingers were still glistening with your juices. He touched them to your lips, and you took them into your mouth without a thought. You sucked on them, letting your tongue swirl around the digits. The taste of leather and your own fluids mixed with your saliva, and when Copia pulled them away, you swallowed. The flavor lingered, both tantalizing and odd to you.

Copia stood and made an airy gesture to your bottom.

"Wag your hips for me." He said, and he laughed when he saw your face go red, "It's no use being shy now, sister. Unless you want me to take my belt off and make good use of it. You don't want that, do you?"

Your breath caught in your throat. You shook your head.

"That's what I thought. Now, put your face to the floor and swing those hips."

Your face flamed as you lowered it until you all but kissed the floor, your ass high up in the air. You churned your hips and hoped it was pleasing. You felt Copia take the leash from the floor and give it a quick tug.

"Faster. Arch your back more."

You lowered as you were told to do and arched your back almost uncomfortably, your cheek sealed to the floor. A groan escaped you at the touch of the cold stone on your chest. Then in utter submission, any sense of pride, if there was indeed any in the first place, left you, and you wagged your buttocks back and forth like an excited dog wagging its tail for its master. Above you, you heard the creak of the bedsprings as Copia sat. You felt another tug on the leash, and you lifted your head. Copia sat back on the bed with his legs spread apart, the bulge of his erection in full view. Your sex seemed to swell at the sight of it.

"You please me very well, sister," Copia said. He tugged on the leash again to bring you forward. "No more playing. Come here, let Papa reward you."

"Papa..." You whispered. You hurried to him on your hands and knees. You kissed the tops of his shoes on an impulse, then his ankles. Copia didn't protest, so you kissed his knees and dared to run your hands along his inner thighs and kiss them as well. His thighs were rather shapely and solid under his clothes, pleasant to touch. When your hand rubbed over his groin, Copia let out a soft moan. Encouraged, you leaned over and kissed the waist of his pants, still rubbing the bulging sex.

"Undo them." Copia's hand stroked your hair.

You didn't hesitate to undo the button and zipper of his pants. And now you were staring at his cock through his boxers, a small wet spot formed on the dark cloth. Again, you leaned down, placing a little kiss there, then you darted your tongue out and licked it. The hard cock twitched in its prison as if it asked to be free. You looked up at Copia with lustful, inquiring eyes, and you were delighted when he nodded at you.

"Yes, cara. You can touch it."

You pulled the elastic fabric down until his cock sprung free from its confinement. It stood tall and thick. A bead of clear fluid seeped from the tip, and you stared at it, surprised by its length and size. You took it in your hand, stroked it, felt its hardness and warmth. You couldn't help but wonder if the others knew Copia was quite well-endowed. You caressed the shaft up and down, tightening your hand every so often at the base of Copia's cock. Copia moaned as you did so, his head lolling back slightly. Your heart fluttered in your chest. It felt good to know that you gave him pleasure, that you pleased him enough to avoid his wrath and to even reward you. What an honor this must have been! A ripple of relaxation washed over you. You closed your eyes and took the tip of the cock into your mouth, suckling on it before taking it deeper in.

Copia gasped above you and bucked his hips. The action drove the shaft even deeper into your mouth, and you sucked on it hard, bobbing your head with a steady rhythm. It nudged the back of your throat, droplets of salty liquid mixed with the taste of his skin. Copia's thighs shivered, and his breath quickened. You moaned as you continued to push up and down on his cock until his hips started to shake.

"Fuck, sister," Copia grunted, "That's enough!"

He grabbed your hair and pulled your head away. He didn't pull you hard enough to hurt, but you still gasped once you felt the fingers grip your hair. When he released you, he motioned for you to stand. You obeyed.

"Take everything off and lay on the bed." He told you, almost breathless.

The collar was the first to go; you unbuckled it and threw it aside, happy to be rid of the awful thing. You unclasped your bra and let it slip from your shoulders. Though the air was cool on your now naked breasts, your nipples grew hot and erect. A sudden, inexplicable desire to entice Copa came to you as you lowered and stepped out of your panties.

'Do it.' Your lust-clouded mind ordered you, and you did.

When you straightened, you locked eyes with Copia as you ran your hands over your breasts, pushing them together and biting your lip. A dark look flickered across Copia's face, and he stood with a low growl. He snatched your upper arm and yanked you to him.

"You dare tease me in my own room after I've given you an order?" He hissed, then gave a wicked smile, "You must like being punished, sister. But we will save that for another time."

He turned to fling you down onto the bed. You fell back onto the mattress; the sheets and coverlet were soft and plush underneath you. You had little time to enjoy it before Copia descended on you with rough kisses, his hips grinding against yours, his cock prodding at your thigh. His hand grabbed and kneaded your breast hard. But you wanted him so badly that you scarcely noticed how tight his fingers dug into your flesh. He then gave it a cruel slap that drew a loud moan from you. It was an exciting mix of pain and pleasure, and you wanted more.

"Again." You pleaded. You arched your back to offer your chest to him, and you wrapped your legs around his hips. Copia rose from his kisses. It was his turn to lock eyes with you as he lifted his hand and struck you again, just a little bit harder than the first time. You whimpered and squirmed underneath him. Copia positioned and moved his hips so that the shaft of his cock rubbed along your slick pubic lips, grazing your sensitive, engorged clitoris. You strained against him, tried to rock your hips to feel more of that rigid member. Copia looked amused by your torment.

"Tell me what you want." He leaned down again and sucked at your nipples, bit at them playfully with his teeth. Your hands went to cradled his head to you, little sighs and moans leaving you unrestrained.

"Fuck me." You murmured into his hair.

As soon as the words left your mouth, Copia rose, brought his cock to your opening, then drove it into you in one fluid motion. You cried out. Your head fell back, and your body seemed to explode in pleasure. His cock was a thick, piercing thing inside you, bathing in your juices as he drew back and plunged into you. His thrusts were brutal, delivered in almost snapping motions that made the bedsprings creak under you. You heard yourself unleash loud, guttural moans with each solid thrust, wholly overcome by denied passion. Copia buried his face in your neck, his breath making the skin hot as he panted. The agonizing pleasure rose in your core, swelling, ready to erupt in a shower of sparks behind your skull, in your loins. Then all at once, your wet sex tightened around Copia and throbbed violently until you were all but screaming in ecstasy. You clutched Copia while the spasms rolled through you, and you let your legs spread wide, allowing Copia to slam into you unhindered until he also gave a small cry and shuddered above you. Hot, gushing fluid flowed into you and lay you back with your chest heaving in gasps.

Copia pulled out and collapsed beside you. You turned on your side to face him; his features were soft-looking, almost angelic in their exhaustion. His eyes drooped closed, his forehead glistened with sweat. You brushed his disheveled hair back, leaned close, and kissed his brow, tasting the saltiness on your lips before pulling away. Copia opened his eyes, gazed at you lovingly, then took you and cradled you to his chest. The fabric of his suit felt luxurious on your naked skin in the afterglow, and you snuggled close to it, sighing. You both stayed that way for a few minutes, with Copia threading his fingers through your hair. You yawned, and your eyes started to feel heavy.

"We can't fall asleep," Copia said, shaking you a bit to rouse you, "I've kept you here long enough, and the other sisters must be out of their minds with worry by now."

"Yes, Papa." You nodded, sat up, and winced a little. Your privates ached from their hard riding. You tried to hide it, only making a slight noise in your throat. It seemed you couldn't fool Copia, however. He also got up and rubbed your lower back, kissing your cheek.

"Was Papa too rough with you, cara?" He asked. You shook your head.

"No, Papa, I'll be fine. It'll pass." You reassured him.

"Alright, but I will have Cirrus check on you later tonight anyway," He patted your hip, "And what happened here must be a secret. You know this, right? Otherwise, I'd have to gag you and march you through the grounds. It's a little, eh, display, you could say, that I've come up with to officially demonstrate my authority to the others. I have yet to put it into practice, and It'd be unfortunate to have you be its first victim."

You bowed your head, not in fear, but again in reassurance.

"Yes, Papa. I won't tell anyone." You said obediently. You crawled out of bed and gathered your clothes. Copia zipped and buttoned up his pants, then stood as well and straightened his hair.

"Good. Now, get dressed and get back to the convent. Tell the Ghouls to run you a bath when you get there. Say it's my orders, and they'll do it."

"Okay." A bath sounded lovely to you as you redressed. If only Copia could join you...

"And sister," Copia's voice came low, playful. You turned, and you saw his eyes gleam at you. Your pulse quickened.

"Yes, Papa?" You asked.

"Don't forget that I said I would save your other punishment for next time." He winked at you, and your heart soared.

"I won't." You smiled.

"Good girl."

You bid him good night, then left his chamber, secretly hoping that that time would be soon.

#the band ghost #cardinal copia #papa emeritus iv #ghost bc #popia #copia x reader #copia x f reader #lee's writing #its 1:30 am and im screaming bc ive been working on this fic for months lmao

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hhjs · 4 years

Text

forget me not.

♡ based on — "During times of war. I want to say: I only love you, And I cling you, Like the peel clings to a pomegranate, Like the tear clings to the eye, Like the knife clings to the wound." and the song nightlife by daydream masi.

♡ summary — Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

wherein, putting your heart on the line for the sake of doing favours isn’t a frequent component in your schedule. But what happens when this favour is asked for by the boy you may or may not have fancied for far too long?

You accept it.

For a very embarrassing reason, really, which is — you think Hwang Hyunjin needs you.

♡ pairing— hwang hyunjin x reader

♡ word count— 8.8k whoopsies

♡ genre and alternate universe — angst, fluff + hanahaki au.

♡ author's note— this was supposed to be a drabble and then i sort of lost my fucking mind ehe...also this is easily the worst thing i have ever written im so sorry aaa but this is a lil present from my end hahaha

♡ warnings— suggestive content, vomiting, mention of blood. allusions to depression and heartbreak.

Amongst other things, you're extremely bad at saying 'no'. You don't mean the word per se...but the underlying connotation of this very monosyllable which may come at the expense of letting another person down.

It's sort of stupid, you understand, your friends have constantly voiced their worries for your extremely complacent nature more often than you'd think actually. But it all goes over your head. See — old habits really do die hard.

When you're eight, this very defect takes you to dreadful saxophone lessons your mum spoke so highly of. When you're 15, it gets you called to the principal's office for flashing Jeongin trigonometric functions in Mister Choi's pop quiz, when you're older, things are definitely no different.

The passenger seat is occupied, Hyunjin's holding a tangled muffler to his suede jacket clad chest. At 21, he's become someone you used to know. A friend of a friend, Felix's to be very specific. But the man in question, who was supposed to be his ride, passes off this duty for kegstands and you just happen to be the designated driver for the night, shuffling Jisung beside Changbin and Chan, who claims to be 'sober' even though he's half asleep.

Hyunjin is uncharacteristically quiet.

There's a polite smile on rendered your way as your eyes meet. A small curvature along his plump bottom lip, tighter around the edges. Still this simple formality is so beautiful that you feel something inside you come alive.

When Jisung starts snoring, you flip on the radio and Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here comes on.

Your fingers feel numb when they come to tap out a rhythm to the track. It's nice. Tingling guitar riffs swelling, David Gilmour's gruffy voice pours in from faulty speakers. The more the song progresses, the more you find yourself attempting to think about anything that will distract you from the boy beside you, in the flesh no less.

So late at night, the main road is eerily silent. Cobblestones reflecting the sound of tires thumping against its layout, streetlights blinking at you from their drooping heads. Across the street, a baker is tucking away leftover bread and buskers are packing up their beat up guitars, a man in his late 50's pulling his blanket to his nose as he rests a head full of gray hair on the cold pavement.

You glance at Hyunjin from the corner of your eye and find that his staggering smile has completely disappeared. Now there's a distant glaze in his eyes. It's like he's here, in this moment, with you, but at the same time, he's somewhere else.

Under the impression you've done something wrong, you immediately begin to panic. But the thing is, you don't actually know if you should ask. Would it constitute as crossing a line if you had anyway?

Hyunjin covers his mouth with a sleeve, muffled retching building beyond fabric.

The reasonable assumption is obvious. It's not abnormal to be nauseous when you've got one too many drinks in you. He motions for you to pull over, incoherent sentences practically melding together, words forming and dissipating between choking fits.

You scramble to dig out a bottle of mineral water you habitually deposit in the glove compartment, offering him the tissue first. Ears perking up in satisfaction when a garbled thanks escapes his parted lips. But then... something weird happens.

As your eyes flicker to unintentionally glance at the contents discarded on the pitch grey sidewalk, you freeze in your seat.

You were never a big believer of superstition, not someone who buys into myths only meant for the fiction genre. Sure, you can be gullible sometimes...but what's happening falls no way under the realistic category.

The lethal Hanahaki disease, only inherited by some unlucky descendants, every moment in your head prior to this one, was something that's obviously non existent.

Yet... there's so much blood, too much blood attesting to your blatant ignorance. The petals are of a white rose, smudging together in swirls of grotesque crimson in mimicry of a sheen of red sticking to the inner corners of his lips. It has happened before, you can tell, from just how unsurprised he looks.

Hyunjin's stare flits to commit every detail of your to memory, in what only seems a quick study of gauging your forthcoming reaction, though even before you can produce a coherent thought, he says,

"You can't tell anyone." His voice drops a few octaves as though he's afraid your snoring friends in the back might've noticed. "Please."

Hyunjin's face softens by the slightest, contrary to his firm demand, there lies a desperation you couldn't overlook.

In retrospect, what you're about to tell is ultimately a promise that'd come back to bite you in due time. However, see now, you're extremely bad at saying no. Somehow you're even worse when it comes to Hyunjin. So you blink, turn the radio off and say,

"Okay."

—

The pool is preheated. For that you're most thankful.

Frankly, you couldn't imagine what it'd be like being pushed into a chilly body of water mid winter. Not that it's pleasant otherwise, you can't swim.

Well at 15, you hadn't quite learned to. The other kids have scurried inside to hog freshly baked Snowman biscuits Seungmin's mum is renowned for.

Then and you think you'll never quite forget it, Hyunjin's wearing an orange power ranger t shirt, it's darker now that it's wet, his glasses are marked with uneven splatters. His face scrunches up at the sudden splash of wetness engulfing his body. He wasn't planning to get in the water.

"Hold on tight." He says, wounding your arms around his neck, your calves tighter to his sides to support your shivering body. Back then Hyunjin's hair was black, cropped short and swept to the side, he smells like fabric softener and skittles. A water donut is discarded in the middle of the pool.

Everybody you know and don't know, from the birth of superheroes stuck in comic books to valiant protagonists behind fuzzy television screens, has this inherent desire to be saved. From the world, from themselves. No, no, it doesn't have to be a grand gesture, swooping them off of their feet from the grasp of surly men in dark alleys, sometimes it's really just simple. Sometimes people save you in the most ordinary way there is.

The weight of your form on his bright pink water donut while he stood on his toes to merely rest his elbows so the item wouldn't flip, a small act, certified this very claim, had not the nimble touch of his cold fingers, brushing away wet hair from your face, to anxiously ask if you're okay met the purpose. He talks to you like the sound of his voice has the power to injure you.

You nod slowly. Like this, it feels like you're going to be.

Hyunjin pouts, looking perfectly unconvinced. He paddles the pair of you to steel stairs spiraling into the pool, so he can stand without just his nose peeking out of the water, he looks at you once again, a wrinkle between his dark, arched eyebrows and says solemnly, "Jisung's such an idiot sometimes, isn’t he?"

But isn't he your friend? You want to ask. Something stops you though —his tone tells you you aren't the only one to fall victim to Jisung's practical jokes. Not that they were offensive or anything. Han Jisung, the same person who twiddles his thumbs when he wants the last chicken nugget and cries every time you watch Howl's Moving Castle together, genuinely doesn't mean any harm. It's just that...when he's comfortable with people, who aren't many, he tends to do a lot of dumb things. Dumb, endearing things that Minho will kill him for someday.

"A little bit," You mumble under your breath. Heat rising to your face at the possibility of Hyunjin being concerned for you. He sounds almost angry. "Thanks by the way."

It's rather pitiful to remember. Because with time, Hyunjin's world becomes so big that your interaction stands to be too insignificant to not forget. Before you know it, he's the shooting guard of your school's basketball team, just a handsome face who dates better girls, makes better friends. It's superficial and a little sad.

No, no, a little sad is an understatement actually.

To see someone you understood intimately, a boy who always described details too much just to stray from the main story, a boy with too many emotions bubbling to an awfully animated surface; someone who was passionate, sensitive and so nauseatingly big hearted...change into a man who is indubitably untouchable...is tragic. At least.

Yet funnily enough — you can't quite imagine a world without Hwang Hyunjin. His ringing laughter rippling through loud ambiences, his distant humming of Christmas carols whilst he absently skimmed through spines of children's novels and his eyes glimmering in adoration whenever he spoke of something he loved — Without him, you imagine, there would be a massive deficiency in your world, in the world. Like if birthday cakes came with the biggest slice carved out.

Hyunjin grins, a big sort of candid grin that turns his eyes into upturned crescents. His previous temperament long forgotten. Suddenly, this utterly atrocious happening seems to not be so bad. Suddenly you don't mind that Jisung is an idiot sometimes.

"Of course."

—

Hyunjin is not perfect. Hyunjin is no prince charming.

People don't know this. They don't understand this.

He ends up paying for dinner when he's out with a big crowd even though they were supposed to split the bill, he ends up crying when he gets angry and he is an abysmal liar, in every sense of the phrase. Hardly ever succeeding to hide his emotions when he should. When he was a kid his parents reminded him that it's a good thing to be unapologetically himself, that being honest is a good thing.

But as your eyes meet from across an ocean of people quagmired by crunchy leaves, sticky remnants of rain and his ex girlfriend who he now claims to be okay with being friends with, on her toes to poke his cheek whilst Chan's arm wraps around her waist, the soft white roses ornamented on a bow she loves wearing all the time, he thinks it's far from an agreeable trait to have.

Actually whilst you balance a newspaper under your arm and bring your coffee to your lips, it's like you're looking through him, past his skin, his flesh, something secret inscribed on his bones, embedded into his soul. You know everything, you know everything, you know everything.

The thought itself... surprisingly enough, doesn't appal him.

Hyunjin raises his palm in the air, feeling the autumn prickling against his skin. He waves at you.

—

Working at a library can be taxing. But it sure has its perks.

You can just about turn the place upside down and put it all back together without getting in trouble. Albeit another reason, besides your profession could be that Minho owns the place. Frankly, he may or may not have been the only cause behind your employment. It's hard to tell now that your co-workers really do recognise you've a knack for arranging things.

But to you, your job is very personal. A precious thing which relieves you from various worldly tensions. Velvety spines under your roughened fingertips, the burst of minted pages hitting your face every time you walk in, your love for reading, for a world of stories is so immense that you think you wouldn't have traded it even if your life depended on it.

For a disease that's not very well known, it's ironic how an entire section of mythology is dedicated to it. Past closing hours, amongst many novels mounted on your desk, you fixate on the one that made most sense. There's a few things you've picked up in common from all of them though — the hanahaki disease is extremely rare, it doesn't affect all those who suffer from the qualms of unrequited love.

Possible remedy according to findings entail

growths can be surgically removed, if the patient consents to eradication of memories of their loved ones.

Clanking of keys alerts incoming and you pause your tapping pen to look up.

"Burning the midnight oil, are we?"

Minho leans against the doorframe, he's half yawning, half talking and fully concerned for you.

"Yeah, looks like I'm gonna be a while." Your monotonous tone provides that you are not paying a lot of attention. You blurt without looking up. "Are you leaving?"

"No, still haven't finished archiving for that Pfizer project...But I'm going to get a bite to eat..." His inky eyes remain on you as his tone falters, "You want anything?"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"Wow you're like...really uh invested." He tilts his head in thought, "You seeing someone again?"

You know Minho long enough to know he has a teasing side to him, from diaper days to play dates ending in pillow fights because he kept offering you his last Pringle just to pop it into his stupid smirking mouth — but you have no idea where he's going with this.

So you look up, finally. Furrowing your brows.

"No. What does that have to do with anything?"

He shrugs, "I haven't seen you concentrate so hard since you dumped Jeongin."

Your right eye twitches. Because you know exactly what he's referring to, and simultaneously, for the sake of your well-being, you much prefer being in denial. "What?"

"C'mon. Remember how you always ended up doing his homework?" He reminds you. "It's like when you like someone, you go out of your way to do charitable stuff for them. But...this? Too much. Even for you."

You ignore Minho's comment. To the world, Hwang Hyunjin's place in your life is not significant. After all this is the most natural undulation in the vicissitudes of life — for someone who once was your friend to eventually drift apart, to become a has been. It's too hard to explain why you care. After all this time.

"I was just being nice." You narrow your eyes, unimpressed. "Clearly this concept is lost on some people."

"Sure you are, bud. If being 'nice' is synonymous with whipped." Of course, there's a smug grin gracing his pouted lips that tempts you to fling something at him. Not that you can though. Seeing as Minho breaks out into a full fledged sprint, his singsongy voice a thinning echo bouncing off of shelves and windows and doors.

Still somehow his footsteps manage to travel through walls, permeating into your office with such great amplitude that you could be bamboozled into thinking he hasn't left at all. Or maybe you've stopped paying attention, your eyes zoom in on any other helpful detail you can put to use in wrapping your head around what you have witnessed firsthand.

At the same time, you can't really ignore how hungry you're feeling just from the mention of a bite to eat. So when Minho's shadow forms again on the page you've been 'reading' for the last few seconds you sense a gigantic wave of relief washing over you.

"You know what I changed my—" slamming the book shut, you blink against scanty provision of light, with raise your head and a bleary vision, recognise him in an instant. Except...it isn't Minho. "mind..."

The only source of brightness is a small emerald lamp perched on the corner of your desk, light green catches onto one of the ornamented corners and speckles of golden caress his supple skin gently. You hadn't realised how cold it might've been outside until you see how heavily dressed Hyunjin was, a long overcoat worn over woollen sweater, a Santa hat and muffler pulled to his chin. It's no one other than your boss himself who has given him directions to your office, you know this, Hyunjin has never been inside before.

So when he marvels absently, you sense yourself feeling a little self conscious about not cleaning up. All around you, a comforter and love seat pushed against the window, cigarette butts discarded in ashtray and then...the books strewn before you tell him you practically live here.

For some reason, Hyunjin only seems to loosen up at the spectacle.

"Hi." He says finally.

"Hi..." you arrange the reading materials quickly to one side so you can rest your elbows. A small (successful) attempt made to hide your research. "Something up?" You say, but what you really mean is, what are you doing here?!

Did he suspect you were going to tell on him? Right that's it, that must be it, you tell yourself, believing, knowing, of all the years Hwang Hyunjin has known of you he has never been one to care about your whereabouts.

"I just...um," He starts, forwarding his mitten clad hands. It's the back of a crumpled coffee cup on which straight handwriting reads a bucket list...of sorts. You immediately understand that his coming is an act of impulse. Urgency of living every moment like it's slipping through it's fingers, that he just needed to tell the only person who knows, be it by accident.

Hyunjin clears his throat. "I wanna do all this before I die."

In lieu of giving an instant response, baffled, you gawp at him. Despite knowing, hearing Hyunjin say it out loud somehow makes everything...too real.

It's as though someone's reached inside your throat, pulled your heart out and crushed it with their bare hands. Hyunjin, the boy who smelled like fabric softener and skittles and wore power ranger shirts, the boy with the fantastic smile and cold fingers, is dying. You won't let him. You can't let him.

You thumb along the numbers scribbled in hasty penmanship, look up and blink rapidly, "Okay," you say, a small whisper, barely there words. "That's okay."

Even with the hat covering tips of ears, you could tell the same faint blush coating his cheeks had rushed to that particular area. His eyes drift off to the sight of pens discarded inside a wooden holder because he can feel your gaze on him. "and I...I need your help."

"Alright."

Hyunjin's eyes widen to a great degree, he sits straighter, as if he hadn't expected you to comply so quickly.

And honestly? Neither had you.

It's quiet. Awkward.

"You know it's not like I haven't thought about dying. I just figured I'd get to grow old first, settle down, have kids and all that," A wry laugh escapes his parted lips. "Everything's happening too fast."

You hesitate, thinking he's making a mistake. Frankly he shouldn't feel obligated to give you an explanation.

"You...you don't have to tell me."

"No—I mean...can I?" He gives you a sheepish look, disliking his own whimsical tone, somehow endearing still. You find yourself wondering how long he had to keep his burdens to himself, not just pertaining to his illness, but everything. His dreams, his hopes, his fears. Anything which requires a certain amount of depth. And you almost ask him, the question sitting at the tip of your tongue, yet the realisation rather simple, stops you. Maybe you've mistranslated 21 year old Hyunjin all along — moulding himself into someone who's convenient around people who only liked him for who he appeared to be, maybe even with all that popularity, parties and glamour, he's just...lonely.

You push your reading glasses into your hair, press your knuckles under your chin and hum in consent.

He shifts in his seat, "Have you ever... been in love?"

You release an amused huff. Let your eyes linger on him for a long minute.

"Once."

Hyunjin half expects you to laugh. Poke fun at him for his melodramatic backstory. That's the sole reason why he doesn't tell his friends (funny, for people he considers close, they seem to know not much about him or care to know, that is. ). But you... you look at him with something in your eyes that tells him the rubbish reasons he posited makes all the sense in the world. Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

—

Midnight rendezvous.

As someone who has lived a fairly extraordinary life, Hwang Hyunjin's bucket list is bafflingly ordinary. He's more of a finding joy in small things kind of a person, punctilious at best.

Things change. People notice. They hesitate, whisper about you and last night while you were out on last minute cheap wine run, the grocerer, a girl who looks around sixteen asks you if you're dating Hyunjin. Underneath the thinly veiled curiousity, there's something like anger dripping from her words.

You furrow your eyebrows in simple insinuation that it's weird for a stranger to take interest in your life. Maybe it was written on your face, the fact that you're a dying man's beck and call is for reasons far more complicated than it looks.

You go to his parties. Greet him as a friend would and not just for the sake of maintaining formalities. He comes to the library more times than he does, waits for you to get off work so you can check something off the list at least. People notice. People understand. Hyunjin's different around you. He's bright, talkative when he forgets to contain himself. You sense your heart swelling with pride just at the understanding that he can be himself around you.

You drive to the beach, sit in your trunk and drink straight out of the bottle.

Hyunjin laughs a little. Suspends his feet in the air. With time, he's gotten paler, exhausted. "Rough day?"

You hum.

"Very. Our children's collection is usually low in stock around the weekends."

Hyunjin crosses his arms over his chest. Curious.

"And?"

"And if I say I got yelled at by a toddler would you believe me?"

Hyunjin feigns contemplation, even with the realisation that his body is becoming less and less cooperative, he manages to remain perfectly cheerful.

"I can actually," he grins, "At that age, I was a real pain in the ass."

"Were?"

Your smile is just a slight curl against the bottle's mouth as he grumbles under his breath about your 'insensitive' remark.

You think of your life after Hyunjin, think of his absence like a gaping hole you'll never be able to fill out. It makes you sick to your stomach.

—

Bake something from scratch.

Hyunjin's face twists in apparent thought, eyebrows rising. A pink tongue poked against his cheek, whilst he chews carefully, trying really hard not to flash an accidental reaction whilst you clasp your butter and oat flour soiled hands together, some of the batter on your cheek, neck to anticipate his answer like your will to live depends on it.

You ask yourself how it got to this. Why you didn't care that you were awake so early on a Sunday morning with flour powdering every kitchen appliance in sight in spite of being awfully restrictive about who you let into your kitchen. But it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter because it's nice like this.

Hyunjin has his hair pulled away from his bare face, a mole under his eye, a small birthmark on the back of his ear.

When you first met, you thought he was a kind of handsome that couldn't be real. Something formidable about it. Only destined to exist behind fuzzy television screens and flashy magazines.

But in retrospect, you realise, that that's not true at all.

If you look close enough, if you really pay attention, there's a softness underneath, something goofy, something warm, the sharp jut of his nose circling into a soft button, his eyes are big, black and his mouth jutted out into a natural pout, he looks innocent, like he doesn't quite realise the extent of his charms.

"It's..." His soft voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you look up to find his eyes glimmering jovially. Every time it surprises you, the lack of regret in them and the abundance of nonchalance. You wonder what it means to love someone like that, to love someone to the point of martyrdom. It shouldn't be like this. "perfect,"

"This is like, the only batch we didn't burn, right?"

You snort, "Yeah." Fully turn to him, "You know what they say, fifth time's the charm."

Hyunjin's laugh, you think, is so contagious that it makes it an imperative to smile in return. In shaky compartments the sound comes, like being 8, laying wide-eyed in a paddling pool and staring up at a crayon blue sky, raindrop rippling beyond all that noiseless water. His eyes curve to upturned crescents, an unconscious hand covering up the seams of his lips whilst he shakes his head. You don't even notice when he starts speaking again.

"Huh?"

"I said you got a little...something..."

You almost lose a fraction of your sanity when his nimble fingers come to wrap around your wrist while you hold onto the spatula employed into the whole snickerdoodle batter mixing business, a liberated hand coming up to gently wipe your cheek. It means everything to you. And nothing to him.

Later, when you're alone at night, really alone, you put your palm to your chest and feel the unsteady beat of your heart. A warning, a reminder. I can't. I can't. I can't.

—

You hold Hyunjin's hair up. His hands resting on the cold toilet seat, he's whimpering and bleeding. It happens every time he sees Haseul, or something which reminds him of her. Like the song.

This time she's drunk. And it's because she impulsively rises to her toes and presses a tender kiss to Chan's lips.

Hyunjin's just a feet away, across students and solo cups and streaks of neon falling irregularly through his line of sight.

He can never confess, not to her. The last thing Hyunjin wants is for her to feel bad for him. To say she feels the same as an act of service. He tells you. You understand. Somehow... you always understand.

They met in college, Hyunjin and she. And Chan was an upperclassman who seemed to be good at...well everything. At first, he couldn't figure out why it never occured to him before, the fact they were getting together maybe before, after or during the length of their relationship.

Though the answer is simple.

Hyunjin thinks the pillar to good relationships is trust. Call him a sappy romantic or whatever but he had seen true love manifest from it through generations before him and his parents and their parents. To think a different fate was woven for him...used to be unimaginable.

How ironic is that?

Hyunjin presses his cheek against your chest because he doesn't want you to look at him when he cries.

Then for the first time....he tells you he's scared. He's scared of what will happen to him. Of what is happening to him.

He's falling apart.

You cradle him, press him closer to your body like you're trying to put him together. People can't fix each other. Not really. But sometimes... they're worth the try.

"Hey...hey...it's alright," You shush him, run your fingers through his hair. Your voice almost breaking, faltering. Still this, this you mean it with every fibre of your being. "It's okay to be scared."

—

Self bleach hair.

It's Christmas and you're late for a late night dinner he's putting together. (As reluctant as he was about getting along with Hyunjin, he seems all too eager to make invite him whenever a get together takes effect.)

His apartment smells like floor cleaner. There's a queen sized bed pushed against an electric blue wall, a Fleetwood Mac poster taped to his door, small reading desk where Canon EOS New Kiss rests, polaroids of things checked off the list littered all its wooden surface.

You pick up the only photo he hasn't labelled, it reminds you that your friendship isn't just based off a pursuit. This is natural. Pizza box discarded between you two, on your roof top. It's a little too dark, you're holding a cigarette between your fingers, you're laughing and Hyunjin looks like he's going to complain the minute he's done taking the picture. (And he does.)

You smile, pressing your fingers against it like the touch could transport you to a simpler time.

"Ready to go?"

Hyunjin rakes a tentative hand through his newly dyed hair, grey (a suitable colour he says.). You can tell he's put a lot of effort into cleaning up, his usual hoodies and sweats alternated with a red satin shirt tucked into dark dress pants and a coat of the same colour. Hyunjin is beautiful. Perhaps even more like this. In fact, the extent of this quality is so Goliath-like that it obliges dolled up attendees to marvel up in awe. While you fully agree with their unsaid ponderings, you really do, you find yourself missing a less sophisticated version of him.

"Yeah, but first..." you fish out a wrapped squarish material from the depths of your pocket. Hyunjin's eyes widen, two bunny-like teeth showing for the extent of his grin.

"You got me a present!" He all but rips it out of your hand, shaking the material eagerly. He’s a Christmas person, a supreme holiday enthusiast if you will. The sheer excitement in him projects itself in every physical aspect possible. Slight jumping on the balls of his feet. "It's a cassette...?"

You speak too much, nervous he doesn't like it. "It’s a Christmas mix. I thought...since you like carols. I know it's a little old school, I'm sorry if that’s not what you were hoping for—"

Hyunjin pulls you into a big hug, wrapping his entire body it feels like; his arms around your waist, he squeezes you tighter against him, "Thank you." He whispers into your hair, it's not just about the cassette, you can tell.

There's a small light bulb dangling from his ceiling, he hasn't fixed it since the first time you pointed it out. You can tell with your eyes closed, you've begun to know more intimately than your own home. It's safe here. A place that deludes you into thinking that he's not running out of time, that even in his absence in the world, whenever you should walk into this room, it would be an imperative to find Hyunjin lazying about in its confines. Familiarity can be quite tricky, can't it?

His gratitude is not unknown to you. It's in the guilty smile that threatens to show every now and then, it's in this and it's in that. In many ways, it is not something you're a stranger to.

And yet the words manage to tears your heart at the seams. Just a little.

—

Make a snow angel.

From above, he imagines, he may appear to look like a chunk of cookie dough in an ice cream pint.

The snow is not as comfortable as it appears, its frigid temperature seeps into Hyunjin's clothes (and what feels like his internal organs, if that's even possible). He waves his hands and legs inward, outward.

Your head tilts towards him. Face twisted in annoyance. "You're getting on my wing!" You say. "Have you no respect for personal space?!"

Hyunjin narrows his eyes jovially. And people tell him he's the one with a penchant for theatrics. He leans closer in rebuttal, waving his leg around your design with more purpose. You give up. Sit on your knees, fumble with the snow. He’s still in the same position. Smug as ever...

"This is what happens when you disrespect your elders." He fake-warns. "Oka—"

What he doesn't anticipate, however, is the snowball you launch on his stupid grinning face. Now it's your turn to laugh. You clutch your stomach and point at him whilst he glares at you having barely managed to blow the snow off of his mouth.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now!"

You let out an animalistic screech, Hyunjin’s already trapped you under his weight, his thighs wound around your waist, hamstringing your plan to escape, now you're merely squirming. His fingers come down to attack your sides, digging into the flesh so mercilessly to the point you’re not sure if you’re laughing or crying. It's like there's a wildfire inside your lungs.

For a moment you forget, you let yourself forget what's to come.

“Alright, alright I’m sorry!” you press your palms against his chest in an attempt to push him off, Hyunjin has a dumb smile on his face that seems to give the impression of a hanger stuck inside his mouth. But... there's something behind his entertainment as the sound of his laugh dies down, chest heaving with exercise. His smile drops.

You can count each lash, each freckle and line on his face. The dark in his eyes. The pink of his lips. Your sweater's ridden to your ribs. And the warmth of his fingers shifting against your bare skin hits you with an earthshattering force.

Hyunjin kisses you. For a fleeting second, you freeze. Rigid with shock. Then it passes as soon as it comes.

You let out a noise of content,indubitably grateful that your neighbours forgot to put on their porch light for the night. See it’s like this, the act of kissing is not as special as is the person himself, you muse, you can kiss anyone, you can touch and be touched by anyone. But none of that truly compares to this. Not when they aren't him.

You’d be lying if you said you never thought about it. Just like you’ve thought about a lot of things. But just the realisation that the boy you’ve harboured in your heart for more complicated reasons than you disclose, to yourself even, touches you with so, so much care...it’s tearing you apart.

It’s too good to be real.

You suddenly push him away. The tugging and pulling at your heart too much to handle. For the fact remains — Hyunjin doesn't love you. He doesn't even like you. You never expected him to. Actually, you've never felt what you feel with that condition in mind either.

See when the feeling of having everything you could ever want is cradled between your palms...it ought to be hard to let go. (Maybe he’s just doing this because he feels bad for you, the little voice in your head says. You listen.)

Hyunjin speaks up first.

“I love Haseul.” he tells you, but it sounds more like he’s telling himself. “That’s why...that’s why, all this...I love her.” Not you.

You swallow, “I know.” Your hands come up to dust your pants. Hyunjin’s still on his knees, as if the answer to his conflicts are deposited under all the snow. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have done—”

Now you hear it, the hint of pity in his voice. You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do. Seeing as you’re usually very good at keeping calm , breaking that very reputed front frustrates you even more.

“Look just forget about it, okay? We don’t have to talk about this.”

Hyunjin looks like he didn’t expect this side of you to exist. At least, you think, at least it got him to stop talking.

—

Learn to skate.

"If I fall, I'm taking you with me."

"You say it like I have a choice."

Hyunjin shoots you a warning glare even though you can't see. His choppy skidding steps supported by the vice grip he has on your arms. You haven't skated since you were in highschool. But when you're pretty good at it still, the smooth blade of your beaten skates gliding through ice with much dexterity, it's like floating, freeing, the wind hitting your faces, snow catching in your lashes. It's peaceful, you try not to think about the warmth of Hyunjin's arm circling around body, the vague rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. His laboured breaths on your neck. It's torturous. But spending so much time with him has taught you to hide your feelings better.

The park welcomes a large crowd around holiday season, children with toothless grins, tugging onto their mum's coats, small chin resting onto a parents' head, teenagers moving in together in school uniforms. It's the happiest time of the year. When you move past an elderly couple, they smile and tell you make a wonderful couple.

You're just about to make a correction. This puts you in an awkward position... doesn't it?

But then Hyunjin grins toothily and says, Thank you, like it's the most amusing thing in the world. You ignore the wrenching inside your chest.

Hyunjin leans forward, his plump lips brushing against your ear. "Where did you learn to skate so well?!" There's something like excitement in his kiddish laugh aside from admiration. It's not much of a question as it is an exclamation.

"I am pretty good, aren't I?"

He laughs, doesn't let you go. "Yes, yes...really good."

Out of breath, you slow down, move your feet steadily, careful not to lose balance.

"Oh my God! It is you!"

You raise your head, blink against flakes hindering your vision. Jeongin's voice used to be thinner before. As far as you remember. Now it has a weight to it.

You let out a nervous laugh.

"And it's you..."

Jeongin's eyes travel to the arms around your waist, to the stiffened figure behind you and you immediately liberate yourself. Moving to let Hyunjin use your arm as purchase, you don't fail to notice the pinch in his forehead, a frown on his mouth.

"This is my friend Hyunjin. Hyunjin, this is Jeongin—"

"We used to go out." Jeongin smiles, forwarding his hand, which is returned with an unenthused shake and a demure reply. Hyunjin never speaks to anyone this way, not even people he claims to hate.

The former male looks to you again, "I was, uh... wondering if you'd like to go out for a cup of coffee sometime."

Things between you and him ended amicably at the event of his departure for further studies, which deprives you of awkward tension which is expected when exes meet.

Besides, a cup of coffee never hurt anyone.

Right?

Without thinking, you nod slowly, "Yeah that sounds good,"

"Text me anytime."

"Sure."

“I'll be out of your hair then," he beams. "It was very nice meeting you too, Hyunjin."

"Right."

Hyunjin, you realise, has released your arm. He leans on barricades fencing along the skating area, smiling briefly. You know it’s wrong...yet you sense that you almost need him to be upset.

Then he tilts his head back towards you, "He seems like a really nice guy," he whispers, genuinely meaning every word. Your heart sinks. "I see the appeal." Underneath the lurid glare of fairy lights brandished overhead, Hyunjin's ash hair glints like it's threaded out of silver. You wonder what he's thinking.

—

Watch every Disney movie ever made.

You never end up texting Jeongin back. Just stalling for when you're ready, you tell yourself. Even though that's not true at all.

"This brings back so many memories. My parents used to belt out A Whole New World with me, like every time we watched Aladdin."

Hyunjin wipes his face with the back of his hand, technically you’re not very sure what he’s saying exactly because he’s mumbling into a paper napkin you've passed over for the umpteenth time. You find yourself picturing a small but happy family of three, of Hyunjin in Scooby Doo pajamas and gap between his teeth. (Contrary to your previous convictions, he hasn't changed all at much, save for the teeth bit. ) It's cute.

He looks to you expectantly. Can't be the only one telling embarrassing stories.

You shrug, "I had a thing for Simba. Let's just say my mum and dad were nice enough to indulge me."

Hyunjin reaches for the remote and pauses the ending credits of Lady and the Tramp. He turns to you fully now, gives you a judgemental stare. "Simba...?" He says, "Like the...lion?"

"What? It's normal to crush on fictional characters, okay?!"

"Okay,sure," Hyunjin snorts, putting a pillow between you and him so you can't kill him. "furry."

A part of you is tempted, obviously. But the much bigger part is more invested in how he looks happier, healthier. You want to think that means something.

—

Hyunjin invites you over for movie night. It's getting colder and you keep poking him with your cold feet. There's an extra set of blankets in his cupboard, he informs you, he isn't sharing his with you — and that's when you see it.

The deflated pink donut folded to the side, his and yours sharpie inscribed initials on one side.

"Found it yet?"

You don't even notice when he comes to stand behind you. So the question effectively makes you jump out of your skin. Hyunjin has a bowl of popcorn pressed to his chest, there's a pink hair band holding his hair away from his forehead. For the lack of a answer he takes it on himself to find the source of your silence. As if you've been caught red handed.

You think this is where he'll ask you to leave, that or he'll least scold you or something. You prepare for the worst.

Hyunjin just smiles, it's a big smile that succeeds in bringing out the small dimple indented on the side of his cheek. You've never noticed before. It's kinda weird. Because when it comes to him, your attention hardly ever falters.

"You probably don't remember. That’s from Seungmin's 15th birthday,"

You want to scoff under your breath. All this time you had told yourself that you were the only one to be affected by your estranged friendship growing up. Now...the same logic colours you every bit of ridiculous.

You blink away, swallowing. Voice solemn.

"I remember." Hyunjin's gaze is heavy on your shoulders. An emotion you can't quite put a finger on crosses his delicate features. It's something between surprise and relief... something else too. You don’t understand it.

—

It's disconcerting that he can’t remember the last time he got sick. Not the usual discomfort inside his chest, not the blood, not the thorns or petals. Hyunjin's just gotten so used to it, you know? What if he gets his hopes up for no good reason? What if it just comes back?

There's no possible explanation, he explains over a hasty 3 A.M message he had to leave on your answering machine because he's freaking out.

Then Haseul texts Hyunjin, tells him she misses him. Everything's adding up. Everything's falling into place. This is what he wanted, isn't it? She loves him, she finally loves him back. That must be it. He doesn't know what to say.

But he tells you, and when he does, it sounds a lot like an apology.

—

Kiss underneath a mistletoe.

“Chan and I broke up.” She says it like it’s something he should be happy about. So when he remains quiet, it only prompts her to speak more, fill up the big mighty silences.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Look Jinnie, I know I made a mistake, but...can’t you give a second chance? Just this once?”

Hyunjin has thought about this particular moment a lot. Kissing her instead of producing a response, pulling her off of her feet and mumbling of course, of course, of course. Back then, there were little doubts in his head pertaining to her, back then he believed that she was the only one for him. The love of his life at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

Now...something doesn’t feel right.

The thing about wounds, sometimes, of the heart in particular, is when they close up, it’s hard to make head or tails of the kind of person you become in their wake. Hard to adjust. Like when he suddenly shot up 7 inches in ninth grade, a late bloomer at that, and the weight of his new sneakers felt..odd.

He glances at her and also understands what it’s like to be lonely, the constant need to compensate for it by grasping at the last straw. He used to be in her shoes too. This isn’t any different. Albeit, he isn’t exactly taken by her presence. Just that he doesn’t know if what he’s doing is right. He looks over your table a few feet away from where he’s standing. Having gone out to take a call. You notice his absence and then from your seat, do your best to locate him. (he thinks of kissing you on a bed of snow, thinks of the sizzle of your skates against ice, thinks of his list on a coffee cup and his pink water donut and it’s okay to be scared. Why did it have to be you of all people, through everything? It’s not really a work of coincidence. Not at all actually.

Maybe he just wanted it to be you.)

When your eyes do lock...seeing him with his hands in his pockets, her standing beyond the barrier as she tries to say something, you smile, even if it’s a little sad. Hyunjin thinks to the conversation some nights before. Thinks of you reminding him that there's nothing to lose at this point, that he should do what his heart tells him. That it’ll be alright, if he just takes a leap of faith. Hyunjin smiles back. Through the glassy exterior and mini water fountains running down its slanted form. The realisation is not as dramatic as he thought. It’s just late.

He tears off the false mistletoe decoration glued along the periphery of an arch.

And like always.

He takes your advice.

—

Cohorts of guests pour into the colossal hotel, heads turning in quiet admiration for bejeweled arches breaking out against buttery white architecture, the roof is impossibly naked, translucent glass baring a starlit sky to your watchful eyes. Showing little mercy to a frail chute held over your head,costumed characters wade through oceans of gossamer, twinkling silver and swaying movements to slow jazz. You prop a heeled foot up on the bar platform, which strangely resembles a pedestal, in a futile attempt to catch your breath, with clammy digits settled atop the risky surface of a marbled counter. A soft voice speaks over the ambience, uttering your name with much care. You lift your head. And there he is.

Jisung is scouring through the Spotify playlist you’ve put together for New Year’s Eve. He’s complaining about the lack of Beyoncé while your friends go around the buffet table. When he calls you, you’re sipping your drink, laughing at something Changbin is saying, his eyes brighten just at the sound of your laugh. Hyunjin isn’t surprised to see his friend taking a liking of you even though he hardly knows you. That’s just the effect you have on people.

Excusing yourself, you allow him to walk you to a less densely populated area where a stone pillar faces expensive paintings of nameless painters. With the effect of alcohol settling in and your inhibitions effectively lowered, your steps sway a little. You lean against the massive build rising from tiled floor. “So what’s up?” you murmur, the lump in your throat thickening just at the thought of him speaking the good news into existence. “I take it went well?”

Hyunjin doesn't answer. He looks distracted for a bit. Then in an instant he snaps out of his daze. “What did you mean when you said ‘once’?”

Your brows come together in inquiry.

“What?”

"When I asked you if you have ever been in love, you said ‘once’." He persists, his fingers come up to your shoulder, grazing slightly as if they’re trying to carve out words against the skin. "You weren’t talking about Jeongin.”

He knows. He’s always known. Hyunjin can’t believe he’s been so stupid.

“Took you long enough.” You let out a sardonic laugh.“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

"It matters to me..." Hyunjin sounds offended, you gather, but he manages to quell his temper for the sake of coaxing your confession. Is he purposely embarrassing you? "I don’t think...I love Haseul anymore...I didn’t realise...I haven’t for a long time."

A big chandelier beams over withering plants pushed against the ceiling, in this poor supply of light, you can tell exactly how he looks, eyes glimmering adoringly, you've spent something-teen years of your life wondering what it's supposed to mean. And it still manages to confuse you.

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask, albeit you already know. Because funnily enough, before he got his braces removed and dyed his hair a scandalous blonde, before bucket lists and heartbreak, he was just the boy who told you he liked your stupid reindeer sweater even though it had officially made you the 7th grade laughing stock. You remember being fifteen and in love with Hyunjin. And you've never actually stopped. You need to hear it to believe it.

It drives you crazy. The way Hyunjin brushes his fingers against your cheek, shifting strands away from your eyes. But you can't help it, you've always wanted this. You lean into the caress, peering up at him as his large hand cups your jaw, thumb traversing from your tilted chin to your glossy lips like he's trying to smooth out all the creases. His voice is small, a whisper.

"Because I need you to know I think I’m falling in love with you.” he says. His palm opens and there’s a plastic mistletoe nestled between his fingers. You’re smiling and sniffling whilst his forehead comes to press against yours. Hyunjin grins. “And there’s still one last item on my list.”

“Are you seriously asking me to land one on you now?”

“Oh hell yeah.”

—

"Move."

You press your fingers against the slick, sweaty skin.

In rebuttal, Hyunjin grumbles under his breath. Only half awake, half aware that he was mumbling in his sleep. His naked chest seems to be, if it’s even possible, glued to your bare front as he sprawls out like a starfish over your body, using his gangly arms to accommodate the strange position.

Though and you know he knows it too — it’s anything but uncomfortable.

See by now, you aren't exactly a stranger to Hyunjin's sleeping habits. Or really, any habits of his.

All the windows are cracked open, moonlight percolating through a thin sheet of curtains in rendering evidence that it’s still night time. You can make out the faint sound of honking in the distance, a few stray dogs here and there, probably producing strings of complaints about the blatantly unbearable heat.

The strong stench of sweat and an aftermath of what happened before is a quick reminder of where you are, what you’re doing and that your arm’s going cold for a lack of circulation under his weight. Beads of sweat collected against his skin and trickle down the side of your face, the crook of your neck, which only prompts you to apply more force to the pads of your index and pointer — albeit it did nothing to move him, "Gross." You groan. "You're sweating like a pig!"

This comment, of all the things you've tried to get him to sleep on his side, succeeds in making Hyunjin raise his head, his grey hair matted down, a few rogue strands pushed out to fall over the unamused look in his eyes.

In an unprecedented minute of absolute clarity, something inside your stomach started to churn at the shocking sight. You’re impossibly, absolutely and nauseatingly in love with Hwang Hyunjin and the funny thing is, you don’t have to think twice to know he is too.

"Gross?" Hyunjin lowers his face to brush his pouted lips along your jaw, grinning when you let out a shaky but involuntary breath and as if he is looking to make a point with his digits traversing from your bare stomach, just along the hem of your underwear, "After all that?"

"I hate you." You say — but more like, stutter. The sound of his giggles eliciting a strange sensation in you, reverberating against your chest, knocking against his ribs and your skin, like it’s trying to reach out to you, like your bodies insist on melding into one.

"I don’t think you’re being honest, baby." He laughs, squeezing your side, coming up to plant a warm palm to your butt to repeat the action, which in turn, drew a mewl from you. “Because you looove me.” Hyunjin smirks, his finger thumbing along your throat to your chin. You think this is what all those great poets meant in endless litanies of lovers torn apart by time and war woven together in a simple caress, like a longing, like a secret. Guarded from prying eyes, greedy hands, and you keep it, you keep it. For him. With him.

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just-my-fandom · 4 years

Note

Reader being the one to fight Matt and they reunite!!

Request 2: Hi. So uh, can I request a Voltron story? Where the reader used to date Matt Holt, but after he disappeared reader changed from the nerdy quiet girl she was to like a badass, and starts dating Keith. Thank you. Have a great day.

Request 3: any thing Voltron where reader gets hurt!!!

Summary: Now that Matt is back, he can’t help but feel that his (ex) girlfriends teammate is taking her away from him. Reader has to break to Matt that she has moved on after his disappearance and is now with the paladin of the black lion.

Date started; February 2, 2021

Date posted; March 1, 2021 (Jezus)

Warning(s); Cursing, fighting, blood, jealousy, angst.

Was not proof read.

Matt and reader have a past. This story is a Keith x Reader.

A/N: We’re slowly but surely getting things posted. Life’s been a bish lately so I haven’t been motivated to write. I had absolutely no idea how to end this, so it just cuts off.

Tagged; @boiled-onionrings

“What is this?” Your eyes narrow in thought. Narrow at the footsteps that close in behind you. Widen when you turn, and a man is swinging his blade straight at your head.

Your body is quick to push back, into the control panel so it flickered and powered off, your hands pushing off in an attempt to roll to the side.

Your hand pulls your bay-yard from your belt, twisting in time for your weapon to collide with your opponents, both grunting at the impact.

The figure shoves forward so you fall onto your back, gasping as your bay-yard slides feet from your reach, pushing to sit up and reach for your weapon.

The quick swipe of the males blade causes you to hiss and clutch your shoulder, lifting your foot high enough to kick him backwards, into the control panel like he had done to you prior.

You reach out and lift your bay-yard, slinging your arm out so it hit your opponent in the jaw, knocking his mask off and over his shoulder.

You lift your head, jaw clenched and weapon drawn, eyes widening as your lips part in a gasp, when you meet the gaze of your opponent,

“Matt?” You squeak, dropping your bay-yard so it clattered on the metal floor and quickly retracted into its holder, free hand pressed hard to where your fingers slowly held blood,

“Y/N,” Matt breathes, his body pushing to stand up from where he fell to his knees, arms pulling you tightly into his chest so you hissed a second time, his hands holding your arms as he leans back, examining your injury,

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” He exhales, your head shaking as tears burned your eyes from behind your helmet,

“Oh my god,” You heave, bloodied hands pulling your helmet off so he could fully look at your face, “Oh, god, you’re alive,”

“I’m alive,” Matt nods, hands caressing your head so he could lean his forehead to knock against yours, your eyes pinching shut before you lean back, opening your eyes.

“Just wait until Pidge sees you, and-and Shiro,”

“Wait, they’re with you?” Matt knits his brows together, as you glance down at the blood through your amor. It’ll be fine.

“Well, on their own mission,” You exhale, “Any chance you’ve heard of Voltron?”

“Of course I’ve heard of Voltron,”

“Well,” You repeat, smiling shyly as you look up at him, “We’re all Paladins,”

“No way,” Matt shakes his head, “That’s so cool!” He reaches forward to twirl you around, pausing when noticing you flinch at the movement of your shoulder.

“Come on,” Matt pulls back, hand at your arm, “Let me fix your shoulder,”

“Actually,” You lift your helmet off the floor, placing it over your head, “I have somewhere we can go,”

“HEY, look, Y/Ns back!” Hunk and Lance turn at the white lions appearance, the team of five moving forward as the lions jaw opened, your figure stepping out with a hand on your shoulder,

“Whoa, what happened to you?” Pidge asks, eyes narrowed as she moves up to you, but you smile, her brows pinching as footsteps sound behind you, her gaze looking over your shoulder and widening at Matt’s figure,

“Matt!” Pidge gasps, your smile softening as you step to the side, Shiro crossing his arms as he moves up to you,

“How’d you find him?” Shiro asks, calmly, your eyes flicking up to him.

“That so called secret base?” Shiro nods, “It was Matt’s. He returned as soon as I went in. Started fighting before we realized each other,”

“You did a good job,” Shiro smiles, and you nod, looking over at Pidge and Matt pulling out of their embrace, “Does he know?”

Shit. No. He doesn’t. He hasn’t even met Keith yet. “No,” You murmur, sighing as you turn, “I don’t know how to tell him,”

“That might be something you talk about in your own time,” Shiro raises his eyes from your shoulder to your eyes, watching you nod and brush past him, missing Matt’s worried glance.

“FOCUS, Keith!”

“I am focusing! You’re the one not focusing!”

“Now you’re just fucking with me,”

Matt stops at the doorway of the training deck. By now he had gotten a feel of where each room was located on the ship, which lead him to sneak off and search for you.

He watches silently as you slung your bay-yard at the red paladin- Keith, Matt thinks- leading Keith to jerk back and knock his own weapon to the metal, pushing you away from getting a hit on him.

It’s a quick tuck and roll as you duck away from Keith’s swing, your foot hooking around his leg to knock him on his back, your teammate grunting loudly at the impact his body made.

Knees pinned at his sides, your hands pin his shoulders down, lips pulling upward in a snort as Keith rolls his eyes, head dropping against the floor in defeat,

“You win,” Keith huffs, hands at your thighs as you raise your eyebrows, eyes flicking between his.

“Nice,” You grin, dropping one eyebrow, “Rematch?”

Matt frowns as Keith lifts his head, lips nearly against yours, “Absolutely not,”

“So you admit I’m better than you,” You lean back, sitting up so you were sitting on his legs, “I’ll take it,”

Keith narrows his eyes, gaze then shifting to the side, so you turned and your smile dropped.

“Matt,” You call, when the dirty blonde turns and exits the deck. You send a short glance down at Keith, pushing to stand up, “Matt, wait,”

Huffing at his refusal to turn around, you fasten your pace, “Matthew Holt, look at me!”

“Oh, so now you care?” Matt turns, sharply, arms crossed as he watches your brows furrow and footsteps stop.

“Matt, I always cared,” You breathe, shaking your head, “You’d been gone for years. I had to do what was right for me and move on. I should have told you when you first came back, but I didn’t know how,”

“So you two?” Matt’s eyes flick to the door of the training deck, and you nod, gazing down.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” You say, lifting your gaze, “As the paladin of the white lion, my main focus has always been saving earth. Im not the girl you once knew, who only read books and was afraid to talk to anyone outside my little circle. I’m a paladin now. I save people,”

You glance to the side, silently moving back to the training deck where Matt frowns, jaw clenching in defeat. He had lost you, years ago.

“ARE you two okay?”

Lance and Hunk skid to a stop into the abandoned ships control room, both breathing heavily through their helmets, “We’re fine,” Lance heaves, “But we need to get out of here, now!”

“Why?” Pidge rushes, “What happened?”

“It was-,” Hunk pauses, shock still in his system, “Monster- blue flash- I had rotten food goo,”

“Wait,” Lance stops his teammate, eyes narrowed in thought, “Where’s Keith and Y/N?”

YOUR eyes scan the empty hall. Galra bots float, lifeless, Keith and Kosmo floating beside you, “Hello?” Keith calls, Kosmo growling in defense,

“What are you?” The robotic voice of the remaining Galra bot causes you to pause, eyes squinting. The bot repeats his question, Keith raising his flashlight to the bots face,

“My name is Keith,” Keith starts, head barely tilting towards you, “This is Y/N. We are Paladins of Voltron. Paladins of the Black and White lions,”

“Wait,” You speak, “Yordum Bering Exus. Is that you?”

“Where are the rest of the Galra?” The bot asks, your head turning to look at Keith,

“They’re still on Planet Ryker. Why?”

“Planet Ryker,” The robot repeats, before it pushes forward, your eyes widening at the large monster behind it.

“Keith,” You alert, reaching to grab his arm so he tugged you into him, sharply, avoiding the sudden purple blast ray that the monster- Sentry- send, his shield coming up to block the second shot, shoving you and him both into the metal wall beside you.

You grunt out in pain at the impact, Keith pushing you to the side so you rammed into Kosmo, who quickly teleported next to Keith, Keith grabbing your hip protectively as you vanish.

“Keith, Y/N and I were in communication before we got disconnected,” Pidge explains to Lance, hearing Matt in her earpiece ask in a panic,

“You lost contact with them?”

“Keith and Y/N can hold their own together,” Allura breathes, “We need to figure out what that thing is,”

You reappear in the control room, gasps wheezed in fear before you push away from Keith, eyes wide, “What the hell was that?”

“What?” Pidge rushes, “What did you guys see?”

“Some- monster!” You heave, hearing Matt’s voice glitch in your earpiece as it gained connection,

“Oh thank God,”

“The base you sent this fleet to plunder, was it Warlord ranveigs?” Keith rushes, flying up to Lahn.

“Yes. It was,” Lahn answers, shortly, Allura glancing at you in alert.

“Keith, what’s going on?”

“The creature on this ship is a superweapon designed to destroy the Galra, and only Galra,” Keith starts,

“Warlord Ranveig would never create such a thing,” Lahn hisses, Keith shaking his head.

“Ranveig found the creature in the Quantum Abyss and experimented on it with Lotors Quintessence,”

“How do you know so much on this, Keith?” You ask, floating up between Pidge and Allura.

“Krolia and I let it lose so we could escape Ranveigs base,” Keith sighs, eyes fluttering shut, “This is all my fault,”

You shake your head, ignoring the glare Lahn sends your teammate, “Pidge, can you set a protocol that could self destruct this place? We need to get rid of the ship, and that monster,”

“Once I set it we’ll only have two minutes to leave the ship,” Pidge rushes, fingers pressing buttons, before she turns, waving a gloved hand, “Go. Go!”

You turn, jaw clenching at Sentrys appearance at the side door, “All Galra must perish,”

You yelp as the monster lunges forward, darting to the side before flying up with your jet pack, rushing for the door. Your front slams into the now shut door, fist curling to punch the metal before you look over, realizing Keith, too, had been trapped.

“Guys!” You shout, eyes wide in terror as you face Sentry, pulling out your bay-yard as he flew forward, you and Keith dodging in different directions so Sentry slammed into the doors front.

You hiss as Sentrys tail wraps around your body, pinning your arms at your sides, your gasp cut short as his tail flicks, hard, sending you into the metal wall feet away.

Your vision swims black, growing blurry as your lungs gasp for air, the sudden pain in your ribs causing you unable to move. Keith looks over as Sentry roared, rushing to you, Keith’s body protectively shielding yours as his shield protects himself, shoving you both into the wall a second time.

“Stay awake, Y/N!” Keith demands, rushes, arm at your lower back keeping you from floating away from him. His bay-yard shifts into a large gun, blasting at the monster before he turns and aims, shooting a hole into the locked door.

“Go!” Keith demands to his team, jet pack activating as he rushes forward,

“What happened to Y/N?!” Lance rushes, looking back at the distant explosion, where his eyes widen at the fire rising.

With a heatwave, the team of seven are thrown into space, the black lion quick to catch you and Keith so Keith landed on his feet, looking out his front visor where the white lion floated in front of his own.

“Let’s get her to the castle,” Keith demands, looking down at where your hand pressed to your rib, blood at your lips, “Stay with me, okay?”

You whimper, head tilting back before it leans to the side, dropping onto his shoulder.

“WHAT happened?” Matt and Shiro move forward towards their friend, Keith moving past them with you in his arms,

“The thing we had to destroy, attacked us, twice,” Keith hisses, teeth bared as he bends down to stand you on your feet inside the healing pod, stepping back in time for it to zap shut,

“She only seemed to be in danger around you,” Matt seethes, Keith looking over his shoulder to glare at the dirty blonde,

“What was that?”

“Do I need to dumb it out for you?” Matt steps up, ignoring Shiros call, “You’re the reason she got hurt. You’re the reason she left me!”

“Y/N left you because you ran off into space,” Keith snarls, Shiro and Pidge both jumping between the two so Keith stepped back, jaw clenched.

“Now is not the time to be fighting,” Shiro orders, Pidge nodding then shaking her head as she points to your unconscious, healing figure,

“Y/N needs you both right now, as much as you might hate it. So shut up and be here for her when she wakes up,”

Matt’s eyes shift from Pidge to Keith, Keith firmly crossing his arms over his armored chest before facing the healing pod.

Matt watches as Keith’s eyes drift to his bloodied gloves, glare faltering before looking back up to you.

Pidge exhales a heavy breath and follows Shiro, reluctantly, out of the med-bay, Matt crossing his own arms and scanning his eyes across your face.

“I’m sorry I came out rude,” He starts, Keith barely side glancing him, “It just, sucks. Coming back from being in space prison to find out your girlfriend moved on,”

“Y/Ns a lot different now than she used to be,” Keith reminds, “When I first met her I was an asshole and she was quiet. We didn’t click right away. But I found a meaning to my team and she’s apart of my team. It just- happened,”

“She’s definitely different,” Matt chuckles, Keith raising an eyebrow, “When I ran into her, I didn’t know she could fight like that,”

“She didn’t learn from me, that’s for sure,” Keith smirks, which instantly falls as the heal pod beeps, opening so Keith’s arms shot out to catch your leaning figure,

“That was quick,” Matt mutters, Keith shooting him a glance before you lift your head, brows pinched in discomfort,

“What happened?” Your eyes shift from Matt to Keith, who’s muscles visibly relaxed to see you up and moving. Matt noticed.

“We’ll tell you about it later,” Matt steps up, smiling lightly, “I’ll let the others know you’re okay,” Matt’s eyes meet Keith’s, his nod short before he steps back and out the door.

Maybe, just maybe, Matt forgave him.

#keith kogane one shot #keith kogane imagine #keith x reader #keith kogane x reader #Keith imagine #voltron #voltron one shot #voltron x reader #voltron imagine #Matt Holt #Matt Holt x reader #Matt Holt imagine #Matt Holt one shot

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stargazer-balladeer · 4 years

Note

Hiya! Could I please request an angsty doc for Diluc from Genshin Impact? Maybe the reader is his best friend and secretly loves him but he doesn’t know? The reader develops hanahaki (the flower illness? I dunno if I spelled it right) disease and gets progressively closer to dying until Diluc finds them collapsed, surrounded by blood and flower petals, and he panics and holds the reader, confessing his love for them somewhere in his panic which cures them of the illness? Thank you!!

Daffodils [Genshin Impact]

[ Diluc Ragnvindr x Gender Neutral! Reader ]

{Hanahaki Disease}

Notes: making this an angst instead of fluffy is quite tempting- I hope I did justice to your request 😔✊im sorry if you don’t like this ;w; Hope you’ll still enjoy it tho! (If you want a redo, please request again-)

(I tried using the flowers in the game but.. their useless 😐. Cecilia looks like Lilies flowers but their meaning is basically soulmates- i decided to use daffodils in this one-)

Warning: Mentions of blood and negative things.

Word Count: 1297

Diluc narrows his eyes at the running figure that he calls his friend. Why were they running away from him? Did he smell bad? Diluc’s brows furrowed as he shakes his head. That’s not it. They’ve been acting weird for quite a while now. At first, Diluc shrugged it off. But as days go by, weeks, Diluc started to notice their strange behavior.

Recently, they look sick. Their skin lost color and their face always seem pale. Thick bags appeared beneath their eyes. And they always cough. For some reason, [Y/N] also seem to be avoiding him, and only him. They are still talking to everyone in Mondstadt, all except him. Did he do something wrong? Then what is it?

Diluc wanted to confront them about it. His patience is wearing thin. He sighed as he tries to think of a new plan to do to capture- no, convince them to talk. Tomorrow, I’ll get the answer I want..

——

How did you get in this position again? [Y/N] sweatdropped as their eyes were on the ground. Ah yes. Diluc fucking ambushed me— “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I’m getting my answers now.” Diluc said harshly, but there’s concern underlying it. [Y/N] knew that he’s just worried about them but they don’t want him to know. Especially their feelings towards their pyro-user friend.

Don’t make him guilty— Don’t say anything— It’s better this way—

“I.. don’t know what you’re talking about.” [Y/N] mumbled numbly. Diluc clicked his tongue as his hold in their hands tightened. [Y/N] winced a bit, but they knew that Diluc wouldn’t hurt them. It’s just the way he is. Even though he puts up a stoic, cold front, his a baby in the inside.

That’s what made [Y/N] fall in love with him..

But, they knew that their love will never be requited—

[Y/N]’s eyes widened when they felt something familiar rising in their throat. No! They screamed in their mind. Not now!

Diluc noticed their panic and raised a brow. “What’s wrong?” [Y/N] kept their mouth shut, afraid that they’ll start coughing if they spoke. The concern in his eyed became apparent now as he slowly lets go of their hands. “Talk to me, [Y/N].. we’re friends, aren’t we?”

[Y/N]’s eyes prickle when they heard the friend word. That’s all they will be. Friends. Their hands cup their mouth. The vile inside their mouth is rising even more, scratching their throat, wanting to be let out.

Diluc’s hand move to touch their cheek but [Y/N] move. Hurt. That was on Diluc’s face. Unable to look at him anymore, their legs started sprinting. They could hear Diluc calling for them.

They ran as fast as they could until they arrived at a forest in Springvale. They couldn’t breathe, literally couldn’t breathe. They cough, trying to get whatever in their throat out. It was painful. They wanted it to stop.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the thing stuck on their throat finally came out. [Y/N] retracted their hand, only for their eyes to widen in fright. There in their palm was full of blood, along with the blood-stained petals of the flower Daffodils.

How ironic. [Y/N] knew exactly what they mean as tears started falling in their eyes.

Diluc is the only one for them..

——

Diluc has been feeling uneasy ever since this morning. He doesn’t know why but something tells him that he should check up on [Y/N]. Its been a week since he last saw them. Ever since then, they just.. disappeared. Diluc only grew worried about them when his mind would wander to that day.

He could clearly remember the pain in their eyes, clearly seeking for help to him. However he didn’t do anything as he watch them ran from him. But now, more determined than ever, he will get the answers from them.

Diluc stood in front of their door in their house just outside of Mondstadt. His hand rise to knock, but he hesitated. What if they don’t want to see him? What would he do? Diluc shakes his head. Now’s not the time to think of that.

He slowly knock on the wooden door. No answer. He knocks again, this time calling out. “It’s me. Open the door.” No answer again. His brows furrowed as he tried to listen if there was someone inside the house. But only silence greeted him. He pursued his lips, now concern than ever. He tried opening the door but it was locked.

He cursed as he tried to find any alternative way to get inside. His eyes landed on a nearby tree that lead to their bedroom window. His mind was contemplating on whether or not he should do it. But in the end, his worrisome self got the best of him.

Diluc climb up the tree slowly and carefully. Once he reached their window, he tried peeking in but the sunlight was not making it easy for him. “Stupid sun..” Diluc mumbled as he got closer to the window.

What Diluc saw froze him, not literally mind you. His eyes widened at the sight of [Y/N] laying on the ground with pool of blood surrounding them and daffodils. His mind is still racing when he screamed their name while jumping to the window, effectively breaking it.

Glass shards scratch his face, but he didn’t pay any mind. He quickly went to [Y/N]’s side. Tears pooling in his eyes as flashbacks of his father’s death flash before him. “No no no! [Y/N]! Wake up!”

Thankfully, [Y/N] opened their eyes, but Diluc can tell their struggling to keep their eyes open. He gave them a weak smile as he cradles their body in his, not minding that the blood and daffodils stick on his clothes. “D-Diluc..? What’re you..?” [Y/N] weakly mumbled as a series of cough interrupted them.

Diluc rubbed their back as he eyed the daffodils. Where has he seen this before? Why does it seem familiar? Then it finally click in his mind. Hanahaki Disease. This made Diluc’s heart stopped momentarily when realization hits him hard. You love someone you can’t have?

“Who is it?” Diluc asked while looking at the walls. “It’s.. no use.. you.. don’t need to know.” [Y/N] weakly responded. Diluc grits his teeth as his hold on [Y/N]’s shoulders tightened. “Tell me so that I know who I’ll kill.” [Y/N] lets out a strained laughter.

Knowing that [Y/N] wouldn’t speak, Diluc sighed as he pulled their body to his in a hug. “You know.. this’ll turn out differently if you would let me love you instead of that bastard.” [Y/N]’s eyes widened at his sudden confession. His arms tightened around them. “Maybe.. I would have given you the best life instead of suffering like this.”

Tears were trekking down Diluc’s cheeks. The mere thought of losing them from someone they love is unbearable to him. He doesn’t want to believe. He loves you too much. “I love you.. you idiot..”

[Y/N] lets out a laugh before starting to laugh. Their tears no longer filled with grief. Their heart was beating fast in their chest as they hug him tighter. They could feel themselves healing. The thorns in their throat now disappeared.

Diluc was confused on why they were laughing. Did he say something funny? But when they pull back from the embrace. His eyes widened, they look more healthy than they ever been. Their smile was bright as they press their forehead with his. “I love you too, Diluc.”

Ah.. so he was the reason why you have hanahaki disease? He doesn’t know whether to be grateful, sad, angry or— basically, he’s a mess. Even though his mind is a mess, it doesn’t stop him from pulling you into a kiss.

Finally.

[x] Main Page || [x] Mondstadt Page

#not one of my finest work ;w;#im sorry-#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact diluc #genshin impact diluc x reader #diluc #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr #diluc ragnvindr x reader #req ans❣️

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kieraelieson · 4 years

Text

Logic Still Needs Comfort

A fic for @im-a-creepy-cookie as a part of @sanderssidesgiftxchange! I did your touch-starved Logan prompt!

Warnings: detailed sensory issues, joking mention of death

Logan disliked being touched.

It had been known for years. They all knew it. Surprise hugs or claps on the shoulder startled him unpleasantly and even made him upset sometimes. Touching his hand to get his attention made him jump and frown. He himself had compared the experience to having a bug or an animal suddenly landing on him.

And so Roman and Patton learned not to touch him aside from the occasional celebratory high-five. Which was fine. Everyone was fine, and happy.

And then came Virgil. And accepting anxiety as a valuable part of Thomas. Which changed things.

••^*^••

“Hey, um… L?”

Logan turned to see Virgil fidgeting but staring at him with an intent look. “Yes?”

“So, um, well you know I told you how Remus is practically a leech, and there wasn’t any getting away from it, but I’m not saying Patton isn’t great! But just Roman is… Roman, and just, but Patton really is great but I kinda don’t want to get turned into a teddy bear, and you’re all calm, and I’m, well, I’m sort of missing the calm and….” Virgil looked down and huffed out an annoyed sigh. “Oh, this is gonna come out awkward any way I say it. Can I sit next to you? I just wanna play on my phone and maybe stick my legs over your lap or something.”

Logan cocked his head to the side just slightly. “You wish to stick your legs over my lap while sitting next to me? That seems like it would involve terrible posture.”

Virgil gave a little breath of a laugh. “Any way I sit involves bad posture.”

“Actually, occasionally when you sit you replicate what is sometimes called the ‘primal squat’ which is reported to be excellent for your posture.”

Virgil gave him a lopsided grin. “Ok, you got me there. Maybe. But anyway, would you mind? It’s totally fine if you don’t want to, I’ll head back to my room.”

Logan considered it carefully. It was true that he did not enjoy touch. But this seemed as if it would be relatively calm, and would not require much, if any, reciprocation on his part. “I do not ‘mind’,” he said, utilizing Virgil’s turn of phrase.

He was currently standing, reading a book he had taken from the bookshelf he was standing in front of, and had not yet decided whether to stay with this book or choose another. He quickly pulled out the other two he’d been considering, and tucked all three books under his arm before seating himself on a couch.

It was a pleasant place, the memory library. Calm and quiet, with almost a heaviness to the air that Logan found enjoyable in a way. It was also rather dim, however, at least in this area, where the memories were older, and Logan found it necessary to summon a side table with a lamp on it so that he would have suitable light for reading.

He’d momentarily forgotten about Virgil until the couch cushion dipped beside him. Virgil pulled off his shoes and glanced at Logan.

“You really don’t mind? I mean, I know it’s kind of invasive to your space. You don’t have to say yes.”

Logan nodded. “I am not opposed.”

Virgil very tentatively put one foot up on Logan’s lap, leaning back against the arm of the couch. Logan felt again that sudden unpleasant ‘something touching me’ feeling, but it passed surprisingly quickly, and by the time Virgil had fully settled himself, laying on his back with his knees up over Logan’s lap and his feet on the other side of Logan, the feeling was gone entirely.

Logan propped his book against Virgil’s knees and began to read.

He was a little surprised, when Patton called for dinner, to find that they had been there for close to two hours, and that the unpleasant feeling had never returned. Instead he was feeling warm, and comfortable, more than he had in quite a while. He attributed this to the couch. And perhaps the warmth was a slight raising of Thomas’s core temperature, due to stress at having Anxiety so close to the old memories. Perhaps they ought to have sat down somewhere a little further away.

Regardless, he was about to comment, as they got up, at how pleasant the experience had been. Except that as soon as they both stood up, he found he was suddenly and extremely unpleasantly cold. This alarmed him, and he left without discussing anything with Virgil, concerned that the warmth and sudden cold was a sign of sickness, perhaps only his own but perhaps a symptom that Thomas was sick as well.

He went straight to the miniature control center he’d set up in one corner of his room, pulling up all of Thomas’s vital signs as well as a recording of where he’d gone that day. But everything was normal.

The cold seemed to be fading somewhat, though it was leaving a concerning ache behind. And it seemed to be concentrated on his thighs and forearms, of all places.

Logan looked through his list of sicknesses, sensible and nonsensical, that he had somehow contracted over his life, and found nothing similar. Still, this must be a sickness of some kind. Most likely a nonsensical one, as he hadn’t noted similar symptoms before. Perhaps he would discover some absurd idiom Thomas had latched onto that was causing him to experience physical repercussions. Something similar to ‘brain freeze’ perhaps.

A soft knock at his door caught Logan’s attention.

“Yes?”

“Logan?” Patton’s voice asked. “Are you alright? Virgil told me what happened. He didn’t realize how much you don’t like being touched, and I think he’d like to apologize, but he’s really worried that you’re upset with him.”

“What—“ Logan had left rather abruptly, and without expressing to Virgil that he’d enjoyed their encounter. It was very possible, with Virgil’s anxiety, that he had misinterpreted Logan’s abrupt departure. “Ah. I see.” He waved a hand to open his door. “I am not in the least upset at Virgil. There seems to be a misunderstanding.”

“Oh, good.” Patton said, concern all over his face. “But you should probably tell Virgil that, and there’s some dinner saved for you yet.”

Logan nodded, the ache in his forearms and thighs rather distracting. “Thank you, Patton.” And then it hit him. If it really were an odd turn of phrase Thomas had attached to, Patton would certainly know it. “Have you happened to notice any interesting phrases recently?”

Patton frowned in confusion, indicating that Logan had changed the subject too rapidly for Patton to keep up. But then he grinned a little. “So today, I saw a baguette in a cage at the zoo!”

And then it was Logan’s turn to be confused for a moment, before he realized. “Ah, I didn’t mean a joke-“

“It was bread in captivity!” Patton smiled brightly, nearly laughing at his own joke.

“Yes, thank you, Patton,” Logan said, allowing the tiniest bit of an amused smile to show.

Even that slight encouragement made Patton beam. “Well, I told Roman that I would watch Disney with him tonight, so I’ll have to go, but don’t forget to talk with Virgil before you eat, and don’t forget to eat either!”

“I won’t forget,” Logan promised, a softer smile showing.

But as soon as Patton left he clapped a hand over his mouth. Why was he so… easily swayed? He prided himself on keeping a straight face, and yet now he’d smiled at Patton’s pun! What was wrong with him?

And now, with Patton leaving the room, it was as if the heat had been sapped. He was again very uncomfortable, aching and cold and he didn’t understand why. Was he perhaps experiencing some strange and extreme form of separation anxiety? It had set in both times as another side had left, though in different ways. But he didn’t feel anxious.

It was all incredibly strange.

But it seemed that Virgil was under a rather upsetting misconception. It could wait. He would speak with Virgil first and then look into this strange sickness further.

Logan crossed the hallway to knock on Virgil’s door.

The door opened almost immediately, Virgil looking as though he’d been waiting on someone to knock, and that Logan had not been the one he’d been expecting, based on the wide eyes and generally startled appearance.

“L, I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have asked if I’d known, I wouldn’t have wanted to make you uncomfortable—“

“Virgil, I assure you, I was perfectly comfortable. I would have expressed discomfort if I needed to.”

Virgil blinked, and the deep black of his eyeshadow faded somewhat. “You aren’t mad?”

“Not at all. I enjoyed the calm company you provided. I left abruptly upon discovering symptoms that indicate possible sickness.”

“Oh.” Virgil was silent a moment, gaze flickering away from Logan as he processed. “Wait, sick? Who’s sick?”

“I may be, though it is odd, and perhaps not a sickness at all.”

“Well, what is it? What’s going on? Are you ok? Is it contagious?”

“I do not know. I am experiencing a strange cold, and aching.”

Virgil’s eyebrows creased in concern. “That doesn’t sound good.”

Logan nodded seriously. “That is why I left, trying to discover what it could be.”

Virgil nodded in an encouraging, ‘go on’ kind of way.

“I haven’t found anything yet, but Patton informed me of the misunderstanding between us and reminded me to eat dinner. I intend to do more research afterwards.”

Virgil nodded. “I could rubber duck for you, if you want. Maybe I could help a bit.”

Logan stared, trying to remember what the phrase was meant to convey before revealing his confusion. He was certain he had it on a flash card somewhere, but he’d left them in his room.

Virgil rather obviously quashed an amused smile. “You tell me what happened, and then we see if we can figure it out together. Repeating the details can help you connect them better sometimes.”

“Ah. Yes. That does seem useful. Thank you.”

Virgil gave him a lopsided grin, pulling up his hood and closing his door behind himself. “So when did you first notice the symptoms?”

Logan explained his symptoms and research to Virgil as they went downstairs and sat down at the table.

“And I still have very little of an idea of why,” Logan admitted. “I believe it possible that it’s another of those idioms that we sometimes experience physically.”

Virgil nodded very slowly. “I actually… might have an idea. I have an experiment I’d like to try, but if I explain it fully it’ll bias you and it probably won’t work.”

“Go ahead,” Logan said, opening the Tupperware container of spaghetti. “What is your experiment?”

Virgil reached one hand across the table. “While you’re eating, give me one hand.”

Logan considered, reaching out to hold Virgil’s hand. “Does this have something to do with checking pulse? You would be able to do that more easily with my wrist than my hand.”

Virgil shook his head. “Just eat, and when you’re done we’ll see how it goes.”

Logan frowned slightly. “Do you believe this has something to do with how recently I’ve eaten? Or that it could be influenced by the focus needed to do something with only one hand?”

Virgil chuckled. “I’ll explain once you’ve eaten.”

Logan was far too curious to wait patiently, and ate quickly, pushing away a not-quite empty container. “What is it?”

“Are you feeling warm again?”

Logan took a moment to assess, and realized that yes. He was feeling warmer. The ache as well was completely gone. “I am. Is it the food?”

Virgil offered a rather sad smile. “Alright, now let go of my hand and tell me what you feel then.”

Logan let go, and almost immediately the cold rushed back. He frowned. “But why? Why do I suddenly seem to have my physical temperature tied to the proximity of you and the other sides?”

His hand ached, and he held Virgil’s again, relieved, but utterly confused when the unpleasant feelings faded.

“I’ve had something like this,” Virgil said. “But not quite the same as yours, based on what Patton was saying. I think you’re probably touch starved.”

Logan considered this silently.

“But I don’t like being touched.”

Virgil gave his hand a slight squeeze. “You don’t seem to mind this.”

Logan nodded, very slowly. “You’re right. I… I don’t mind this at all.”

“I think we should talk to the others,” Virgil suggested.

Logan nodded slowly. “I suppose so.”

••^*^••

“You’re what?!” Patton practically wailed, throwing himself at Logan in a hug.

Immediately Logan felt like he wanted to crawl out his skin. This was miserable. In no way what he wanted. It didn’t feel right at all. It was like a whole hive of insects were buzzing just below his skin.

He pushed Patton off of him, more roughly than he would have intended. “Get off!”

Patton stopped immediately, staring in confusion and hurt.

Logan couldn’t handle it. He was freezing, and his skin was crawling, and his mind seemed filled with static. It was terrible. He just couldn’t.

He barely understood the words directed at him from the other sides as he sank out.

He locked his door and shuddered, hands repeatedly making and releasing fists. He shuddered again, trying to dislodge the crawling feeling. It didn’t leave.

He’d been right, he didn’t like touch. Not at all.

He got into the shower, running the water hot and scrubbing the disgusting feeling away. It helped warm him up as well, which felt way better. He bundled into his bed, pulling the weighted blanket that had been a gift from Virgil over himself.

A while later, finally calm and comfortable, he conjured a note to stick on the door.

I am not upset, but please leave me alone.

••^*^••

Logan spent the next several days figuratively buried in research. He investigated touch starvation as well as touch aversion, and a host of other possible clues to his situation.

He also gradually became more uncomfortable, holed up in his room.

He came to the conclusion that he did, in fact, have a kind of touch starvation, awakened to a roaring hunger by that pleasant afternoon sitting with Virgil.

But he also certainly had an aversion to being touched in certain ways. And he suspected, looking into it more, that surprise was a large factor, as well as the amount of him that was being touched, and perhaps the way in which he was touched.

He was basing this largely on his own reactions to Virgil’s method of touching, as compared to Patton’s or Roman’s, since he highly doubted that it was something inherent in them that he was averse to.

Finally his findings were all put together into one detailed, though as of yet hypothetical, presentation. Armed with this, and a determination not to touch anyone until he’d presented his findings, he opened the door to his room.

As he’d suspected, there was something attached to his door that made a noise as it was opened, and he was soon nearly mobbed with the other sides. They didn’t touch, or come too near, or say anything, but all came very quickly to stare at him, worry in every gaze.

He raised his folder. “I have a presentation. Please gather in the living room.”

It didn’t take long. Not at all.

Logan opened the folder and set it on top of the tv, so that the images could be seen.

“I believe Virgil was correct in suggesting that I have a degree of touch starvation.” He flipped through a few pages, supporting this statement with both facts and personal experiences.

He paused. This was the part that was likely to hurt feelings. Even he knew it, and he wasn’t usually adept at understanding feelings. But it was necessary.

“However, in satisfying this hunger, I will need to be ‘picky’. I have boundaries outlined in this section, and I need to keep them rigidly. This will mean that I will not be open to surprise touch, and likely not to hugs either. I would like to have support from each of you, support in accordance with what I’m capable of handling.”

“Absolutely, Logan,” Patton said. “I’d really like to be able to help you in the right way.”

Both Roman and Virgil nodded very solemnly and enthusiastically.

Logan smiled, more moved by this expression of support than he’d expected to be. “Thank you, Patton. And thank you two as well. I will be very much in need of your assistance.”

He cleared his throat, more in an attempt to gather himself together than any really obstruction. “I’ve laid out a number of methods of touch that I believe would be helpful to me, and arranged them by likelihood of success, and also divided by which I believe each of you would be more inclined to enjoy yourselves.”

••^*^••

Logan was seated on his bed, organizing and updating his flashcards, when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

“Hey,” Roman said, peeking in rather shyly. “Um, can we try one of those things now? I brought something to do.”

Logan considered, a slight curl of worry in his stomach. “Yes. I believe now would be a good time.”

Roman fully entered the room. “So I can sit behind you, and do my thing, and I won’t bother you while you do yours.”

Logan smiled slightly. “That sounds pleasant.”

Roman grinned, a bit of pride evident in his expression. He sat behind Logan on the bed, facing away from him, and leaned back slightly, so that they were each leaning against the other.

For about thirty seconds, Logan was uncomfortable, but gradually, warmth spread out through his body, and his mind was able to return its focus to his flashcards, and soon he found he was quite comfortable.

“Hey, specs, what do you call a little tiny shovel? Like the ones for kids. Or I guess not for kids, or not all the time.”

“That would be called a trowel, though perhaps a more recognizable, less correct term would be a spade.”

“Thanks!”

Logan could hear the smile in Roman’s voice, and smiled himself. This was genuinely pleasant.

Even after he had finished with his flashcards, Logan didn’t move. He just soaked in the wonderful warmth, answering whatever questions Roman had, and occasionally listening as Roman gushed about a particular sentence or paragraph he was especially proud of writing.

••^*^••

Logan walked beside Patton, enjoying the false nature of the imagination. He was familiar with much of the flora and fauna, even a decent portion of those entirely invented within Thomas’s mind. And Patton seemed to enjoy Logan’s rambling as much as Logan enjoyed the rambling.

A hand bumped gently against his, and Logan hesitated a moment, before linking his pinky finger with Patton’s.

Patton’s smile grew even brighter. “And you were saying the seeds of that tree are special? What kind of special are they?”

Logan smiled proudly, launching into an explanation. Patton swung their hands back and forth gently as they walked, and Logan felt something within him fill up. He felt pleasantly full, as if there was a cup inside him that had been long empty, and was now trickling over the rim, full enough to even spill.

••^*^••

Logan and Virgil laid out on the roof, looking up at the night sky. They were side by side, with Logan’s left leg tangled up with Virgil’s right.

It was calm. And warm. And peaceful.

In a reverse of the usual pattern, Virgil was the one telling the myth, this time of people who had lifted up the sky.

Logan felt himself drifting off, more comfortable than he could remember being in a very long time. He was figuratively floating on soft, warm clouds. Drifting into a summer night. He was safe, and content. Comfortable.

••^*^••

“Patton,” Logan said slowly.

“Hmm?”

“I would like to attempt a hug.”

Patton turned all his attention to Logan. “You sure?”

Logan nodded. “Yes. Just— slowly. And gently.”

Patton nodded solemnly, reaching his arms out.

Logan slowly leaned into the embrace, and Patton gently wrapped his arms around him.

And it wasn’t bad.

Logan hugged Patton, squeezing lightly before letting go. “Thank you.”

Patton’s eyes were all shimmery, and his smile wobbled. “You’re welcome, Logan!”

••^*^••

The door burst open dramatically and Roman ran in, flopping over the arm of the couch and letting out an even more dramatic groan. Then he peeked his eyes open, and moved to just as dramatically flop onto Logan’s lap.

“I fought dragons.” He announced, his voice a whisper as if he were inches away from death.

Logan, for once, was hit with a burst of mischievousness, and patted Roman’s face in an intentionally awkward way. “I will be sure to mention it at your funeral. I’m sure you’ve written an extensive ballad, and I’ll force Virgil to sing it in your honor.”

Roman had a sudden grin before resuming his ‘dying of exhaustion and probably wounds’ act. “Make sure you do,” he croaked out. “And have Patton put flowers in my casket.”

“Of course.”

Roman went limp, closing his eyes and sticking his tongue out.

“Patton!” Logan called. “We’re going to have to put on a funeral.”

“A what?!”

••^*^••

Logan leaned against Virgil’s side, his empty cup of coffee set beside him, as the second movie began to wrap up.

“If they start another movie, you can lay in my lap and go to sleep,” Virgil offered quietly.

Logan, who despite the coffee was beginning to nod, hummed an affirmative.

He was woken up a good deal later by a lack of sound, and found that they’d just finished what might have been the third, but could’ve been the fourth or fifth movie of the night. He was laying on a pillow in Virgil’s lap, and his legs were up in Roman’s lap. And judging by Patton’s smile, pictures had been taken.

“We’re finishing up now,” Patton whispered. “And setting up to sleep out here. Do you want to stay in here or go to your own room?”

Logan yawned. “It will be far better for my posture to go to my own room… but if you were to turn on a sound machine… I would not be opposed to remaining here.”

Soon, something between white noise and rain lulled him back to sleep.

••^*^••

They all found a marked improvement, both in Logan’s mood and even in Thomas’s clarity of mind, as they continued experimenting with touch.

It was discovered that Roman, while not starved, was also touch-hungry, and was practically a giant dog in that he would accept any and all kinds of petting.

And as Logan regulated, he found he was even more ready to give touch than to receive it. Roman flopping onto him after ‘terrible and glorious battles’ became a regular occurrence, often ending with Roman falling asleep, Logan gently scritching at his scalp.

Walks with Patton became something they both greatly enjoyed and looked forward to. Sometimes they could only link pinkies, sometimes holding hands, sometimes even walking arm in arm.

And Virgil was always ready to do something of his own near Logan, a limb draped over him or pressed up against him.

Logan found himself repeatedly thinking back to that one afternoon in the memory library, incredibly grateful that Virgil had asked, and that he had said yes. He could see so much in his life that was better now.

And he was really, truly happy.

#sanders sides #my own work #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #platonic analogical #gift fic

233 notes · View notes

risjime · 3 years

Note

IM HERE TO REQUEST RIS HEHEHEHE, again congrats on 300!!

I'm gonna go with colour me pretty hehe, the colour would be #cd8cc5 (why do I remember my code from tumblr) and the article of clothing would be a skirt! with hajime fluff <333 we both simp for hajime so hard ugh 😔🤚🏽

well congrats again!!! and thanks for doing this 😫😫

NERVOUS

with: iwaizumi; no pronouns used but reader does mention wearing skirts & dresses

content: fluff!!, kinda a non-linear timeline?? [used diff colour text to represent this], college au

wc: 0.7k

a/n: ahhh thank you again mai!! we rlly do both simp for him a ton 😌 i hope you enjoy this babes 🤍

participate in my 300 event here!

your legs drape over hajime’s as you lay lazily on his couch, scrolling through your phone after a long day. he’s doing the same, snacking on an apple, as two of you sit in a comfortable silence. a sudden thought comes to your attention, prompting you to call out to your boyfriend, "babe!"

he looks towards you mid-bite with raised brows, you let out a little laugh at the adorable sight before continuing, "what’s your favourite colour on me? i need to get a dress for this weekend."

setting his apple down, he turns back to his phone, "mm one sec… the hell is this colour called?"

"just describe it to me," you giggle at his frustration.

"i would if- ahh here," he turns his screen to you, showing a bright pinkish-purple on the display.

"oh i have a-"

"a skirt that colour," he finishes for you. "yeah, i remember. i love that skirt on you."

hajime could never forget the first time he saw you. it was the first week of his second year at seijoh, oikawa was going on about something related to one of last year��s volleyball matches, and hajime’s mind was already starting to zone out. he sees the bright flash of purple in the distance, as you open up your locker, his eyes beginning to follow your movements. he isn’t entirely sure why you’ve caught his attention, but you have. he’s about to look away when you turn around, then he catches sight of your face, and you draw him in even further.

"iwa-chan, are you even listening?" oikawa huffes.

"nah he’s got heart eyes going," makki comments, watching the interaction.

"hmm," tooru puts his hands on his hips in contemplation, "looks like love at first sight."

the next time he sees you wearing the skirt is his first year at college. he didn’t expect he’d ever see you again after graduation, but here you were, in one of his general classes, wearing that same damn skirt that caught his attention all those years ago. he didn’t talk to you all that much in high school, he was always too nervous when he’d try, but his crush on you never faded.

he watches as you look around at the lecture room’s entrance for a place to sit, his breathing slows when you make eye contact with him, a small smile gracing your face.

you take the seat next to him, as he greets you with a smile, "iwaizumi, i didn’t know you were going here too!"

he clears his throat, "yeah me neither- i mean- i didn’t know you were going here."

ugh, why was he always so awkward around you?

before he can say anything else, the lecture starts. you try to make light conversation between any pauses, but hajime doesn’t give you much in response, his eyes seemingly trained to the front of the room at all times. when the lecture ends, you hesitantly tell him, "i’m sorry if i was distracting during class today, i can sit somewhere else tomorrow if you’d rather."

he looks at you with wide eyes, a slight blush forming on his cheeks as he hurriedly responds, "no! no thats not it at all."

a short silences passes between you as hajime thinks about how to continue, "i just… get a little nervous around you is all."

you raise a brow in surprise, "nervous? why?"

you weren’t gonna make this easy for him, were you?

"i’ve uh," he rubs his hands together, pushing his nerves away as he continues, "i’ve had a little bit of… a crush on you… since second year."

your smile grows at the realization, the pieces finally coming together to make sense of your relationship with him.

"you were so cute back then," you giggle at the memory, moving to lean your head on his shoulder.

"shut up, i was worried you’d think i was a creep or something."

you look over to see a familiar pink hue as he averts his eyes from you, "always a nervous boy, aren’t you hajime?"

he wraps his arms around you, peppering light kisses on your cheek with a soft smile, "only when it comes you."

96 notes · View notes

hallowed-be-thy-username · 3 years

Text

Clothing Is Custom, No Labels

“No matches on prints, DNA, dental. Clothing is custom, no labels. Nothing in his pockets but knives and lint. No name, no other alias.”

Summary: You’re one of the last bespoke tailors in town, making suits and custom clothing for Gotham’s elite. Business men and women, well known lawyers, the Wayne family, and… the Joker?

Genre: Self-insert, porn with plot, longfic

Pairing: Ledger!Joker x fem reader

Warnings: angst!, threats, intimidation

Word count: 4,334

Author’s note: Oh my god, ok, I was stricken with a particularly persistent case of writer's block but I'm finally back! Here we are with part thirteen!! It took me SO long, as you can see 🙈, but I'm super excited for this chapter (even though I say that about every chapter, it's true!) and I'm sorry it isn't a bit longer! But we've got loads of plot development and dialogue, I hope you enjoy it! This one's smut free for now, but don't worry, it'll be back very soon 🔥

Please read the warning above and do not interact with this story if you are a minor! Comments and reblogs always appreciated ❤️

Musical Inspiration: Something In The Way by Nirvana

- Part Thirteen -

Sleep should have been the last thing on your mind as you followed Joker out into the warehouse, but your fatigue was starting to grow stronger than your anxiety by now. You actually had no idea what time it was, but it was late enough that exhaustion was beginning to set in behind your eyes. Or was that just from the wild range of emotions you’d experienced in only one day?

You worked on taking steady breaths while you carefully stepped behind him and watched the bottom of his coat sway around his calves to keep yourself from looking at the handful of men standing nearby. Because they were looking at you, you didn’t need to lift your gaze to know that.

Embarrassment heated your cheeks when you arrived at a table with a few folding chairs around it and looked across the table to lock eyes with the man who’d guarded the office door earlier. He stared back for only a second before averting his eyes and rounding the table to pull a chair out for you, making your face burn even hotter. It almost felt as though you were being treated like one of those posh wives that often accompanied many of your wealthy clients, so superior and self-important. The contrast was ironic, funny really. Instead of a ritzy downtown Gotham restaurant, you were in an abandoned warehouse covered in graffiti. And in place of an affluent husband dressed in a pristine suit, you sat next to the Joker, his distinctive purple coat falling open across his lap as he leaned back in his chair, showing where he’d missed a button on his green vest.

The comparison made your throat go dry and you almost choked when you swallowed against it. You had to get out of your own head if you wanted to get through whatever was about to happen without humiliating yourself further.

“Let’s get started then, shall we?”

Joker’s voice snapped you to attention and not a moment after his statement, a man with black hair slicked back against his head and a pointed nose was lead into the room. Your stomach dropped when you noticed what he was wearing. Black tie, white shirt, navy jacket with silver buttons and a shiny police badge over the left pocket.

The heat drained from your face and all of a sudden you felt compelled to run but you couldn’t move. Instead, you stayed firmly planted in your seat, failing to hide the terror in your face while they sat the man down in a chair across from Joker.

He sighed and licked his lips, lacing his fingers together to rest across his stomach before finally speaking. “What kept you so long, Thomas?”

You noticed the man was trembling slightly and starting to sweat, raising the feeling of dread into your throat before he answered, “I-I got news, boss.”

The cold sinking feeling that had fallen over you suddenly dissolved. You were preparing yourself for what he was about to do to this unfortunate police officer, but it seemed that things were more than they appeared, as you’d learned they often are with him.

“Do you? Well then, do tell,” Joker replied in a mocking tone, looking down at the knife from his pocket he’d begun to toy with.

The man, whose name was apparently Thomas, fought hard to swallow before speaking again. “Dent saw the name a-and started askin’ questions. He was gonna shoot me but the Batman-”

Joker’s eyes flashed up from the knife and Thomas froze in place. His mention of Batman instantly raised the tension level in the room, and you found yourself gripping the seat of your chair.

Keeping the knife in his hand, he leaned over the table and growled, “But the Batman wha-t?”

Thomas forced shaky breaths in and out through his nose, keeping his eyes on Joker’s with his jaw clenched tightly. “He… he stopped ‘im,” he managed to utter without his teeth chattering.

“My hero,” Joker answered derisively before leaning back into his seat.

You let the breath you’d been holding out from between your lips while the man in uniform, his forehead now beaded with sweat, blinked and tried to catch his own breath. Joker must enjoy the power he held over people. Inducing so much fear and anxiety by just looking at them. Your heart fluttered when you thought about the thrill it gave you. It was like you’d had been trained to feel more than fear. He stirred up such a complex arousal within you that was hard to explain, even to yourself. Was it because he made you tremble with pleasure and not with pain?

Then your thoughts were interrupted when Joker spoke again, “Now is there more to this little story of yours, Schiff, or have you wasted my very precious time?”

He kept his dull gaze on Thomas, blinking at him, seemingly bored by the whole situation while the man struggled to speak again, his pursed lips quivering. After his tongue slipped out of this mouth to lick the forked scar on his lip, Joker shifted to stand up and Thomas flinched before blurting out, “He’s turnin’ himself in!”

Joker whipped his head back around to stare at the now visibly shaking man with a new fire in his eyes and you stiffened in your chair. There was that thrill again. Your stomach churned a little as a new thought entered your mind. Yes, he enjoyed the power he held over people, and so did you. The way people would freeze, and their eyes widened. The menace that surrounded him came from so much more than a purple suit and smeared greasepaint. He was becoming some obscure figure or representation of fear. His name had been uttered by almost every citizen in Gotham, spoken with an undertone like it left a bitter taste on their tongues, and it wasn’t even his real name. But to the city of Gotham, it was his real name.

“T-…Tomorrow,” Thomas managed to stammer as Joker’s shadow cast over his face.

He approached him and leaned in close, his towering frame hunched forward at his waist. “Wanted to save the, uh, head-line for last, did ya?”

Thomas’s face grew paler, and he vigorously shook his head as Joker licked his lips with a loud smack before continuing, “My time is precious, Schiff, and it’s a terrible thing to waste.”

You took quick breaths in and out through your nose, the air almost burning the back of your throat, like gasoline. It was him. His scent reached your mind and turned your thoughts to how it felt to have him close, as if the smell of him was enough to absorb you. The shirt. Your eyes glanced down at the blue diamond patterned button-up that covered your body and goosebumps suddenly tickled your skin.

“Now. Before any more of it slips away, why don’t you go with these nice gentlemen so they can collect some de-tails from ya, hm?” he said with faux repose before patting Schiff on the cheek.

Two men that you hadn’t noticed approach made you flinch when they appeared behind the man before each took hold of one of his arms to stand him up from the chair. His gaze finally broke away from Joker’s face to scan over the men, making a soft sound, like a whimper, as they silently escorted him out through the side door.

It slammed and you felt like you’d just been dropped into your chair from where you’d been floating somewhere above it, blinking your eyes as if to clear fog from your vision. The warmth of arousal swiftly faded and the uneasy feeling of eyes on you began to crawl up your back. The room was eerily quiet now and you couldn’t seem to dare yourself to move, you just stared ahead into the darkness on the other end of the warehouse.

Then you nearly jumped out of your chair and gasped when you felt hands rest on your shoulders. “What’s the matter, doll face? Afraid of cops, hm?”

So much for getting out of your own head. Your face heated up once again and you fought against the cascade of nervous impulses trying to take you over before turning your head to see Joker’s gloved hand on your shoulder. Your heart fluttered relentlessly, as if trying to flee from your chest every time you saw him.

“Mm well, no need to worry. Thomasover there works for me.”

It was strange, the contrast between the way he spoke to that man and how he spoke to you. It was hard not to read into it. Part of you knew it was because he wanted something from you, but you couldn’t stop the little rising feeling that maybe you meant something to him. Why would you want that from a man like him? Had you been corrupted that much? The whole thing was enough to make your head spin all over again. But you took a deep breath before your thoughts could consume you and finally lifted your gaze to look at him.

He gazed back at you with heavy eyelids and your heart rose up into your throat, your lips parting as you blinked at him. This was all on purpose. Giving them a show, bringing you out here wearing one of his shirts, making sure they could see you. It should have made you upset, the way he paraded you around, but it made you feel something else. Tingles traveled up your neck and through your burning cheeks as a sense of gratification bloomed in your chest. You were his and he wanted them to know that. Maybe you wanted them to know it too. You wanted them to know that you were his… that you’d slept with Gotham’s most dangerous man.

A small smile appeared on your face, the air carrying the smell of greasepaint and burnt matches as the corner of his mouth stretched into a smirk. Still no sign of the bottom of this rabbit hole.

_______________

The deep darkness of a dreamless sleep lifted as your eyes slowly opened, blinking at the unfamiliar surroundings where you found yourself waking. This wasn’t your bedroom. Your mind, still somewhat shrouded by sleep, tried to make sense of where you might be instead before jolting you awake, and it all came back to you. It’d only been one night, but it felt like so many more.

You weren’t sure exactly when you’d fallen asleep. But you remembered following him back to his office, there were some passing remarks to the men in the room, you thought maybe then you sat down on the bed, but your exhaustion obscured any more details. What time was it?

Raising your arms over your head, you stretched beneath the blanket that had been placed over top of you and took a deep breath of the cool air. After rubbing your eyes, you heard a small sound coming from the little bathroom in the back of the office. Your breath caught in your throat and a flutter of anxiety came over you when you realized you weren’t alone. Holding still, you listened carefully and heard the sound of water running. It must be him, who else would it be? That maddening flutter grew stronger along with the familiar rise of heat in your face. Was that ever going to stop?

Swallowing against the tightness in your throat, you quietly pulled the blanket away and swung your legs over the side of the mattress, your bare feet making contact with the concrete floor. Once your weight settled onto your tip-toes, you carefully took silent steps toward the bathroom. As you approached the doorway, the sound of running water was accompanied by a metallic clink and a low hum.

You cursed your nerves for being so on edge, it was becoming embarrassing at this point. So, in an attempt to boldly ignore your meek apprehension, you took a breath and stepped into the doorway.

The warmth in your cheeks increased ten-fold as your eyes scanned the sight in front of you. Leaning over the sink while a steamy flow of water ran from the tap, Joker’s reflection in the mirror glanced at you without turning around. He was bringing a straight razor to his face, carefully gliding it along his jawline before rinsing it under the tap and bringing it back to take another row of shaving cream. He was wearing the same thin thank top with only traces of greasepaint left around his ears.

“Mmm well, there she is. A regular sleeping beauty, aren’tcha, doll?” he said, his eyes returning to his own face in the mirror.

Make that twenty-fold. You huffed a breath as you tried to come up with a response, too stunned by something so seemingly ordinary. Sure, you’d seen men shave before, but this was different. It was strange to see him move with such precision, so careful with his hands, running the sharp blade around the rough edges of his scars with ease. His penchant for chaos came with a certain finesse, an accuracy that he made appear so effortless. Perhaps you’d been staring too long.

“Now that you’ve rejoined the, uh, land of the living, we have some work to do.”

You blinked and tore your gaze away from the mirror, trying to look anywhere else before it finally landed on the tile floor. “Um… what kind of work?”

He chuckled and you could feel him looking at you in the mirror again when he answered, “The kind that requires some subtlety, a little nuance that no one else here can measure up to.”

Your eyes lifted from the floor after you thought for a moment about what he said and you asked, “No one else but me?”

“You catch on quick, baby doll,” he replied, clicking his tongue as he swiped away the last bit of shaving cream from his face. Then he set the razor on the edge of the sink and turned around, looking you up and down as he closed the gap between you. “It’s your time to shineonce again.”

That feeling had begun to fill your chest. That strange sense of pride tangled up with your willingness to do more, your desire to please. You didn’t seem to be in control of it, that was something you gave up days ago, but you could see it blurring the line between what was right and what was wrong even further. Soon you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

He stopped in front of you, keeping your gaze locked with his as you felt the ghost of his breath on your skin. The more he looked at you like that, the stronger that feeling was becoming. He knew it too, didn’t he? He knew that you belonged to him by now and you had no wish to put a stop to it, even after everything you’d seen.

“What do you want me to do?”

A small smirk appeared on his face and he answered in a low voice, “That’s what I like to hear, doll.”

The heat that had been rising in your body came to a sudden halt when he then turned to pass you through the doorway, leaving you taking slow breaths to regain what little composure you could manage.

“This one’s simple,” he called over his shoulder from his desk. “All you gotta do is blend in. Be a fly on the wall, so to speak.”

Were you ever going to be able to keep your mind out of the gutter whenever he got close? Probably not. But you could try to hide it. After letting out one more breath, you turned to follow him into the office where he’d sat at his desk with the small hand held mirror you’d seen before, dipping his fingers into a jar of white paint before starting to smear it across his face.

“Blend in where?”

He chuckled, scooping more paint out cover his jaw line. Then without looking up from the mirror he answered, “Check the suitcase by the bed.”

A tattered leather suitcase beside the bed quickly caught your eye. You weren’t sure if he’d ever answered any of your questions directly before and it seemed that was unlikely to change soon, so you tentatively followed his instruction. It wasn’t heavy when you picked it up to place it on the bed. Then after clicking the latches open, you shifted your gaze toward the desk. He’d moved on to smudging black around his eyes, still not turning to look at you. Those insidious butterflies in your stomach made themselves known and in an attempt to shoo them away, you hurriedly lifted the lid on the leather case.

Not sure what you were expecting to see in the first place, you blinked for a moment at the articles of clothing folded neatly inside before reaching in to pick them up. On top was a black pencil skirt, just the right length for the hem to lay above your knees, and beneath it was a deep purple cardigan with opalescent buttons down the front. The purple knit fabric matched that of his coat almost exactly. Heat returned to your cheeks then your eye caught sight of a pair of black heels in the bottom of the case.

“Can’t have you going out in that, hm?”

Your heart leapt into its familiar place in your throat as you looked down at his shirt you were still wearing, goosebumps crawling up your back before you turned around and nearly ran into him. He’d finished with the bright smear of red on his mouth and was now standing over you, the look in his eyes drawing even more warmth to the surface of your skin.

His fingers slid down your wrist before he took your hand in his, turning your palm upwards as his eyes remained locked with yours, your breath now a shallow huff. After reaching into his pocket, you felt him place something in your hand.

Holding back the excitement climbing up behind your tongue, you forced your eyes down. It was some kind of ID card. In bold letters along the bottom, it read “PRESS” and in the corner, you saw an image of yourself. Your eyes widened when you recognized it as the photo from your driver’s license.

Your eyes darting back up to his face, you asked, “What’s this?”

He raised an eyebrow and replied, “What does it look like?”

“How did you get my license photo?”

A chuckle vibrated in his throat and he turned away from you to go back to his desk where he took something from one of the drawers.

“Always so many questions, doll. But never the right ones.”

_______________

It was hard to keep yourself from fidgeting with the hem of the skirt. It was actually very well made and fit you like a glove, but your nerves were getting the best of you once again. You sat in the backseat of an SUV with tinted windows where Joker had just slid in next to you moments ago.

The brightness of the morning sun was only partially lessened by the darkened glass, it’s beams still nearly blinding where it peeked out from between buildings. Lifting your hand to shield your eyes, the other clutching the ID card, you squinted out the window to try to discern where you here headed. He’d left you to get cleaned up and dressed then took you straight to this car outside where a driver was waiting, not a word exchanged between anyone. He said this would be simple, but you couldn’t keep your stomach from tying into a tense knot while you worried over what you were expected to do.

“Ok, doll. Like I said, this one’s simple.”

His timing couldn’t have been better. You turned away from the window to see him reach into his coat pocket, retrieving something small that he held between his fingertips.

“With this, you can be my eyes and ears,” he said, holding it out.

It was a little black earpiece, small enough to fit comfortably in your ear. When you lifted your eyes, about to ask what it was for, you stopped before the words could exit your lips. He’d shifted closer to you and reached out to tuck some of your hair behind your ear. The leather of his glove brushed against your cheek, rendering it scorching as he placed the small device in your ear.

“You are now an esteemed member of the press and today you’ve scored the opportunity to report on the biggest story sweeping the city…” he grinned, taking the ID from your hand and clipping it to your sweater. “The Batman is turning himself in.”

Next thing you knew, the car pulled up to the curb then the man sitting in the front seat reached behind him and pushed your door open. The cool air rushed over your face and you whipped back around, mouth open but no questions left to ask.

“Your time to shine, baby girl.”

Your feet carried you toward the tall building in front of you, its ground floor lined with windows while your chest shuddered against the quick breaths you forced in and out of it. You hadn’t been given much instruction, but you knew standing around on the sidewalk looking confused wasn’t what you should be doing. Scanning the entrance in search of where you should be going, you noticed a small crowd entering the door on the far end of the building and turned toward it.

“Bingo. You’re gettin’ good at this, doll.”

His voice suddenly rumbling in your ear sent a rush down your back and you almost stopped in your tracks, but you pressed forward as warmth filled your face, trying to keep your expression calm and unassuming. You had to resist looking behind you to look for the car you knew he must be watching you from.

After taking a quick glance around you to make sure you were still alone, you swallowed and asked quietly, “Can you hear me?”

He answered with a low chuckle and said, “Mm loud and clear, sweetheart.”

Great, how were you supposed to stay composed when it felt like he was following right behind you? But the door was getting closer, and you didn’t have much time to ask questions. Now you could see inside where news cameras were all pointed in the same direction.

“Are you gonna tell me what to do?”

“Eyes and ears, doll. Your big story awaits.”

He probably heard the frustrated sigh you couldn’t hold back as you pulled the glass door open to follow the crowd, his giggle tickling in your ear.

The large conference room was packed with people sitting in rows in front of a small stage where a podium was set up, more standing along the walls and backed all the way up to the door. You quietly squeezed behind the group just inside the entrance and made your way toward the last spot against the wall, eyeing the handful of police officers to your right. As if your nerves weren’t weighing heavy enough on you, now there were cops here?

You looked down at the press badge clipped to your sweater and tried to relax. Just blend in, they weren’t there for you. Staring at the podium rigged with a handful of microphones across the room, his words echoed in your head, the Batman is tuning himself in.

Then the crowd gradually fell silent when flashes and the clicking of cameras followed a man with a head of sandy blonde hair as he stepped up to the podium. You recognized his face from his campaign ads right away.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. I’ve called this press conference for two reasons. Firstly, to ensure the citizens of Gotham that everything that can be done over the Joker killings is being done.” Harvey Dent continued to speak over contentions from the crowd and said, “Secondly, because the Batman has offered to turn himself in. But first, let’s consider the situation. Should we give in to this terrorist’s demands?”

You couldn’t understand the rest over Joker’s burst of laughter in your ear. You quickly covered it with your hand to smother the sound before he held his giggles back and said, “Me? A Terrorist? Oh Harvey, you’re gonna make me blush.”

The crowd continued the argue against him until Harvey made a promise. “The Batman will have to answer to the laws he’s broken but to us, not to this mad man.”

A mad man. You supposed that wasn’t untrue. You’d seen enough to know that. But it still somehow didn’t feel true to you. Like it was what people said because they felt threatened by him. They were frightened and faced with a particular unease, unable to explain what it was. It gripped them and wouldn’t let them look away. You felt it too. But it didn’t scare you away, it only drew you closer, didn’t it?

Before you fell further into your thoughts, agitated demands for the Batman to turn himself in echoed through the room as Dent’s speech failed to bring any sense of righteousness to the crowd of cops and reporters.

“So be it. Take the Batman into custody.”

Everyone fell silent, waiting for the vigilante to step forward. Was that really about to happen? But Harvey waited only a moment before he stated to the crowd, “I am the Batman.”

Disbelief settled over the room, everyone watching as a few officers approached him to put him in handcuffs and swiftly lead him off of the stage. Then the hairs on the back of your neck stood up as a deep chuckle resounded in your ear.

“Ahhh, well there you have it. Now Harvey wants to play.”

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