#this is what happens when you keep reading inky's writing every night

[hakusins]

i need to work on my projects but my head is full of pc being remy's wife and getting fucked on the hayloft by wren when remy's away and im SCREEEEEE

[siberiascaravan]

Betraying Hearts: Prologue

A quick note from the author: 

To keep my fiction inclusive as possible and to make my writing better, we are going to be doing some stuff a bit different than the usual (y/n). 

Using they/them pronouns. But, if you want to replace those with your pronouns as you read. I am all for it. 

Instead of (Y/N) we are going to go by a ‘Code Name’ - Fern Vesper. Again, should you decide to change it to your name as you read along, totally understand 🙂

I won’t be describing skin color, eye color, or hair color/texture. However, I will say that this character isn’t bald. So, there will def be hair. 

Age limit: I recommend my material be read by adults only. But, I understand it’s the internet and I was young once too. Please understand that this material might not be suitable for minors.

Happy holidays. I hope this is a good intro! More to come ♥

Enough blabbing, I just wanted to make sure everyone was on the same page ♥ 

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

Adrenaline rushed through your veins like an electrical current riding with the flow of your bloodstream. Each pump of your heart brought on a new wave of electricity. How long has it been since you had been brought to this room; surrounded by walls painted in an inky blue hue that made it feel as though one were suffocating in the ocean at night?  A clock, the only thing in this empty holding cell sat right above the door into and out of this room; Your eyes glued to the surface, burning from lack of blinking. Maybe if you watched the clock time would go slower and whatever was about to happen would happen later rather than sooner. The heavy clunking of the gears working behind the face of the object sounded with each passing second; taunting you with an omen of what was to come. 

Why did you have to open your big mouth? Was it worth all the trouble it seemed to have gotten you into? The only reason you get pulled into a room by yourself is to be fired. Or worse. A groan sounded as you ran your fingers softly down your cheeks.  

The expression on his face after you had spoken up and 'corrected' him.. The memory alone was enough to tug at one corner of their mouth in a smug smirk. It wasn’t often one got to correct someone of higher standing. Especially someone like him, whom no one dared question; According to the agent who brought you in here anyways.

~*~*~* 

The day started so normal as Fern opened their eyes and went on with the same morning routine they had for years. It wasn’t much, just the basics. Hygiene, basic skin care, teeth care, you know the usual. Work had gone about the same excluding the mention of a new section of the RDA opening with employees to fill all positions. Aside from that one shred of news- It was almost like living a rerun of your life every day. Though, you would be lying if you said they didn’t love what you did for a living. Honestly, Fern Vesper was the ‘Jack-Of-All-Trades’. Combat knowledge, tech-savvy, and crafty. Another plus was Fern’s smarts; despite not having a degree- the RDA simply tested them to make sure Fern was as good of an asset as they were claiming to be. Once you passed that test it was a breeze to get a job there. Their overlooking your lack of college experience when it came to hiring was one of the reasons you joined. One of them. Another reason was due to your history. The RDA didn’t seem to mind too much either provided you didn’t cause them any issues. 

The past IS the past. Nothing more needs to be said about it. People make mistakes. But, they grow from it and learn.. Still, it didn’t stop some of the guilt that ate away at you while you lie there in bed. 

It was after work hours, you had been looking through work emails on your tablet. No jobs or requests meant you had all the time in the world to do what you did best: Researching whatever the hell you wanted. All information was valuable after all. The newer the discovery - the better.

This deep, rough, commanding voice echoed through the halls from an upcoming room with its door open. This wasn't typical since all information was kept on a ‘need-to-know basis. Doors were closed when in conference rooms. SO, Knowing the door wasn’t closed, you saw this as an opportunity to see what was going on. Maybe there was food involved, like a potluck. Who would miss out on free food? 

‘CERTAINLY, NOT I’  you think, chuckling to yourself as both feet stopped just before the threshold. You inhaled slowly and softly, making sure you weren’t making too much noise to not alert anyone within, just in case you weren't meant to see or hear whatever was going on. Ever so slowly, hues round the corner to peek in. 

The room held a ‘squad’ or ‘team’ of men and women who stood rigid unmoving towards the front of the room facing the aforementioned door. Luckily it seemed they didn’t take notice of you at the time; Their eyes never faltered from the source of the voice. Without warning a muscular body would move in front of them effectively blocking them from your view, but, facing the soldiers standing at attention. What a sight to see. The entire room still with that many bodies in there- it was kind of freaky. Like a bunch of statues. 

“Alright, I’m feeling particularly jolly this evening soldiers.” He began, moving down the line of his group- “If any one of you can tell me what the most important thing is when you find yourself in new territory.. I’ll let you all go for the evening. It is Friday after all.” a dark chuckle followed as the men and women in that room looked around at one another. Finally, they all attempted to answer him but to no avail. Some even began to look disgruntled.  

“I’d suggest securing a food suppl-”

“That’s not true! A shelter is the first thing you should secure!”

You cant tell who said that. It wasn't until people started to shift their attention to you that you realized that voice was YOUR voice before your brain could even process the fact your lips had moved. And with that single slip up all eyes were now on the intruder standing in the doorway. Especially his. Those icy blue hues drank in the other form. Every single detail. Every curve. He was taking a mental image to remember for later. In case this little disturbance decides to book it out of here and run. You could tell- this man was sizing them up.

Finally, his hues met yours and it felt as though you had been thrown into an icy Volcano. Like the ground beneath your feet quaked. Something had changed that day. He had narrowed his eyes, his hands still behind his back as he slowly moved to them like a serpent about to strike. 

"Excuse me?"

"I-I just mean the average human body can go up to at least two weeks, if not more and while it isn't ideal-... you can use at least the first part securing a shelter and once that is taken c-care of.." It was like this man's presence sucked the air from whatever room he was in. Or maybe it was your social anxiety working itself up. Your eyes broke from the commanding body before you to look at the soldiers in the room who held no expression on their faces. A few had their brows knitted in a sort of: How could you question our leader?? 

A gust of breath sounded from the elder male, his pearly whites coming into view as he smiled- a smile that said: you done goofed. Lifting his left hand, he spoke: 

"All of you are dismissed. Lyle, Please take our new friend into Room 2-C... I think we have some things we need to... discuss." One last look up and down before he pushed past Fern and Jones. This meant the conversation was done.

Was it worth it? Probably not. Fern never was smart when it came to social situations. They’d much rather be off alone somewhere with their nose in a book, or out in the field doing research work. But, surely they couldn’t be in too much trouble, besides they were the newbies here, Fern huffed at their internal monologue.  Was only trying to make sure he understood that his men and women would be better working on a shelter and making sure everyone was okay before walking off to find food. At the same time, his statement as well could be true. But, you won't lose energy until around the two-week mark. Not the critical amount he is trying to make it seem anyways. On week two without anything accomplished one might as well accept their fate. THEN AGAIN SOME FACTORS CAN PLAY A PART TOO. Why didn't you blurt that out too?! 

"I am not to be disturbed. Understood?" 

Your heart began to beat in more rapid successions upon hearing the growl that fell from that man’s lips. It was enough to bring you back from your thoughts- cleverly disguised as an internal scolding. The door opened and closed in one fluid movement. Your orbs watched his massive, bulky frame fill up the room as he entered, moving around you, circling his prey in a sense, stopping just in front of you. His hand grabbed the chair seated directly across from yours and pulled it closer before he sat. Silence engulfed the room once more. Except for that massive pounding in your chest. Could he hear it? No, of course not. He was human. A dangerous-attractiv- 

"What's your name?"

"Fern Vesper.. I'm a part of the research team and-"

"Awful long name. Fern Vesper, I'm a part of the research team." Visibly, you flinched as he reminded them he ONLY asked for your name. 

“Fern.”

“Alright, Fern.” He retorted, his signature grin returning to his face as he leaned back, muscular arms crossing over his chest, fingers tucked under his armpits. His smile seemed to soothe you as you  felt more at ease and oddly warm.. Matter of fact, it was getting warmer. Your cheeks felt as though they were on fire! Hues lifted to look back at the man as he had laughed softly, only to find that he was looking at the nervous mess in front of him known as: Y.O.U. 

Shit. 

“Colonel Miles Quaritch. Just joined as the leader of the-”

“Security Administration.”

Annoyance was the dullest thing the Colonel was feeling at the moment. This little pipsqueak was brave for as scrawny as Miles thought they were. Maybe he was right, only time would tell as that baggy uniform wouldn’t be what you were wearing here soon. Running his tongue across his teeth the former marine leaned forward, resting his forearms upon his knees. It caused a cold shiver to run up your spine.

“You ever heard of the old saying: ‘Think before you speak?’” The man before you finally stated, opting to ignore the obvious flushed face of yours. It was a beautiful sight for him. The blood pooling beneath your cheeks mixing with your skin tone made you radiant. And damn was he a sucker for a pretty little thing like you. “That means, shut the hell up if I am talking- until you have permission to speak. Do we understand?”

The muscles in your jaw clenched as you pursed your lips slightly. Something you did to stop yourself from speaking up and shoving your foot in your mouth. A single nod only came from you in response. That, however, was not good enough for him. 

“I can't hear you nod, agent! That’s why god invented mouths, now let’s use ‘em”

“. . . Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“What..?” Confusion flooded your face as you felt the anger quickly being replaced by the aforementioned emotion. This only made Quaritch grin. He felt as though this relationship was going to be his favorite kind. The kind that would remind him of those nights in Nigeria. On the battlefield. He simply growled out to be addressed with a title. Sir or Colonel. Nothing less. Maybe it was him tilting his head to the side that made you become less- confrontational. “Yes.. Sir..”

“Now damn, was that so hard?” Straightening himself back up in his chair, his hands resting on his knees, he continued. “So, a smart person such as yourself must have a pretty good understanding of this place- right?” You could only nod as the man continued. He didn’t seriously want to hear from you preferring to have you listen. “So, I suppose you’ll be my little helper until I am settled or until I dismiss you.”

“Uhhhh- hah- what? No, listen I have-”

“The RDA has stated I may take what resources I need to help me settle in. And you by opening that trap of yours, have volunteered.” Outstretching his palms, his face twisted into an expression that said: Go ahead and argue with me. When no argument arose he slammed his massive palms together in a clap, the noise loudly echoing in the room making you jump. As he intended. “Seems like we are finally getting somewhere. Good.” came his low, growl of a voice, his boot hooking one of the legs of your chair, pulling you closer as he continued to discuss with you deep into the night..

~To Be Continued~ 

[blainesebastian]

blowin’ smoke (ccg universe)

words: 1,401 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (Bri requested) can I request some Austin smoking/vaping whatever it is he does in CCG universe 👀 notes: probably occurs between pt6 and 7 of ccg--not wildly important but just figure earlier in their relationship, while Austin is still on set for Elvis. you also could read this without any context of ccg, if you wanted warnings: shotgunning  tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @stylesmendeshearted

The stress, anxiety and toll of being in a film that has so much riding on it is something that you can only imagine. They mix with the positive emotions too—the excitement, thrills and passion but that doesn’t make it any less overwhelming. Your dream is to write, to actually put something down on paper that makes people feel and you hope to do that one day in which it can successfully transfer to screen. You’re not about to stop holding your breath, writers are a dime a dozen in this industry. But you definitely find yourself some nights, on your very tiny balcony of your apartment, drinking a tall glass of wine as you consider what your future might be (or sometimes worse, what it might never be).

Everyone has their own set of vices, so it doesn’t surprise you in the least that Austin smokes every so often.

He doesn’t do it a lot—he’s not a singer outright or anything, but he also knows how important it is that he maintains his voice for this role. He is in the recording studio and singing live and the drawl he’s worked so hard to perfect is nothing he wants to mess up. He had to hire a dialect coach in the first place and honestly, he might have to hire another one at the end of the film to ‘un-Elvis’ his voice.

Though, to be fair, you actually kind of like it…and wouldn’t mind in the least if it stuck around.

While the concept of Austin smoking doesn’t surprise you, it’s something you have to get used to when you see it. It just…Austin feels like someone who wouldn’t have a nasty habit, though you can’t outright say that drinking a half a bottle of wine isn’t either. Regardless, you’re not about to judge him or nag about it—the smoke makes you sneeze sometimes and you’re not a fan of it sticking to Austin’s clothes. He knows better than to try and kiss you afterwards too, even though that’s not something you can always hold up.

The man himself is addicting.

Stepping out of your car on a cooler night, you promised Austin that you’d meet him at a bar he’s hanging out at with a few castmates. It’s later than you wanted to be out, but, admittedly you were trying to wait until most of them had gone home already. Your relationship with Austin isn’t public and while he doesn’t seem to care if some people he works with knows about it? you’re a bit uneasy. Austin’s a private person, he’s not about to shell out his business, but…it can be happenstance that a few other people from set have wandered to the same bar Austin and his castmates are at. Happens all the time, the bar is pretty close to set.

While hanging around Austin sounds nice for a few beers, keeping your hands and mouth to yourself will prove to be the more difficult thing.

Pulling your sweater tighter around yourself, you should have worn an actual coat, a soft smile tugs the corners of your mouth as you stroll up to the bar and see Austin outside of it already. He’s leaning against the brick wall near the front door, black jeans and a black leather jacket that goes far too well with the inky darkness of his soft curls. His eyes feel so much of a sharper blue because of it. He’s got his hands cupped around his mouth, lighting a cigarette, the warm orange glow of the embers flickering a moment before they disappear.

He takes in a long drag and blows the smoke out, turning his head a little and spotting you. He gives you a soft wave with his hand, reaching for you once you’re close enough to wrap an arm around your waist. Glancing around, you figure the street is pretty empty—

“Paps aren’t out,” He assures and he seems pretty confident, “Sometimes my agent will ‘leak’ out spottings or my agenda.”

You raise your eyebrows, “And they don’t catch on that you’re not actually there?”

“Sometimes I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.” Austin smirks, licking his lips as he taps ash off the cigarette.

Humming lightly, you lean into his side, “So your agent is like Gossip Girl.”

A laugh tumbles out of his chest and he shrugs his one shoulder, squeezing your hip. “Not as glamourous.”

Pulling a little away from him, you look towards the entrance of the bar as it opens but no one you recognize comes out. These people don’t give you a second glance, which is actually kind of comforting. Running a hand through your hair, you debate whether you want to grab a beer and tug Austin back inside or just head home. There’s always the great idea of getting late night food and wandering back to his trailer.

The wind changes direction and you crinkle your nose as a small cloud of smoke lingers around you. Austin moves his arm and dissipates it with his hand, “Sorry, I know you it bothers you.”  

“It’s alright,” You smile a little, “I’ll live.”

And the thing is, which is probably so messed up to think about? Is that with this whole black on black look, the booties, the leather jacket, the dark waves in Austin’s hair, the whole smoking thing is kinda working for him. It’s utterly distracting to watch his lips wrap along the canister, slender fingers with a few rings pulling it away to tap ash off.

Austin notices you watching but he misreads your thoughts, “Have you ever smoked before?”

“Yeah, I mean—handful of times in college,” You shrug, “Maybe once in high school.”

Austin smiles, adjusting his leaning on the brick wall, “Oh so you’re a rebel?” He teases, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why couldn’t you tell? Thought it was pretty obvious.” You throw back with a grin and he chuckles, stealing a quick kiss to your cheek.

There’s this thought lingering along the iris of his eyes, you can see it, contemplation as he turns the words over in his mind before he finally says it, “Have you ever done shotgunning?”

You narrow your gaze, “I am not about to do that with you.”

Austin chuckles and geez is he a bad influence. You roll your eyes, trying to pretend you’re not going to do this even though you think both of you realize you’re going to. It’s not even that big of a deal, him blowing smoke into your mouth. Doesn’t work as well with cigarettes as it does other things you can smoke but…the effects are still there, the sensation of drawing smoke, the feeling of his lips on yours. Heat begins to gather between your legs as you consider it and you blame the draw of Austin’s entire being, the want to have him that much closer.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you know he already has you, “You’re the worst.”

Austin hums, shrugging his one shoulder as he lifts the cig and takes a small hit. Leaning down, he cups your cheek and you open your mouth slightly as he moves to kiss you. There’s a smoldering ache that happens in your lower belly, seeping downward, and you breathe in as Austin blows.

Your eyes kinda water but you give yourself kudos for not automatically coughing, letting the smoke settle in your lungs before blowing it out. Your head spins, it’s definitely a small rush from the nicotine. Austin looks far too pleased with himself, running his thumb along your lower lip as he drops the cigarette and crushes it with the toe of his boot.

Before you can say anything, he leans down to kiss you again, properly this time. His lips move along yours and neither of you seem concerned at pulling away any time soon. Once you do, he brushes your noses together in a bunny kiss.

“Trailer?”

You run your hand along the lapel of his leather jacket, nodding, “Read my mind.”

Austin smiles, moving to slide his jacket off so he can wrap it around your shoulders. You lean into the warmth of it surrounding you, his arm settling along your shoulders as you begin walking. Taking a small breath in, you catch the scent of leather, Austin’s cologne, and a twinge of smoke.

--

Took a slightly different take with your request but I hope you still enjoyed it! thanks to anyone who reads, comments, likes or reblogs. Appreciate you!!

[whirlybirbs]

          (   this chapter’s gif by @august-walker​ from this beautiful set !   )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  4/?

summary: you formulate a plan, meet steve rogers, and bucky goes on a date.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.8k, mother of pearl

a/n: this ended up being mostly a filler with a lot of romantic growth - i had to break this chapter up from the unce unce unce clubbing that coming up, so please enjoy! 

  (   PREVIOUSLY   |    AO3    |    MASTERLIST  |   NEXT  )

MOSCOW, 1975.

In all the years that James Buchanan Barnes has had a heartbeat, he’d come to know the sounds of grief well.

War taught him a lot of things — that they were all just little boys playing with guns, and that no matter how many times you thought you’d be ready for the vomit-inducing pungency of violence, you never were. In the end, you’d do anything to save yourself; you’d crawl through the thick of death and debris a million times over if only to cling to the shredded tatters of your own humanity.

You would kill someone else’s son for the sake of your own mother.

War was disease that devoured every part of you — it was gunpowder snuff and carved flesh. That sickness — inky and desperate — had sunk deep into this heart during the war, and it crescendoed to the sounds of mothers clutching dead sons. The sounds that followed death were like a hollow opera. Waning and wailing.

In the raucous wake left by warborn grief, Bucky drowned everytime.

To the Winter Soldier, the operatic quality to the sounds of grief were as insignificant as a child’s rhyme.

He did not drown. No, he waded through the waves, comfortable in the cold and unphased by the stinging cut of loss. That was not something he could comprehend. After all, there were orders and there were targets, and everything in between was absolute.

He was the disease that devoured all.

He’s holding a gun to Andrei Kuznetzov’s head in a dining room with ornate trim — with silverware as delicate as scalpels that tinker against fine china. The carpets are red, the curtains are red, there’s blood on the table cloth. The guests continue to eat. Kuznetzov’s wife is screaming, red nails dug so deep into the dining chair’s arms it’s carving out the fabric. War dogs, like him, keep her rooted in her seat, and her tears find polished boots. She’s begging and bartering but the man with Kuznetzov’s life in his hands is not listening. He is eating his veal, bloodied meat dancing between his lips. He takes a sip of wine as his medal emblazoned chest glimmers in the light of crystalline chandaliers.

The spoils of war.

His smile is stained red.

There is no deal to be made.

The Winter Soldier pulls the trigger.

NOW.

His eyes are open.

Panic is the first emotion he feels, and it seizes him up quickly in its grasp. He doesn’t know this view, he doesn’t know where he is, not again, not again, not again —

Then:

“Good morning, sleeping beauty. Did you know you snore?”

The relief that the sound of your voice brings is immediate, and just like that he remembers. He’s laying on the bed. You’re sat up across from him at that small desk in the corner. He reaches as he rubs his face to thumb the edge of the pillowcase. He exhales tightly.

He’s fine. His name is James Buchanan Barnes. He is not longer the Winter Soldier. He’s in his Brooklyn apartment. He is fine.

When’s the last fucking time he’s slept in a bed?

He sits up, scratching his neck as he does. You lean back, half rotated in the desk. Before you is a mess of papers and his laptop — and on top of the keyboard sits his notebook. It’s open to the page where all he’d been able to figure out about Innessa was scrawled in his chicken scratch.

Bucky swings his legs over the edge of the bed and immediately his back complains.

“How long was I out?” he asks, voice hoarse with sleep. He moves to part the curtains. The room blooms with warm morning light.

You offer an apologetic smile into the vanilla sunshine. “Three hours. I wanted you to get some shut eye. You were starting to look a little overwhelmed last night—”

“You click too fast,” he waves, standing and immediately rolling his neck to the side. You watch as the man, before as peaceful as a sleeping pup, now regains his usual thinning veiled level of threat. Bucky is dangerous — it shows in the way he holds himself. He cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders, and groans. He exhales again, posture sagging a bit, “I couldn’t keep up.”

You’re standing now, socks padding against the hardwood as you eye his cowlick with a budding bloom of affection. With his notebook between your index and middle finger, you offer it out. You cling to your empty coffee cup in the other.

“I didn’t peek,” you say warmly, “Pinky promise.”

His laugh is more like a hot puff of air. Bucky manages a look that feels like an emotional dethaw.

“Thank you.”

You lead the way to the kitchen, stretching your own back as you go. You’d been up all night — this is your third trip out here for yet another cup of coffee. The pot has been on for too long, though, and you know the coffee sitting there is beyond bitter. You’re moving to dump it down the sink when Bucky grumbles.

“Don’t.”

“You want it?”

“No,” he mutters, reaching for a mug, “But I don’t want to waste it.”

“Wow,” you chirp, “The Great Depression just jumped out.”

“Yeah,” he snorts, yanking open the fridge to search for something to eat, “It does that.”

“Well, grandpa,” you hand him the steaming cup and set out to make another pot, “You’re also living on Depression Era rations — might I suggest some Dolly’s? Because I’m starving and I’ve been up all night and I think that means I get to decide where we get breakfast.”

Bucky’s look is soft — but you don’t see it. You’re too busy scooping sugar into your cup, too busy nudging him aside to grab the milk. He’s rooted there in the kitchen, watching you move about. You’re comfortable. There isn’t a trace of anxiousness in you, not in this moment, and he tries to remember what it looks like.

Your eyes find his and he clears his throat.

“Earth to Sergeant Barnes?”

“Don’t start,” he groans, albeit playfully, “It’s too early.”

“Oh, what? Too early for me to grill you on why you didn’t tell me that little laptop in there was on loan from the FBI? To one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th?”

His face falls.

“Don’t worry,” you raise a hand quickly, leaning against the counter as you sip your coffee, “I figured that out before I did anything massively illegal.”

Bucky rubs his face as he takes a sip of his coffee — the bitterness is enough to slap him awake. He winces, swallows it back, and remembers the taste of instant coffee made in helmets on the line in Bastogne. He can smell snow, and the acrid sting of mortar smoke. Suddenly, he’s craving a cigarette.

That hasn’t happened in a while.

Bucky clears his throat. “Did you find anything?”

You frown slightly, lips pulled as you hide your inward disappointment — you push off from the counter and shake your head as you brush past him. Like a loyal dog, Bucky follows. Into the bedroom you go, and Bucky’s again surprised he managed to get any sleep at all in that bed. Maybe it was the comfort of having someone else there, or the genuine exhaustion that had finally choked him out after hours of trying to understand what the hell you were even doing on there.

You plop into the desk chair and snatch up a piece of paper littered with notes.

“I couldn’t do much of my usual snooping,” you explain gently as you gesture to the chromebook, “This thing might have been given to you in good faith, but they’re watching you pretty closely. So, I worked a little magic and ended up running a virtual machine. Gave me enough wiggle room to avoid the malware and keystroke trackers. Even still, I wanted to be careful, so I just did a little looking.”

“Looking?”

“I can’t dig deeper on Innessa, I know where to dig, but I can’t,” you frown, “Not on this laptop, and definitely not on my personal machines. I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and the files I need to poke are very much off-limits.”

“So, what? We’re shit out of luck?”

“No, not entirely,” you stand up and motion to the paper in your hands; your tone is tight, “I know a few people who can help, but getting to them is going to be the hardest part.”

Bucky takes the paper, squinting at the writing as you settle on the edge of the bed next to him. You take a sip of your coffee and watch as his blue eyes dart across the notes; you point to the name scrawled across the top.

“There’s a club in lower Manhattan, but you’ve gotta know the right people to get in,” you mumble, scratching your cheek as a creeping sense of embarrassment bubbles up behind your words, “It’s in the basement of an old computer repair shop. It’s like a blackhat networking event, but with strippers.”

Bucky squints at the paper and reads the name. “The Glass Cannon?”

“Yeah,” you huff, crossing your arms tightly as you stand, “That’s the one.”

Bucky looks up from the paper, attention now rooted on the pacing you’ve begun to do across the room. Back and forth. You’re holding your coffee like a lifeline, gaze far away. That anxiousless way you’d been holding yourself before is gone. Now, he can see the tensing in your shoulders, in your fingers. You’re suddenly nervous.

Bucky stands. His voice is gentle.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” you snap almost immediately, “Just, y’know. Worried. I spent a lot of time there when I was younger. Did stupid shit. And now I’m about to waltz in after six years like I haven’t put that part of my life behind me.”

“We don’t have to do this,” he says immediately, moving to stand closer and halt your pacing. The invasion of your space forces you to look at him. His fingers glimmering in the morning light. You follow the line of his figure up to his eyes. The emotion there makes your heart clench. You can’t pin it down, and it’s gone in an instant.

“It’s the only way we’re going to find Innessa.”

“You don’t need to put yourself in situations like this for me,” he says, stressing the for me part in both expression and tone. The depreciation makes you wince and you’re fast to shake your head.

“That’s what friends do, Bucky,” you stand your ground, but you know there’s more to your reasoning than that, “Plus, she’s a bad guy. And I know you said I technically wasn’t the sidekick, but—”

“You’re not the sidekick—”

“I know,” you huff, nudging him gently with your arm, “But, I wanna help. Do some good.”

“You do enough good,” he mutters, “You’re a good person.”

Your words fail you at that — and your mouth parts but nothing comes out. Bucky watches with an expression as solid as rock as you blink and look away. His hand, the one of flesh and bone, finds your wrist as you tighten your grip on your mug.

The touch, though far too tender for you to handle, feels like fire.

Like a slap in the face, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky is.

You slap that thought back, trading volleys, and remain quiet.

His tone is stern. “I mean it.”

“Well,” you finally muster, tone dipping sardonically into a cruel peel of humor, “Just wait until you see me in my natural habitat. Maybe the tequila shots will make you second guess that.”

“I didn’t know we were going out drinking,” he chirps as he raises an eyebrow, “Am I going to need to get you a leash?”

“We’re gonna have to try and blend in as best we can. People are going to know me — if they try to pin me with the GRC or the feds, we aren’t going to get anything on Innessa. They probably won’t even let me in the building if they suspect something’s up, after all not everything that goes down in Glass Cannon is kosher.”

“This is already sounding like a bad idea,” Bucky mumbles as he crosses his arms, “I’m stating that for the record, by the way.”

“Well, I think standing around and working ourselves up about this is even worse of an idea,” you chirp back, moving towards the door to muscle on your shoes, “So I say we feed ourselves and don’t worry about this until Thursday night.”

“Thursday.”

You nod.

All of a sudden, Bucky’s eyes go wide.

“Today is Sunday.”

You freeze, hand on the doorframe. You shoot him a wide-eyed look at the sudden flare of panic that’s shot up through him. “Yea, Bucky, today is Sunday.”

“Shit.”

“What?” you nearly cry as he disappears into the bedroom once more. You hear his closet open, then a clatter as he grabs something like keys — you nearly run directly into his chest when he strides back into the kitchen. He’s shouldered on his usual leather jacket, and in his hands is another.

He’s got keys in his hand.

“C’mon.”

He shoves the jacket into your arms and you frown.

“What the hell?” you cry, doubling back to snag your phone and bag as Bucky moves to the door, “What is this?”

“Put it on,” he says, holding open the door for you as you follow him into the apartment hallway.

You raise a brow and stand there as he locks the door.

“Why?”

“Because,” Bucky mumbles, rubbing his face as he widens his strides to the stairwell across the hall; before you know it, you’re desperately trying to keep up as he bounces down the steps — light on his feet like the boxer he is — towards the lower level of the apartment complex, “We’re late.”

You groan, trying to shrug on the jacket that smells like Bucky as you follow — a smell you’d come to know as clean laundry and sandalwood. Must be something for his hair. He never wore cologne, that much was apparent. The jacket is big on you, especially on the shoulders. You were swimming in it, trying not to trip as he held the door open to the garage.

Suddenly, the air is cooler. Immediately you wonder how much his rent is if he had access to a ground level garage. Call it NYC instinct.

“Bucky,” you nearly whine, throwing your head back, “Where are we going?”

Before you get a reply, you run straight into his back. Bucky grunts, moving to grab both of your hands and push you to the front of him.

Sitting in the spot is a motorcycle.

It’s a jet black Harley.

Bucky is handing you the helmet on the back seat as your mouth moves in disbelief. “No way— no, I’m not getting on that thing. I’d rather sell my kidneys. Stop, stop — ow, Bucky — you haven’t even said where we’re going!”

He’s muscling the helmet onto your head and through the flash of the visor you can see a real smile, the sort born out of his never-ending amusement towards your fickle sense of humor. His fingers are nimble against your chin. He takes the time to strap it on, adjust it, and give it a gentle tug. Bucky taps the matte black helmet twice, then flicks the visor down.

“We’re going upstate.”

                                        ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

It takes two hours to get to Elmwood Senior Living.

You spent the first forty-five minutes clinging to Bucky’s waist with your eyes closed — no fault of Bucky’s, really. It was different from riding in a car by miles, and you had your own qualms with driving. You couldn’t be in the passenger’s seat anymore. Not after the accident with Jaimie, when Mom disappeared. Being out of control made you itch; and it’s not until the fifty-minute mark that you ease up on the panic and remember who the man is that’s driving the bike.

You trust Bucky. You trust him with your life.

Once it’s open road, winding up towards the Northern part of the state, it gets easier.

Bucky can feel your grip around his waist loosen just a bit — and it’s enough reassurance that he stops looking back in the mirror every fifteen seconds. It’s enough permission to open up on the throttle, and the bike roars alive. Your immediate reaction is a gobsmacked yelp, the sort that’s pulled from a jolt of shock, but then comes the laugh. 

Bucky’s own quiet chuckle rumbles against your chest. You hold on tighter, but this time with open palms against the thrum of his ribs.

Halfway through the trip, he pulls into a McDonald’s.

You drop your ass onto the parking lot’s curb as he leans against the bike and houses a burger. You laugh, eyeing him candidly as you take a large bite from your own lunch. Bucky is a mess with it — cursing quietly when he ends up getting ketchup on his jacket.

“Shit.”

“Jesus, Bucky,” you mutter, “Did you even taste that thing?”

“Barely,” he clears his throat and starts picking at his fries, “These things taste different now. First time I ever had McDonald’s was right before bootcamp.”

“How much was it? Five cents?” you snort, leaning back and dropping a fry into your mouth.

Bucky watches with a half-smirk. “Fifteen, but nice try.”

He spends the next five minutes on his hand with a wet nap, trying hard to get the grease out of the delicate plates along his palm. You watch, as you knock back the rest of your soda, as his eyes crinkle tightly in frustration. His mouth is pulled tightly into a fine line. For the second time today, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky Barnes is — and how fucking stubborn he is, too.

“Want help?”

“No,” he mutters, trying to get a spot between his thumb and index finger, “I got it.”

“I have smaller fingers,” you sing-song, gathering up his trash and your trash and crossing the parking lot to the bin; upon returning, you waggle them in his face, “Good for hard to reach places.”

Bucky absolutely hates that can feel his blush hit the tips of his ears at the comment.

He’s glad you’re too preoccupied with his hand to notice. You’re watching, like you always do, with respectful awe. To you, this part of him is a bit like a treasure — you find it beautiful and intriguing and incredible. It’s clear in the way you watch the mechanisms turn and tighten that you aren’t frightened by it.

It unsettles Bucky every time.

Finally, once he’s finished under your watchful eyes, he leans to muscle that helmet back over your head. You groan, squinting tightly.

“C’mon,” he knocks your helmet with his knuckles, “We’re almost there.”

The rest of the ride is wide open space, farm land and mountainous peaks looming far ahead. It’s warm, and the sun is hot on your back. The wind is howling around you and it sends your jacket collar flapping against your neck. Your chin rests neatly on Bucky’s shoulder, trying to get a view of the road ahead.

Elmwood Senior Living is tucked into the back of a suburb.

The two of you weave through a neighborhood or two, dancing under the shade of age old maple trees. They cast long, scattered shadows across the pavement as kids play on their lawns. A dog barks somewhere in the distance. Over the hill, church bells ring. Sunday service has ended.

Bucky rolls into the parking lot, past the large sign with swirling lettering. Suddenly, things make more sense. Suddenly, you’re struck with a sinking feeling of grief. Nostalgia. Mourning. But, happiness.

There are folks sitting outside, basking in the sun, tethered to walkers.

Bucky’s wrists crank back weathered knuckles, and slowly the bike rumbles into an open spot. Extending his legs, Bucky balances the bike with ease. You take that as your cue to swing yourself off the back clumsily, hopping a bit. Bucky leans, kicks the stand down, and with significantly more grace than you, swings his leg over.

You’re shrugging his jacket off when he speaks.

“He’s going to be different than how you imagine him.”

You exhale slowly, draping the jacket over the bike’s seat. You peel the helmet off.

“I’ve sort of pieced that together.”

You can see the slight discomfort hanging in his posture. You reach and touch Bucky’s arm.

“Come on,” you nod to the entrance, covered by a shady overhang where someone is helping a family member out of their car, “We don’t wanna be late, huh?”

His eyes soften. Bucky nods.

You walk side-by-side into the lobby of Elmwood Senior Living and it’s like time slows down. It halts in a warm, sunshine colored still — full of chatter, full of humanity, full of wisdom. The room is framed by big windows, by plants, by a man in a U.S. Navy ball cap. He’s stationed by the door, watching the comings and goings. The main desk, where a young woman watches, sits in the corner. You follow Bucky with a content little look. He notices.

He stands a little closer at the main desk. The girl, who looks like she’s incredibly out of place with her blue hair and piercings, is younger than you thought. Highschool, maybe. She offers Bucky an excited smile.

“Took you long enough,” she chirps, moving to sort through a bin to her side with key fobs.

Your brows raise. You spy calculus homework on the desk.

Bucky snorts. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He notices the same problem set you so, and purposely leans over the desk. Suddenly, you’re seeing flashes of a more boyish version of Bucky — one that reminds you of a man with siblings. Bucky taps the paper, jutting a chin to the girl as she tries to swat his attention away.

“How’d you do on that test?”

“I got a 96,” she chirps pridefully, laughing, “Thanks for the help, nerd.”

You’re watching the entire exchange with a smile, backing up a bit to toss a curious glance over your shoulder. There’s a dining room through open doors — and looks like lunch is just wrapping up. Folks are moving around, back to their rooms or upstairs where you can hear the beginnings of a seated aerobics class begin.

Bucky nudges you with his hand.

“Thanks, Sarah,” he says and waves the key she’d handed over.

The girl with the blue hair scoffs. “Say hi to grandpa for me, Bucket.”

You laugh out loud as Bucky quickly flips her off. She’s quick to do the same.

You follow him around the corner, grinning ear to ear. He spares you a sheepish look, then rolls his eyes.

“What was that?”

“She’s a good kid,” he offers, eyeing the key with the grey little fob attached, “Reminds me of my sister.”

Your face softens. “Sister?”

“Her name was Sarah, too,” he says quietly, boots landing softly on the blue carpet. He’s navigating the residential wing like he’s done it a million times. There are rooms with flowers outside, with holiday garb, with little photos and keepsakes. Each room holds a lifetime of personality — the sound of Jeopardy lulls along in the background.

You hum. Bucky sighs.

He meanders down a long hallway where a different door is — this one heavy and locked by the little keypad. Bucky raises the key fob to the device and the door buzzes.

This side of Elmwood is quieter.

Down the hall, Timmy Dorsey and Sinatra play quietly over someone’s record player.

There aren’t as many folks in the hall in this wing, but doors are open and nurses flit about. Around the corner, there’s a loud conversation going on about lunch — and you watch as Bucky weaves towards the nursing station. It’s a room overlooking the common area with windows. Inside are three women.

One of them immediately jumps when she sees Bucky.

“Oh, good! I was meaning to talk to you—”

“Everything alright?”

“About the same,” she breathes as she stands, moving to grab at a Bucky’s arm with a sense of motherliness that makes you smile, “But, meals have been a bit difficult lately.”

“No kidding,” he mutters, rubbing his chin, “He just doesn’t wanna eat?”

“He thinks Peggy is coming home,” the woman whispers with a pained smile as she begins to lead you both down the hall, “He thinks your grandmother made dinner for him.”

“Right,” Bucky nods, “Doesn’t wanna ruin his appetite.”

“Exactly.”

You take note of the conversation, muddling through your own confusion. You’re quiet, though. This isn’t really your conversation to have. Bucky seems to be relaxed more — even humming slightly to a song that plays across the hall from the room the nurse is knocking on.

“Mr. Carter?” she calls gently, “Your grandson is here to see you, and his…”

She looks expectantly at you. You bawk.

“Friend.”

“Right,” she smiles and pushes open the door.

It’s like a little slice of home.

Sofas, chairs, photos on the walls. There’s a record player in the corner, a television, a coffee table stacked with books on the second world war. There’s a dresser covered in baubles and warm light coming in from the window overlooking the street. It reminds you of your grandparents’ sitting room — everything looks so lived in, so comfortable, so alive.

And then, below the light of the window, is a hospital bed.

In it is Steve Rogers.

Not the one you know — no, this one has lived a full life. This Steve Rogers has fallen in love, owned a home, settled down. This Steve Rogers has years of wisdom settled into his face, years of well-fought fights in his joints. His blonde hair has gone shock white, but his smile is all the same.

“Bucky.”

The way Steve says his name is like the man beside you holds the world.

To Bucky, he can hear a new weakness. A new exhaustion.

“Hi, punk.”

The nurse offers a little wave to you as Bucky ventures into the room, stripping his jacket off and moving to scope out the minifridge in the small kitchenette beside the bathroom. She leaves the door open, and you smile to her softly. Bucky rummages, poking his head up.

“You want a drink, Steve?” he asks, tone almost like he’s feeling out the lucidity of the man across the room, “There’s some of that lemonade I brought last week in here.”

“Sounds good,” he says slowly, “Please.”

You feel out of place — not unwelcome, but… it’s clear that Bucky has come and gone from here a thousand times now. He knows to get the glasses out, to get a straw, to turn down the record player on his way over. Doris Day’s voice lowers to a soft croon. You watch with heavy eyes.

“I brought someone, Steve,” Bucky says, “She’s a big fan.”

“Oh?” Steve asks with a slow look to the corner where you’re standing, “That musta broke your heart.”

Bucky snorts as he moves to swing the hospital bed’s tray over Steve’s lap. He places the lemonade down, then the other glass on the nightstand. He’s quick to move the armchair closer to the nightstand, and gestures for you to come over. Bucky’s hands guide you by the shoulders as he plops you into the chair.

“She’s one of the good ones,” Bucky says, “Reminds me of you.”

“No kidding,” Steve says slowly, offering a hand that shakes, “Steve Rogers. It’s a pleasure.”

You exchange your name with a shy look, shaking that hand with reverence and gentility. ��It’s an honor, Mr. Rogers.”

“Please,” he mumbles, moving to slowly take a sip of his lemonade, “Steve is fine.”

Bucky moves to take up a post on the opposite side of Steve, in the sun. “You’re losin’ weight, y’know.”

That earns him a wave of the hand.

Bucky leans back and sips his lemonade. He waggles a finger and you watch the two begin to go back and forth.

“No, no,” he swallows, “No, you don’t get t’ shrug me off—”

“M’fine, Buck,” a sigh, “Really.”

“Mhm,” he narrows his eyes, “You’re startin’ to look like the Steve I knew before the serum.”

You lean back, hiding a quiet smirk behind your hand.

“I was wondering when you were gonna show up an’ pester me,” he says with a tired look, “The only peace I get around here is when Peggy comes home.”

Your eyes jump to Bucky. He’s watching you.

“Peggy?” you ask gently, “Is that your wife?”

A proud smile washes over his face. “Still knocks me for a loop, too.”

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice is gentle, “Peggy won’t be coming around for a while. Remember?”

There’s a look that flashes across Steve’s face, then. A mixture of sadness, of confusion, of panic. It’s clouded with a furrow of his brow, hidden by a tilt of the head. He looks at Bucky, mouth pulled in a fine line.

When he finally speaks, his voice is sad.

“That’s right. I forgot.”

“S’alright,” Bucky taps his head, maintaining an air of nonchalance, “That’s why you got me.”

“And why you’ve got her, no doubt,” he turns to you with a winning smile and offers his hand again, “Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you.”

You take it, you shake it, and you introduce yourself once more. Your smile is patient and understanding. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Steve.”

Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. Steve smiles, tossing Bucky a look that borders on mischievous.

He sips his lemonade and clears his throat. “How is Sam?”

“You ask every time,” Bucky mutters, “And every time I have the same answer.”

“Sam?” you ask slowly.

“Wilson,” Bucky finishes, “Bird man.”

“You mean Falcon,” you correct, shooting him a stern look, “The Falcon. Are you ghosting The Falcon?”

“I don’t know what that even means, so maybe,” Bucky leans back and crosses his legs, “I’ve been busy.”

You roll your eyes. Steve saw. He smiles.

“I’m gettin’ why he keeps you around.”

Your face is smacked with a look of pure joy.

“C’mon on now,” Bucky cries, nearly indignantly, “No flirting—”

“M’ not flirting—”

“I know that look, Steve—”

Steve is laughing.

Bucky has a stern look in his eye. “You always do this—”

“I’m not doin’ a damn thing—”

“And you better keep it that way, old man,” Bucky shirks, voice splintering into a laugh in a way that you’ve never heard before, “I swear, this is how it always goes.”

“Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, huh, Buck?” you ask gently, leaning your cheek into your hand.

Steve laughs loudly at that.

Bucky spares you a smile — the sort that’s drenched in good humor and sunlight. It makes your lungs flutter, and you ignore the buzz in your fingers at the sight. You hide your laugh into your cup of lemonade, resigning to be a quiet counterpart in the conversation.

The two of them go on to chat about small things, then chat about old things. From the Commandos, to HYDRA, to amends, to therapy, to Peggy, to the itch the starch of their old dress uniforms used to bring. It takes a bit, a few redirections on the way, but it’s clear by the end why Steve Rogers is in Elmwood’s memory unit.

It makes your heart ache.

And if a super soldier is bed-ridden…

The two of you say goodbye around three in the afternoon after Bucky helps Steve shave.

The walk back to the bike is quiet.

Bucky speaks first.

“He’s dying.”

You chew your lip, eyes on the pavement. You match his slow stride, bumping your elbow with his as you walk. It’s still warm, and the clouds hang high in the sky. When you look up, Bucky’s watching you. You sigh.

“I’m sorry,” you finally muster, “I am.”

“Don’t be,” he says, grabbing the jacket from the seat and holding it up, “He’s lived a long life.”

You let Bucky hold out the arm for you, and you press your hand through the sleeve. He helps the other side on, and you zip it up to your chin. When you turn around to face him, there are tears in your eyes.

They snuck up on you. You hadn’t realized it until Bucky’s face fell, until the first one fell along the weathered leather of the jacket. You blink, raising your brows as you swipe them away, and offer an apologetic look.

“I’m happy,” you say, “Y’know. He has you. But, he’s a man out of time. Even now. That makes me sad.”

Bucky’s quiet for a while. He’s leaned up against the bike as you turn and watch Elmwood from the back of the parking lot. There’s a big part of you that feels heavy with guilt — and though Steve was in good spirits when you left, you can’t help but ache to provide him with more company. It’s clear that seeing Bucky means a lot to him, and that in turn it means a lot to the man beside you.

“Come on,” Bucky says then, “Let’s go home.”

You nod, let him muscle that helmet onto your head one more time, and hold on a little tighter back to the city.

                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

You don’t see Bucky until Tuesday.

In all honesty, it feels weird to not hear from him for two days. At the very least, you expected some sort of phone call — but you remind yourself that you’ve been okay alone for a long time. There’s no need to throw all your work on being comfortable by yourself out the window for Bucky Barnes.

It’s tempting, though. God, it’s really tempting.

You hate the ache in your chest when you finally see him lumbering towards the cafe counter before your appointments. You hate this new feeling — so you shove it down and ignore the way his fingers brush yours when he hands you your latte.

He is ignoring it, too. He’s been ignoring it.

No use in thinking about it though.

“You got plans later?” you ask him in the elevator after your appointment, tilting your head, “Apparently there’s a Lord of the Rings marathon tonight on FX.”

Bucky stiffens — and immediately he can feel the hot sting of anxious regret flood his cheeks. He clears his throat, tucks his hands in his pockets, and toes the ground. You watch with a confused look. Then he speaks tightly.

“...I’ve got a date.”

You could have caught flies the way your jaw fell open.

“Oh. Oh!”

You blink, readjust your expression, and swallow down a sharp stab of rejection.

Bucky clears his throat. “It’s… I wasn’t going to but, Dr. Raynor—”

“No, no,” you wave your hands and shake your head and try to seem genuine, “No, I’m happy for you. Is this one of those Christian Minglers?”

Bucky groans. “Shut up.”

“Okay,” you say, “Okay! Just, uh, be careful. Y’know? And call if you need anything.”

The elevator doors open, and Bucky walks side by side with you through the well-lit lobby. He holds the door open for you, and you pass through with a pained look at the ground. He lingers, though, rubbing the back of his neck as you wait for him to say what’s on his mind.

“Thursday,” he says, “I’ll stop by.”

“Yea,” you say, waving your hand, “Whenever.”

But, that doesn’t end up happening.

No, Bucky Barnes shows up at your apartment doorstep at 10pm.

He’s clutching takeout and a six pack of beer and wearing a horrified expression that screams of guilt and exhaustion. No, Bucky buzzes the door to your apartment and basically croaks that he’s here — he’s asking if the marathon is still on while you buzz him up.

“Third floor,” you say into the buzzer with a smile, “Come on in, old man.”

When you open the door, you have to laugh — because his hair is a mess and there’s still a trace of lipstick on the corner of his mouth. Whereas jealousy threatens to flare, his incredibly regretful expression tamps it down. You cock a hip, eye him up and down, and jut your chin out.

“Get laid?”

Bucky rolls his eyes so hard you’re surprised he didn’t break something.

He pushes past you, moving to drop the beer on the counter and place the takeout gently down by the basket of fruit.

“I’m here for the cat,” he grumbles, “Not your witty commentary, sweetheart.”

You’re moving quietly to the sink and gathering a paper towel with a smirk as Bucky looks around, admiring the decor and aliveness of your apartment. When you turn around, he’s already pried a beer from the pack and popped the top off with his vibranium palm.

He winces when you reach up to swipe the coral lipstick from the corner of his mouth.

Then Bucky settles, letting you clean off the mess.

“Mhm,” you hum, “Right. Was it at least fun?”

“She had fun,” he mutters into his first sip, “It was a lotta tongue for my first night out in nearly a century, though.”

You wince. He nods with a sardonic smile that tells you everything about how the date went down — and you’re relieved. “So, I take it you're not calling her in the morning?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “Nope. No, and I’ve decided no more dates. That was enough for me.”

You wince and pluck a beer from the pack. Wordlessly, Bucky gestures for you to hand it over. In one smooth motion, he twists the cap off with his hand.

“That bad?” you ask, eyeing him critically.

“I decided halfway through,” he says as he moves to take the takeout from its bag, “I’d rather be watching Lord of the Rings with you.”

That stops you into silence. It’s like someone’s taken your own words and gagged you with them — and you’re left floundering for breath you never even realize you lost. You know he means it. You know it because he won’t look at you, because that sort of confession isn’t easy for people like you two. So you take those words and you glue them in a lonely locket and keep them close to your heart.

Poke’s entrance saves you a mouthful of broken words — he comes in, trots up to Bucky, and hollers.

Bucky laughs.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he mutters, eyeing the cat that’s eagerly rubbing himself along Bucky’s leg.

You wipe your face, sip your beer, and move to the pantry across from the kitchen island. You come back out with a bag of salmon treats — the good ones — and offer Bucky the bag. He takes it, eyes still on the calico, and crinkles it a little.

You lean against the counter and watch Bucky kneel.

“If you keep it up long enough he might even let you hold him.”

He lights up at that.

You laugh.

You move to grab plates and forks and knives and groan when you open up the first box to see Pad Thai — you make a mental note to properly thank Bucky for this. You meager dinner of reheated pasta really hadn’t hit the spot. This will, though. You can tell from the smell alone.

By your knees, Poke chirps.

“He’s cute.”

“I never took you for a cat guy.”

Bucky snorts.

You make a plate and flick his head as you walk by. “You’re missing the start of The Two Towers.”

“I’m going to be confused, aren’t I?” he asks as he stands and begins making himself a plate. He watches as you settle onto the couch and sip your beer, “I was too busy being turned into a cyborg to read the books.”

You laugh out loud. It shocks you.

“Was that a joke? Did Bucky Barnes just make a joke?”

He’s smirking. He rounds the counter with his food and settles next to you. Poke is following him, eager to curl up next to his new friend.

“I can be funny.”

“Funny lookin’.”

He elbows you on purpose. You snort into your beer.

There’s a comfortable moment of quiet between you, and you clear your throat.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, “No problem.”

More quiet, and he’s still watching you. Then, he asks what’s been on his mind for the last three days.

“You got a plan for Thursday?”

“I’ve got anxiety, Buck,” you exhale, swigging your beer and turning the television up, “I always have a plan.”

[bestiesenpai]

The Language of Flowers - Toji Fushiguro

Who is ready for Toji Fushiguro fluff? This is a flower shop au + a kinda mafia au, so let’s see how it turned out, shall we? Gender neutral reader and no warnings :)

“Welcome in!” Fifteen minutes after opening your shop for the day, you got your first customer. It wasn’t uncommon for someone to come in so early, usually a senior citizen or a shop owner looking to spruce up their place with a fresh bouquet. But the person walking in as you rounded the corner didn’t look like the typical type of early morning client.

Smartly dressed in a suit with a large double breasted overcoat hanging off broad shoulders, the man that walked in had a much more serious demeanor than you were used to. Inky black hair with strands hanging in his face, a prominent scar on the edge of one lip and half-lidded eyes that seemed to stare right through you as they landed on you.

“Hello.” Even the smooth, deep timbre of his voice was out of place as he walked past tables full of bright orchids and petunias. He moved slowly, all the time in the world at his fingertips as he approached the counter.

“How can I help you today?” There was something unnerving about him but you pushed it away, gripping the edges of your apron so he wouldn’t see your hands slightly tremble.

“You make bouquets, right?” Looking over his shoulders a few times, his eyes settled on a few pictures on the wall of past arrangements. “I need one for a funeral.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Don’t be, he had it coming.” Chuckling to himself, the man tapped his chest a few times.

“O-oh.” Blinking away your shock, you gestured to the flowers on display. “Any particular flowers you’d like?”

“Lilies are funeral flowers, right? A handful of those and some glitter should be fine.” Digging in his pocket, the man pulled out a wad of cash and placed a few bills on the counter that separated you. “This should be enough.”

“This is more than enough, I can’t-” He’d put a few hundreds on the counter, all crisp and clean like they were freshly printed.

“Don’t worry about it.” Waving off your apprehension, he pushed the money closer. “Think of it as me repenting.”

“What do you need to repent for?” Slowly taking the money, you regretted asking as the man chuckled again.

“I’m the reason this funeral’s happening.”

Ten minutes later, the man - who’s name you’d learned was Toji - was walking out of the door with a fresh bouquet of white lilies. He didn’t say anything further while he was there, mainly because you hid in the back room as you worked. You could hear his dress shoes clicking against the worn hardwood as he perused the shop and every once in a while he stopped to sniff a flower.

The rest of the day went by without incident, your regular customers came in and you were able to forget about the man that had occupied the space in the early morning. Only when you emptied out the register and saw the money sitting at the bottom did you think about him, which brought a light flush to your cheeks. As intimidating as he was, you couldn’t help but find him a bit attractive.

A week and a half went by until you saw him again. It was a surprise to hear him come into the shop at the same time as last, wearing another suit with the heavy coat on his shoulders.

“Another funeral?” You asked when you saw him and your question made his lips stretch into an unexpected laugh.

“Not this time! I’m going to a wedding later.” Toji’s laugh warmed your cheeks, it was a rich sound that came straight from the barrel of his chest.

“Are you getting married?” Your eyes darted down to his ringless fingers.

“Nope, the boss’ youngest daughter found love.” Fishing a phone out of his pocket, Toji showed you a picture of a girl clearly ecstatic with her lover and a very large ring on her finger, a few men that looked like bodyguards lingering in the background.

“How precious! What’re the colors for the wedding?”

“Beats me, I’m not in it.” Shrugging his shoulders, Toji gestured to a few pink roses. “I think she likes pink, so maybe a bit of those.”

“You think or you know?” You snorted, rounding the counter and going over to the flowers. “Weddings are a really big deal, she might not like it if you clash.” Toji opened and closed his mouth like he was going to say a witty retort, but instead he bit back a sigh and nodded curtly.

“Pick whatever you like then, I just need a bouquet that goes well with a stack of cash.” Holding his coat away from him, Toji flashed a white envelope tucked inside his inner pocket, along with the tell tale handle of a gun resting in a holster to his side.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Licking your lips nervously, you fought to keep your eyes steady and not look at the gun. Turning back to the flowers, you mulled over them longer than necessary to avoid facing him. “You said she likes pink?”

Thanking you once again for your service, Toji left with a large bouquet in his hands and a congratulations card he had you write. He even promised to come back and show you pictures of the wedding and while you appreciated the returning patronage, the man before you was starting to make you quite uneasy.

“You still open?” It was five minutes to closing time and the bell above the door alerted you to another customer, the sound of the voice telling you exactly who it was.

“Toji, you really came back.” It was a bit of a shock to see him twice in one day. He was a little more disheveled, the coat on his shoulders was gone and he didn’t have a suit jacket on, with the black button up he had underneath clearly wrinkled and coming untucked at one side.

“Yeah, the wedding was in the afternoon, and I only had to stay until the newlyweds left.” Running a hand through his hair, Toji checked the watch on his wrist as he grabbed his phone. It was nearing eight and the sign on the door clearly stated you were going to close soon, so he had to make this quick.

Sliding his phone wordlessly onto the counter, he gestured toward the pictures on the screen. The wedding was massive, a lot of money had clearly been spent to give the smiling bride everything she wanted.

“Toji, she’s holding my bouquet!” Walking down the aisle, arm in arm with who you assumed was her father, the bride was carrying the bouquet that you’d made.

“Hm? Yeah, guess she is.”

“She didn’t have her own?” If you had known she would be carrying it down the aisle you would have made it more extravagant and lush.

“She did, but she liked yours so much she took it.” The statement brought a silly smile to your lips and Toji laughed to himself, swiping through more photos. Every single one had jovial people but you couldn’t ignore the men in dark suits with stern looks on their faces in the background and flanking the bride's father in a few pictures.

“Do you really need that many bodyguards at a wedding?” Looking at the bride more closely, she wasn’t recognizable to you as any celebrity or daughter of a politician.

“When you do the business we do, yeah.” Coming to the end of the pictures, Toji tucked his phone away. Giving him a curious look, you began to untie the apron around your waist. The clock hung on the wall rang eight and it was time to close up shop.

“What kind of business?” You pressed, slowly starting to turn off the lights to the shop and ushering Toji out as you walked to the front.

“Honey, I don’t think you want to know.” Standing on the sidewalk as you locked up the shop, Toji grinned as he looked over the street and saw the other small businesses closing up for the night as well.

Narrowing your eyes briefly at him, you did a once over of Toji. He was quite broad, with clearly defined muscles on every slope and curve of his body. There were a couple scars on his hands to match the one on his lip and you could see the outline of a gun tucked into his hip clear as day. It wouldn’t be that hard to guess, but did you want to take that leap?

“Well whatever it is, it’s certainly keeping me afloat.” Shrugging your shoulders, you gave the doors one last tug before putting the keys away and beginning to walk away. “It was nice seeing you, Toji.” It was nice seeing more of his body and talking to him, having his attention solely on you.

“Take care getting home, (Y/N).” Giving you a quick wave, Toji fished a cigarette out of his pocket. “I’ll see you around.” Waving back at him, the two of you went your separate ways with the heat of the day dissipating in the air and masking the light flush on both of your cheeks.

Coming to work the next day, the scent of Toji’s cologne still lingered in the air as you walked in. Putting your apron on and starting to prep for the coming day, you found yourself waiting at the fifteen minute mark to see if he would come in with another request. But the only one that came was a delivery man holding a bouquet of sunflowers.

Thanking him, you quickly snatched the card that was attached and read it.

How often does a florist get flowers? Can’t imagine it’s a lot. These are a thank you from me and the boss for that bouquet the other day, it was a big hit.

- Toji

P.S. These aren’t nearly as bright as your smile but they come close, don’t they?

A warm blush invaded your whole body as you read the last line, giggling to yourself as you reread it a few times and looked at the sunflowers. They were indeed a bright and vibrant yellow and as you transferred them to a vase, your mouth refused to let go of the large smile stretching your cheeks wide and it stayed for the whole day.

The next few days were slow, the weather had taken a drastic turn and rain pelted the streets and drowned out any potential customers. There was even the low, distant rumble of thunder rolling in as you began to close up shop one day.

“Shit, it’s really coming down.” Standing at the front door, you watched small rivers of water flow down the street. The street was empty save for the few people running past to get out of the rain. Worrying your lip, you were at a standstill. Your bus stop was only a five minute walk away, but the reality of having to wait in the rain and get your shoes utterly soaked was keeping you rooted in place.

“Maybe I can wait it out.” Mumbling to yourself, you closed the door and flicked off the open sign. There was probably some prep you could do for the following morning while you waited for the weather to hopefully ease up a little, a bouquet you could get started on a little early or plants that might need a little sprucing up.

Sweeping aimlessly, touching up a few displays, double and triple checking the incoming flower deliveries - all of it took less than thirty minutes to complete and the rain seemed to be coming down even harder now. Wandering to the backroom, you were just about to rearrange another drawer when the wind whooshed by and shook the front door in its frame.

“(Y/N)? You in there?” Except it wasn’t the wind and that was certainly Toji’s voice. He was standing at the door, cupping his face against the glass and peeking into the shop. Rushing to open it for him, he was dripping big puddles onto the floor as he came in.

“What’re you doing here?” For once he had his large overcoat on and properly buttoned up and his hair was clinging to his face with fat water droplets streaking down his skin.

“I was in the neighborhood.”

“Why?” Grabbing a few paper towels, you cast him a curious look.

“Well…” Dabbing off his face, Toji took a glance at you before closing his eyes and wiping off his hair. “Just wanted to check on the shop, ya know, make sure it was holding up in this weather.” Toji’s cheeks turned a bit rosy and he wiped at his face a little more.

“I would say it’s holding up pretty fine.” Shrugging your shoulders, there wasn’t much you could do against the weather outside.

“Great, that’s...that’s great.” Toji trailed off, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck as he looked around the shop. A loud crack of thunder broke the steadily growing tension, making you jump and shuffle a bit closer to him.

“This weather is awful.” You mumbled. Your fingers just brushed against the material of his coat and you wanted to cling onto it, have Toji open it so you could snuggle close to him and drown out the sounds of outside.

“Do you have a ride home? I notice it’s a bit past closing time.” Taking a glance at his watch, Toji looks at you with a raised brow.

“No, I ride the bus. I was hoping the rain would ease up so I could leave soon.”

“The bus? You can’t take that in this weather.” Shaking his head, Toji dug around in his pockets. “Wait here, I’ll give you a ride.”

“But you-” There was no car parked outside the shop and as you followed Toji to the door you didn’t see any waiting either.

“I parked around the corner. Lock up the shop and wait for me.” Patting the door frame a few times, Toji ducked his head and ran down the street. Watching him for as long as you could, you hurriedly turned the lights off and closed the door right as a shiny silver sports car pulled up.

Running out, you practically dove into the passenger's seat as soon as the door was opened. Toji had the heat cranked up, chasing away the nipping cold air that had followed you in. It smelled even more of Toji’s cologne in here, a scent you hoped would linger far after you left the car.

“Which way home?” He asked, pulling out into the street.

“Take a right up here and then go straight.” Doing as you said, Toji fiddled with the radio and let the low sound of music fill the air along with the rain. Driving down the slick roads, Toji came to a slow stop at a red light.

“Would you have seriously taken the bus if I hadn’t shown up?” Making a face at the weather, Toji clicked his tongue when he watched you nod.

“Or I would have just slept in the backroom.” Your comment made him laugh, an abrupt bark that came from his stomach and had him leaning forward a little.

“Really? Made a pillow among those pretty flowers?”

“I’m sure they’d be quite comfortable.” Laughing as well, you looked out the window as he began to drive again. As the laughter turned to soft chuckles, you felt the urge to speak again and keep the conversation going. It was easy to talk to Toji and despite your apprehension upon first meeting him, you could see yourself becoming friends with the man.

“Well this is just great.” Coming to a grinding halt, Toji let out a soft groan and gestured to the traffic filled road ahead of him. “Did people forget how to drive in the fucking rain or something?”

“Maybe…” Leaning around in your seat, you could see the tell-tale flashing of emergency lights. “I think someone got into an accident up there, I can see an ambulance.”

“They had to choose tonight to fuck their car up?” Rolling his eyes, Toji sunk into the driver's seat, drumming his fingers against the wheel and taking a peek in the rearview mirror. “Seems like we’re stuck here, there’s too many people to turn back now.”

Turning over your shoulder, you blanched at the sight of all the cars suddenly behind you. The road you were travelling on wasn’t particularly busy to begin with but it seemed the inclimate weather had other plans.

“Guess we wait then.” Sinking down to match him, you watched the rain smatter against the windshield. The soft jazz Toji had chosen fit the atmosphere nicely and the heat coming from the vents kept any chill away from you. The longer you sat in the comfortable quiet, the more tempting it seemed to close your eyes and take a nap.

“Hey.” A hand curling around your knee and fingers digging slightly into your leg jostled you awake. Taking a sharp, sudden inhale of the cologne scented air you jolted upright and blinked away the sleep in your eyes.

“W-what?” Looking around, you had made a significant distance on the road and it seemed you were past whatever was blocking you.

“You fell asleep on me, sweetheart.” Toji chuckled, letting his hand slide from your leg and back to the steering wheel. “And I kinda need your help to get you home.”

“Right, sorry.” Quickly clearing your throat, you pointed down the street. “Uhm, at that next light you can take a right.” With just a few more turns and straightaways, you successfully guided Toji to your home without falling asleep again.

“Hurry inside, don’t want you getting soaked.” Turning to you as he put the car in park, Toji flicked his chin toward your home.

“I will.” Smiling at his concern, you gathered your things and put a hand on the door handle. Taking one last whiff of his cologne, you nodded to him. “Thank you so much Toji, I’ll see you later.”

“See you.” Waving you off, Toji stayed until he saw you go into your house and close the door, only pulling away when he was sure you were settled inside.

That night you listened to the radio station Toji had on as you took a bath to wind down from the day, curling your own hand around your knee and imagining what it’d be like to take a bath with him instead of alone.

As you walked to work the next day, avoiding big puddles and dripping eaves, it was embarrassing to admit that Toji was still on your mind. A silly crush on the scarred man was blooming in your chest and making you more and more giddy with every step.

“Special delivery!” At midday, a delivery driver waltzed into the shop with a massive bouquet, all sorts of pinks and purples and reds filling your field of vision as they approached.

“I’m sorry, are you sure you have the right place?” The arrangement looked too extravagant to be something Toji would give you on a whim.

“Are you (Y/N)?” Showing you the postage, clear as day it had your name on it.

“Oh, yes that is me.” Signing for the flowers, you struggled to hold them in your arms. The petals tickled your cheeks as you smelled them, plush against your skin and soft to the touch.

Putting them in a vase, you made sure they were prominently displayed at the counter for all to see and every so often you would stop to look at them, letting a gentle sigh of happiness leave your lips.

Another bouquet came the next day as well, just as big and beautiful as the first, and attached to it was a note.

Hope you like the flowers, (Y/N). I got called away on a business trip, so I thought I’d give you something so you wouldn’t miss me too much while I’m away.

- Toji

Tucking the note into your apron as a few customers walked in, throughout the day you took it out to reread it and look at Toji’s messy handwriting scribbled onto whatever florist shop he’d bought the notecard from.

Everyday without fail, for nine days straight, there were flowers delivered to the shop. You weren’t always there to collect them but your neighbors certainly were, gawking openly at the multitude of flowers in vases now crowding the store and threatening to push out your actual inventory.

On the final day there was a note attached to the bouquet as well, this time a dozen red roses with the thorns snipped off.

I’m coming home today, keep the shop open for me? I promise I won’t be too late.

- Toji

This note was clearly typed out, it didn’t have the familiar scratchy lines and jagged edges that you’d memorized from Toji’s previous note. Glancing at the time and looking around the shop at all the vases, none of the happiness that getting them brought you could compare to the feeling threatening to burst your chest open at knowing you’d see Toji soon.

All day you kept an eye on the clock, working faster than you ever had before just to make sure you had no customers waiting in case he came in early. Sweeping and dusting a hundred times over, you’d practically mopped a hole in the floor as you counted the seconds down until you could lock up the shop.

Locking the door and sitting eagerly at the counter, you tried to make yourself look busy. There wasn’t anything you could possibly do, no papers needed to be straightened up and there certainly wasn’t anything to clean, so you waited what felt like ages for a knock on the door.

Walking around in circles in the backroom to try and stave off the anxious energy building inside you, you jumped nearly two feet in the air when there was a loud knock at the door. Wiping your sweaty palms on your apron, you took several deep breaths before rounding the corner and laying your eyes on Toji.

“H-hi.” Opening up the door in record time, there was a harsh heat burning your face as you let him in. You could barely meet him in the eye and instead looked at his bloody knuckles as he stepped past you. “What happened to your hands?”

“Don’t worry about it, I fell on the way here.” Taking out a handkerchief, Toji wiped the blood off his hands and as you took a look at him you noticed there weren't any traces of dirt or dust on his clothes.

“Come wash your hands at the sink.” Guiding him over by the sleeve to a sink at the corner of the shop, you got a whiff of the cologne you loved so much. Watching Toji wash his hands, you were aware how close you were standing to him, pressed snugly against the counter while he lathered.

“How’ve you been, doll?” Toji let a smirk stretch his lips and he glanced at you, his own cheeks getting a bit pink.

“Good.” Looking out at the shop and all the flowers he sent, you let out a little laugh. “Really good.”

“You liked the flowers?” Turning around, Toji leaned against the edge of the sink and chuckled at the sight before him. “Looking at it all now, I think I might have gone a little overboard.”

Your arms were pressed against each other, Toji’s clearly more muscular and much larger than your own. He didn’t have an overcoat on or even a suit like he usually did, he was dressed in a pair of loose pants and a very fitted black t-shirt, one that you had to keep yourself from ogling as it clung to his body.

“You know why I sent them, don’t you?” He asked, cutting through the silence and your daydream. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out why he was sending you so many flowers but you felt too nervous to say it aloud in case you were wrong, so you only nodded.

Fiddling with his damp fingers, Toji bit his lip and grabbed onto your hand with both of his. Engulfing your hand, he squeezed it and brought it up to his chest where you could just barely feel the rapid beat of his heart.

“So, if I asked you out on a date would you say yes?” Speaking with his lips pressed against your hand, Toji peeked at you from the corner of his eye. You stood there, locked in a staring match as both of you refused to even breathe too loudly and break the tension.

“Yes, I would.” You finally spoke, nodding your head and trying to calm the shaking in your body. Breaking out into a full smile, Toji let your hands go and clutched at his chest.

“Geez, you had me fucking worried there for a moment!” Taking a few deep breaths along with shaky laughter, Toji shook his head and forced himself to calm down, square his shoulders and look at you properly. “(Y/N), will you go on a date with me tonight?”

“Yes.” Only able to meet his eye for a moment, you giggled bashfully and put a hand over your face in embarrassment. There was a moment of silence filled with only your giggles and Toji’s relieved sigh, and then he snapped his fingers and tugged on your sleeve.

“Alright, get your stuff and lock up, I’ll grab the car.” Fiddling with the keys in his pocket, Toji quirked a brow when you gave him a curious look. “What’s wrong?”

“I thought you walked? You said you fell on the way here...” Walking slowly to grab your things, you felt even more confused when Toji laughed.

“Yeah I fell and some idiot was lucky enough to catch my fist on the way down. Now let’s get going, there’s a ramen shop I wanna take you to.” Getting to the door, he leaned against the frame and waited for you to walk up before fully exiting the store.

“Toji, did you get in a fight?”

“A fight? What? No way!” Waving you off, Toji began to walk down the street to where he parked his car. “A fight implies that the other guy even stood a chance!”

“What?” You shouted back, surprised he could say something like that so casually.

“Don’t worry about it, honey, it’s all in the past.” Stopping and turning on a dime in the middle of the sidewalk, Toji gave you a grin. “(Y/N), I should get you flowers for our date, shouldn’t I?”

“I never thought I’d say this but no Toji, I don’t want flowers for our date.” Laughing at the absurdity of the question, you watched Toji pretend to think about what you said for a moment.

“Right, anyway, I’ll stop at a florist on the way.” Nodding to himself, Toji began to walk away again. “Another dozen roses sound good, maybe I’ll make ‘em pink this time.” Looking over his shoulder, Toji winked at you. “And maybe I’ll get a kiss too.”

[gaiuswrites]

World's Best

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader

Summary: Not every day is easy. Frankie makes it better.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 2.2k~

Warnings/tags: smut, vague-ish descriptions of depression/mental health, hurt/comfort, fluff

Notes: Do y'all ever get into a funk and then attempt to write yourself out of one? Well, this is the v self-indulgent product of said instance heh. I have tagged a random assortment of potentionally interested people but obvi no pressure? idk? :) Sending so much love and well wishes to you guys. x

Masterlist | Read it on Ao3!

A sea of knotted sheets spans between you—as tangled as your legs—too tired, too leaden to unweave. The fan rotates in the corner, blowing stale air your way every few clicks. You dangle a foot off the bed, skin prickling as the weak breeze sweeps over you and a bead of sweat licks from your knee to slope down your calf. Morning sun leaks through the window— the finch perched on the tree just outside it chirping once, twice, before flitting off.

You’ve been reading the Sunday paper for a solid twenty minutes—which, in all honesty, is an overstatement; you started and quickly abandoned the Sudoku after a measly ten, and you’ve been staring at the same sentence in the local section for the other half, blinklessly hovering over the fine print.

You’re not here today. Not all of you.

There’s this sinking feeling, hollowing you out and unmaking you. It’s as if something unseeable is oozing over you - dripping - something treacle, something thick. You’re far away from yourself—far from the cornflower blue walls and the framed photos hanging on them—the happy faces in the pictures smiling back at you— far from the plants basking in the tines of filtered light by the sill, far from the body lying beside you.

You’re not always this way. Not every day drags like an inky smear, your mind meandering sluggishly in circles, holding you hostage in a prison of your own making; but you can’t say it’s foreign to you either. It’s old, familiar—like that sweater in your closet you’ve had for centuries and rarely wear, but can’t bring yourself to get rid of. You know it well, this slog—you have unwillingly memorized it’s sodden intricacies, and today you feel it. You feel every single one of your days—each grey hour— weighing heavy on your very bones.

heavy heavy

heavier, still.

If you’re not careful, you’ll sink straight through the mattress. You’ll nestle deep into the springs and make a home in the down. You’ll sleep there until you become it. Comfortable. Catatonic.

Frankie sips his coffee. He doesn’t look up from the email he’s skimming. “What’s wrong?”

The baritone of your boyfriend’s voice sucks you back to the present—to the tick of the clock marking the seconds, the whir of the fan. The paper crinkles as you lay it to your chest—big eyes feigning ignorance as you blink up at him, chewing your lip. “Hmm?”

“Baby, I know that face.”

“What face?”

“The one you’ve got on,” he replies, “that’s your ‘I’m-upset-and-I’m-trying-to-hide-it’ face.’”

“I-” you frown, “no it’s not.” Gingerly, you pat a hand around your temple, your cheek, as if you could see your expression through touch.

“Uh huh.” Frankie rolls his digit upon the mousepad, clicking and scrolling down the webpage, and your vision glazes over again—ugly thoughts fogging up the panels of your mind—

“You gonna talk to me about it?”

You blink, swallowing, “nothing to talk about.” You flap the paper, ironing out the pleats, and scan for that pesky paragraph you never managed to finish.

“Mhm,” he replies absentmindedly, bringing the mug to his lips and drinking with an all too obvious slurp.

“Really, I’m fine,” you say weakly. You’re not that convincing—you barely convince yourself.

“Sure, sweetheart. If you say so.”

He’s too casual; he’s letting it all go too easily and God, he’s gotten good at this—at coaxing the truth out of you. He doesn’t even have to try any more. He’s so kind and open and sincere, all he has to do is crack the door ajar—tempt you with an inch of space, with only a sliver of leeway—and immediately you want to plunge through it and chase after him, like a dog and a bone.

He makes you want to share; not because of what he says, but by everything he doesn’t—the welcoming gaps he leaves you with, the gaps you’re urged to fill. This happens every time—it’s pretty damn annoying, actually. You’re so miserably predictable. After three and a half years together, sometimes you think Frankie might know you better than you know yourself.

A scary thought—wonderful, too.

“I’m just-” You run a hand over your face, pressing into the bridge of your nose and you grunt, frustrated. Exhausted. “I’m just tired.”

Frankie settles his coffee cup on the hill of his sternum, closing his laptop quietly. He swivels his head to you, hair mussing into the wall.

“Of anything in particular?” he asks, linen soft.

“No, yes—I don’t know,” you heave—an errant thing fluttering around in your chest as you fold the newspaper, letting it float to the floor with a splat. “It’s just-” you worry the inside of your cheek raw, fumbling with the blur of your emotions. You shake your head. “It’s just a bad brain day.” Your voice is small as you slump into him, letting your body go limp.

“I’m sorry I get like this. I’m okay—I’ll be okay,” you mumble, face burrowed into his arm. He smells summered, like sweat and heat and the promise of long days fading into even longer nights, and you take a heady drag, inhaling his scent.

You hear him sigh, stretching as he sets the mug and computer down on the side table. He shifts back to you, snaking an arm under your body as you coil your own around his center, hugging him close.

“You know, it’s alright if you’re not,” Frankie murmurs into your hair, planting a kiss at the crown of your head. “And you know you don’t have to hide from me when you aren’t.” His thumb finds your arm, the chewed nail bed scratching soothing circles along your skin.

Your gut somersaults, flipping and purring, and all you can do is press your lips to the cottoned shoulder of his tee shirt—the one with the holes in the collar and motor oil stain on the hem; all you can do is tighten your grasp, wringing around his cozy waist.

“And you know that nothing you say is gonna scare me away, right? I’m always going to be here for you.” Frankie gives your forearm a reassuring squeeze.

God, this man.

You nuzzle further into his chest—snuggled and swaddled in the safety of his warmth—and you mumble something incoherent, muffled against his relaxed body. His beard catches on your fly-aways as he dips to hear you better. “What was that honey?”

“I said,” you crane your neck, lifting out of his side, “you really are the ‘world’s best uncle’.”

A ripple of confusion twists over his features before you bat your eyes up to meet his, shooting a glance over to that exact phrase wrapping itself around the ceramic cup beside him.

You got stuck with it at some terrible white elephant exchange last Christmas. It’s fucking tacky and aggressively large—not even you - you, in all your caffeine dependency - can chug that much coffee fast enough in one sitting without it going cold— and neither of you have any nieces or nephews to speak of…

Naturally, it’s become your favorite mug.

Frankie barks out a laugh, his stomach flexing against your grasp. “Oh yeah? Is that all I am?” he smirks, a glint of mischievousness reflecting in his irises as he bores down at you.

You quirk an eyebrow, a coy tug blooming across your lips. “I dunno,” you drawl sweetly, “you going to prove me otherwise?”

His face is split into a grin now, wide and aching and unnecessarily endearing. His hair is a mess, wavy tufts jutting out every which way, and his eyelids are still puffy from what little slumber he was lucky enough to get in your hot, cramped apartment.

You really can’t keep putting it off—you need to buy an AC unit.

His focus dances from your eyes to your mouth, breath hitching as he watches you skip your tongue over the plush mound there. “I just might,” he growls playfully, maneuvering you onto your back with one broad swoop, pinning you to the bed.

/

He makes love to you like a man unburdened - untouched - by time. He fucks into you slowly, unhurriedly—at a pace that’s mind numbingly measured and patient. Frankie devastates you, dragging himself through your walls from head to hilt, letting you feel every ridge, every vein of him; filling you up so impossibly well—his thick cock sauntering in and out, and in and out again. Each roll of his hips makes you gasp, his blunt tip brushing against that deep, uncharted chasm within you that tempts you into oblivion. Your legs are locked around him, crossed at the ankles, and the perspiration at the pits of your knees slicks his sides.

Frankie’s palms dimple the fitted sheet as he brackets your head, burying himself into the crook of your neck. He moans—hot breath ghosting over the prickled skin there, babbling disjointed strings of guttural praise into your ear.

Fuck baby—fuck you feel good

How’d I get so lucky, how’d I-

God, you’re a— fuck

You’ve got the perfect pussy—made for me

Made for me, made for me, made for-

You turn your head and capture his mouth with your own, whimpering into him as he nips at your bottom lip and bites. You scrape your fingers through his scalp, pulling at his locks, and Frankie whines a tortured noise—giving an especially hard thrust that pries a yelp from your throat. He rears his head back, catching your gaze, a concerned line creased into his brow. “Y-You okay?”

“No- nono, yes Frankie. Again, right there,” you beg, lashes fluttering.

He darkens—the timbre of his voice made husky and raw as he drinks in the sights and sounds of you mewling for him, splayed and needy. “You like that?” Frankie drives into you again, sharp and searing as he bottoms out, the smattering of curls at the base of him soaked with your gloss. “You need it hard, baby? You want it rough?”

You whimper, clawing desperately at the nape of his neck. “I just—I just want you, all of you,” you pant as you hold his stare—the gorgeous, chestnut gleam of it—and the wordless expression that crests over his features makes you want to cry. The precious indent in his cheek, the stubble littering his jaw, his sculpted nose and clever lips, the sad rings under his eyes—the grooves he thinks you don’t notice, the grooves he tries to mask by always taking care of you, always putting you first, even when he shouldn’t.

Fuck, he’s so beautiful—he’s so beautiful you could weep.

“You have me,” he rasps breathlessly, bowing to meet you in a messy whirl of tongue and teeth before breaking away—forcing himself up off his hands and back onto his shins. He hooks an elbow under your knee, letting the other frame the outside of his hip. “I’m right here—you have me, you have me-”

Frankie’s hips are frantic now, pulsing in short, strong bursts as he grinds into you. He dips a hand to your center, pad of his thumb working erratic, sloppy flicks over the sensitive nub of your swollen clit. Your feet arch, the muscles there constricting as the tension in you mounts.

“Babe.” You’re whining now, vulnerable and shaking and fuck, you’re going to come apart—any moment now, any unbearable second, you’ll snap. “F-Frankie, baby oh god—”

You clamp a hand over your mouth, eyes screwing shut as you shatter. Like a vase crashing onto kitchen tile, you break into a million jagged fragments. Your cunt seizes, legs spasming against him as he fucks you through your orgasm, and it doesn’t take long for the tight contractions of your heat to yank him right off that same ledge. The both of you—tumbling and fracturing into terrible, perfect shards—to be intermingled and scattered among each other’s glass pieces.

Indiscernible. The same.

When you glue yourself back together again, you will find parts of him there - here, within you - filling your jigsawed cracks like golden ore.

Frankie slips out of you with a squelch and a huffed groan, collapsing to the mattress in a panting heap. His cum dribbles from your apex and you shiver at the feeling of it—at the feeling of him, warm and wet and lingering inside you. He rests his cheek on your breast while you both catch your breath—rising, falling. Waxing, waning. Two pitter-pattering hearts beating in time.

The sheets have been sloughed, lazy and forgotten, to a crumpled pile on the wood floor and the steam once rising from the mug on the nightstand has long since disappeared. It’s too muggy for you two to be this entwined—his leg draped over you, a big arm slung across your belly—but neither of you dare move. Neither of you have the energy, never mind the desire.

The clock whispers in the morning quiet.

A new bird claims the branch the finch left—she sings now, roosting there in the birch.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur sleepily, drawing patterns into the valley of his spine, mapping out his freckles and moles and scars. “Thank you,” you say. Thank you for putting up with me, thank you for understanding me, thank you for listening even when I cannot speak. “I love you so much.”

Gently, silently, Frankie tilts his head, bristled hair peppering your flesh as he mattes your skin with his lips; laving along your breasts, across your clavicle and up the plain of your neck—each kiss a response, each kiss a truth.

You don’t have to apologize

You don’t have to thank me

I love you

I love you

I’m right here

I love you

tags:

@pedros-mustache @roxypeanut @frannyzooey @djarinsbeskar @read-and-rec @keeper0fthestars @krissology @greatcircle79

[silkenstarlight]

blackbird's lullaby

Summary: After a rough day, Bucky can’t sleep. Reader decides to help.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warning/s: a bit of angst in regards to Bucky’s past, but the end is fluffy and sweet :)

Word count: 2.1k

Author’s note: something possessed me to write this instead of working on my finals, so here, enjoy the fruits of my academic negligence lol

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Do not repost or translate! Reblogs and comments are welcome and encouraged :))

Bucky’s side of the bed was cold when you woke.

You sighed deeply, wrenched from the arms of a dream, rubbing the heavy, lulling tug of sleep from your eyes. You were half awake, toeing the line between the violent brightness of a dreamscape and the hazy, blurred shadows of your bedroom. The warmth of the blankets wrapped around your limbs and threatened to pull you under again, but before you could succumb to their soft, enticing tangle, a singular thought rose in your mind from the murky depths of sleep. At first, it was quiet, a hushed voice in your brain whispering to you that you were alone. But then, the concern gained traction, and it blared in your skull with a deep, unnerving clarity, a nagging insistence that made your eyes snap back open.

Where the hell was Bucky?

You sat up in bed and looked at the alarm clock on your nightstand. 2:46 AM.

You frowned, turning to face Bucky’s empty pillow, and reached a hand out, lightly tracing the crisp, untouched folds. The sheets on his side of the bed were still flat and pristinely tucked, his pillow perfectly fluffed. He hadn’t bothered to try to sleep.

You knew why.

You peeled back the blankets and shivered, met instantly with the deep chill of night air as you unfolded yourself from your fleece and goose-down cocoon.

Bucky preferred to keep the apartment cold. You obliged, of course, bundling up in endless sweaters and blankets as he opened the windows wide and turned the rotary fan on full blast. You never questioned him about it, never asked if you could dial up the thermostat just a few degrees. You knew that keeping the apartment cold helped him to avoid the dreaded space of sleep, helped him to outrun the ever-looming specter of his nightmarish past. And, whenever he did come to bed, he gave you all of the blankets, covering his body with just the thin cotton layer of a bedsheet.

You knew that he rarely fell into a deep, nourishing slumber, so you tried to help boost his energy in other ways. Big, steaming pots of the strongest coffee you could brew, a fridge stocked with healthy snacks, and daily morning walks around the neighborhood together. He quietly thanked you for your efforts, pressing sweet kisses to your forehead and leaving fresh flowers in the vase on the kitchen table every Sunday. But, even though he preferred to stay awake, whenever you rolled over in bed to snuggle into his side and found that his eyes were still wide open, a hard lump rose in your throat and a worried pit formed in your stomach.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed and put on your slippers, grabbing one of Bucky’s sweatshirts and shrugging it on as you padded out to the kitchen. You just wanted to check on him and make sure that he was okay.

When he had returned from his mission earlier in the evening, he had seemed a little off to you. Usually, he was quiet, preferring to listen to you as ranted about your stressful workday or gushed about the newest book you were reading. He never wanted to talk much about himself, silently refusing to drag the horrors of his work into your home. It was where he felt at ease-- the plush pillows, the diffused, ambient lighting, the cloying scent of vanilla candles-- it was all so you. He didn’t want to taint the safety and warmth he felt when he was surrounded by your essence with the cold uncertainty and lingering shame of his work. Even though his missions nowadays were usually unrelated to his past as a clandestine Hydra operation, and even though the two jobs differed vastly in motive, he sometimes felt the creeping prick of deja vu traveling up his neck. Follow this person. Disable that vehicle. Shoot this opponent.

All of the lights in the apartment were off, so as you approached the kitchen, you used the bright white glow of your phone screen as a flashlight. You didn’t want to go directly to the living room and make it too obvious that you were checking on him. He would just shake you off if you did, insist that you go back to bed. So, you reached into the cupboard above the sink and grabbed a glass, turning on the faucet and filling it as you peered over the countertop, trying to pick out Bucky’s rigid frame amongst the inky shadows of the living room. You turned off the faucet and brought the glass to your lips, swallowing a couple of small sips.

“It’s late. Shouldn’t you be asleep?” The sound of Bucky’s voice coming from the couch made you jump, the thick glass of your cup clacking against your teeth. You placed it in the sink and walked over to the couch.

Despite the low light, you could see that Bucky was still wearing the clothes he had on when he came home from his mission. Gray tee, leather jacket, dark jeans. He hadn’t even taken off his heavy black boots.

You stepped slowly towards him, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, fighting the urge to bury him in a hug and pepper him with kisses. Instead, you sat next to him, leaving a little space between your body and his. Now, you could see his clenched jaw, his jittery, tapping fingers, and the jumping vein in his neck that only pulsed when he was stressed. His gaze was fixed on some indeterminate point on the wall in front of him, as if he were lost in thought.

This wasn’t a normal sleepless night. Something was wrong.

“I… I guess that I should be asking you the same question,” you said softly, voice gravelly and low from sleep.

He didn’t respond, just took a sharp inhale that made it sound like he was staving off tears.

You couldn’t help it. It was like your body could sense his distress. Your hand jerked up to rest on his shoulder, a subconscious reaction to his apparent suffering. You let it stay there, though, stroking your thumb lightly along the cool leather of his jacket.

He stirred from his reverie and turned to look at you. It was so dark, the curtains shut tight, not a single ray of moonlight filtering into the room, but the blue of his eyes shone bright, glistening with the wet sparkle of unshed tears. Sadness swelled in your chest.

“You can tell me,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m here to listen.”

His gaze dropped from your face, silently weighing your words. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you enough to open up. The truth was that he didn’t trust himself to speak. If he started talking, he wouldn’t be able to stop. And then, his demons would be given a voice, and the doors to this vanilla-scented, blanket-swathed haven would be wrenched open to the darkness that waited for him beyond the threshold.

But he could also see the way that his silence affected you. You frowned more on the mornings after he didn’t come to bed. You talked and talked and talked, trying to fill his ears with noise to distract him from the numbing static in his skull. And you were constantly touching him in some way, whether twining your lithe fingers around his thumb or draping your body on top of his in a warm, crushing hug. It was as if you didn’t want to let him out of your sight.

So, he let out a long exhale and reached up, taking your hand from its perch on his arm and twining his fingers tightly with yours. He idly stroked your palm with his thumb and decided to tell you the truth.

“I… I had a bit of a setback tonight.” He felt like he was wrenching the words from his throat. He couldn’t look at you, a deep sense of shame settling into his bones, but he stared at your hand held in his and felt the creeping self-doubt hesitate just a little.

“What do you mean?”

He dragged his eyes up to yours, blinking nervously. “I, uh--” he inhaled sharply and felt tears prick at his eyes. “Someone used my trigger words tonight. And it worked.”

Silence lay heavy between you as you digested what he said, but you didn’t pull away, didn’t pry your hand from his. You simply held his gaze.

“How is that possible?” He had gone through years of extensive mental treatment in Wakanda, the emotional scars that he suffered after years of lost identity and unwilling servitude seemingly healed. But, now, it seemed that one of those scars had re-opened.

“Ayo said that it was unlikely, but that it could happen. Relapse is a part of the process.” His voice was pained.

You nodded slightly, assenting to Ayo’s expertise. But Bucky’s next sentence made you fall apart at the seams.

“I thought I was different, after all these years. But I guess I haven’t changed. I’m still him.” He spat the last word, his face creasing into an expression of disgust.

You didn’t hesitate. “Come here.”

You gently separated your hand from his and reached up to his shoulders, guiding him towards you in a tight embrace. You wrapped your arms behind his neck and he pressed his chin into the notch between your shoulder and neck. As you began tracing your fingertips along his jacket collar, his chest heaved in desperate inhales, slow tears tracking down his cheeks developing into full, wracking sobs.

“You’re safe. I won’t let you go.” You pressed your mouth against his temple in a soft, soothing kiss.

“You were never him.” Although your voice was barely a whisper, it spoke volumes, your words ringing clear and true in the quiet stillness. Bucky shuddered, squeezing you close. You moved one of your hands up to cradle the back of his head.

You stayed like that for a long time, until you saw the blue light of dawn trickle through the gap beneath the curtains, but you didn’t say anything, waiting for Bucky to say what he needed. When his breath finally stilled into a regular rhythm, no longer halting and ragged, you pulled back and took his face in your hands, staring deeply into his eyes.

“I’m so tired.” His voice was flat and broken, but when you wiped a stray tear from his cheek with your pinkie, a small, grateful smile formed on his face.

You nodded. “Well, I know what will help. Come here.” You pulled back, shifting down the couch, guiding him with you with your hand wrapped around his arm. When he had enough space to lie down, you stopped, settling into your seat. He hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether he could risk falling asleep in his current emotional state, but he sighed, knowing that he needed to rest. He laid back, resting his head on your lap, and looked up at you.

You carded your fingers through his short hair, brushing it back from his forehead. He melted into the gentle gesture, relaxing into the couch, into the warmth of your body.

And then, you began to sing.

You were quiet at first, as if trying out the thought of singing him a lullaby. Your voice was tentative, trying out the feeling of the different notes in your mouth.

“Blackbird singing in the dead of night,

Take these broken wings and learn to fly.

All your life,

You were only waiting for this moment to arise.”

You thought that your voice was nothing special, your untrained, warbling syllables rushing from your lips in a breathy exhale. But Bucky loved it. The way you let your words flow together, followed by a long, lilting end note and a pause to inhale-- it was sweet and soft and so very you.

“Blackbird singing in the dead of night,

Take these sunken eyes and learn to see.

All your life,

You were only waiting for this moment to be free.”

He could feel it already, the lull of an encroaching dream. His first instinct was to fight it, to blink the sleep from his eyes, but he let his lids shut, blocking out every sense except for the sound of your voice.

“Blackbird fly, blackbird fly,

Into the light of a dark black night.”

And, as he welcomed the embrace of sleep, your voice followed him, a glowing amber halo of warmth that pushed the dark away and lit his path into the space of dreams.

“All your life,

You were only waiting for this moment to arise.”

He dreamt of blackbirds and forehead kisses, of vanilla candles and forgiveness.

He dreamt of you.

[silentexplorer18]

Pen & Ink Soulmates: A Kakashi Hatake Fic

Summary: A partner, they said. Someone compatible with you, they said. Lies. Or the story in which you sneakily convince Kakashi that soulmates aren't all that bad.

Pairing: Kakashi Hatake x Female Reader

Warnings: Soulmate AU, Writing on skin, Minor Violence, Implied/Referenced Torture, Abduction, Minor Injuries, Serious Injuries, Hospitals, Angst with a Happy Ending.

Word Count: 12,100+

Note: For clarity, this fic occurs over a relatively large chunk of time, but it might make more sense to pretend Kakashi joins the ANBU in later teenage years (though we could pretend two high-level Jonin could talk with such maturity at age 13 if we wanted to!). Basically, I didn’t stress a timeline too much, but I hope you still enjoy it as much as I do! :)

Read on AO3 ▪ Masterlist

Hi, soulmate!

Soulmate?

Are you getting my messages?

Let me know if you want to talk.

Can you see the moon where you are?

I found the prettiest flowers today at the market. I wish I could draw you a picture of them.

Do you like flowers? I have a hard time picking a favorite.

You’d been trying. The whole connecting with your soulmate thing was supposed to be exciting and invigorating, but so far it had only left you with the bitter taste of defeat.

A partner, they said. Someone compatible with you, they said.

Lies.

Apparently whoever was supposed to be on the other end of your soul connection didn’t care about the messages you sent. They weren’t as eager to speak with you as you were to speak with them. At least, that’s what you told yourself. The alternative was much, much worse; a fate you weren’t willing to consider.

You had a soulmate. They just weren’t ready to talk yet.

So, you threw yourself into training. Every swift movement and taunt muscle, every hit target and victorious sparring session, all the work left you feeling strong and powerful. When your soulmate met you, maybe they’d regret taking so long when they saw how hard you’d been working, how skilled you’d become.

Thankfully, you had a sparring partner that liked to keep you on your toes. Kakashi had been training with you for about as long as you could remember; he was your closest friend and greatest ally as you worked to become a talented shinobi. Of all the people in the village, he facilitated and supported your growth more than anyone. You could rely on him for almost anything (except for being on time).

But there was one problem.

Kakashi didn’t like talking about soulmates. You couldn’t blame him. Deep emotional connections wasn’t a topic he wanted to dwell on, not after everything that had happened throughout his still-young lifetime. So you kept the conversation civil, even as your heart desperately yearned to talk to someone about your sudden fear of being alone, your deep, unrestrained terror that there was no partner to your soul, no body to receive the messages you delicately penned on the skin under your wrapped arms.

But apparently there was.

You learned that roughly a year later, after many failed attempts and more destroyed pens than you cared to admit.

The amount of times you’d tried to contact your soulmate had dwindled, both due to the lack of response and the influx in your shinobi duties. Regardless, you still took the time to try every once in a while.

Usually, your messages were sweet or silly. A few times, you’d merely asked if anyone was receiving your carefully written words, begging to know there was someone out there for you.

But every sensible person reaches their breaking point. And evidently both you and your soulmate broke in very different ways on the same day.

Good evening, soulmate. I didn’t do much today, but I can give you a run-down if you’d like.

It was a game you’d started a few months into your attempts at contact. Pretending someone was there was much, much easier than thinking about any alternative. So you tried your best to leave messages despite how much it hurt.

Staring at your wrist, you considered the scribble of the letters, the handwriting you only tried to make semi-nice now. That was your soulmate’s fault; you were past the point of a perfect first impression. But what to write today? What could entertain your soulmate, maybe even draw them out? You weren’t sure.

When the first inky letter swirled across your skin, your heart leapt into your throat, and your pen dropped from your hand. Your thoughts of what to write were quickly forgotten. There was someone. There was someone! There was someone waiting for you!

You leaned forward, hand clamped around your wrist to keep it steady as the words appeared on your skin.

You’re putting us both in danger. Stop writing to me.

Well, that certainly wasn’t what you expected.

After all the waiting, after all the time, that’s what your soulmate was willing to give you? Your jaw clenched, hand releasing your wrist so you wouldn’t inadvertently snap it. What a jerk.

How dare your soulmate assume you were incapable! How dare your soulmate treat you like nothing more than a hindrance! How dare your soulmate act like you were some worthless flower that would be trampled over by a single breeze!

You clicked your pen, hand pressing just a skosh too hard into your skin as you carved a message back to whoever that jerk was.

I can take care of myself.

The reply came a few minutes later.

Good. I don’t want you in my life. Leave me alone.

Oh.

Years of waiting for a soulmate, and the one to finally show up didn’t want anything to do with you? Great, just great.

You closed your eyes, hands shaking as you drew your knees closer to your body. Alone. You were alone. No matter who was destined to be by your side, nobody would be there. The tears burned in your eyes, but you tried to keep from shedding them. You were a shinobi. You were strong. You were… alone.

No, no you weren’t. You still had Kakashi and Kurenai. You had Asuma when he bothered to chat with you. You weren’t totally alone. You had people in your life to keep you company. Hell, you were even supposed to meet Kakashi for breakfast tomorrow!

You went over your list of friends in your head, desperately trying to drown out the nagging voice in the back of your mind whispering that the person who mattered most would never want you.

~

Kakashi was late to breakfast the next morning. Even later than usual. You idly wondered if he’d been called on an emergency mission while trying to keep your thin soup down.

The events of the night before rested at the forefront of your mind, making your stomach queasy with the memory of the harsh words.

Your soulmate had washed them off your arm by morning, but the message had already been branded in your mind. There would be no forgetting.

When Kakashi finally deigned to arrive, he looked much worse than usual. It was hardly perceptible to the untrained eye, but you knew something was wrong after so many years of friendship with Kakashi. He was even quieter than he usually was, picking at the cold soup you’d ordered for him.

It had been spur of the moment to order for the both of you, a decision brought on by being too wrapped up in your own thoughts. However, Kakashi didn’t comment on your unusual gesture.

For once, something went your way.

After your relatively brief and quiet meal, you offered to walk with Kakashi to the Hokage Tower, desperately craving the fresh air. He accepted your offer with a half-hearted nod, and you fell into step alongside him, trying to keep up with his impossibly lanky figure.

“You’ve been going to the Hokage Tower a lot lately. Is everything alright?”

Hummed, the sound still gravely from failing to use his voice all morning. “They’re pushing me up to the ANBU.”

You froze. The ANBU? One of the most elite and dangerous positions that a Leaf shinobi could accept? Your best friend—the talent, the protector, the lost child inside willing to throw his life away for the sake of his home, for the people who had left without him—an ANBU?

Kakashi stopped a few paces in front of you, casting a distasteful look over his shoulder at your expression.

“I can handle it. Stop fussing.”

With quick steps, you joined his side again, clenching your fist in embarrassment. “I’m not fussing. I just wasn’t expecting it so soon.”

“We die young as shinobi,” he murmured, continuing his walk toward the tower in the distance. Suddenly, the structure appeared to be looming rather than protecting, and a chill crawled along your spine.

Of course shinobi died young. All bodies gave out eventually, and shinobi would fight until that occurred, regardless of whether or not it was to their detriment (it almost always was). But Kakashi was the most talented shinobi you’d ever encountered. He wouldn’t die young, you hoped. He had so much left to live for, even if he couldn’t see it through the haze of his own pain and guilt.

The remaining walk to the Hokage tower was silent. And afterwards, you took flowers to the memorial stone. You prayed for the dead. And just this once, you begged them to look out for the living, too.

~

The day Kakashi joined the ANBU, you knew. The matching tattoo colored your bicep in sweeping increments, a sharp red rattling your heart within your chest. The reality of your situation washed over you like the worst kind of genjutsu.

Your best friend was your soulmate. And he didn’t want you.

The realization left you shell shocked for a few days, unable to even speak or look at Kakashi. Even without the contact, your mind couldn’t escape from him. However, you eventually managed to safeguard your heart as best as you could. You wouldn’t tell him yet; something within you couldn’t handle that risk of rejection, especially when it would come from Kakashi. But you weren’t willing to throw away the lifetime of friendship the two of you shared. So you put on a smile and met Kakashi at his favorite restaurant, just like usual.

“You haven’t been here for a few days,” he noted as you sat down, watching you intently. “Everything alright?”

You shrugged, fingers trailing down the side of your glass. “Yeah, just wasn’t feeling up to anything.”

It was a partial lie, one Kakashi could easily prod into if he wanted to. But he didn’t. He let you be. And you relished in the way the conversation eventually grew normal between the two of you, right up until he rose from the table, leaving you to pay the bill.

Everything was normal. But you cried again that night anyway.

~

Life fell back into the usual pattern after that. There were times that you could almost pretend the weight on your shoulders wasn’t there. Kakashi was away on more missions with the ANBU, so you were able to bury your head in your training and missions and pretend nothing was wrong. At least, you could pretend until a pen caught your eye.

The words on your skin had been so brutal, and you hoped they were just because of the pain Kakashi had endured. You hoped it came from a place of love rather than hatred; perhaps Kakashi’s intention was protection rather than cold-hearted rejection.

At least, that’s what you thought until you found Kakashi sparring with Gai.

You tried your hardest not to invade their privacy, not to listen to words that weren’t meant for your ears, like the good friend you were, but Kakashi’s voice was too sharp, too defensive, to not draw your attention.

“—but it’s a waste of time, Gai. Soulmates are unnecessary. Especially for people like us.”

“You’re hiding from your future, Kakashi. Wasting all your youthful days that you could be spending with the one who will love you as much as life itself!”

Another failed attack. The clang of clashing kunai.

“A soulmate could only be a liability to me. You know what kind of missions I’m being sent on.”

“They’re your soulmate, Kakashi. Soulmates are built to work together. They fill the cracks like the best kind of glue!”

Kakashi scoffed. There was another clang, the gentle zip of shuriken on the breeze.

“I’d never love them anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“You’d say something so cruel—”

You turned away, unable to listen anymore. The pain pooled heavy in your gut. The message he’d written hadn’t been a reflexive, angry reaction. His beliefs were set in stone. He didn’t want you.

So, you held your chin up, resigned yourself to eternal loneliness, and pretended the whole soulmate dilemma didn’t exist.

If being Kakashi’s friend was the closest you could get, then you’d ignore the sting in your chest when you looked at him. You’d be his friend. Nothing more.

~

Your resolve lasted a few weeks.

There was whispering. There had always been whispering, but this day was much worse than usual. He’d been mocked, insulted, shamed. Openly. And aside from Gai, nobody had said a word otherwise. You couldn’t stand it, watching him mask the pain as much as he masked his own features. His feigned nonchalance couldn’t fool your perceptive eyes. You’d been watching too closely; you knew him too well.

Curled at your desk that night, you wrote a message on your wrist, scared of talking to him again but unable to leave him alone.

You’re a good person.

Hours passed before you received a response. It was curt, defensive, everything Kakashi carried to protect himself. You don’t know me.

But you did.

Although it was difficult to sleep, you tried your best not to toss and turn too much as you brooded over your feelings. Was it worth saying more? Was it worth risking the hurt, the rejection?

In the morning, you’d made your decision, especially after noticing his words had already been rinsed off your wrist.

Cleaning your own wrist, you wrote the message in your head a thousand times over, only hoping the words wouldn’t hurt you so much when they reached his skin.

You're a good person, Kakashi Hatake. I won't let you tell me otherwise.

~

Kakashi met you for lunch just like usual. You wouldn’t have found anything odd about the meeting, but he showed up on time. Apparently your message had rattled him enough to throw him completely off his rhythm.

Rather than comment on his early appearance, you just smiled as he sat down, choosing to dig into your meal. Kakashi followed suit, pulling out a book while he waited for his bowl.

Silence settled between you, and you let it. After all, you were trying to make the situation appear normal. The last thing you wanted was for him to figure out you were in on the secret that was bothering him. So, the two of you ate. You sipped your tea, glancing out at the people passing on the street until Kakashi finally broke the silence.

“My soulmate knows who I am,” he murmured, setting down his raman bowl.

You plastered on a smile, knowing you had to fake congratulations, had to fake knowing that he had, in fact, zero intentions of finding his soulmate.

“That’s so exciting, Kakashi! I’m glad you’ve finally found yours!”

He laughed dryly, scratching his neck. “It’s not quite like that.”

You tried to neutralize the way your expression dropped. Either Kakashi didn’t notice, nose stuck in his copy of Make Out Paradise, or he didn’t care. You bit your lip, brows furrowing before you could stop them. “How so?”

But you already knew the answer to that.

“I’m not talking to my soulmate,” he said curtly. “It’s not something that interests me.”

You shook your head, sighing softly. He’d never let anyone in, never let anyone close. Kakashi was too reserved for that, and you resigned yourself to the knowledge that he’d never care to change the fate he’d chosen for himself. For such a hopeless romantic, he had a terrible tendency to reject love.

“You’re so foolish, Kakashi,” you whispered, balancing the chopsticks on the rim of your bowl.

His eye snapped to your face. Though he appeared nonchalant, you could tell that he slightly bristled at your words. “You’re one to talk.”

“Mine won’t talk to me,” you pointed out sharply, eyes dropping to refold your napkin.

His expression softened minutely, but his tone stayed firm. “That isn’t what I meant. We’re shinobi, (Y/n). Love in our line of duty is fatal.”

Pursing your lips, you caught his eye again before dropping his stare. “Perhaps,” you murmured, knuckles straining in your lap. “But you can’t say it’s pleasant to live without love.”

He was silent for a moment as you both stared at anywhere but one another. Kakashi was ruminating under your words while you wallowed in the silent pain of listening to your soulmate openly deny your importance. It hurt, but you wouldn’t admit that, least of all not to his face.

Before he could speak again, Gai had clapped Kakashi on the shoulder, greeting him as warmly as ever.

You slipped out of the shop, enough money to cover both your meals pressed into the owner’s hand before either of the shinobi could realize you’d disappeared.

~

Although your conversation with Kakashi had stung deep within your chest, you appreciated the insights it gave you.

Kakashi Hatake was aware his soulmate knew his name. And he was terrified.

The fact that he’d brought it up at all was enough to tell you how jarring the event had been for him. That, and the way he responded at the mere notion of knowing his soulmate. He was like a cornered cat lashing his claws out in terror. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone, not his soulmate, not you. But in his desperation to protect himself, reinforce the walls he’d so meticulously crafted to fortify his aching heart, Kakashi Hatake was willing to scratch.

However, you weren’t willing to let it go that easily.

He was scared of having someone care for him. You were willing to start small in the hopes of changing that.

Along the curve of your inner wrist, you swirled the letters that would become the first of many.

Stay safe on your mission.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

~

Today is supposed to be cold. Wear an extra mask.

He didn’t. Worse yet, he chose to do the opposite. Although it was hard to tell, you knew his mask and undershirt were the spring/summer fabrics rather than the fall/winter ones.

The bastard was spiting you. Well, spiting his soulmate. So, unwittingly spiting you.

It was still irksome.

As the two of you wandered around the village, helped the farmers, and even took a leisurely stroll around the village perimeter “just in case,” you relished in the way Kakashi moved. It was obvious he was cold, regretting his unnecessary fashion stance.

But you couldn’t stand to see him cold.

He looked close to dropping to the ground for a rapid succession of push-ups just to rekindle some warmth. As smug as you were about watching him suffer, you weren't willing to let him perform a Gai for a small semblance of relief.

Swiftly, you unlooped your scarf, draping it around his neck unceremoniously. It wasn’t much, but the fabric was warm, and it would certainly help a little.

If only you knew how happy the gesture made him.

As the two of you walked back to the heart of the village, Kakashi walked a little closer to you than normal. And, for some reason, you didn’t really mind.

~

When Kakashi didn’t show up to lunch the following week, you weren’t surprised. You’d only just returned from a mission, and word of Kakashi’s travels had already graced your ears. He was heading to the Village Hidden in the Sand. For what, you weren’t sure. Some missions were still classified even for you.

Despite knowing how skilled Kakashi was, you still worried about him traveling alone through the desert.

The click of your pen hurt a little less when you clicked it now. It helped to know who your soulmate was. It helped to feel like he cared about you still, even when he so clearly loathed his soulmate.

Remember to drink some water today.

A few hours later, you were surprised to see a response scribbled across your inner wrist.

Yes.

Just one word but finally a positive one.

~

Rest when you can.

Kakashi stared at the words delicately placed on his wrist. His mission had taken longer than expected, and he was beginning to think his soulmate knew that.

Whoever they were, they must have been a shinobi like him. A high-ranking one, too, for them to determine the length of time he was supposed to be away for.

He’d been receiving one message per day. At first, it irritated him to no end. But now, he didn’t hate it quite so much, even if he often didn’t bother to reply. The messages were always harmless. Sometimes they were funny. Sometimes they were giving him advice, a little reminder meant—he assumed—to help him through the day.

While the sender certainly had the best intentions when sending the note, the message still left him irked. He was alone for this mission, and the sleeplessness and general strains of traveling had started to take a toll on him.

Only a day’s journey left until he could return home and try to shake the sand out of every nook and cranny of his backpack. Only a day’s journey left until he could sleep in a bed. Only a day’s journey left until he could go to dinner with the others. Just. One. More. Day.

He could make it. He had to.

~

Kakashi had been injured again.

The news swept through the village like a wildfire, and you showed up with two Make Out novels and a bowl of raman, nearly being knocked over by Gai’s comically large bouquet in the process.

Kakashi accepted Gai’s flowers with moderate amounts of grumbling and a few lackluster attempts to get him to leave. Eventually, he did, and it was just the two of you.

You filled the vase at his bedside with water, delicately stuffing as many of the stems as you possibly could inside the glass.

Kakashi watched you move around him, cherishing the silence. At his bedside, you unclasped your bag, pulling out the blindingly colorful books and the container of Ichiraku raman. After making sure the utensils were settled and there was a napkin, you turned back to Kakashi, just missing the warm expression on his face.

“You should rest,” you encouraged gently, “and eat up.”

His eye squinted playfully. “You fuss too much.”

You smiled, smoothing a shuriken printed blanket over the starchy hospital ones. It was yours, but it still smelled faintly of dogs and Kakashi and spice. Hopefully it would stave off some of his nightmares, having something that smelled vaguely like home.

“I fuss just enough. Now, don’t stay up too late reading. Some rest will go a long way.”

“You fuss too—” He yelped as you pinched his toe through the blanket, slinging your bag back over your shoulder.

“You’re lucky you have me as a friend.”

Kakashi’s expression softened, mind racing toward how close he’d come to death yet again. “Yeah, I am.”

He relished in the way that simple statement delighted you, watching the way your expression lit up.

“Get some rest,” you encouraged again, turning to leave him in the bright, quiet room.

As per your request, he did.

~

Although he listened to your advice, it was only marginally. In true Kakashi fashion, he’d talked his way out of the hospital after a measly two days of treatment.

His body needed more time, but Kakashi was always one to push himself.

Since the Hokage stalled sending him on another mission, something he both hated and appreciated, he occupied the following days in his normal rhythm. He trained privately, visited the memorial stone, and wandered the village nose-deep in supposedly trashy romance.

You’d caught him wandering around a few times, and even saw him lightly competing in a challenge against Gai.

The sight made your blood boil even though you knew it was Kakashi being Kakashi.

He had no sense of self-preservation, which wasn’t particularly helpful when you—his soulmate—were watching from the sidelines.

Did he even care that he could leave you all alone? No, probably not, your mind taunted. Kakashi didn’t care about soulmates; you knew that.

If only you could convince your heart not to care.

That afternoon, you let the letters curl across your wrist as you watched him do another training exercise with Gai, looking faintly more fatigued than normal.

Give yourself time to recover.

If he found your message, he didn’t care to respond.

~

Kakashi would visit the memorial stone in the morning; you knew how his routine worked.

He felt it fitting to visit them as often as he could, an apology for living the life they all should have lived.

You couldn’t blame him. You visited the stone often, too.

But you couldn’t today, not while you were traveling to the Village Hidden in the Sand with a scroll. So, you asked for a favor, scribbling on your wrist: Pray for mine, too, please.

He was starting to grow accustomed to your messages. A small part of you wondered if he kept an eye out for them. But that was silly. You were thinking about Kakashi. He probably was just reading his book when the words appeared, his wrist already in his line of sight.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

But it still didn’t dispel your excitement when the answer scribbled across your skin a few minutes later.

Sure.

~

He’d been taking on so many missions lately, wearing himself to the bone just to be a good shinobi. A part of you wondered if he was trying to avoid thinking about anything other than his shinobi world. That hunch didn’t stop you from worrying.

Soulmate or not, Kakashi’s actions would have worried you. He looked exhausted as he shuffled through his laundry. You’d brought him takeout from his favorite restaurant to hopefully get something other than rations in his stomach before he left on his next mission.

Who knew how long it would be before he drug himself in, requested another trip, and raced off to somewhere new. You would’ve thought he was avoiding you if it weren’t for the obvious delight in his eyes when you caught up with him outside Hokage Tower.

But there was a reason he was working himself to exhaustion. Possibly long-dead memories brought back to life that he couldn’t stand thinking about. You didn’t even want to know; you just wanted him to be okay.

A week later, you saw him walking through the village gates yet again. Back again. Planning to leave again. It was always the same, just relentlessly overkill at present. He was taking on too much, and one day he would slip up and regret it. You didn’t want that.

So you stayed behind the kiosk you’d been perusing, fingers untangling the wraps around your hand. It was a simple message, but you hoped it would help snap his mind out of whatever hole he’d buried it in.

Please don’t overwork yourself.

He didn’t respond. Not a word graced your hopeful skin.

But Kakashi caught you outside one of the stores in town and asked if you wanted to meet up for dinner that night. He would be around for a while, he said, but he was too tired to cook.

Despite trying to hold on to your resolve, a small part of you couldn’t help but hope he was staying because you asked him to. It was probably wishful thinking, but you were grateful for whatever force made him stay nonetheless.

~

I believe in you.

Kakashi scoffed at the message on his arm, printed in the spot where his glove met his sleeve.

He found it after a competition with Gai. Hardly anything worth fussing over, but his soulmate had still sent him encouraging words.

Had they been watching? Had they seen the fun (though he’d never admit it) that he and Gai had been having? Had they wanted to join in?

For a long time, he’d been able to avoid thinking about his soulmate altogether. Now, though, they’d found a way to weasel into his mind with the words swirling over his skin.

He wasn’t willing to consider whether or not he enjoyed it.

~

I worry when you’re reckless.

The message shouldn’t have stung Kakashi’s heart, but somehow it did. His soulmate was watching and worrying, hearing the stories about his travels. Whoever they were, they must have been a shinobi, too.

Were they okay with forsaking love in the name of war? Could they abandon emotions for the sake of duty? Maybe. His soulmate had never directly asked to be anything more than penpals, though even that notion was quite one-sided.

But the message on his wrist betrayed his soulmate’s strength. They worried about him. They listened for the stories and understood when something went wrong.

Kakashi couldn’t help but wonder if they were reckless, too.

If he never took the chance to know them, would he care if they threw their life away as often as he’d tried to? He wasn’t sure.

~

The next Make Out novel comes out today. I reserved you a copy at the Northern bookstore. It’s less crowded.

Kakashi didn’t understand why his soulmate was being so nice to him. Not after his harsh words at the beginning, not after his sparse replies and general lack of interest. But whoever they were, they were trying, and he had to admire that.

At first, he was surprised his soulmate was not only fine with him reading erotic novels in public but also encouraging it. But, then again, his soulmate was meant to be compatible with him, right?

There would be butting heads, of course. All soulmates lost the honeymoon stage eventually. But this seemed deeper, warmer. His favorite book in a quiet shop on his day off. It was kindness. And it felt both strange and wonderful.

He vaguely regretted not doing anything for his soulmate. Though, maybe they were okay with that. Maybe they enjoyed being alone, just like he did.

Maybe if he kept lying to himself, he’d continue to enjoy it.

But crouched in a tree a few hours later, he couldn’t shake the gratitude deep in his chest. The novel was amazing. And he wouldn’t have been able to get his hands on it if it weren’t for his soulmate’s generosity.

Two words.

Thank you.

~

Kakashi had arrived home from another long mission. Although unscathed, his clothes were a mess. Dirt and mud clung to his legs, dried blood was smattered across his upper body, and a few rogue twigs and leaves stuck to him in strange places. He needed a shower. Desperately.

But something within Kakashi was restless, and he chose to wander around the village absently.

Something must have happened for him to look so dazed and unattached, but you tried to avoid asking anything direct in public.

Instead, you hopped beside him, catching his arm with the tips of your fingertips. He hummed in response.

“You just got back, right, Kakashi?”

He hummed again. “Yep.”

“Have you bought groceries?”

“No... Why?”

“A bunch of us are going to dinner tonight. You should come. It’s been a while since we’ve all been together.”

He inspected you for a long moment, and you could tell what he was thinking. The laugh bubbled in your throat before you could help yourself. “It’s Iruka’s turn to take Gai home, don’t worry.”

He stared for a moment longer before nodding slowly. “Okay.” Another small, dazed nod. “I’ll come.”

You couldn’t hide your smile as you told him the establishment and the time. That alone made Kakashi’s mood improve, though he’d never admit that aloud.

An hour later, though, he was still wandering around the city absentmindedly. So you figured his soulmate could take matters into their own hands.

Blood in your hair? Isn’t that a bit macabre?

He replied an hour later.

No.

But the next time you saw him, he was dressed in a new uniform. Not a single pristinely white hair was out of place.

If it hadn’t been for Anko talking your ear off about her last mission, you almost could’ve imagined that you and Kakashi were on a date.

It was the closest you would get, a clean vest and all.

But when Asuma blew a puff of smoke and Kakashi glared disdainfully from across the table, any hopes of romance slipped through your fingers.

You were friends. Close friends.

And you refocused on Anko’s story in the hopes of forgetting the state of your friendship with Kakashi for the span of a few minutes.

Every little glance he sent your way certainly didn’t help.

Nor did the way he offered you the last bite of his cake as a thanks for paying for his meal yet again.

Damn, you were in deep.

~

Be safe on your mission.

His reply came a few minutes later.

Yep.

Although it wasn’t much, the gesture made you smile. It seemed almost like he was waiting for your message, like he’d been checking as he and his companions wandered down the road.

You told yourself it was wishful thinking, but the word scribbled on your wrist in his handwriting warmed your heart all the same.

~

You’d forgotten. The mission had been too complex, your mind too preoccupied. You’d forgotten to write to Kakashi.

A part of you distantly wondered if he cared, if he even thought about your messages.

He’d started to reply on occasion. It was never more than a quickly scrawled, single word response, but it was still better than the total isolation he’d given you before.

You couldn’t say it was great, or that the two of you talked as soulmates. But it was relatively amicable. And that was a much better foot to get off on than the first time he’d responded to the words you’d scribbled words across your arms.

Things were okay.

And although you had a few scrapes and scratches from your mission, that had gone okay, too.

When your team settled in a clearing for the night, tent built and fire glowing, you drifted off, too exhausted to think of sending a scrabbled love message to Kakashi.

But he hadn’t forgotten about you.

Although you assumed he wasn’t paying attention, Kakashi was one of the best ninja in the Village Hidden in the Leaves. He paid attention to everything, despite his usual nonchalance.

He noticed immediately that his soulmate hadn’t written to him.

After weeks of at least one little message per day.

And he wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was terrified. Had something happened to you? Were you injured? Could it be worse?

The idea of soulmates may have left him feeling disgruntled, but your messages had burrowed a home in his heart.

He wasn’t ready to give you or your messages up yet.

So for the first time in a long time, he wrote a real message.

You’re late. Doing okay?

As you watched over the dying flames several hours later, an early morning guard for your teammates, you stared at his words, tracing a finger over the scraggly characters.

Late.

You knew he wasn’t talking about your mission because the four of you weren’t due back for another two days. He didn’t know your identity. That only left the messages…

Was he treating this as a check-in?

You rolled your eyes, chuckling. Leave it to Kakashi to care more than he let on.

Got lost on the path of life. You?

Kakashi stared at your message. He’d been perusing his favorite bookstore for spare copies of the Make Out series’ novels, sleeve suspiciously cuffed and waiting for a reply, when the words had swirled across his skin.

And he laughed. Warmly and purely. Because you’d stolen his line.

You knew him. And maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing if you would continue to make him laugh so openly.

Surprised with himself, he clicked his pen, words scribbling across his skin before he had the chance to doubt himself.

Glad you’re alive.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start. An admission that he wasn’t as dismayed by the soulmate thing as he let on. And you arrived home from your mission absolutely beaming.

~

You were able to catch Kakashi for lunch before heading off on your next mission with Kurenai. The food was filling, and the conversation was nice. Funnily enough, he was supposed to leave for a mission with Gai the next day. No rest for the shinobi apparently.

Kakashi waved at you as you walked away, and you smiled to yourself. Even if you didn’t have your soulmate by your side, at least you still had some connection to Kakashi. Being by his side was worth the dull ache it left in your heart.

But you would be without it for the next few days. Although you and Kurenai were leaving for no more than two days, Kakashi and Gai would probably be gone most of the week. Part of you hated when Kakashi was away, but part of you enjoyed getting to write to him more often. When he was away, you could be a little less secretive as you scribbled down messages throughout your day in the village.

But, for the time being, you’d focus on the mission at hand.

It was a standard case of bandits in the woods. At least, that was what the scroll had described the mission as. However, as you and Kurenai crept through the dense forest, something felt off.

No matter how far the two of you traveled, the quiet whisper of wind in the leaves greeted you. Despite your speed and silence, you couldn’t sense any animals or hear anything suspicious. Bandits would have left campsites or trash or, hell, even footsteps. But nothing greeted your senses, not even traces of animals. These weren’t ordinary bandits.

Your suspicions were confirmed when eight people jumped from the brush, attacking with a swiftness you hadn’t anticipated. Their presences had been completely concealed.

Kurenai lept to your left, and you lept to the right, sending three shuriken through the air to hit the nearest attacker. While your attack worked slightly, you immediately had to jump again, barely catching Kurenai rushing off through the trees.

This was the failsafe plan; if you got caught, you’d separate far enough that you couldn’t catch one another in the crossfire of your attacks.

But you were outmatched. Whoever these “bandits” were, they were extremely skilled in capturing and securing enemies. One moment, you were wielding a fire jutsu. The next moment, your vision had gone dark.

~

Capture wasn’t the only thing the bandits appeared to be skilled in. Upon waking, you’d been tied to a chair with restraints stronger than you could break. The room was dark, probably somewhere underground, and you realized you had no idea how long you’d been unconscious. Was Kurenai okay? Had she been captured, too? What did these people want with you?

None of that mattered, not when the first blow had landed across your exposed side. Whatever these people wanted, you wouldn’t give it. So, you took a deep breath, clenched your teeth, and shut out the world. Your village was valuable to you. The people there mattered to you. And you’d follow your training to the letter, or you’d die trying.

~

Whether it had been hours or days of torture, you weren’t sure. All you knew was that everything hurt, and your vision was starting to go blurry. Despite that, you hadn’t relented. No matter what they threw at your body, no matter what manipulation they tried to play with your mind, you wouldn’t budge.

At the end, at least you’d make the Village Hidden in the Leaves proud.

But there was something that was missing, something you wanted to do before you died, even if it was just selfish, even if it was just a foolish whispering of your heart. You wanted to be buried somewhere your friends could visit. You wanted everyone to know about your end, to know what had happened, to never worry that you were out there somewhere.

You wanted Kakashi to find peace in your death, not guilt.

So there was a secret you had to spill.

You slid the pen from your pocket, clicking it open as you stared at your arm. Slowly, you undid the bandages, greeted once again by blank skin. Swirling the pen across your forearm, you wrote the rough coordinates of your capture on your arm. It wasn’t exact, but hopefully it would be good enough. Then, you wrote the words “urgent note” on your fingertips and wrist, hoping that would encourage him to look. Below the coordinates, you wrote: Abducted by enemies. Not relenting to torture. Getting weak. Send help if possible. Or someone to collect my body. Look at leg later. —(Y/n).

Carefully, you rewrapped your arm, moving to roll your pant leg up. Your hands were shaking, and it was hard to hold the pen, but you had to write to him.

They said the end is coming, and I'm starting to believe them. It hurts a lot. So I'm writing to you. I know you didn't want to deal with the whole soulmate thing, but I couldn't stay away. You were just too wonderful to not stand beside. I'm sorry I didn't leave you be, didn't respect your wishes. But I wanted to be a part of your life. I'm being selfish by writing to you now, but you're the one person I've always been selfish with, so I'm not going to stop at the very end. Please don’t be upset with yourself if I don’t make it.

Your eyes were watering now, vision slightly blurry. Had they drugged you, too? Or was it just the injuries?

I just want you to remember that you’re loved. That I love you. That you deserve to be loved. Please don’t forget that when I’m gone.

Whatever else you wanted to write would not be written. Quietly, the pen clattered out of your hand, and your head slumped forward.

Time was up.

~

Your vision was blurry when your eyes finally blinked open. You were cold, but the ache in your muscles was a reassurance that you were very much alive. Alive and in a hospital, it seemed.

There was a crinkle beside your bed, and you looked up to see Kakashi thumbing through his book.

What had… You blinked, trying to recall exactly what had happened.

There was a mission… you’d been on a mission with Kurenai… right. Then… and then... you were abducted. Yes, you could remember that now. And Kakashi… you remember thinking about Kakashi. Gosh, everything was so damn hazy. You shifted, wincing as you tried to sit up.

“Hey!” His voice was cheerful, and you blinked up at him in surprise at the warmness in his tone. “Good to see you waking up!”

How had he known you were at the hospital? Had Kurenai… Wait, no. No. Hazily, you could recall writing coordinates on your wrist. They weren’t precise, so someone must have looked for you. You couldn’t remember being found. Everything after the last interrogation was too hazy… too confusing. But Kakashi had known… maybe Kakashi had looked for you.

“You made it in time?”

He hummed, closing his book with a thump. “Pakkun found you. Once I knew what to look for, I could rely on his nose.”

You nodded groggily, reaching up to rub your eyes. The ink was still on your wrist, visible due to your unwrapped arms. You’d forgotten about—

“Kakashi, I’m so sorry about the message.” You turned to look at him, eyes wide and embarrassed. “If I knew everything would’ve been fine, then I wouldn’t have—”

His hand rose, and you stopped, heart hammering in your throat. This was it. This would be the rejection.

“I’m glad I had the opportunity to save you.”

Of course. Because he wouldn’t leave a comrade behind; that wasn’t like him.

But that wasn’t the message you were referring to.

If he wasn’t going to bring up the love message, then you wouldn’t, either. “I’m grateful,” you murmured, looking down to finally see the treatment your body had undergone. There were marks everywhere, which meant Kakashi was marked everywhere, too. Marks on the soulmate that didn’t want you…

“I appreciate you waiting,” you forced yourself to say. Maybe he’d get the message and leave you alone.

Instead, he met your awkward sidestep with bluntness. “I figured we should talk.”

Your head felt like it was spinning, and you had the slightest sensation that you were going to be in the hospital for quite a while. It would be embarrassing to be rejected here; it would be embarrassing to cry in front of the nurses.

“Not now,” you croaked, hand scrabbling to grab the invisible cup of water at the bedside. Water, sake, medicine, heck, even the flower water beside you. Anything to push the lump out of your throat. Anything to avoid thinking about Kakashi’s rejection.

You were eyeing up the vase next to you as Kakashi stood, long legs moving to fill a glass by the sink. He handed it to you, assuring your fingers were pressed around the cup before he moved away.

You sent him a grateful half-smile before you swallowed the water like a shot, desperate to drown yourself in something other than your own awkwardness.

“Feel better?”

No, you really didn’t. Your head was still spinning, stomach still queasy. Whether it was from your injuries or Kakashi’s pointed stare, you weren’t sure. “I don’t want to talk about it today. Everything—” you coughed, trying to release the tightness in your throat. “Everything hurts.”

He nodded, humming low in his throat. “I’ll go get a nurse, then.”

You nodded shakily, debating whether or not you could escape from the hospital before he came back. The ache in your side told you moving probably wasn’t the best idea.

“But before I do, I have one question.”

Your head snapped to where he stood by the door, wincing as you did so. “Yes?”

“How did you find out it was me?”

You stared at him for a minute, searching his impassive face. He was one of the best shinobi this village had ever seen, and he was still impossibly clueless sometimes. Slowly, you rolled up your sleeve, revealing a roll of gauze. It was blue, unlike the starchy white medical gauze on your sides. You could fiddle with it; the fabric belonged to you. With nimble fingers, you untied it, letting it pool below your elbow on the bed.

Kakashi stared openly at the ANBU tattoo, and you watched the pieces click into place. He hadn’t even considered what a tattoo would be like for his soulmate.

“I see,” he whispered, fingers unconsciously twitching toward his covered arm. After a moment, he shook himself from his thoughts, gaze again becoming impassive. “I’ll go get the nurses.”

“Kakashi?” you called, shocked as the words left your lips. You hadn’t meant to call out for him, not yet, anyway. But he was standing there staring like you’d held up a practice dummy, focus radiating from him in waves. You had to say something. “Thank you. For saving me… and waiting. And thank Pakkun, too?”

Kakashi’s expression softened. “I will. Now, get some rest. You look exhausted.”

Though, rest was the last thing you would come close to receiving as the doctors gave you a full evaluation. Poking, prodding, and asking questions took up most of the afternoon. Although you tried your best to focus and take in all the information you were given about your physical state, your mind continually strayed to Kakashi. Did he hate you now? Did he want you out of his life? Was he waiting for you or just waiting to ask about the whole soulmates thing? You wished you could quiet the questions swirling through your mind.

That evening, you found a message scribbled across the back of your hand. Although his handwriting was still messy, it was obvious he took his time. He wanted it to be legible.

Get well soon, (Y/n).

It was the first time your soulmate had written your name on his skin. He knew you now. There was no going back to the secretive messages and hidden assurances. Everything was out in the open; Kakashi knew exactly who you were. He knew everything.

That night, you wept.

You wept for the injuries that would bar you from upcoming missions. You wept for the bitter sense of death that had grazed your fingertips. You wept for the compassionate message on your hand. You wept for the fear of being alone again.

You wept for Kakashi and all that he meant to you.

~

Between the crying and the medical evaluations the day prior, you slept well past the time you’d typically rise. Consequently, it was well past the opening of visiting hours, too.

Kakashi arrived before you woke up and tucked himself into a corner with a book. However, he read very little. Instead, he watched the gradual rise and fall of your chest, comforted by the knowledge that you were still breathing.

When “urgent note” had appeared on his fingers, his heart had nearly stopped in his chest. When he read the message printed on his wrist, the sinking sensation had only grown. Fear consumed him more than it had ever consumed him before.

His head had spun with the realization that you were in danger, that you were his soulmate. Summoning his ninkin had happened in a blur. If he was being honest with himself, everything was a blur up until the moment he found you. That moment would live on in crystal clarity in his memory forever.

There are some moments in life too horrific to forget. Finding you unconscious on the floor of a dingy bunker, pen by your side, chest barely moving, would be one of those moments for Kakashi.

The only thing more reassuring than watching you breathe was watching your eyes blink open slowly and focus in on him. He could tell you were nervous about talking to him, and he knew why. The message still hastily scribbled on both of your thighs was more than an acknowledgement of the soulmate bond. It was an admission that you loved him, an admission that you believed in him, that you wanted to stay by his side.

It was also an admission that you believed he didn’t want to stay by your side.

He really needed to talk to you.

“Good morning,” he hummed, tucking his book back in his vest. Smiling, he moved to sit on the chair beside you, feeling it was appropriate now that you were awake. This close, he could smell the antiseptic on your skin, the overbearing flowery scent of the hospital lotion, and the faintest whiff of your shampoo still clinging to your hair despite the days it had been since your last shower.

“G’morning,” you mumbled, stretching lazily. Kakashi watched your movements, chuckling at the way you arched like a happy rabbit after a nap. It was cute and endearing, a movement Kakashi had gotten used to witnessing over the years.

Shifting the other direction, you winced, body instinctively jerking back into a ball. “Ow,” you grumbled, hand moving to put a little pressure on your side. With some effort, you managed to shift into a sitting position, still moving gingerly to somewhat satiate your aching limbs. “I thought I’d feel better today, but I guess not.”

Kakashi snorted dryly. “That’s a bit ambitious, don’t you think?”

You stopped rubbing your shoulder to stare at him. “What do you mean?”

What did he mean? Hadn’t the doctors told you? Surely they would have mentioned… Were you playing dumb or did you really not know? Kakashi stared at you for a moment, scrutinizing your confused expression, before his eyes dropped. He let out a breath, then another, trying to hide the pain blossoming in his chest.

He’d almost lost you.

“You were dying,” he said lowly, gaze fixated on his gloves. “By the time we got you back, we really thought you weren’t…” he shook his head, expression dark. “The medics thought you were already gone.”

It took a moment for you to respond. The doctors said your recovery was astronomical, that you’d been close to death, but the way Kakashi described it, so somber and broken, made the reality of the situation hit home.

You’d almost died. You’d almost lost everything you held dear.

You’d almost lost him.

Glancing back to Kakashi, you found him still lost deep within his thoughts. His expression was dark, fist clenched over his thigh, over what was intended to be your last message to him.

Carefully, you reached out and bushed a hand over his clenched fist. The action drew his attention back to you. “It wasn’t your fault,” you gently offered, stroking the back of his hand once more before pulling away. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that, but it’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.”

He huffed, scooting backward in his chair. “I should have got to you sooner! Protected you! If I’d asked, you could have sent me updates. I could have prevented you from getting hurt—”

“Will you stop with the narcissism!” you chided, wincing as you swung your feet over the edge of the bed.

He met your gaze, lone eye blinking once in surprise.

“I took the mission. I accepted the consequences of it. I knew what an infiltration would be like. I knew the chances of getting ambushed. You didn’t endanger me, Kakashi. You weren’t even supposed to be on that mission.” Your voice faded, soft and overwhelmed. “But you saved me anyway.” You ran your thumb under your eyes, catching the tears before they had a chance to fall. “So claim that. Stop… I need you to stop only claiming your failures.”

He clenched his fist, unclenched it, and nodded once. For the first time in a long time, you couldn’t read Kakashi’s body language at all. What was he feeling?

Part of you wanted to reach out and comfort him, but you didn’t. He’d made space between you for a reason. And as upsetting as it was, you were willing to honor that.

After a few minutes of silence, you plucked one of the flowers from the vase beside your bed. “Did Kurenai bring me the flowers?” You smiled, brushing a finger against the petals. “She accidentally picked my favorites.”

When you looked back up, Kakashi was staring at you again, cheek barely pinking over the edge of his mask.

He could read erotic novels in public, but you made him blush.

“Actually, I brought them.”

Freezing, you stared at him in surprise. “You did? How did you—?”

He flushed again, eyes fixing on the flowers rather than your face. “You buy pots of those every spring, but they always die because you’re out on missions. And you take daisies to the memorial stone a few times a month. You leave iris for your parents, and you bring peonies and cookies for the ANBU guards when you have meetings with the Hokage. And on the second Sunday of every month you’re both in town, you hide 100 tulips around the village for Gai to find.” When his eyes snapped back to yours, your shocked expression made him grow self conscious, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’ve, uh, been paying attention.”

“Why?”

He gestured to the room, pretending to misinterpret your question. “It’s so dull in here. I thought a little decorating wouldn’t hurt.”

You snorted at that, impossibly undignified but oh so delightful.

Of course Kakashi would stall now that he was here.

But… no. He was usually blunt when it came to bad news. So why was he stumbling through the conversation like he’d never spoken to you a day in his life?

Your face shot back to him at the realization, and he arched a brow under your scrutiny. Could he like you? Could you have a chance?

“Everything okay?” he asked gently, tone much more serious than before.

You’d worried him.

Before you could respond, Gai burst into the room with the second largest bouquet you’d ever seen in your life.

“(Y/n)! I heard Kakashi was with you, so I figured I’d bring you some flowers on my way to challenge Kakashi to a shuriken throwing challenge!” He set the flowers—which balanced precariously due to their immense size—on your bedside table, giving you a dazzling smile and a thumbs up.

Kakashi sighed, “Well, Gai, I was just here talking to her—”

What if you had been interpreting Kakashi’s expressions all wrong? What if he didn’t like you? What if this was all his way of trying to stay friends? Although you hoped for something else, the fear of rejection clawed at your throat like a Shadow Strangle Jutsu. This was your chance. The chance to get out of Kakashi’s rejection. Gai was the perfect opportunity.

“You should go!” You chirped, smiling at them both.

“I… what?”

“That’s the spirit, (Y/n)! It would be a shame for Kakashi to waste his precious youth not enhancing his physical prowess!” Gai dropped to his hands, beginning to do push-ups on the floor of your room.

Ignoring the incredulous look Kakashi sent your way, you wriggled your fingers at his bag. “What volume are you on? I need something to entertain me while you lavish in your youth.”

Kakashi scoffed at your statement before fishing the Make Out Violence novel from his pouch. He dangled it in front of your face. “Is this what you’re after?”

You grinned, snatching the book from his hands. “This just so happens to be the volume I’ve been waiting for.”

Kakashi blinked in surprise, feeling his face grow warm again. “You read Make Out Paradise?”

You smiled sheepishly under his gaze, fingers tracing over the edge of the cover. “Really, it’s all your fault. It was so boring waiting in line to reserve that new edition for you. I needed something to do.”

Because that gift from his soulmate, that gift had been from you.

“And now you’re moving on to book two?”

Embarrassed but pleased, you grinned up at him. “I may have figured out why you’re so hooked on them.”

Kakashi laughed. Just a short huff, but still. Could you get any more perfect?

He was about to respond again when Gai grabbed his shoulder, already taking his ear off as he dragged Kakashi out the door.

You settled in with your—Kakashi’s— book, pleased for the reprieve but missing him all the same.

~

Delving into Make Out Violence was both a blessing and a curse. You lost track of time as you devoured the pages, and the story was so riveting that you barely thought about Kakashi. Though, every time you took a break, love—that sickening concept you didn’t even want to consider in reality—was at the forefront of your mind. So you dove into the novel again with renewed fervor, completely unaware that Kakashi had hopped through the open window. That is, until a warm voice interrupted your reading.

“Having fun?”

In surprise, you snapped the book shut, embarrassment washing over your expression. “A bit. How was the competition with Gai?”

Kakashi shrugged, dragging the chair he’d occupied that morning so he could sit directly beside your bed. “It was fine. Nothing out of the ordinary for Gai.”

“Thanks for the book,” you murmured, passing it back to him. “Maybe I can borrow another one of your copies again sometime.”

He took the novel, setting it down on the bed beside you, only to take your hand in his.

His hands were warm even through the gloves, and his fingertips traced over your skin delicately, as though afraid his touch would somehow hinder your healing.

“(Y/n), we need to talk.”

Despite only holding your hand, he could sense the way your entire body went rigid. “Kakashi, please—”

“(Y/n). I almost lost my soulmate this week.”

You bit your lip, trying to ignore the faint stinging in your eyes. He was right, you were being selfish. It wasn’t like you were the only one who had a terrible, terrifying week.

You just didn’t want to lose whatever you had with him.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you didn’t bother to mask the strain in your voice. He already knew how you felt about him. “We can be friends. Anything you want. I just… I don’t want to lose this. You. I don’t want to lose you. Even though I was being so selfish—”

“I read your message,” he said softly, gaze fixated on the bend of your wrist as your hand flexed in his own. “I’ve read it so many times,” he laughed, strained from holding onto unshed tears. “I’d get it branded on my body if I could. Parts of it, anyway.”

He shook his head, looking back to your face. He didn’t miss the shocked expression, nor did he miss the tears still frozen within your eyes. He shook his head again. “I can’t believe how lucky I’ve been, that it was you and you were here all along. And then you almost died and I…” He paused, gaze still tracing along the bend of your wrist.

“You..?” With bated breath, you watched his eyes, the pull of his lips through the mask, anything to give away what he was thinking.

“I can’t stand the thought of losing you. Not after how much you’ve grown to mean to me.”

Your heart thundered in your chest. Was he accepting you or rejecting you? Your breath shuddered over your lips, hand trying not to clench his too tightly. “What does that mean? For us?”

Kakashi leaned forward, pressing a masked kiss to your temple. “It means I want to take you for dinner when you get out of here. And—” he stood, letting go of your hand to walk toward the door. The sun was setting. Visiting hours were coming to a close. “Keep the book. I’d hate for you to be bored while I’m gone.”

With that, he vanished from your room, leaving you to wonder exactly what he wanted from you.

Tossing and turning that night, you couldn’t sleep, not with Kakashi’s words ricocheting through your mind. He cared about you, but he was putting distance between you. He was being aloof, just like the cautious jonin he was, but he was exposing vulnerable aspects of his soul to you.

Everything was so damn complicated, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep until you’d gotten an answer to the questions burning a hole in your tongue.

It took a few minutes to sit up, but clicking the pen against your wrist had become second nature to you after so many years. You just wanted to know what he was thinking.

Do you love me?

He scribbled a reply a few minutes later, and you wondered if maybe he was just as terrified as you were, if maybe he couldn’t sleep because he was thinking of you, too.

Not like you want me to, but I could. Someday soon.

The thought sent hope skittering through your chest, but you tamped it down. He hadn’t wanted you. He still probably didn’t want you. You were a liability. You were a danger to his way of life. You were—

Ink stained your hand, trickling down your arm, as you realized the pen had snapped under the strength of your palm.

Without a way to stand on your own, you stared at the drying ink, trying to think of anything other than the fear in your chest, the longing in your heart, the nervousness bubbling under the surface.

Kakashi was stuck to the wall beside your window a few minutes later, staring worriedly through the glass.

An ink stain. Of course, he’d worried something was wrong.

He’d been awake waiting for your reply.

He’d been awake because of you. For you. The thought made you dizzy.

Silently, he slipped through the window, crouching worriedly beside your bed. Whatever pretense of nonchalance he kept up during the day, he dropped it now, just for you. “Are you alright?”

You nodded once, stiffly, mind still racing with the situation. Your friendly banter from the morning disappeared, words dried up as your emotions increased tenfold.

A million thoughts rattled through your mind, but you finally settled on one. “You told Gai you couldn’t love me.”

He cocked his head, confusion furrowing his lone brow.

“You were… it was a training day. You were talking about soulmates. And you told Gai that you couldn’t love a soulmate, so it didn’t matter if you didn’t find them…”

Your eyes were watering, and you looked away until you felt the warmth of Kakashi’s fingers circling your own. His hand clung to yours with renewed fervor, though the interaction still held the same touch of softness that it always held when you were injured. Comfort. It has always been an attempt to comfort you, a silent word of compassion. But now that he knew you were his soulmate, would his gestures hold the same meaning?

His voice, coupled with a gentle tug on your hand, had you vanishing into his gaze yet again.

“Soulmates are supposed to be your other half, right?” he asked softly. “If you’re mine, then maybe the whole soulmate thing can work out.”

Even in the moonlight, you could see the blush peeking over the edge of his mask.

You’d stood beside him through thick and thin. You fussed. You took care of him. You let him take care of you. You bought books for him, and he watched your favorite movies with you. He took you out to your favorite restaurants, and you always paid for him. You trained with the strength of a hurricane, and you always kept him mentally and physically on his toes. But no matter what, you’d both been able to rely on one another. It wasn’t romantic love, not yet, but it was the closest thing Kakashi had ever experienced to romantic love. He was close to being in love with you, and the revelation of the soulmate bond had changed those feelings very little.

He’d always been on the precipice of falling in love with you. Now that he knew you and he were destined for one another, the proposition of falling didn’t seem all that terrible anymore.

“If it’s me, you think it’ll work?”

This time, he flushed fully, pinking to the edge of his hairline. “Yeah. You’re… you’re perfect for me.”

Then, it was your turn to grow bashful under his praise. Perfect. He thought this could work because you were perfect. Not perfect in general. Not perfect to him. But perfect for him, with all of your many imperfections.

He wasn’t in love with you. He wouldn’t say it yet. But he was falling, and that was impossible to ignore.

His words left you lost in another world. All this time, he was rejecting his soulmate for fear they wouldn’t truly be his other half. But you were his other half, and he could see that now. He could love you. He could see a future with you. He could—

Kakashi’s warm voice brought you back to the present, hand still gently squeezing your fingertips. “Did you hurt your hand?”

He cares.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, just a little ink.”

Kakashi stood, striding toward the other side of the room. He washed his hands under the sink before returning a moment later, damp rag in hand. This time, he sat on the edge of your bed, hand enveloping your own.

With slow, delicate movements, he swirled the rag across your skin, stealing the ink from your skin almost as effortlessly as he’d stolen your heart. If only you knew how easily you’d done the same.

“I was so scared you’d hate me when you found out,” you whispered. His hand tensed under your own, but he didn’t stop his ministrations. You continued, “Since I kept talking to you, both as your soulmate and myself, I was so worried you would feel betrayed.”

“I did,” he murmured quietly. “At first.” He flipped your hand, wiping away the stray trails of ink that had escaped from your palm. “When I got the message, I couldn’t believe that you’d… after all this time, it was you. And when we found you almost dead, I thought the world was punishing me again, just like everyone else…” Looking away, he began wiping the remaining ink spots off his hand, leaving your fingers to fiddle with the fabric on his knee. “But on the way back, all I could think about was the things I’d said to you. How could you trust me after I so blatantly pushed you away? How could you look me in the eye and put your faith in me when I hurt you so deeply? The fact that you’d tried to stay by my side after everything, the fact that you put your faith in me to keep you safe, after all the things I’d said to you… you never betrayed me. You’ve been by my side all this time, and I want to be by yours. Completely.”

You squeezed his knee, searching his face for any sign of illusion. “Is this real?” you whispered. “I want this to be real.”

Kakashi smiled, eyes crinkling as he took your hand. You looked dazed and happy as you stared at him; he’d never encountered anyone else so stunning.

Before he could stop himself, he leaned forward, brushing a masked kiss over your forehead, then your eyebrow, and finally your cheek. The pressure sent sparks across your skin, and you squeezed his hand a little bit tighter.

He hovered over your lips, breath ghosting across your skin through the durable material of his mask. You leaned forward, nudging his nose with your own. It was a silent message that you wanted his affection as much as he craved yours.

His breath puffed against your lips once again, and his voice, barely audible, filled the minuscule space between you. “Would you mind closing your eyes?”

Instantly, you complied, proving to him yet again how lucky he was to have met you. You put your faith in him time and time again, and he promised himself in that moment under the moonlight that he would do everything he could to be as compassionate a partner as you had been for him.

One of Kakashi’s hands released from yours, and you faintly heard the brush of fabric against skin. Your stomach fluttered as you felt his breath on your face again, warmer and closer than before.

And then his lips caught against yours, a gentle press against your tingling skin. His hand cupped your cheek, and you melted against him. The scratchy blankets and the faint hoot of owls faded into the background. Everything seemed to disappear except for you and Kakashi and the oh so delicate kiss between you. From the brush of his lips, so soft and tentative against your own, you sighed, leaning into him even more than before.

He groaned when the two of you pulled away. “I can’t believe I waited so long for that. Make Out Paradise really doesn’t do it justice.”

Make Out Paradise also hadn’t prepared him for the way his heart would race at the sound of your laughter.

“Are you sure?” you asked, reaching toward your bedside table. “Surely there’s a good passage in here somewhere.”

If it meant more time by your side, Kakashi was willing to spend an eternity searching the pages with you, stealing kisses for every paragraph you skimmed through.

~

In the morning, the nurses were alarmed and horrified to find Kakashi Hatake laying in your bed, one arm wrapped gently around your side, masked nose nuzzled into your neck. On the other side of you, his fingers brushed the cover of a well-worn Make Out Violence novel.

It was indecent, a break of protocol, and, most of all, a shameful mockery of their hospital security. But when you woke to find Kakashi’s nose tucking a little closer into your neck, a mumbled “good morning” slipping into your skin, neither of you could think of a more fitting way to wake up. For the two of you—soulmates, real soulmates—the scenario was somehow perfect.

He wasn’t one to care about looking indecent. You could certainly get behind that.

You welcomed sappy, romantic gestures. Kakashi was willing to privately oblige.

Yeah, you both thought, the soulmate thing could definitely work out.

Masterlist

A/N: Don't mind me casually fandom hopping again. This fic has taken ages to finish, but I'm so excited with the result! I have several more Kakashi fics currently underway, so I hope to get a few of them finished sometime soon! Have a nice day! :)

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Lost Boys: Summer Nights

Dwayne x Reader

Word Count: 987

Summary: Dwayne and reader enjoy a summer night walk on the beach.

Fingers intertwined tightly and swung in the middle of the two of you. You were walking, filling Dwayne in on what had happened during your day.

It was a common occurrence. Not only were you an item, but it was often cathartic for you to vent about your life and it was nice for Dwayne to listen to what happened during the day of a normal life, emphasis on the day part.

Knowing that, you made to sure to describe the sky in between the events of your story.

“The sun radiant today, downright simmering but there was a breeze, which was nice because I didn’t completely sweat through my shirt when I walked to grab lunch. But can you believe that when I got back, Margaret had me…”

Dwayne smiled, a little gentle lift of his lips, as he listened to you. On most summer nights, he brought you to the beach. Ocean waves crashed in the background as you walked an isolated part of the beach.

Your voice was passionate yet it never failed to sooth him. By that point, he was so familiar with your work situation that he knew every single person. He knew their personalities, their motivations, and, most importantly, which of them you liked and which you disliked.

Margaret was firmly in the dislike category.

Despite knowing how you would react, he still offered. “I could always take care of her for you.”

Your eyes were pleased but you made sure to firmly set him straight. “I keep telling you, Dwayne. You can’t go around offing people that make my life difficult.”

He shrugged, his heavy leather jacket riding up his exposed stomach. “As long as you know the offer is there.”

Bumping your head into his shoulders in an attempt to hide your face, you instead squeezed his hand.

You were sure that if your well being and safety ever was in jeopardy, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill for you. It was a strangely sweet and a little problematic, but you chose to focus on the sweet part and not what it said about you.

“Any way, she claimed that it would—” You were caught by surprise when Dwayne swept you up, bridal style, and rushed toward the water. It didn’t take long to realize what he was up to.

“Dwayne!” you screamed. “Do not, dump me—”

Once again, you were cut off as you were submerged in cool, salty water. In the night, it was impossible for you to make out anything, the ocean seeming like an endless inky void. It lasted only moments until you were gasping as Dwayne pulled you up.

He was laughing. Your clothes were suctioned skin-tight to your body and your hair was plastered into your face, and he was laughing.

“Looked like you needed to cool down,” he tried to say in between laughs. “You were getting pretty worked up.”

In a small act of revenge, you splashed water into his face. You weren’t legitimately mad but you’d be damned if you were the only one who got soaked.

“Guess I deserved that,” he said, gently stroking your cheeks.

Carrying you to the sand with water trailing behind, he deposited you on the ground and crawled in behind you. Words weren’t needed as you laid there together under the dim light of the moon.

Until you shivered, that is. It may have been summer but it still got cold after the sun went down, especially when you were dripping water.

“Shit,” he murmured, arms wrapping around you even tighter. “Sorry. I should’ve known you’d get cold.”

You tried your best to soothe him with soft kisses to his stubbled chin. “It won’t kill me, I just need to warm up a bit.”

Reading the thinly disguised ploy for more kisses, he gladly indulged you. 

Hefting himself up onto his forearms, his dipped down in a practiced motion, chasing your lips with his own. They were a little chapped and his stubble poked at your chin, but it didn’t matter.

Kissing Dwayne was always an experience.

His mouth was smooth, the weight of him grounding where he pressed down on your front. You didn’t even care that your hair was about to be caked in sand, you thought as you gripped his forearms, the muscle flexing under your touch.

Peeking through your lashes, you saw his eyes burn the tell-tale mottled yellow that signaled his vampiric instincts, as well as the fact that he was really turned on. Eyelids fluttering shut again, you pressed even deeper into the kiss, doing that thing with your tongue that drove him wild in anticipation that things were about to heat up even more.

That is until he pulled back, sucking on your bottom lip as he left you panting. “Better?”

“Better,” you replied dreamily. His soft breath stirred your damp hair as he stroked it off your face, snuggling you closer. You nestled in, muscles completely warmed and still trembling.

It seemed like he was done for now though, no matter how you tried to entice him. Damn him for knowing how much you actually would complain about the sand if he managed to get you naked.

“Good. Wanna talk about Margaret some more?” he asked teasingly.

“Yep. Mood’s completely gone. Please don’t bring her up when we do these kinds of things, it makes we want to recoil in horror.”

“Good,” he said again. Your brows raised in disbelief which he tried to smooth back down with his thumb. “Because I was thinking, if you wanted to, we could head to your place to continue. A bed is…less sandy.”

Catching on quickly, you nodded. A bed. A bed sounded good. Excellent even.

Peels of laughter tore out of you and echoed along the coast as he scooped you up and started running. He moved a lot faster than you could, after all.

Summer nights, really were the best.

_______________

I wanted to write something short and sweet for my favorite boy before my birthday month is up. Hope you enjoyed reading! Thanks for checking it out! 

[lifeofkaze]

idk if your requests are open but could you do something about bill weasley ? you can make it how you want i don't have a preference but yea :)

Okay, first things first, I’m so sorry it took me so long, but I’m literally living in a madhouse at the moment.

Second, thank you so much for the request, I had a lot of fun writing this. In my head I imagined the scene with Bill and Fleur but of course it’s completely up to your imagination. I would be so happy if you let me know if this is anything like what you wanted to read <3

***

Clair de Lune

 Bill Weasley x Reader

Word Count: ~ 1.400

When Bill Weasley got injured by Fenrir Greyback during the Battle of the Astronomy Tower, no one could say for certain how strong the effects of his wounds would be. Now, with the first full moon after the Battle approaching, he is scared of what he might do under the silver light of the moon.

  The sun was hanging low on the horizon, painting the summer sky in an explosion of pink, yellow and orange. On a usual night, Bill Weasley would have marvelled at the colourful spectacle unfolding in front of him; but it wasn’t a usual night.

Instead of the burning sky, his eyes were fixed on the black sea below as he leaned against the window sill of your little cottage. He’d always thought the sea looked mysterious, full of secrets and ancient stories waiting to be explored. Tonight, the only thing that came to his mind looking at the water was one word: Darkness.

Not much longer and the inky blue of the coming night would eclipse the dazzling sunset and with the coming of the dark, the full moon would start making its ascent.

His insides twisted into a burning knot at the thought; it had been a few weeks since the Battle of the Astronomy Tower. The wounds on his face had healed, but were still shining in a deep, aggressive red that stood out against his pale skin. But the visible wounds weren’t the thing that worried him.

Tonight was the first full moon since Fenrir Greyback had sunk his teeth into him.

Bill craned his head from side to side to distract himself from the memories of that night, the tight tendons of his neck giving a sharp crack that seemed to echo through the silence of the room.

They had told him it was unlikely that he would transform because Greyback had been in his human form when he had been bitten; but no one had been able to tell him for sure. As the night of the full moon had drawn nearer and nearer, the knot of fear inside his guts had grown every day until it had consumed all of his thoughts.

He had taken precautions, of course. He had been drinking Wolfsbane Potion every day for a week now, the bitter taste of the aconite never really leaving his tongue. Lupin had given him some tips on how to handle a transformation should it occur after all; if anyone knew how to keep his sanity, it was him.

And he had made sure, no one would be near him on this night. His mother had raged and cried as he had sent her away but he wouldn’t make any exceptions.

Except for one.

Bill gripped the windowsill tighter as the door opened and he heard you shuffle into the room. He had told you time and time again that he didn’t want you to be there when he had no idea what would happen, but every time he had suggested leaving him to you, you had flat out dismissed him, up to the point where you had started to become angry.

“I am not leaving you on the scariest night of your life, Bill Weasley. We’re in this together, for better or for worse. If you were thinking for a second that I would be running, you clearly don’t know me at all.”

Although he had been furious at your stubborn willingness to put yourself in potential danger, he couldn’t deny the comfort your presence gave him. The calm you radiated as you joined him at the window immediately eased his agitation, enveloping him in a wonderful sense of peace.

“I brought you your potion.”

With a small smile, Bill took the flask from you and gave you a mock salute before upending it in one big swallow. He grimaced as he fought to keep the viscous liquid down and shuddered at the aftertaste.

“You’re really sure you want to stay?” he tried one last time.

“We’ve talked about this,” you huffed indignantly and crossed your arms, “I’m not going anywhere.” Your features softened as you reached out to him and took his hand. “I’ll be with you. I know you won’t hurt me.”

He brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear with a loving gesture, gratitude written in his blue eyes. He pulled you into an embrace, burying his face in your soft hair, illuminated by the last rays of the setting sun.

The room was getting darker by the minute and you could feel Bill tensing even further under your touch. You pulled away from him but his attention wasn’t on you anymore; his gaze was fixed on the bright, perfectly round shape of the moon rising in the east, it’s light reflected in the inky waves crashing on the shore.

“Bill?” His name fell from your lips as a whisper and you cursed yourself for the uncertainty ringing in your voice.

“Bill, look at me,” you repeated, this time making sure to ban the tremor from your words.

His head whipped around to you in a sudden motion that made you jump; the silver moonlight illuminated one side of his face, his scars cutting across his handsome features in dark lines. Despite your resolve, you had to swallow a lump of fear building in your throat as his eyes bored into yours with a feral intensity you had never seen on him before. They took in every inch of your face with a sharpness that made you shudder; all of a sudden, the image of a rabbit sitting in front of a predator flashed in front of your inner eye.

As if in trance, he raised his hand to your throat, his calloused fingers coming to rest on the soft skin where you knew he could see your racing pulse. Your eyes widened in shock as his eyes darkened and a shadow crossed his face, twisting the features of the man you loved into something more sinister and dangerous. You inhaled sharply as you felt the pressure of his hand against your throat increase.

His eyes flickered at the sound of your breath, and he immediately let go of you. He staggered backwards, disgusted by the thoughts he’d been having only a moment ago. He turned his back towards you; he didn’t want you to see how scared he was.

“Go, please,” he growled, surprised by how much more aggressive his voice sounded than he had intended. “This is not safe for you.”

But he wasn’t the only one that had broken out of their spell. You closed the distance between them and turned him around so he had to face you. You reached up to him and took his face into both of your hands, your eyes locking on his.

“No,” you said with determination in your voice. “I’m not going anywhere; I promised you.”

You let go of his face and embraced him again, one hand running through his long hair while the other rubbed his back in slow, soothing motions.

Bill fought against your touch but slowly you could feel him relax under your hands. You felt his racing heartbeat slow as he concentrated on you. The hammering of your heart sounded unnaturally loud to him and he could sense the blood rushing through your pulsing veins under that soft, delicate skin of your throat.

He chose to concentrate on the gentle pull of his roots as your fingers tangled in his ginger hair and the shivers than were running down his spine as you brushed over the sensitive parts of his back you knew better than anyone else. The adrenaline coursing through his body that had left him feeling uncontrollably on edge gradually subsided. He lost himself in the calming scent of lavender as he buried his face in your hair.

You stayed like this for a long time, long after the full moon had risen past his zenith, entwined with each other. None of you spoke, no words were needed; it was just you and him, his safe haven among the fire raging inside him.

When he felt in control again, he pulled away from you, raising his hand to your chin to make you look at him.

Your eyes were soft and steady and for the first time since he had been injured, Bill didn’t feel scared by the silver light glowing around you anymore.

He felt you smile as he kissed you with all the love and tenderness he felt, eclipsing every trace of the anger and tension that had threatened to consume him earlier.

“Thank you for staying with me,” he murmured as he rested his forehead against yours.

Your lips curved into another gentle smile as you cupped his cheek with your hand.

“I told you,” you repeated your words for the third time that night, “I’m not going anywhere.”  

[jamespotterthefirst]

Heartbreak

Open Heart, Book 1, Chapter 10 (Part 2)

Retold through social media posts and messages

All posts here

Posted Saturday 

10:53 PM

23 minutes before 

______________________________

Received Saturday

10:56 PM

20 minutes before

______________________________ 

Posted Saturday

10:57 PM

19 minutes before

______________________________ 

Received Saturday

10:59 PM

17 minutes before

______________________________ 

Received Saturday

11:15 PM

1 minute before

______________________________ 

Received Saturday

11:18 PM

2 minutes after

from: Sienna Trinh

to: Lilac Allende

Transcript of voicemail:

Hey you! Sorry I called you late! I was baking my world famous German chocolate brownies and lost track of time. You know how I get. You weren't answering so I'm guessing you fell asleep. I'll talk to you later, okay? I can't wait to hear all about this trip! 

______________________________ 

Received Saturday

11:31 PM

15 minutes after

Hi Carrie, 

Are you ready to murder me yet? Given my lack of response in the last few days and the frequency of your emails, I would imagine you are. 

I'm alive. 

And in Miami, seeking inspiration in the turquoise sea and in the overpriced bottles of red wine this hotel insists on passing off as top shelf. Probably not something I should be admitting to my agent but here we are. 

The manuscript is going well. Actually, I should say the manuscript was going well… Until I decided to scrap it and steer it in a completely different direction. Before you stop reading here to pass out or call me twenty five times, please hear me out. 

Untitled_Mystery_Doc will still be a mystery at its core, except now the two leads will surrender to a forbidden romance. Detective Prescott must fall fiercely and hopelessly in love with Selene Obispo. It was something the writing was demanding of me all along, but I lacked the inspiration to bring their tension to fruition. That changed thanks to the Celestial's lavish oceanside balcony view. 

Earlier tonight, I was leaning over the railing of my balcony, glass of that aforementioned wine in my hand, watching the last remains of a reception of some sort in the distance. A delighted, lilting laugh from a nearby balcony broke my concentration. It was from a young woman who looked to be no older than you are. Even from a distance, I could tell she was a vivacious creature, radiating the type of effortless beauty that would have even the strongest of beings hanging by her every word. In an inky blue dress, she looked so captivating, it was no wonder the man at her side could hardly keep his eyes away from her. 

This man, Carrie. 

He was, without a doubt, the handsomest specimen I have ever seen. A true Romantic hero come to life from the pages of every classic novel in the catalog. Tall with piercing eyes and a jaw so sharp, it could slice through even the strongest of convictions. He possessed the type of good looks that were striking, like the powerful fissure of lighting. 

The pair seemed to alternate between conversation and companionable silence as they enjoyed a drink. Every so often, when he was certain she wasn't looking, he would glance at her almost desperately, as though rushing to take in as much of her before the precious seconds ran out. He was not aware that in those moments when he contemplated the vast ocean before them, she would do the same. 

After another lull in their conversation, the young woman looked at her phone, a pensive crease on her brow as she searched for something. Seconds later, the notes of a song began to drift from the speaker of her device. The man scoffed, inspiring more cheerful laughter from her. Despite his annoyed front, his expression softened as he watched her. 

More silence and then they started what sounded like a solemn conversation. As they spoke, he looked conflicted, his fingers gripping his glass as though reason and restrain were slowly ebbing away. 

Fragments of what they were saying reached me.

“…higher I aspire, the more I stand to lose.”

“I...certainly understand that.”

He stood then, with the conviction of someone seeking to run away from the ineluctable. 

When he stopped at the railing of their balcony, however, he turned to her, shoulders deflating as though realizing he didn't want to run anymore. Finding her there at his side was confirmation that she was an inevitability, a constant in his existence like his binary star. 

It was confirmation that she was done running too. 

He was saying something then, the words coming out in a desperate rush. She didn't seem to mind though, patiently listening and offering reassurance. 

“... Your risk paid off.”

Those words seemed to be the denouement of their time together because his gaze took her in with undeniable clarity. 

“It did...and I’m beginning to realize…” 

The way he looked at her then, with over-spilling yearning, would have inspired poets throughout the ages. Even if I had a hundred years to write, I could never capture the utterly lovelorn way in which he regarded her.  

“There are some things that are worth any risk.”

And then he kissed her. Their bodies gravitated closer to one another, reveling in the novelty of having her in his arms at long last. And even though this kiss erupted with the euphoric urgency of the first time, there was familiarity in the way he caressed her, in the way she stroked his jaw. As though they had spent long, agonizing moments before this memorizing one another. 

All of this was painted clearly before me in the seconds before I stepped away. 

I could not justify stealing any more of this moment from them. Particularly when the desperation in their movements acknowledged the race against the clock. They both knew that this stolen moment would eventually conclude. 

I am inspired, Carrie. 

Even from afar, I could tell these two yearned for each other. Their kiss was the inevitable culmination of forbidden longing, beautiful yet heartbreaking all at once. 

It's exactly what was missing from my manuscript. 

Let me know your thoughts. 

How's Gigi? Did you like the groomer I recommend? 

Sincerely, 

Andrea  

______________________________ 

Received Saturday

11:32 PM

16 minutes after

To Whom It May Concern;

My name is Lisa Burkett in room 4087. This evening, my husband and I witnessed a couple in a nearby room making out. They were extremely loud and explicit. The woman even climbed on top of the man at some point. 

This is appalling since we're here with our children. Luckily they didn't see this happening. 

Please put me in contact with a manager. This is unacceptable for a resort that advertises being family friendly. 

Attached you will a picture of the incident. That's how exposed and close to us they were. 

Sincerely,

Lisa Burkett

Attachment: 

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Received Saturday

11:39 PM

23 minutes after

______________________________ 

Sent Saturday

11:41 PM

25 minutes after

______________________________ 

Searched for on Saturday

Googled by Ethan Ramsey

11:56 PM

40 minutes after

______________________________ 

Searched for on Sunday

Googled by Lilac Allende

12:03 AM

47 minutes after

______________________________ 

Searched for on Sunday

Googled by Lilac Allende

12:06 AM

50 minutes after

______________________________ 

Listened to on Sunday

Audible library accessed by Ethan Ramsey

12:46 AM

______________________________ 

Searched on Sunday

Googled by Ethan Ramsey

1:03 AM

From “Student Doctor Network” accessed at 1:11 am

______________________________ 

Received on Sunday

Sibling group chat titled “Y’all look familiar”

Members: Laurel Allende, Lilac Allende, Jaime Allende

1:36 AM

______________________________ 

Received on Sunday

from: Naveen Banerji

to: Ethan Ramsey

1:59 AM

______________________________ 

Posted on Sunday

2:17 AM

______________________________ 

2:46 AM 

The Celestial Incident Report 

Camera footage transcript 

Hall 4000

Written by: Anthony Romero

Re: Guest Complaint 

Guest, Dr. Ethan Ramsey, exits his suite, careful to shut the door as noiselessly as possible. 

This man has seen better days. 

His hair is disheveled and stubble mars the jawline that wreaked havoc among The Celestial's guests and staff alike. The doctor looks downright exhausted, as though he hasn't slept a wink all night. Full disclosure, I'm a measly hotel employee, writing an incident report no one will ever read so I don't know how to put this delicately. But here goes nothing: the man looks as though his lack of sleep is not from the reckless fun Mrs. Burkett complained about but rather the lack of it. 

Dr. Ramsey hesitates mid-stride, looking at the door as though it poses a mystifying dilemma. Jaw working, he seems to decide something, jolting forward to take hold of the doorknob.

Reason seems to catch up to him because he exhales noticeably and releases the doorknob as though it scorched his skin. Looking angry but determined, he strides down the hall toward the elevator. 

______________________________ 

Posted on Sunday

3:18 AM

______________________________

Received on Sunday

3:54 AM

_____________________________

Accessed via Ethan Ramsey’s camera roll

4:13 AM

______________________________ 

Received on Sunday

7:20 AM

______________________________ 

Failed Login on Sunday

Nurses’ Station desktop | Third Floor 

7:53 AM

______________________________ 

Sent on Sunday

from: Bryce Lahela

to: Brittany Ryan

8:01 AM

______________________________ 

Searched on Sunday

Googled by Sienna Trinh

 8:01 AM

______________________________ 

Sent on Sunday

from: Sienna Trinh

to: Wayne Bradley Torning

8:19 AM

______________________________ 

Posted on Sunday

8:35 AM

______________________________ 

Received on Sunday

8:51 AM

______________________________ 

Posted on Sunday

9:02 AM

______________________________ 

Sent on Sunday

9:15 AM

______________________________ 

9:32 AM 

The Celestial Incident Report

Camera footage transcript

Hall 4000

Written by: Anthony Romero

Re: Guest Complaint

Guest, Dr. Ethan Ramsey, dressed in pool attire, grapples with the key card to his room, the technology somehow perplexing to a man who went to med school. The struggle is short lived because the door swings open from the inside, revealing the second guest on file, Dr. Lilac Allende. 

Again, no one reads these anyway so I can confidently say that if I wasn't a goddamn professional, I would've promptly slid into her DMs. She would've rejected me, of course, but you miss 100% of the shots you don't take, am I right? 

Dr. Ramsey freezes as his eyes land on her, the muscles of his back tensing. Dr. Allende instinctively does the same, eyes going wide, much like a defenseless bunny facing the snarling snout of a wolf. They stay motionless in stunned silence for so long, I had to check the footage to make sure it hadn't frozen. 

After what seems like an eternity, Dr. Ramsey clears his throat and averts his eyes, as though interested in the carpet's God awful pattern. This reaction is definitely the wrong one because Dr. Allende pulls herself to her full height, eyes alight with fire. 

Goddamn. My bunny analogy was way off because this girl looks anything but defenseless when she is this pissed. 

“I came back to change,” he explains, probably feeling her glare burning into his face. 

“We need ice,” she says at the same time, lifting the empty ice bucket she holds.

They definitely don't need any. The ice in her voice and demeanor is enough to stock the poolside bar during spring break. 

Dr. Ramsey looks at her then and when their eyes meet, an unspoken conversation passes between them. Slowly, her resolute anger begins to melt. Unmistakable hurt flits through her features and this time, she's the one to look away. 

What the hell happened with these two? 

Before Dr. Ramsey says anything, she moves around him and strides down the hall with unstoppable determination. He moves to follow her, but with considerable effort he forces himself to stop, watching her disappear instead. 

______________________________ 

Sent on Sunday

10:22 AM

______________________________ 

Posted on Sunday

10:51 AM

______________________________ 

Received on Sunday

10:59 AM

______________________________ 

Received on Sunday

11:36 AM

______________________________ 

Sent on Sunday

11:41 AM

______________________________ 

Received on Sunday

11:58 AM

______________________________ 

Sent on Sunday

12:04 PM

______________________________ 

Edenbrook Hospital on Yelp

______________________________ 

Posted on Sunday

1:23 PM

Full transcript of review:

This review is regarding the "care" I received from one Dr. Lilac Allende. Is it normal to almost die at the hands of your doctor? I didn't think so either. Yet here we are. I went in because I had a horrible chest pain that got worse with each day. They assigned Dr. Allende, an intern, to me which was already kind of subpar but it's reduced cost medical care right? I should have trusted my gut because she diagnosed pneumonia and prescribed macrolide antibiotics azithromycin…. which I am allergic to!!! Don't they have charts for this reason? 

Or maybe she can't read English given the language barrier. Do they need to start printing patient charts in whatever foreign language she speaks to avoid death? 

I don't need to give you the gory details of what happened next, right ? 

Anaphylactic Shock. Code blue. Defibrillator. I found out I wasn't the first patient this happened to under her care. There was an almost identical incident on her first day. When I tried to complain to management, they brushed it aside. Word around the hospital is that her boss favorites her. Figures. 

______________________________

Received on Sunday

1:49 PM

______________________________ 

Sent on Sunday

1:56 PM

______________________________ 

Posted on Sunday

1:57 PM

______________________________ 

Posted on Sunday

1:58 PM

______________________________ 

Drafted on Sunday

status: NOT SENT

1:59 PM

______________________________ 

Posted on Sunday

3:23 PM

______________________________ 

Posted on Sunday

4:03 PM

______________________________ 

Sent on Sunday

4:13 PM

______________________________ 

Sent on Sunday

5:26 PM

from Sienna Trinh

to Wayne Bradley Torning

______________________________ 

Sent on Sunday

5:41 PM

from: Sienna Trinh

to: Danny Cardinal 

______________________________ 

Posted on Sunday

6:32 PM

______________________________ 

Posted on Sunday

6:36 PM

______________________________ 

Posted on Sunday

6:45 PM

______________________________

Sent on Sunday

6:52 PM

______________________________ 

Received on Sunday

7:10 PM

______________________________ 

7:26 PM

The Celestial Incident Report 

Camera footage transcript 

Hall 4000

Written by: Anthony Romero

Re: Guest Complaint 

Guest, Dr. Ethan Ramsey looks like a tortured man as he paces in front of their door. He runs restless hands through his hair, completely unaware of the effect this has on the majority of the staff reviewing this footage. He pauses in front of the door, pinching the bridge of his nose and raising his gaze upward, as though sending a silent prayer to anyone listening. 

Jesus, Buddha, Beyoncé—whoever is up there, help this poor man out. 

The door opens, causing him to flinch slightly. In the threshold stands Dr. Allende, wearing one of the hotel's fluffy, white robes. Though she is fully covered, save for her legs, Dr. Ramsey still blushes, as though aware of what lies beneath the fabric. 

Dr. Allende, meanwhile, crosses her arms, leaning against the doorway as she studies him. This time, when their eyes scan one another, it's not with the frustration or resentment from the morning. 

“Come inside.”

Her voice is quiet. 

Dr. Ramsey's jaw clenches. 

“Lilac—” 

“We can't.” Acceptance ripples through her voice. “I know.”

Dr. Ramsey looks at her with an acute mixture of misery and longing. 

“We can't ignore each other forever though.”

“I know. That's not what I want either.”

She nods once in response. 

More silence.

“You're not angry anymore?” 

The question is unexpected because her gaze snaps up to his. 

“I wasn't angry at you, Ethan,” she says after a pensive pause. “I was angry at myself for refusing to let go of what happened. I just want to put it behind me without a backward glance, like you did.”

Those last three words get a reaction out of him. His jaw clenches and strains with effort, his shoulders looking equally as tense. He looks away from her, perhaps afraid that if he continues to look into her beautiful, earnest face, he will contradict her. 

The way he had been pacing in front of her door only minutes prior, the way he looked at her this morning, the way his hand gripped the door knob the night before—all of it suggested her assessment as wrong. He was just as trapped in the previous night as she was. 

“Lilac, I'm sorry about last night.”

She looks stunned for a brief second. When she recovers, she shakes her head in a tiny movement.

 “I'm not.”

He takes in a long breath, allowing hope to filter through his expression. 

“Now, come on. We have an early flight and my boss is making me go into work right after we land.”

“Sounds like an asshole.”

“The worst,” she agrees with a hum. 

His quiet chuckle and the way he shakes his head is the last thing the camera captures before he follows her inside. 

______________________________ 

Posted on Sunday

8:34 PM

______________________________ 

Sent on Sunday

10:01 PM

______________________________ 

Posted on Monday

3:56 AM

_____________________

Posted on Monday

4:23 AM

_____________________

Posted on Monday

8:03 AM

______________________________ 

Received on Monday

8:16 AM

______________________________ 

Posted on Monday

9:11 AM

______________________________ 

Posted on Monday

9:56 AM

______________________________ 

Received on Monday

9:57 AM

______________________________ 

Received on Monday

10:03 AM

______________________________ 

Status change on Monday

10:21 AM

______________________________ 

Received on Monday

11:33 AM

______________________________ 

Sent on Monday

11:50 AM

______________________________ 

Sent on Monday

12:33 PM

______________________________ 

Sent on Monday

12:40 PM

______________________________ 

Sent on Monday

12:49 PM

_____________________________

A/N: I really hope you liked this because I poured my whole heart and two brain cells into it! Did you find my little Easter egg?

A few things:

I was going to include the song playing on MC’s phone in the balcony but decided that everyone has a different one. And I love that. Mine is Nirvana by Sam Smith. What’s yours?

That Yelp ordeal happened in real life at my old job. It was the shadiest shit I have ever seen. Even the meanest bitch at work was so shocked that someone would be this much of a snake. Someone printed the “review” about a coworker and posted it everywhere for everyone to see like Regina George. It was awful.

 People also wrote computer passwords everywhere and just left them lying around. These computers had highly confidential info but people didn’t give a single fuck.

 I picture Ethan picking up the Hamilton book because MC is obsessed with the musical. Plus, he’s a history nerd. But listening to it reminds him of her when he’s trying his damndest to forget about her. LOL good luck bro 

I really debated having MC text him a risky picture after the kiss. But then I figured a) this is self-indulgent and b) once he kissed her, all reason and all restraints went out the window.

 Thank you to everyone for being so patient while waiting for this! Thank you to @aestheticartsx for finding some of these amazing pics. She is the best! 

 I love you all.

-Bree 

________________________

tags: @openheart12 , @takeharryandgo , @trappedinfanfiction, @aestheticartsx, @aworldoffandoms, @paulfwesley, @myusualnerdyself,  @rookie-ramsey, @ohchoices, @colossalpainintheass, @enmchoices, @i-bloody-love-drake-walker, @choicesfanaf, @openheartthot, @octobereighth​, @nazarihoe, @utterlyinevitable, @kites-in-our-skies, @maurine07​, @schnitzelbutterfingers​, @doilooklikeiknow​, @snesdudes​, @kingliam2019​, @perriewinklenerdie​, @cinnamonspongecake​, @choicesstan1​, @queencarb​, @ethxnrxmsey​, @missmiimiie​, @jens-diamondchoices​, @adamsdumortain​, @apphia12​, @kalogh​, @lucy-268​, @binny1985​, @queenbirbs​, @honeyandsunfl0wers​, @newcolonies​, @lilyvalentine​, @rigatonireid​, @interobanginyourmom​, @parkerattano​, @custaroonie​, @nikki-2406​, @lilypills​, @chasingrobbie​, @nooruleman​,  @lonely-mxxnlight​, @ruinedbypixels​, @shadynaturehilariouscookie​, @tsrookie​, @mvalentine​, @professorkingslay​, @drakewalkerfantasy​, @casey-v​, @helloblueeyedcat​, @mysticaurathings​, @blossomanarchy​, @thegreentwin​, @togetherwearerapture​, @rookieoh​, @ramseysno1rookie, @rookiemarsswiftie​, @natashajaniphilchoices​, @mysticalgalaxysstuff​, @hatescapsicum​, @choices-lurker​, @kiara-36​, @junehiratas​, @danijimenezv​, @macy-ray85​, @adrex04​, @canigetanawwjunk​, @sanchita012​, @overwhelminglyaquarius​ , @scorpiochick8​, @skylarklyon​, @starrystarrytrouble​, @mercury84choices​, @drariellevalentine​, @ethanrcmsey​, @lion-ess24, @aarisa-frost​, @kaavyaethanramsey​ , @udishaman​, @a-crepusculo​, @quacksonlover​,

@varikasnuori​, @dimitriwife​, @genevievemd​, @shanzay44​, @fabi-en-ciel​, @trebondialanna​, @emotionalswift2, @lady-calypso​, 

(If I forgot anyone, please DM me!)

[lucifers-horror-harem]

Kinktober Day 30: Somnophilia with Vincent Sinclair

*CRASHES THROUGH THE WINDOW AND EATS SHIT BEFORE STICKING THE LANDING* How do u do fellow slasher fuckers I’m almost done with Kinktober in fucking December and if that isn’t a 2020 mood then I don’t know what is so yeah asdfghgfdfg Anywho I’m thankful to everyone that has been sticking with me so far and I hope you’ll enjoy this piece as well! I also did this one kind of more through Vinny’s perspective because I find it was too fun to write for the slashers so yeee!

Vincent Sinclair x AFAB Reader

Extra warnings: Voyeurism

Vincent wasn't certain how an angel like you fell into his life, but you had and it made him feel more alive than he had ever had before, even a bit more than the wax figures themselves. You were so perfect, every inch of you a work of art. He could never understand how you would always roll your eyes at him and smile to yourself, as if you didn't believe him fully. But he did everything in his power to make you understand. And you often did. That made Vincent happy.

But then the urges began to bubble up within him again.

Not violent, per say. Never had he had violent thoughts towards you. The thoughts he had were unconventional, they made him feel dirty and ashamed. Here you were, an absolute beautiful being, and here he was lusting after you like some sort of beast. It made him feel sick to his stomach.

It started first with watching you. You hadn't noticed him the first few times as he lingered just out of sight as he watched you step out of the shower freshly washed. The way the beads of water trickled down your skin, your hair dripping as you patted it dry with a towel. Your nipples hardened from the cool air, his eyes lingering on the curve of your breasts. His face would heat terribly behind his mask as his eyes would lower to your belly, and lower still to the soft patch of hair between your legs, your pretty cunt just out of sight. You were so desirable to him, he wished to just look at how lovely you were when you were alone. To see how you carried yourself when he wasn't around. 

Eventually you had found him out. He was so distraught that he tried to run, but you simply pulled back on his arm gently as you gave him that sweet smile you always had on your face. You sat with him, sweetly alternating between squeezing his hand in reassurance and brushing your fingers through his long hair, assuring him that you didn't mind such a thing. That you liked that he watched you. The conversation somehow ended up with Vincent on his back, and you astride his lap as you whimpered softly as you took him completely. After that, you had become much more aware of his presence, even sometimes giving him a bit of a strip tease, your hands brushing innocently over your body as he hardened at the sight of you.

But then that wasn't enough after a while either. Dark urges mingled with the inky blackness of the room at night as he lay behind you, your sweet body pressed against his. Your soft expression of sleep made something pull in him. His hands would ghost over your body, afraid to touch and wake you up. He wanted to see what he could get away with. But he would always find himself slipping out of bed before he could act on such desires. They were wrong and he was disgusted with himself for having such thoughts of you. 

It wasn't long until you noticed something was bothering Vincent. After a few long nights of trying to assure him you would never be upset with him, he finally caved and decided to come clean. He wrote on a legal notepad, the one he used when he had more to say than just the simple words he was able to utter when it wasn't painful for him. He refused to let you look over his shoulder until he was finished. As you saw how his hand trembled when he handed you the note while refusing to look you in the eye, you wondered exactly what had bothered him so terribly. 

It felt like hours waiting for you to finish reading. But when you finally cleared your throat, the last thing he expected was the look on your face right now. You shyly smiled at him, and in a soft voice told him that you wouldn't mind letting him do that to you if it made him happy. Just that simple statement led into passionate lovemaking, the two of you unable to keep yourselves apart. How could he, when you were so trusting of him to allow him such access to your body in your most intimate moments? 

By the time the two of you had tired yourselves out thoroughly, you were curled up on your side beside him, breathing softly through your nose. But Vincent couldn't sleep. He had to have you again. You had given him the okay after all, and this urge of his wouldn't be satiated until he could fulfill it. 

So, for most of the night Vincent lay beside you, on his back and occasionally drifting in and out but never long enough to get any sort of real rest. When he was awake, he found himself pumping his cock in his hand, imagining how it would feel to be inside you. Would you dream of him as he sunk himself into your heat? When he was threatening to spill more than the precum that dribbled from the head of his cock, he would grip the base of his member, pulling himself back enough from the brink until he was safe again. He wouldn't waste a single drop until he was inside you. 

It wasn't much longer that he could stand the wait. Slowly he turned to his side and pushed himself over your prone form. You were still naked from your earlier lovemaking. Gently he tugged on your shoulder, rolling you onto your back as he took in your form. You stirred slightly, but still weren't pulled from sleep. He watched your chest rise and fall with each breath, your plump lips parted slightly as you slept. 

You were a work of art laid before him, and he could only stare for so long before he had to touch. He settled between your thighs, softly coaxing your body into the position he needed you. His member was painfully swollen from the edging, and he wasn't sure if he would simply cum as soon as he slid inside of you or not. But he didn’t care, he needed this. Needed you.

Butterflies fluttered vigorously in the pit of his stomach as he very carefully sunk inside of you. He did everything in his power to hold himself back, but it was more difficult than he imagined. Your breath hitched at him simply entering you, your walls still coated with his cum from earlier. His hands held your thighs reverently, afraid to do more than simply watch you.

But then it happened. Your voice still full of sleep, eyes not even open as you whispered, “Vinny” into the night. You were dreaming about him. 

He couldn’t hold back the harsh thrusts as he took from you what he desperately needed. Vincent was usually quiet during moments like this, but the sound of his own throaty unused voice made him shiver. Moans and grunts and growls emanated from behind his mask as he pound into you. He didn’t care that you would be awoken by him at this rate. As soon as you were keening underneath him, your hands gripping the bed sheets as you were used for Vincent’s pleasure. You couldn’t help how your cunt clenched around his member, milking him as you found yourself gushing around him. When he rested himself over top of you, he was surprised to feel your heels dig into the back of his legs as you wrapped your thighs around him.

“More, please Vinny, don’t stop,” you whined out to him, your hands tangled through his long hair as you canted your hips up to meet him. Vincent thought he wouldn’t be able to go another round with the amount of build up he had just pumped inside of you, but just those simple words began to get to him, his body preparing itself for when he would take you again that night.

[schleierkauz]

Inky Holiday Exchange 2021

I am late... But not too late and that’s all that matters.

Happy Inky Holiday Exchange @tommymcartney! I hope these last few days of 2021 have been treating you well.

I discovered that writing about the Inkworld in English feels incredibly strange (I legit wrote parts of this in German and then translated it lmao), so that was an interesting experience.

I’ve been thinking a lot about stories about stories and the relationship between Dustfinger and Resa especially in the first book and then this little thing happened. I hope you like it!

The Truths we found between the Lines

To Resa, Dustfinger was a thousand stories before she ever met him.

When she sat down with Mo that fateful night, eager to hear him read a few more chapters of the book they‘d picked out together; when she worked as a writer those precious few years of freedom in the other world; when she shared cramped quarters with maids who only ever whispered: Dustfinger seemed omnipresent in his absence.

Children on Ombra‘s streets swore up and down that they‘d seen him at midnight, walking across rooftops in the darkness as if the cold air listened to him as readily as his fire. Their mothers scolded that no child ought to be seeing anything at that hour, then turned to their friends to hear the story of the mysterious girl who had stolen the Fire-Dancer‘s heart and taken it with her, far away from any mortal eyes.

Wealthy merchants scoffed at them, confident that Dustfinger had met the same fate that awaited most strolling players (dead, then or dying in one of the Adderhead‘s dungeons). He had been captured and sold to a young prince who sought to speak to all the elements. He had wandered into the deepest depths of the Wayless Wood and turned into a silver tree. He had been eaten by his best friend‘s bear. (Resa had her own suspicions about what had happened. But that was not a story she would go around telling anyone.)

The first time anyone mentioned his daughter was weeks after the child had died. Resa wondered if Dustfinger knew of his daughter‘s fate. She wondered if she would know, if-

If.

There would be no gossip on the street about Resa‘s whereabouts. Whatever Meggie would hear about her mother would come from Mo and no one else. Resa wondered if that made it better. She wondered how the mother of Dustfinger‘s children felt, meeting her partner‘s ghost at every street corner.

There were nights when Resa would have given anything for someone to tell her a story about Mo. She wanted to curse the magic that surrounded her, rip it all up like the ink on paper it was supposed to be and get her damn family back. Her husband. Her daughter.

But when the sun rose and the world drew her back into it‘s colorful chaos, all that remained was the biting guilt that came with being so treacherously enraptured with it all.

This other world was enchanting and full of wonders but it did not love Resa back. Here, being a woman meant tying oneself to a man, one way or another. Resa had no interest in any man she hadn‘t already married, so she became one and stayed alone as long as she could. She worked and travelled and made the memories that would keep her alive in the years to follow, when she needed something to hold on to but the faces of those she loved most in any world felt like thorns in her heart.

And through it all, there were stories about Dustfinger. Resa imagined many things about the Fire-Dancer, the way one thinks about characters from a story. That was what he was to her, still. Years later she would blush admitting it to him on a crumpled piece of paper, held dangerously close to the small candle Mortola had failed to see hidden in Resa‘s hair before locking her in. The man who took it struggled to make out the words in the dim light and laughed when he finished reading, a quiet sound in Capricorn‘s night. „All those stories you keep hidden away in your head and you were thinking about me? What an honor,“ he teased and didn‘t try to dodge the empty pack of matches thrown at his face.

***

To Dustfinger, Resa was a thousand stories once he finally met her.

He‘d heard about her, the mute maid with the golden hair Capricorn seemed so obsessed with (as Basta never tired to bitterly point out). Dustfinger assumed her tongue had been cut as some sort of punishment (a threat Capricorn liked to make and Mortola was glad to fulfill) but his old enemy, ever in love with his own voice, soon regaled the group of indifferent blackjackets (and Dustfinger, hidden in a corner) with the exact circumstances of how Darius had fished her out of their old world but left her voice behind. Sneaking out of the church, Dustfinger wondered if he should be glad Silvertongue had left him intact. He didn‘t use his own voice much these days- and in her position, he figured, the woman had little reason to speak anyway. The fire-raisers maids were barely seen and never heard, that‘s how it always had been.

He took notice when he kept hearing about her: Rejecting Capricorn‘s advances, placing snakes on Basta‘s doorstep, sneaking out at night... For a moment Dustfinger was reminded of another woman so much braver than him. When he first heard that Capricorn had locked her in one of the towers, Dustfinger did nothing. The second time he watched her walk to her cell, spine straight and head held high and suddenly Dustfinger felt like he had an idea of what her voice would sound like if she still had it. The next time he saw a guard half asleep in front of the tower, Dustfinger decided it would only be polite to introduce himself.

Back home it had always been understood that Dustfinger was the fire-raisers prisoner when he was with them. He would forever regret everything he had taught them about fire but there had never been any doubt that he’d had no choice.

Here, the lines weren‘t so clear. Capricorn hadn‘t felt the need to lock Dustfinger up in a long time. It was obvious by now that he would always come back, the bittersweet comfort of seeing familiar faces binding him to his old enemies like no chain ever could. How many times had Dustfinger cursed that stubborn flicker of hope within his heart that whispered of home and family and refused to die for good.

He wasn‘t one of Capricorn‘s fire-raisers, would never belong to them, but he wasn‘t quite their prisoner anymore, either (even if it still felt that way) and Dustfinger soon realised that belonging to neither group made for a lonely existence. He wasn‘t a social person, had never been keen to spend prolonged periods of time in the company of other people, even those he loved (and what a fool he had been). But it had been different back home. He had always known where he could go and be welcome. After that first night when he climbed through the window of Resa‘s cell, it didn‘t take long for Dustfinger to realise that she had become the closest thing to a home he had.

They traded smooth stones and candles and words between them like thieves in the night. Dustfinger was careful to hide their friendship, acutely aware that Basta was interested in Resa and unwilling to repeat the experience of getting between Capricorn’s attack dog and what (or rather who) he desired. Dustfinger would always be a coward and he knew it.

Fortunately, Resa was determined and capable of standing her ground.

Unfortunately, that meant she sometimes needed protection from herself.

Dustfinger despised it, having to tell her over and over again that it was impossible to escape. Somewhere along the way he had turned into one of Capricorn‘s prison guards and he hated himself for it - but if she got caught, if she lost her way in the darkness, if a snake bit her...

Resa‘s answers were always the same.

„Help me then.“

And Dustfinger would look away, away from the careful letters he still struggled to decipher, away from Resa‘s face.

„You can come and go however you please.“

„You know the way.“ 

„Come with me.“

But what if it worked? What if she really made it and escaped, returned to the place she belonged and leaving him in the darkness again?

Dustfinger knew he was a horrible person but at least he wasn‘t alone anymore.

Sometimes, Resa would allow him to distract her, coax her into telling him another story, drawing another picture in the dirt to forget their bitter reality.

Sometimes her hands went quiet and she turned away.

And as time went on and the look of betrayal never quite seemed to leave her face, Dustfinger realised he would lose her either way. The hug she pulled him into when he suggested they go on a little walk one of these nights was worth it. He told himself it had to be worth it.

Of course the plan immediately went to hell.

When Basta found them, Dustfinger gingerly poking at Resa‘s bruised ankle, he looked like a little boy on christmas morning. For a moment Dustfinger was certain he was going to die.

And if some part of him, buried deep beneath the pain and terror of feeling Basta‘s knife against his throat once again and seeing Resa being dragged away from him felt something nauseatingly familiar to relief... Well, that was just another personal failing to ignore. 

Resa would never know and a few more scars were a small price to pay to get his friend back.

***

Many years later, those scars would remain. 

The White Women had washed away Dustfinger‘s oldest reminder of what love could lead to but kept the other one. Sometimes he wondered why. Perhaps they couldn‘t touch the wounds of another world (or they just didn‘t want to - Dustfinger could sympathize with that). Thinking back to the terrified man cowering next to a mute maid with golden hair felt like someone else‘s memory.

 A story half-forgotten.

The woman sitting next to him now laughed louder than anyone Dustfinger knew when her son spilled her paints all over the work desk. She kissed her husband and held Dustfinger‘s hand at the same time and there wasn‘t a moment of uncertainty between the three of them. As painful and complicated as their stories had been, they had made it. They had turned into people able to overcome it all and, for one glorious moment, there was nothing more to say.

[rachelsteapot]

Rescued: Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader Part 3

This is it! This is the last part of Rescued! I hope you’ve all enjoyed reading it as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it. Diclaimer, I had a moment while writing this and managed to switch tense without noticing so if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I’ll change them as soon as I can. 

Part 1 / Part 2 

Warnings: None 

Tags: @bat-luna-cat , @nothingleftthaticando​

That night, Tommy reluctantly dropped Y/N back at her Battersea apartment, having practically begged her to return to his city centre townhouse. The more time Tommy spent with this woman, the more and more he wanted her in his every day. This attraction wasn’t sexual like his previous women. It was more akin to what he had felt for Grace... 

No. 

Tommy was not going to let her face back into his mind. Grace was gone, a ghost that tormented him in his darkest moments. Y/N was alive, living, breathing. She had hopes and dreams that could still be fulfilled. Hopes and dreams that Tommy wanted a part in. And Tommy always got what he wanted. 

Y/N’s mind was also churning. In less than twenty four hours, she had become a person of interest to one of the largest criminal gangs in the midlands, if not the whole country, simply because she had caught the leader’s eye. And what striking eyes they were too. Slipping into her nightclothes, Y/N placed her kettle onto the fire that she had started moments earlier, before settling into her armchair. Slowly, Y/N drifted in and out of thought, her pensive eyes glazed over as she stared into the flames. She was faced with one of the biggest decisions of her life: Tommy Shelby or Battersea cats and dogs home. 

The next day, Y/N arrived at the shelter, and was met by an odd sight. A large poster was placed on the door and read, from what Y/N could decipher, ‘Under New Management’. So, doing what every good employee would, she opened the door and stepped into the foyer. It was quiet. Too quiet for an animal shelter. Quietly, Y/N approached the door of Mr. Smith’s office, and knocked. 

“Come,” came a reply. 

Y/N opened the door, once again releasing a haze of smoke, and stepped inside. 

“Mr. Smith,” she began, but stopped. Sat in Mr. Smith’s chair, behind Mr. Smith’s desk, was Tommy Shelby. Y/N’s words caught in her throat, and she stood, stunned, until Bruce pressed his head into her knees. 

“Mr. Shelby, what are you doing here?” she queried, bending down to stroke the dog. 

“Y/N, I own it.” Swinging his legs off of the desk, Tommy stood and took the gently smoking cigarette from his lips. “I thought it would make your decision easier if I bought the place.” 

A look of sheer confusion engulfed Y/N’s face. She knew Tommy was rich from his nice suit and ability to pay for almost everything, but she didn’t think he was ‘buy-a-dog-shelter-because-you-want-one-of-the-workers-to-go-home-with-you’ rich. 

“I’ll stay for a few days.” In that moment, Y/N saw a flicker of a smile cross Tommy’s face, and she knew he had won. 

The drive back to Small Heath was dull. But, at least, Y/N had Bruce for company. Tommy had been silent since they had left London, and Y/N assumed it was because he was concentrating on the road. In reality, however, it was something entirely different that was consuming Tommy’s attention. 

Tommy’s mild swirled with thoughts: some about business, some not. Every now and then, the car rocked, causing the crime boss to catch scent of his passenger’s perfume, making his head spin even more. Out of the corner of his eye he could just see her stroking Bruce and god did she look cute. 

Slowly, Tommy’s hand moved from the gear stick onto Y/N’s thigh. He heard her breath hitch slightly, and waited. 

Y/n turned to face him, meeting his steely blue gaze, and nodded slightly. She was okay with this. Part of her brain had been begging for Tommy to make a move, and finally, he was. She felt her stomach twist slightly as his fingers pressed into her thigh slightly, having received permission mere seconds earlier. 

Tommy was one of a kind, Y/N had decided, and if his family were half as intriguing as he was, she would be in for one hell of a trip. 

After what felt like forever, Y/N and her guide pulled up in Small heath. Tommy marched from the car, pushing the front door open, and striding inside, followed dutifully by Y/N and Bruce. 

“Tom. You’re back early.” A thick liverpool accent wafted through the smoke, and Y/N froze. 

“Yes Pol, I made the deal so there was no reason to hang around.” A chair scraped against the floor and a figure stepped towards them. Sharp, hawk like eyes glared at the two as the woman pulled a cigarette from her lips. 

“And who may this be?” Tommy’s hand found the small of Y/N’s back, willing her to answer for herself. 

“My name is Y/N L/N, I worked- I work at a dog shelter in London,” she squirmed slightly under Pol’s gaze, waiting for a response. 

“I was talking about the dog, but nice to meet you dear.” she muttered with an exasperated sigh. “Polly Grey. I call the shots around here, despite what Tommy may have told you.” 

The woman released a long stream of smoke and reached down to stroke Bruce. Y/N’s face flushed with embarrassment. 

“This is Bruce.” Tommy grunted, striding between the part-demolished walls, causing his companion to look to Polly for directions. 

“Well go on then!” she cried, watching the new girl scuttle after her nephew. 

The betting shop, as Y/N discovered, was noisy, smokey and down right boisterous. Finally, she spied Tommy leaning over a desk, and upon noticing her discomfort, Tommy beckoned her over, sliding his hand around her waist as she arrived. 

“Y/N I want you to meet my little brother, John,” the young woman nodded shyly in the direction of a man holding a thick leather bound accounting book as he winked. “Be careful of him, he's a womaniser.” 

“Ah! Says you Tom!” John interjected, holding a hand over his heart in mock hurt. “Don’t listen to him, love, he's boring and old. Come for a drink down The Garrison tonight, yeah? You can meet the rest of us.”

Seeing Y/N’s confused face, Tommy sighed in frustration and shot John a glare. 

“I have three brothers and a sister, You’ve met John and, if you want, you can meet Arthur, Ada and Finn tonight.” taking a last drag of his cigarette, Tommy stubbed it out and stalked away, leaving Y/N in silence with John, who was watching the happenings intently.

“He bought the dog shelter that I work at so I would come to Birmingham with him,” Y/N explained, hoping that he wouldn’t ask questions that she didn’t know the answer to. 

“Ah,” John nodded, as if this was a common occurrence. “You look tired, there’s a sitting room just through there. If Tom asks, I’ll tell him where you are.”

Y/N thanked the Shelby brother and wandered in the direction that John had indicated, the sounds and smells of the betting shop making her head spin. Finally, having located the sitting room and, finding nobody else inside, she settled onto the soft armchair and closed her eyes, drifting into a dreamless sleep. 

When Y/N awoke, the sky had turned the telltale inky blue of night. Stretching gently, she sat up to find that she was not alone. Someone was sitting on the sofa adjacent to the armchair that she occupied, smoking a cigarette with Bruce at their feet. Upon noticing that she had awoken, Bruce stood and waddled over, plonking his head into her lap. 

“Heya Brucie,” Y/N croaked, scratching his ears before stretching out her stiff limbs more thoroughly. She squinted into the gloom and slowly was able to distinguish the identity of your companion. In the half light, his features seemed elegant, his high cheekbones turning into mountains and his cheeks became the deep valleys below. If he wasn’t so attractive, he would have looked gaunt, almost skeletal, like the death he caused every day. But to Y/N, the features of his face were angelic. 

Tommy Shelby sat on the sofa, gently smoking his cigarette while the young woman awoke. He noticed her studying his features and turned his head, locking his eyes onto hers. 

“You’re staring,” he croaked, standing abruptly and rousing Y/N from her thoughts. She tilted her head to watch as he shifted his weight, as if testing the floor. “They’re all at The Garrison waiting for us.”

It was not a long walk from Tommy’s house to the pub, but in a dark unfamiliar place, it felt like miles. Hooked onto Tommy’s arm, Y/N shivered slightly as the evening breeze cut through her clothes making her wish that she had a thicker coat. As she approached The Garrison, however, her muscles relaxed, sensing the warmth and welcoming environment radiating from the glowing windows. 

Tommy pushed the doors open, striding into the pub dramatically. 

“At ease,” he sighed, nodding to the barman as you stepped into the pub behind him. Without so much as checking on his companion, he turned sharply to the right and stepped into a private booth, the noise inside the pub rising like a tsunami.

Y/N slid inside the booth after Tommy like an obedient puppy as a hush fell over the occupants.Looking around hopefully, Y/N searched for a familiar face and found Polly, the ghost of a smirk playing on her lips. 

“Y/N!” her head snapped around to find the source of the voice, finding John picking his way to wrap his arm around her shoulders. 

“Everyone, this is Y/N, she’s Tommy’s new flame, so keep your hands off!” His jest caused Y/Ns  cheeks to flame up and she looked at the ground, attempting to avoid the eyes of the booth’s inhabitants. One by one, she was introduced to the Shelby clan by Tommy and John, and eventually found herself gravitating towards Polly and Ada, who, between them, also happened to possess most of the Shelby brain cells. 

“So how did you and Tommy meet?” the younger Shelby woman sighed, sipping at her Gin. 

Y/N looked up, meeting her gaze and chuckled gently, “He wanted to adopt a dog from the shelter that I worked- that I work at, so I showed him Bruce, and he decided then and there that he wanted him.” Ada nodded as she paused, and Polly let out what seemed to be a chuckle masked as a cough. Y/N furrowed her brow, clearly confused, until Ada interjected. 

“Let me guess, he then bought the shelter so you’d come back here? It's very predictable Tommy behaviour is all.” her clarification caused Y/n’s heart to sink. If this was so predictable, then there was no reason to feel as special as she did. 

Sensing her dejection, Ada sighed. “Don’t worry sweet, If he did it, it means he’s serious about you. Tommy likes to seem all big and hard, but really, he’s just as much of a softie as Bruce is.” As if to prove her point, Ada reached down and scratched the top of Bruce’s head. Y/N smiled softly, nodding to show her understanding. 

“Men, am I right?” she giggled, causing the two other shelby women to smile. 

“I’ll drink to that, my dear,” Polly smiled, raising her glass. 

The next few days in Small heath were relatively uneventful. Despite having been invited to Birmingham by Tommy, Y/N had barely seen the man, except for ten minutes here and five minutes there. Largely, she had spent her time with Polly and Ada, becoming acquainted with the bustling city. The more time Y/N spent in town, or helping Lizzie with some accounting, the more at home she felt. 

Birmingham, Y/N had decided, was largely like London. 

Yet something was bugging her. She wanted to know exactly what was going on with Tommy. His hot and cold nature was intriguing to begin with, but now the novelty had worn off and she was stuck in an unfamiliar world without the one who had invited her there. 

After a morning of shopping with Ada and mathematics with Lizzie, Y/N found herself draped across one of the armchairs in Tommy’s office while he worked on some contracts at his desk. 

“Tommmmm,” she whined, causing the man to raise his eyebrows and hum in response. “Why am I here if all you’re going to do is ignore me?” 

Tommy’s head snapped up, Y/N’s question had caught him like a wild right hook. 

Finally, she had Tommy cornered. 

Tommy gulped, fighting the urge to blurt out the whole reason, that he, Tommy Shelby, was infatuated with this girl from London who worked with dogs and rendered him speechless. 

“I- I um thought you would like to see Birmingham,” Y/N raised an eyebrow as the crime boss stumbled over his words. 

“We both know that’s not it, Tom. Be honest.”

Tommy glared at the woman in his armchair. She knew why, she was just taunting him. Tommy didn’t like to be taunted. Slowly, he stood from his chair and made his way towards his guest, who looked up at him from under her eyelashes. Then, coming to a stop directly in front of Y/N, he took her chin in his hand and pressed his lips to hers. 

“Is that enough of an answer for you?” he muttered against her lips. As they broke away, Tommy thought he heard Y/N mutter something under her breath. 

“What was that?” he asked, raising one eyebrow as his icy blue eyes bore into hers. 

“I love you, Mr. Shelby.”

“I love you too, Y/N.” 

[violetnotez]

Bakugo x reader

⤷ Genre: Fluff+small amount of angst

⤷ Word Count: 5307+

⤷ Warnings: Drunk reader, cursing, also reader+Bakugo will be aged up (early 20′s, cause no underage drinking in this house!)

⤷ Synopsis:  Bakugo doesn’t have any feeling for you. You’re just one of his shitty friends and that’s it. He’s only picking you up from a bar after your breakup because you drunk called him and not because he’s worried you’ll get hurt. He doesn’t feel his heart pang when you say you want him to drive you to his apartment, not yours. He doesn’t completely turn beet red when he sees you change into his clothes.But, as much as he denies it, Bakugo realizes he loves you when you cry to him drunkenly , saying you wished you had a lover as sweet as him

This fic is for the @bnhabookclub Bingo Event! Here’s my masterlist to see all my work for this event! Also this was actually inspired by @shoutogepi​ HC of Bakugo and Kirishima taking care of their drunk s/o! I honestly loved this headcannons so much, and they really inspired me to write a more angsty sort of spin on it. Here’s a link to her post (I also explicitly asked her if it was alright to take inspiration from her headcannons, just in case!)

Bingo Slot: Realized Feelings

Bakugo stepped his foot deeper into the gas, the engine in his car roaring as it zoomed through the dark streets.

Damn you and your shitty decisions.

He had been woken up in the dead of the night to his phone ringing annoyingly against his bedside table. Your caller ID of “Cute Shithead” was shining brightly against his face, his finger immediately taking the call. 

He had to admit, he was a little annoyed for you calling him so damn early in the morning, but hearing your voice immediately melted any irritation. By the way your words slurred together, you sounded completely wasted. That alone could turn him into a worried frenzy, but the tone of your voice sent ice down his spine.

You sounded so lonely, so defeated, as if you had lost all hope and were giving up. 

He rammed his foot again into the gas, following the directions to the club you said you were at as closely as possible over the roar of his engine. 

He was just being a decent friend and helping you out, he told himself. There was no other reason why he was helping you...it wasn’t because his heart practically dropped at the sound of your voice, or how he felt his chest tighten when you said “Please come get me Katsuki”

Or that you had called him, not anybody else, to come and get you. It was all platonic-he had to keep telling himself that.

He hastily pulled into the parking lot, his car swerving into a spot a little too haphazardly. He yanked the keys from the vehicle, closing the inky black door with a thud as he looked at the building in front of him. 

A bright, Neon green sign lit up the roof, a line of club goers filtering through as they waited for the bouncer to allow them in. It was pretty late in the night-2 am to be exact-so more people were stumbling out of the club than actually going on.

Bakugo quickly began to walk over to the establishment, his body weaving through drunken couples clambering to their cars or taxis. He was searching everywhere, helplessly trying to find your face in every person he saw.

Where the hell were you?

Bakugo turned to his side, looking at the asphalt that lead into the club. There were parking spots right there, all empty, probably for Ubers and Lyfts to come pick up people who had ordered them. THere were a few people sitting on the curb, waiting for their rides as they sat on their phone or blabbered drunkenly to their friends.

But then he spotted a familiar body, their shoulders slump down in exhaustion, their eyes downcast in defeat. He quickly made his way over, knowing exactly who that body belonged to.

“Shit y/n, the hell are you doing here by yourself-“

He quickly bent down, looking at you square in the face.

You gave him a weak smile, your eyes so full of relief and sadness he felt his heart ping from your expression.

He had to admit- you looked like a wreck. Your once meticulously curled hair was frizzy and in shambles from dancing, your makeup splotchy in places and black coating under your eyes. 

HIs calloused hands wrapped around your waist, his other arm gently pulling your free hand around his neck for support. He felt like he was moving a ragdoll-you complied with each of his movements, your body resting against his as if you depended on him

“Well, I did have some f-friends… with me…” your murmured out, your voice thick from sleep deprivation and alcohol.

“And the hell are they?”

“-they left a few hours ago…” you slurred,” I said I’d stay… a little longer”

Bakugo began to walk you to his car, the walk more like a stumble as he tried to guide you on your wobbling feet. He felt his insides heat up with an intense flame of rage, licking up and consuming his insides. How the hell could your ‘friends’ just leave you? THis was nothing like you, to be so impulsive that you became incredibly vulnerable in public. Something was seriously wrong with you, something you had to be going through.

“Shitty friends for leaving you like this.” he replied gruffly, making no attempt to hide his obvious anger. “Are you okay? Did anybody try and do anything funny to you?”

He was worried, he had to admit that to himself- you were clearly in a wrong headspace in a pretty sketchy place. Anything could go wrong, and he wanted to make sure that nothing happened.

Not because the idea of you dancing with another guy makes him want to punch a wall.

Or trying to lure you to his apartment made him want to yell and break that imaginary mans jaw, in order to keep you safe in his arms.

Nope-strictly platonic.

You scoffed at the blonde's words, a harsh chuckle spilling out of your chapped lips. “Of course Bakugo, everybody here wants to grope the girl who looks like she’s been crying all day-

“I’m fine-really”

Somehow, even with your slurring words and clouded mind, these words were the first sober syllables you had uttered.

But- if you were fine, you wouldnt be going to a club this late at night. You would have been smart enough to at least stay alert, not completely wasted, and you definitely wouldn't be by yourself. Your werent fine, and Bakugo knew it, because you werent being you.

He was impulsive, irrational, and went with his gut feeling, even if it was a stupid or dangerous idea. You on the other hand, were like his better half: calm yet forceful, a commanding tide to soothe the volcanic eruptions of his anger.

But now you were different, a choppy whirlpool of emotions that were locked away deep inside you, the effects changing your once calm and rational demeanor into something saddened and desperate.

Bakugo gave you a long look, his red eyes slanted as he tried to read what was on your mind.

He stopped your two’s trudging, finally being in front of his car.

A protest was dying to spill from his lips, to retort and fight back the obvious lie you had just uttered. But something in your tired voice made him falter, making him feel more empathy for you than frustration

“Okay then…” he sighed, “let’s get you home,”

  ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ

It was unnervingly quiet.

Bakugo had the music off, worried that the thumping bass would aggravate any possible headache you had as you curled up in the seat beside him, your high heeled shoes long forgotten on the floor of his car.

He drove much more smoothly than before, his eyes desperately trying to focus on the road. He wasn't used to this kind of you-he missed your smile, and the way you would joke and laugh with him. Of course he would act like he didn't like it, giving you snarky comments and off handed insults that would only push you even more to joke with him.

Now he felt like he was next to a shell of you- you were there, right next to him, but- You weren't there. Your smile, your spirit, your light- it was being blocked by some darkness inside you.

“Are-are you mad at me Katsuki?”

You finally spoke to him, making Bakuo’s eyes wide and his heart stop in his chest.

Why did you sound so timid?

Bakugo continues to glue his eyes on the road, his voice gruff yet uncertain.

“The hell I’d be mad at you for?”

“I don’t know…” you replied softly, “you just sounded-mad”

Shit- now he felt guilty, making you feel worse than you probably already did. It was just that he was worried, and sometimes his emotions came out quicker than his words. He just couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that you out of all people could act like this.

“Well, I’m not mad at you-I’m just-“ he sighed, trying to find the words.

“- the hell were you out that late? The club scene isn’t your thing”

You shifted uncomfortably in the seat next to him, cuddling yourself in closer to your body.

“I thought I told you-” you answered sadly, ‘I got dumped”

Bakugo blinked a couple times, the shock vibrating throughout his body. He knew you had a boyfriend, apparently Shindo Yo, the damn pretty boy of another hero agency.  You were his closest friend after all, so he dealt with the news as best he could, but Bakugo has never liked the guy. He always chalked it up to him being protective over you as your friend, but the way he used to feel so angry and so frustrated whenever he saw you hold hands or hug made him want to scream. A small amount of happiness filled up his chest by hearing you say you were single, instantly  making him feel guilty as he saw how distraught you were.

“The hell-“ he gulped out quickly, “what for?”

“Dont know..” you sighed, your face contorted in a grimace, “he-he said he needed to focus on his career-and that-that I was going to stop him from achieving his goals-”

Bakugo instantly felt anger erupt in his chest, his hands becoming clammy against the leather steering wheel.

“Wait-that dickwad, Shindo Yo, right? The damn extra won't amount to nothing, the hell he-”

He was rambling, the spiteful words spewing from his lips. He just couldn’t understand why your piece of shit of a boyfriend would dump someone as amazingly kind and caring as you, and go as far to say such awful words. It made him incredibly furious, and all he wanted to do was confront your now ex and give him a piece of his mind for causing you to act this way.

He was surprised though to hear your voice interject him, your tone stern yet pleading.

“Bakugo, can we not talk about it? Please?”

He wanted to kick himself for being so inconsiderate, an embarrassed blush creeping into his cheeks.

“Shit-I-okay,yeah”

The car ride continued in silence, Bakugo staring at the road in conflict, you cuddling yourself into a small ball on the leather seat.

It continued for a few minutes, until Bakugo broke the silence by clearing his throat.

“Want me to drop you off at your place?” He asked gruffly, looking at you slightly from the side. 

He noticed you shift, turning to look at him with large, pleading eyes.

“Can-can we go to your place instead?” you squeaked out, almost as if worried by his response. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound mean earlier….I just- always feel so safe and warm when I go to your apartment, Katsuki”

Bakugo felt his heart quicken in his chest-you called him “Katsuki”, his name. Something in you saying that made him feel hot from flusteredness, but then you said you felt safe with him...he had never been more thankful for the darkness of night, because he knew his face was completely red.

He gulped, trying to build up the wall around his emotions you were trying to knock down. With each word or truth that spilled from your sleepy, drunken mouth, he found it harder to keep his feelings at bay. He took a deep breath, his clammy hands readjusting on the steering wheel.

You two were just friends.

He didn’t like you like that and you-you probably didn’t either.

He needed to be Bakugo, your best friend, your rock in hard times, not Bakugou, the blushing mess next to you that was concerned with his own feelings.

He clicked the turn signal on his car to the right, taking the route back to his home instead of yours as he sighed.

“-Fine.” 

Bakugo pulled into the parking lot of his apartment building, the bumpy street roads now turning smooth as he fit his car through the metal gate and settled into a parking spot near his apartment. 

He turned the key of the car, killing the roaring engine as he stepped out of the car, the closing door as a soft thud as he commanded you to “Stay inside”.

Your sluggish head instantly perked at the statement, unable to understand what he had meant by that. But your body felt too tired, mentally and physically, and too weak to even protest. You stayed there, cuddled into the seat as Bakugo opened the door of the passenger seat, his arms outstretched as they tucked themselves under your body.

“Wait what are you-“ you asked sluggish, your eyes barely open as you wrapped your digits around his arms.

“I’m picking you up” 

HIs tone was calm and forceful, as if this was a completely normal occurrence between the two of you- which it wasn't. 

You instantly blushed at the prospect, excuses already forming on the tip of your tongue.

“You don’t have to, I can-“

“I could barely walk you to car and that was in flat ground,” he retorted back, I’m not gonna walk you up stairs-”

“Just let me do this”

He stated a little more softly, his voice gruff and low as he picked you up off the seat as if you weighed nothing to him. Your hands instantly latched onto his neck finding comfort by burying your head into the crook of his neck.

Shit-why you had to go and be so cute?

His grip around your body tightened, making sure you felt secure as he walked you up the plight of steps to his apartment. 

Something about this felt so surreal- your warm body against his, his hands wrapping your thighs, the way your hair felt against his cheek...these were all sensations that left his heart pounding.

All of this seemed to frustrate him as much as it brought him joy-he shouldn't feel any of these tingling sensations around you. He shouldn't feel weightless and giddy, or terrified he'd do the wrong thing around you all the time. It bothered him to know end, and made him feel so frustrated.

But the most frustrating part was the fact you were oblivious- that you had this secret power over him and you didn't even know it.

He finally stepped foot in his apartment, setting you down gently as he ruffled through his pockets for his keys. His hand was still wrapped around your waist, giving you some stability as he opened the door with a slow creak, ushering you inside.

You stepped inside, feeling somewhat out of place- you had been here countless times before: parties, get togethers, the meet up place before you would hang out with the Bakusquad….so why did it feel so strange?

The room felt more intimate in a way-you had never been here without someone else, usually Kirishima. 

And youd been here at night, but never this late, and the fact you had asked to sleep over- well, everything just felt so new and raw.

Thankfully Bakugo broke through your rapid thoughts, his vermillion eyes looking down at you with slight worry.

“You good? No needing to throw up or anything?” he asked gruffly. 

God he felt so close- you could practically feel his heat radiating into your body still, making your cold digits beg for his touch.

Your cheeks warmed at the thoughts, a small “Mm-mm” and a shake of your head the only thing you could muster to do.

He led you over to his room, passing the small kitchen and bathroom as he did.

“Then you need new clothes- get you out of that clubbing crap”

Your mouth instantly formed into a pout, your eyes looking up at your best friend.

“It's not crap-its pretty”you corrected him, your tone playfully hurt.

“More like tight,” he replied snarkily, “ how do you even move in that thing?’’

You were about to quickly retort back that he should wear the dress and find out, but then a sudden image of Bakugo wearing your skin tight dress at a club made you instantly double over in giggles. 

Bakugo gave you a questionable look, his red eyes almost judging your drunken, laughing form.

“I just keep it down with my hands silly,” you said in between giggles, your body flopping onto the plush comforter of his bed. Now you felt a little more at ease, as if the courage of alcohol had kicked into your system yet again.

Bakugo shook his head, his blonde locks swaying at the motion as he quietly said ‘Giggly ass drunk” under his breath. He began to rustle through his closet, trying his best not to stare at your form laying across his bed in such a body accentuating dress.

You hadnt seemed to notice Bakugo's rhetoric or dilemma, a soft smile gracing your lips stiill. Your propped your body up on your elbows, your tousled hair pooling against your skin.

“so what amazing little number are you gonna put me in now?”

“-This,”

You felt cloth instantly hit you square in the face, as if Bakugo had thrown it over his shoulder-most likely on purpose.

Usually you would attack the asshole for doing something like that, but you just felt too tired to even throw an insult back. Your lips pouted out once again, a small whine escaping your throat as you ripped the shirt from your face.

Bakugo grinned slightly at you ,finding your expression adorable as well as funny.  He watched you inspect the shirt, the fabric as dark as your dress.

“You would think interning with Best Jeanist would have left some fashion sense in you,” you spewed out, your face clearly distraught by the shirt he had given you.

He rolled his eyes, his grin now turning into a grimace. 

Was drunk you really that picky over a shirt?

“That was 5 fucking years ago, and I only interned with him cause he was one of the best,” he tried to defend himself, feeling his cheeks grown warm from your drunken disapproval. But his fiery personality kicked in, his tongue beginning to stutter over his words. “- just throw the goddamn shirt on before I let you sleep in that shit you call a dress”

“Or I could sleep in my underwear, there's other alternatives,” 

your words flew out of your mouth faster than you could stop them, a triumphant grin on your face as you saw how beet red Bakugo became.

A giggle escaped from your lips, the sound ringing softly against his ears.

“Dont worry Katsuki, Ill wear the clothes,” you gave him a soft smile, cuddling the clothing to your chest.

He blinked a few times, trying to get his heart to settle back into a steady rhythm.

This wasn't real.

You didn't make him nervous.

You were just his best friend- you being in his room, in a pretty dress, making flirty remarks didn't affect him.

You were drunk-you weren't yourself right now- so why did he feel so hopeful? And for what?

He quickly spun on his heel, turning around before you could catch the glowing in his cheeks.

“Whatever-just call me if you need help” he threw over his shoulder, his hands closing his bedroom food with a loud slam. 

Bakugo sat himself on the couch in his living room, his hands resting on his face, his elbow connected to his legs.

The hell was going on with him?

As he was brooding over his conflicted emotions, he heard the door of his room click open, and it seemed all his feeble attempts to slow down his heart went out the window.

There you were, clad in his black tshirt, the fabric pooling around your thighs and making your arms look tiny in the flowing fabric. You must have been wearing the shorts worn from under your dress, but still- he got a full view of your beautifully plush thighs, making heat rise to his cheeks.

Strange sensations filled his stomach, that tingling butterfly sensations filling his stomach-

The hell was wrong with him?

“For your clothes being so bland, they are pretty comfy…” you smiled up at him, his heart quickening at the small gesture.

You walked your way over the couch, resting your body opposite him, giving ample space between the two of you as you sighed in content.

“I could go to sleep right now”

Bakugo snorted, his arms wrapping against his chest as the heat continued to rise in his cheeks.

“The hell your not-”

You instantly pushed yourself up, cocking your head at Bakugou in confusion.

He had to admit it to himself- your looked-cute-, sitting there, your legs crossed with his shirt wrapped around your frame, your eyes wide and hair a mess.

He could get used to seeing you like this-

But shit he couldn't-didnt-think like that. You were his friend, nothing more.

“What do ya mean?” you asked “You were complaining about me two minutes ago, wouldn't you want me to go to sleep?”

He gave a small chuckle, his eyes looking down at the floor.

“Sure but-I'm not letting you go to sleep with all that shit on your face-”

Your hands instantly went to touch your face, your digit scrubbing against the skin.

“Huh?-Oh”

You looked down, and there on your hand was your foundation, a tiny bit too dark as it had mingled with your bronzer and highlighter, black running against your skin like tire streaks on a road.

How did you not even feel that was on your face? How drunk were you?

The thought of you being so intoxicated you forgot you had makeup on seemed like the funniest thing ever, giggles dribbling out of your lips.

“Oh my god, I forgot!” you laughed, chuckles wracking through your body.

Bakugo simply shook his head, unable to contain a smirk from gracing his lips. He got up slowly, walking over to your side of the couch to offer you his hand.

“Alright cmon-you giggly ass drunk,” he smirked, his lungs tightening as you gave him a smile of your own, your smaller hand slowly taking hold in his larger one.

You leaned into his body, already accustomed to him being your support- he would at least admit it right now...you were cute

He walked you over to his bathroom, his digit flicking on the light switch. 

It was a little small, with enough room to hold two people inside. He gently pressed you against the wood of the cabinet, his hands grabbing your waist as he hoisted you on to the counter.

Any other day you would be embarrassed by this sudden closeness with your best friend but something about this felt bitter sweet. It had been so long it seemed like since someone had truly cared for you, being there by your side and making sure you were okay. It felt comforting to have Bakugou near you, but you knew this wouldnt last. You were drunk and feeling broken-is was just his obligation as your friend to get you through the night. Once you sobered up, itd be back to the way things were-bitterly lonely.

As you muddled in your emotions, your feet dangling against the cabinets, Bakugo was rummaging through in the cabinet next to you, emerging with a bottle of makeup remover.

You cocked your head at the bottle, the liquid inside an artificial yet soothing blue.

Why did he have that?

Bakugo stared down at the bottle in his hand, his red eyes quickly glancing at the writing on the side and setting it down on the counter, now rummaging for a cloth.

“This shit should work-”

Your hand grabbed the bottle, now inspecting it in curiosity.

“When did you get this?”

“Remember last time you came over,” he asked over his shoulder,” when the power went out in your apartment and you said you had to do your makeup?”

You simply nodded your head-you remembered that day. You had planned to go and watch a movie with your boyfriend-ex, and the screening was at exactly 12 am since it was premiering. You had wanted to look at least a little decent, but fate had gone against you and destroyed that plan halfway into putting on your  makeup. So you had of coursed called Bakugo, who grumpily obliged to let you use his apartment.

Bakugo’s hands gently took the bottle from yours, his hot skin brushing against yours as he applied the liquid to the cloth. His frame fit snugly in between your legs, your inner thighs brushing against the fabric of his sweatpants.

 “Well, You left it-” 

He simply stated, everything in his being trying to keep his tone leveled as he began to wipe your skin clean of the events from the night. 

You had never seen Bakugo be so gentle- he was taking his time, focusing on one small area and then moving onto the next. His strokes were even and light as air, not digging into your skin or forceful in any way. 

“And- and you kept it?” you gulped out, your eyes searching his own vermillion ones.

Bakugo was scared, terrified even-he didnt want to look you in your eyes. 

Would he do something he regretted if he did?

He was trying to control himself, to fight everything in him all night to not let you catch on to him, to not let you or himself see his true emotions...he was getting too tired to fight, and he was scared that he’d let something slip that he didnt even know about himself yet.

“Well yeah, I wasn't just going to throw it away,” he answered,” I figured you'd come and get it,”

He paused, his hand faltering against your skin for the smallest second. Maybe-it wouldn't hurt to say something...you were drunk after all, you wouldn't remember most of tonight probably….

“-also,” he gulped out, his heart beating in his chest, “ Its nice to have reminder of you here too,”

Your eyes instantly widened, the wind knocked out of your chest, constricting almost in pain.

Why did that make you feel so-so fluttery inside?

And why did it hurt so much?

Maybe because it almost sounded like-Bakugou may care for you? More than just a friendly way?

No-it couldn't….he was your best friend….but god, it felt so good to be cared for, to actually feel wanted-

And of course had to be by someone you knew you never had a chance with.

Your shoulders began to shake, realizing how much you must have screwed up-you lost your boyfriend, was humiliated by him, and then humiliated your own self by losing control. 

Bakugo was the only one you had truly could count on-he was the one person you called, and he had shown up to get you. He had tried his best to keep you comfortable, went out of his way to keep you safe, his best to keep you happy…

How long had it been since someone had been this caring to you?

Your shoulders began to shake, the weight of everything crashing down on you, tears spilling across your cheeks like rain droplets outside a car window.

How did everything turn out so wrong?

Bakugo instantly noticed your change, his body instantly panicked and worried.

“Shit-y/n, you okay? Whats wrong?” he asked, his tone desperate as he set the cloth down and wrapped his hands around your forearms, securing you as wave after wave of tears racked your body.

He wrapped you into a slow hug, his warm palms placed firmly against your back as you instantly wrapped your arms around his neck.

He felt so warm and safe, your noise buried into the soothingly sweet smell that was him. 

“Katsuki I-I-Im sorry, I didnt mean to-” you blubbered out, trying your best to apologize over your heightened emotions.

Bakugo had no idea what to do- was this just something you did when drunk? He had no idea why you had started crying, and he hoped it wasn't something he did- but telling by how in pain you looked and how quickly you welcomed his embrace, this was something he didnt do and couldn't fix-at least not quickly.

He continued to hold you tightly, his hands beginning to become clammy against your back.

“Dont say sorry-Your fine, just- tell me whats wrong,”

He felt your hands ball his shirt in your fists, your chin digging deeper into his skin.

“I wish I could find a guy as great as you,”

Shit.

Bakugo’s face turned beet red, his arms stiffening at your words- when he asked what was wrong, he didnt mean something like that.

But the truth comes out when you're drunk, and Bakugo fully believed in this saying…

Did that mean-you liked him?

He couldn't deny it now- it was too hard and everything was against him at this point.

Just the small prospect of being your lover made Bakugo’s heart quicken, the little sentence you just uttered destroying the wall he had kept to protect himself from the truth.

He liked you.

Alot actually.

He scoffed, trying  his best to remain calm as he cradled you in his arms.

“Im not as great as you think I am,”

He felt you cuddle yourself even deeper into his neck, your hair tickling his jawline.

You seemed to be calming down as Bakugo had had a mental crisis….your sobs were now sniffles, and you werent breathing as hard. But you still were cuddled deep into his body, as if using him to block yourself from the outside world.

“No you are, you really are…”you sighed quietly, “ even if you are an ass sometimes, you are very kind and sweet-

“I just wish I could date someone like you,”

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

How could he even say anything after that?

How was even able to respond?

He wouldn't-Bakugo decided to hold you quietly, as if you never said anything...but those words were echoing inside his head.

God- you could date him in a heartbeat. But, reality kicked into Bakugou- you were drunk, and just got dumped. You were just starved of touch and affection from that.

There was no way sober you would have said something so revealing as this- you saw him as his best friend, nothing more and nothing less of that. You wouldn't jeopardize your relationship by saying something that could mean the end of your friendship.

Bakugo felt the tightness of your body loosen, your breathing now regular, something so different from a few minutes ago.

“Y/n?” he asked quietly, almost timidly as he waited for a response.

Nothing.

Bakugo sighed, a small, tired smile playing on his lips

“You fell asleep huh?”

Bakugo playfully rolled his eyes as your quiet demeanor spoke the truth for him.

His hands found themselves placed against your back, wrapping against your body once again so that your legs were around his waist, his arm supporting you as he carried you back to his room.

Maybe in the morning you would remember this...maybe not. He was conflicted- a part of him hope you didn't, so your relationship could resume as normal, but- something in him hoped you remembered. And hoped you wanted to talk more about it- because if you felt the same way and meant it, he wouldn't mind to see if you two could be more than just friends.

He pecked a look at your sleeping form, your smushed face against his shoulder making his heart fill with warmth.

“Shit-if only you knew...I would date you-

“even if your a giggly ass drunk,”

[sleepingrenjun]

unravel | ML

A Spooky Collaboration ϟ Myself and @lucaswithnoshirt​ have taken the term ‘trick or treat’ to a new level with this Halloween special collaboration, with each of us writing about Vampire!Mark Lee and incorporating our own trick or treat twist. Who wrote the trick and who wrote the treat? Well, read on to find out… 

Find @lucaswithnoshirt​ ‘s story here! 

Genre ϟ Vampire x vampire hunter AU. Kinda horror, kinda not. Lots of angst, the usual :)

Length ϟ 11.7k 

Pairing ϟ Mark Lee x reader

Warnings ϟ character death (y’all are used to this by now), violence, blood, murder(??), vampires (is this even a necessary warning…?) making out (it gets a lil suggestive but not rly), swearing and a whole lotta angst!

Playlist ϟ��unravel playlist

Summary ϟ You want him dead, so why can’t you kill him?

You’ve been watching him for a few days now. Memorising and mapping his movements one lengthy night after another. You’ve never seen his face in great detail; you don’t dare get close enough to allow for that. Not yet. He’s young, that much you’re certain of. If you had to guess you’d say he was in his early twenties – or rather his mortal body was. His immortal being could well have been several hundred years old, although certain habits of his you’d noticed while observing him made him seem somewhat immature, like he was still trying to figure out how to live with his new needs. It’s a shame really, for his mortal life to have been taken from him when he had so much future ahead of him. You’ve no idea how long it’s been since he was turned. He’s only been feeding in this area for a couple of days and before that he’d been lurking near a darkened park on the far side of the city. You didn’t know where he’d been prior to that. 

The sky was an inky blue up above you, the bright light of the moon and all of its stars the only thing illuminating the street that lay before you. He was leaning with his back against a lamppost, looking perfectly composed as he brought a hand up to wipe away some of the blood that was coating the skin around his lips and dripping down his chin. He was a messy eater, you noted. His slightly scruffy jet-black hair draped down his forehead and almost entirely covered his eyes, which you could just make out were glowing a devilish shade of red. You held your breath from your higher-up position, swiftly ducking your head when you saw him sweeping his gut-wrenching gaze over the area you were watching him from. He hadn’t spotted you, fortunately. This is one of the things that led you to believe he hadn’t been turned too long ago – if he’d been an older vampire, more experienced, he would’ve spotted and ended you in less than a second. 

Ordinarily, you’d have made your move fairly early on, the fresher ones were always the easiest after-all, but for some reason you couldn’t quite bring yourself to drive your wooden stake through his chest just yet. He was intriguing, dangerously so. You’d do it soon though; before you got too attached to the routine you’d made for yourself. 

You watched him closely as he took one last pointed look over his shoulder before disappearing within the blink of an eye.

Vampires repulsed you. Your brother had lost his mortal life to the fangs of a blood-thirsty woman when he was just 19. She’d been clever and unsuspicious, luring him in with temptation and deception before drinking the life out of him one gulp at a time. You were young and naïve when it happened; nothing more than a terrified 15-year-old trying her best to keep her breathing to a minimum so as to not notify the creature of her presence. You wanted to shout, to scream at your brother to fight back, but it was too late. 

Ever since then, you vowed to be the glorious end of every vampire you set your fury-filled eyes on; and this young man was the next on your list. 

-

The next night brings nothing much different to the previous. Hours upon hours of standing around and waiting for him to strike, your eyes growing heavy after his second kill of the evening. The unlucky soul had been a sleezy looking man who had to have been nearing 40; his greasy hair and sagging trousers enough to enlighten you on just the kind of person he most likely was, and some twisted part of you thought he almost deserved it when his neck was snapped painfully as the vampire drunk the colour from his skin. Almost. Perhaps that’s the one thing that was keeping you from approaching him, wooden stake in one hand and extermination in the other. His choice of victims was not what you usually observed from a young-looking vampire. 

After another 20 minutes or so, you pinched some skin between your fingertips to try and wake yourself up from the threatening slumber lurking within you, rendering it useless when you stifled a yawn anyway. You flicked your eyes briefly to your wrist, noting that it was now well past 2am.

Casting one last calculating look over to the young vampire who was completely unaware of your presence, you decided to call it a night and head home. You placed your feet one in front of the other as quietly as you could so as to not draw attention to yourself, the action almost second nature to you now, until you were a safe enough distance away that you felt you could tread normally. The air was crisp, prompting you to lift the hood of your fleecy jacket over your head in an attempt to keep warm while simultaneously picking up your pace. It was late October, still technically Autumn but definitely noticeably colder than you wished it was. Leaves had fallen to the ground in a colourful array of oranges, reds and yellows and it made the world look so beautiful that it was dangerously easy to forget about the monsters lurking in the dark. 

You rounded a sharp corner, your eyes dragging along the near-bare looking trees lining the pavement alongside a row of ornate looking town houses. This was a nice part of town, the pristine condition of the properties indicating it was clearly home to some of the wealthier folk. You thought you might like to live somewhere like this someday, a nice big house with no need to worry about noisy neighbours or unpleasant landlords. But as your building came into sight, you were reminded of your tiny one-bed apartment and the constant shouting that you could hear from the people across the hall. 

You were snapped out of your thoughts by the sound of what you thought were footsteps coming up behind you at an inhuman speed, instantly whipping your head around and grabbing the hilt of the weapon hidden on the inside of your jacket. Nothing. You felt a shiver go down your spine, the situation immediately making you feel uneasy. You’d dealt with vampire attacks before and always managed to come out on top, and usually relatively unscathed. You silently told yourself to get yourself in check before turning your head back around, letting out the breath you were holding in when you didn’t see anything suspicious. This was one of the biggest draw backs of your vampire hunting, the constant paranoia, fear, the never-ending feeling that you were being watched or followed; but at least it had managed to keep you alive so far. 

You started walking forwards again, barely making it two steps before a hand wrapped itself around your mouth and another grabbed you by the throat, dragging you away from the light of the main road. 

You struggled to breathe as the unfamiliar hand tightened its grip on your neck, your own hands quickly raising and digging your nails into their ice-cold skin in an attempt to pry the pain away. You felt yourself go rigid when a low voice spoke in your ear, “stop struggling.”

You allowed yourself a small smile, this was perfect. If you could get this man to believe you were weak, feeble even, then he’d be unsuspecting of you. With any luck, he’d let his guard down just enough, giving you the perfect opportunity to strike. 

You let out a whimper, furrowing your quivering eyebrows and forming tears in your eyes. “Please don’t do this.” You hated how small you sounded, but it’s what you needed the man to hear in order for your plan to work. 

The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end as you stilled automatically, your lip quivering ever so slightly under the stranger’s palm. You carefully dropped your hands to your sides, feeling for the blade that was secured tightly in your jacket, hidden from the outside world. 

Despite having control of yourself, you were still aware of the distinct feeling of fear brewing up under your burning skin. No matter how many times you’d managed to slaughter yourself out of situations like this, there would always be a small chance that you would fail, and that thought made you sick. 

“You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?” The stranger turned you around so that you were facing him, a sick smile on his face as he gazed down at you, fangs visible and eyes darkening to a beautiful shade of red. 

“Bet you’ll taste real sweet.” He dug his fingertips into the sides of your neck slightly before allowing his tongue to swipe over his lips. Had you not been moments away from your bitter end, you would’ve taken more time to admire his unnatural beauty. His cheekbones were sculpted, his silver scruffy hair framing his intricately carved face with a tender delicacy that you did not think someone of his kind deserved. His brows furrowed as he focused on a particular spot on the side of your neck, right by where his thumb was most likely bruising your tender skin.   

“Please, don’t. Please stop, oh god,” you choked out. 

He started lowering himself towards you, and you grabbed your weapon, ready to plunge the blade into anywhere you could reach from your disadvantaged position. 

Suddenly, a voice called out harshly, cutting through the cool air and causing your attacker to faulter for a short moment, thus giving you the perfect opportunity to throw all your energy into shoving him off you, quickly pushing your knife into the spot just beneath his ribcage, drawing it back almost as quickly as it slides in; you couldn’t risk losing your best blade. He cried out in surprise, eyes growing darker and angrier than they had been before. 

“Get away from her,” the new voice snarled. You could see him getting closer from your peripheral vision, but you didn’t dare take your eyes off the rage-filled creature a few mere feet in front of you, clutching at his side with one bloody hand. 

“Fuck off, this one’s mine,” he growled, locking eyes with you. 

“Like hell I am,” you said through gritted teeth, positioning yourself with your knife in a defensive hold, knees bent and ready to spring forward as and when you needed to. 

Your grip on the handle of your knife was turning your knuckles a ghastly shade of white and you could feel bruises beginning to form on your throbbing neck, but you were too focused on trying to get out of this alive to care. The figure in front of you took a threatening step forward, hand no longer clutching his side. He wore a menacing smile on his face even still, despite having been stabbed and interrupted by a stranger who you still didn’t dare turn towards. 

“I thought I told you to get the hell away from her,” the second man called out once more, this time sounding remarkably calm. Unnervingly so. 

“And I thought I told you she was mine?” The vampire before you allowed himself to snap his neck towards the other in anger, his eyes immediately widening in amusement at what he saw, lips curving upwards as he let out a snicker.

“Oh please, give up kid.” He spoke patronisingly. This piqued your curiosity and you risked a glance to the side to see what he was laughing at. You caught a glimpse of a mop of dark hair that seemed to melt into the sky, his stance seeming somewhat familiar to you, but you didn’t have the time to figure out where you knew it from. 

You were pulled back into reality when you felt a pair of hands seize you again harshly, pushing you up against the wall. You felt the faint outline of some sharp fangs touching the surface of the skin, piercing it briefly before he was ripped away from you. Before he could draw even a drop of blood. You allowed yourself a half-second to focus your thoughts. The two were circling eachother like wolves a few feet from you, hunched over. You noticed two sets of red, gleaming eyes. Two vampires, ready to fight to the death just to have a tase of your crimson blood. 

“Move.” You said to the one who had pulled your attacker off you. You’d deal with him later. He looked at you through angry, hooded eyes. He didn’t seem like he planned on listening to a thing you said, so you opted for pushing past him instead. 

It all happened so quickly, although time felt like it slowed as you jumped into the air, reaching for the stake strapped securely against the skin under your shirt with your free hand. A tangle of limbs and hands, stumbling and scratching and pain before your opponent crumpled to the floor with a gaping, bloody hole through his chest. You pulled back, weapon in your trembling hand. Your vision was tunnelled and your hearing somewhat cloudy and ringing as a result of the adrenaline coursing through your entire being at one hundred miles per hour. You were panting as you watched his lifeless body turn a pale grey before he disintegrated, leaving an ashy pile of death where his body had been. 

You touched your fingertips to your cheek, pulling them back to see blood dripping down to your knuckles. You’d have to deal with your scratched-up form when you eventually got back home. You turned back around to see the other vampire still standing there wearing an entirely unreadable expression. You immediately moved yourself to be in a defensive position, fully expecting him to fill his eyes with the fire in his soul and dive straight for you. When he didn’t move or even speak for a few seconds, you stepped closer to him, knife in one hand and stake in the other. Your hair was falling into your eyes and you could feel blood running from your cheek to your lips to your chin. You wiped at the back of your face with the back of your sleeve. You imagined yourself, you probably looked absolutely feral with your hair out of place, tears in your clothes and blood from yourself and one other smearing along the surface of your bruised skin and your ruined jacket. 

“Woah, woah.” He backed up when you stepped closer threateningly, panicked eyes piercing right through you. 

His back hit the brick wall of the alley you’d been dragged into, and he had the audacity to look frightened for a mere millisecond before he corrected himself and went back to holding an unreadable expression. You drove your hand forwards, letting out a noise of frustration when he caught your wrist with little to no effort in one of his larger hands. You did the same with the other hand since you were holding a weapon in each, but it was to no avail, he caught that one too.

“Why are you trying to kill me? I’m trying to help you!” He sounded genuinely surprised and slightly confused.

“We both know that’s a lie.” Your eyes locked onto his challengingly, you could hardly believe this guy. 

“Seriously! I would never-.” He let out a groan of pain, not having noticed you drawing your blade back before driving it into his arm. He shifted away from you.

“Fuck, what is wrong with you?” He tossed the knife from his wound onto the floor a few feet away, clutching his arm with the opposite hand and hissing as he drew it back to reveal his palm, now sticky with blood. 

“What’s wrong with me!? You’re the one who drinks human blood to stay alive!” You seethed, eyes wide and alert as you stared at him. 

“I’m not drinking yours.”

“That’s because I’m not letting you.”

“I’m not trying to hurt you. Stop looking at me like that.” He sounded exasperated and you almost laughed. You’d never met a vampire quite like this before. Usually they were straight to the point; upfront about their intentions to kill you after they’d finished consuming every last drop of your sweet, sweet blood. But not this one, no, he seemed so dead set on earning your trust and getting you to drop your guard just for long enough. 

You allowed yourself a moment to take him in, since he didn’t seem to be in any particular rush, you figured you might as well take your time too. His unkempt raven hair was slightly parted in the middle, falling over his eyebrows and kissing the tops of his cheekbones. His doe-shaped eyes had calmed down, now a deep, warm brown rather than the intense red they had been earlier. His skin was pale, lifeless, you supposed. Literally. His form seemed strong but not built in the way that some were, if you didn’t know any better you could have easily mistaken him for a university student. 

He took a cautious step towards you and you felt your cheeks warm a little at the thought of him noticing your staring. You stood your ground, not wanting him to think you were weak or giving up your fight. 

“If you take one step closer, I’ll kill you,” you said as coldly as you could muster. 

“I believe you, but please don’t.” He was still clutching at his injured arm with a hand. He was currently at a disadvantage, if you could just use this to your advantage, if you could somehow get close enough to just-

He disappeared before your eyes and you whipped your head around just in time to witness him snatching the stake from your grip. He shifted again so that he was slightly further back from you, holding your stake behind his back and tilting his head to the side mockingly. 

“You know, for someone who supposedly knows what they’re doing, you seem remarkably off-balance.” He dared a smirk, now and inspecting the wooden weapon in his hands. 

“You-”

“These things are deadly, you know. I really thought you might kill me a moment ago,” he chuckled. 

“It would be my pleasure.” You didn’t see the humour in this the way that he seemed to. You were no longer scared, however, mostly frustrated. 

You took a small step towards him, determined to retrieve your stolen weapon, but acutely aware that you were now completely un-armed. This wasn’t a situation you’d ever been in before so you were unsure of how you should proceed. You couldn’t read his next move whatsoever, his expression told you nothing useful other than that he was clearly enjoying this. 

He looked right at you, his expression suddenly serious, his harsh gaze sending chills down your spine, “go home, y/n.”

You widened your eyes. How did he know your name? You don’t recall saying it aloud even once and the deceased vampire certainly hadn’t known it. 

“How’d you know my name?” You voiced with a slight tremor, it was subtle but definitely noticeable, and you cursed yourself for allowing yourself to feel scared. 

He was walking away from you now, his ebony clad body becoming harder and harder to decipher as he disappeared into darkness. He didn’t answer your question, but he did leave your knife on the floor where he had tossed it earlier. You hurriedly grabbed the weapon, checking your surroundings once more to see if he had come back (he hadn’t), before running home and locking your apartment door as soon as you slammed it closed. 

You slept with a blade under your pillow that night. 

-

You didn’t leave your house for the next two days, no trips to get food, no visits from friends, no nightly vampire-watch. Nothing. Partially because you didn’t want to risk anybody asking any questions about the bruises on your neck and the cuts on your skin, but you couldn’t deny the genuine fear that was keeping you at home. You weren’t really sure why you were so affected by the events that happened a couple of nights prior. You’d like to consider yourself a fairly experienced and extremely competent hunter. You’d never left a vampire you came into contact with alive. Alive, if that’s even what you could call them. And now one of them knew your name, what did that mean? Did he know where you lived? Had he been watching you like you were his prey? 

An unexpected knock at your door snapped you out of the thoughts spinning around in your head. It wasn’t late, but it was dark out. You furrowed your brows as you wondered who could be dropping by at this time. You had a few close friends; Yuta, Jungwoo and Taeyong being the ones most likely to pay you a visit, although they usually made a point of shooting you a warning text first, just in case you weren’t around. Yuta hunted vampires like you did, that’s how you met him. He had a pretty face and a fiery personality to match your own. The two of you clicked instantly, bonding over anything and everything you could think to talk about. He soon introduced you to Jungwoo, a soft boy with long legs and a heart of gold, and Taeyong, a striking guy with sharp features and an adorable laugh. The two latter boys assisted Yuta occasionally when he was dealing with a particularly tough vampire, but you preferred to strike alone, so you always rejected their offers to help. You couldn’t think why any of them would turn up at your door now, though.

You padded over to the door, feet clad in fluffy socks and glasses perched on your nose. You opened the door but were met with the sight of a brown paper bag with your name written on it in black marker. You looked both left and right in confusion, settling your gaze back on the brown bag at your feet when you didn’t see anyone at either end of the hallway. 

You picked it up cautiously against your better judgement and scurried back inside quickly. The rational part of your brain was screaming at you to leave the bag outside and not lay a finger on it, but the curious part was itching to take a look, so that’s what you did. You sat down on the wooden floorboards in your living room, legs crossed and scissors in hand. You cut along the seal of the clear tape that was keeping the bag closed and hesitantly tipped its contents out in front of you. Your body stilled for a long moment, your breathing suddenly shallow and your throat dry. Your stake lay before you, still bloody, but yours, nevertheless. You shivered. The mysterious vampire who you were still tearing your hair out over had taken it with him if you remembered correctly. You were sure that your eyes hadn’t been deceiving you and that your memory wasn’t tricking you. Before you could control your own body, you found yourself at the closest window, looking out on the off chance that you would be able to see whoever had delivered the brown paper bag. You knew the chances were slim to none, but you looked anyway. It had to have been him. He somehow knew your name, so it should’ve been obvious that he knew where you lived.

You didn’t know what to make of it. Any of it. You were truly afraid, so why were you so curious about the raven-haired boy who let you live?

-

You managed to coax yourself outside after another day or so of hiding at your apartment. You felt pathetic, hiding away, you didn’t feel like yourself. It didn’t sit well with you, knowing that you’d let something so simple force you to feel emotions you didn’t want to feel. You usually felt a sort of thrill, a buzz of adrenaline. Not fear, never fear. And never interest. Vampires had always repulsed you, disgusted you. Everything that they stood for was wrong and you were here to make things right. You should’ve just killed him when you first had the chance, but you let him get under your skin, where he remained even still, apparently. 

You’d somehow ended up asking to meet Yuta at your usual spot; an old bench that looked out over the river. You were sat with your legs crossed underneath you on the bench, your head tipped back as you enjoyed the way the cold breeze coming off the water skimmed over the skin of your throat and made you feel a little more alive. It was early evening, but the sun was still up, its golden rays shining through the trees on the bank on the opposite side of the river. 

You used to come here to sit and wallow in your own thoughts after your brother died. You found yourself spending a lot of time on your own back then. Your parents were too busy trying to pick up their own pieces to look at you and the mess you had become. You suppose not a lot has changed since then; you don’t speak to them much since they’re still constantly wrapped up in themselves, and you still enjoy your own company for the most part, even if it was unintentionally forced upon you.

It became ‘your spot’ with Yuta on a late summers night not long after you’d started tracking vampires down. You were sat on the same bench with a bleeding shoulder where you’d been pierced deeply by your target’s fingernails. He’d sat with you and helped clean you up, all the while asking you how it had happened before telling you that he hunted vampires too. You’d stuck by eachother ever since.

You were brought out of your thoughts when a familiar hand ruffled your hair out of place and you moved your head to the side to see Yuta sitting down next to you; his body relaxed against the wood as he looked over at you with a small smile. His hair was a brilliant white that fell in wisps over his eyes and against his bronzed skin, a light pink spread across his nose and cheeks from the chill in the air.  

“It’s been a while since we met here, something on your mind?” 

Yuta had a way of always being able to tell when something was bothering you, and he always made a point of asking you about it but never pushing you to talk about it if you didn’t want to. He was a good friend in that regard, probably the best you’d ever had. 

“Have you ever been knocked completely off-kilter by an encounter with a vampire?” You asked, not really sure what asking him would achieve but hoping for something to reassure you that your feelings over the past few days could be justified. You looked out across the water as you asked him, your mind half in the conversation and half clouded by something else. 

The way you asked it had Yuta furrowing his brows as he thought about what to say to you. 

“I mean sure, it’s a pretty scary thing, especially when you’re just starting out.” He breathed out, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands as he followed your gaze to where the soon-to-be-setting sun was reflecting on the water. 

“I’m not just starting out, though,” you said absent minded-ly.

Yuta remained quiet for a moment, like he was unsure how he should proceed. His hands were fumbling with the sleeve-cuffs of his too-large hoodie but keeping them in place to hold his head up. It was a habit of his that you’d noticed he did when he was thinking or concentrating on something; it made him look soft and warm, despite the harsh interior you knew he possessed when needed.

“Y/n, you know it’s okay to be scared, right? That’s what makes you human-” he paused for a second, flitting his eyes towards you as he turned his head ever so slightly, “that’s the difference between them and us.”

You let out a quiet sigh. You did know that, of course you did. But feeling scared made you feel weak, and that’s the one thing you never wanted to feel again. 

You dropped your head to your hands, trying to squeeze the unpleasant feeling out of your skull. 

“I don’t know why it’s bothering me so much.” Your voice sounded muffled to your own ears as you spoke into the fabric of your jumper that was pressing its warmth onto your face. 

Before Yuta arrived, you were in two-minds about telling him about exactly what had happened the other day, but now that he was a breath away, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to do it. A small part of you worried that perhaps he would be disappointed or even angry with you for letting the vampire get away relatively unscathed, just like you were disappointed and angry with yourself.  

“You’ll get through this, just have faith in yourself,” he offered you a comforting pat on the shoulder.

Have faith in yourself. Have faith in your abilities. That’s what you needed to do.

-

The opportunity for you to prove your competency to yourself arose not even two days later. It was sometime after 10pm and you were on your way to the spot you’d spent most nights lurking before the incident. You rounded a corner, bringing the wall you took shelter behind into view. You made your footsteps lighter on instinct, bending your knees slightly to allow you to do so. 

A crunching from behind you sent a familiar thrill running through you to the very tips of your fingers, gripping your wooden weapon with your dominant hand you allowed yourself a split-second to snap your head around to see what had made the sound. You turned your head back when you caught glimpse of a shady figure disappearing at the sight of you turning around. You felt the temperature drop around you as a flurry of dark colours and pale flesh took shape in the form of a sharp-fanged woman with red hair. She snarled at the sight of the weapon in your hand.

“How cute of you to try and defend yourself,” she called as she took a step in your direction.

You laughed, “I must say, nobody in your position has ever called me cute before.”

“Do not mock me, mortal.”

You pouted at her, agitating her some more. You couldn’t help yourself; the female vampires were always the easiest to rile up. And what’s the point of all this if you can’t have a little fun, right?

She lunged at you at great speed, but you were more agile and therefor ever so slightly quicker. You dodged under her arm and turned around. You were circling eachother. 

“Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be,” she hissed, glowing eyes filled to the brim with a burning hatred. 

You smirked at her agitation. “I could same the same to you, bloodsucker.”

“You’ll regret messing with me.” Her voice was low and biting, though you were barely even paying attention to what she was saying at this point. 

Her fangs glistened as she ran her tongue over them, most likely in an attempt to try and frighten you. But you were now fully immersed in the headspace you were so used to. You found yourself feeling completely at ease and the memory of the vampire who had spared you and sent you into a downward spiral slipped easily to the back of your mind. 

She darted forwards once more, but she was sloppy, and her body language gave away her movements before she’d even made them. You drove your stake through her chest. She made an unpleasant choking sound as she gasped for air, bloody eyes widening and razor-sharp fingernails grazing your skin before she was reduced to nothing more than a pile of dust. 

You crouched down to pick up the weapon that now lay neatly on the ground before you, a sticky scarlet dripping from its tip as you raised it. You wiped it clean with an old cloth from your inside pocket, standing up tall once more as you did so. You slipped both the cloth and the stake back into your jacket once you were satisfied. 

A slow clapping from a small distance in front of you drew your attention away from the now-clean, deadly piece of wood. A dark figure stood a few feet from you, leaning casually against the wall you usually stand by. 

Despite the midnight-blue that painted the sky, the figure was instantly recognisable; it was the same man that claimed he was trying to help you a few nights ago. The same man who did help you, you supposed. You felt uneasy once more. Something about his very presence seemed to command your attention even when you wished it wouldn’t. 

You had been weak last time. You had let him get under your skin and he hadn’t even tried particularly hard. Tonight would be different, you told yourself. Tonight, you would be strong. 

Still on somewhat of a high from your recent kill, you stalked over to him, pulling your favourite knife out of your jacket and keeping a hand close to the stake you had just sheathed. 

“You know, I’m pretty impressed, that was-” he started, eyes trained on yours. 

You held the knife to his neck. Its sharp blade pressed tightly against his skin, enough to hurt but not enough to break the surface. 

“Shut the hell up. Give me one reason not to kill you right here, right now.” You locked your eyes on him challengingly. 

You could feel his shallow breaths on your cheek, and only then did you realise how close you were. Your body was pressed almost entirely on his, but you didn’t dare back down. You needed to stay in control. 

“Why do you want to kill me in the first place?” He breathed out, speaking shallowly so as to not further irritate the knife against his windpipe. 

“Your very existence is reason enough,” you spat against him, eyes holding whirlpools of anger and pain. 

He was quiet for a long moment, as if he was considering what you’d said. His eyes darted between yours and you swore you could see hurt in them for a second, but it was gone in a flash as they glazed over once more. They were impossibly dark when they weren’t painted crimson, you noted. So dark that you felt like it would be easy to fall into them if the circumstances had been different. 

“I really don’t want to hurt you.” He spoke eventually. 

You hadn’t paid close attention to what his hands were doing when you strode up to him, but a slight movement at your side grabbed your attention and you swiftly glanced down. He was bringing both his hands up, but not to hurt you or lay a hand on you. He was raising them in some sort of surrender. 

You furrowed your brows in question as you brought your eyes back to his. He placed his hands against the wall on either side of his head, vulnerable palms open and facing you. 

“What are you-” 

“I told you I’m not trying to start a fight,” he cut in. His words seemed genuine, and his eyes were filled with truth. Your temples felt dizzy with confusion. 

“Why should I believe you?” 

“I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t, but I swear it’s the truth.” 

Your knife had drawn the tiniest bead of blood as he spoke and you found yourself feeling bad for having cut him, even if only a little. You pulled the blade an inch, waiting to see if he would move. He didn’t. He stayed right where he was, hands up and gaze trained on yours. If he’d wanted to kill you or hurt you in any way, he would have by now. He’d had plenty of opportunities. And yet here you were, completely unharmed and just a breath away from a man who held the same sickly desire as the very ones you loathed. 

You moved your weapon from his neck, still holding it tightly in one hand just in case it was needed. You took a small step backwards to put some space between the two of you. 

“I don’t understand.” You spoke quietly, your eyes flitting between his and your breath shallow. 

“I noticed you watching me,” he said softly, as if afraid to speak too loudly in fear of shattering the momentary truce between you. 

You parted your lips to speak, but he silenced you by explaining further.

“You stood right here, night after night, yet you never so much as took a step closer. Are you afraid of me?” His voice was low and slightly raspy. 

You didn’t make a noise of complaint when he lowered his aching arms from their position on either side of his head. 

It made sense now. He had seemed familiar the night he’d tried to help you, but you were unable to figure out where you’d seen him since you’d never been that close to him before. Seeing him here, under the familiar, dull streetlamps illuminating the darkness that the clouded, late-night sky brought, you wondered why you hadn’t noticed before. 

You pondered for a moment. Were you afraid? 

You were intrigued. Something had held you back all those nights that you should’ve killed him, something. But what? Fear? No. You weren’t scared of him. You were close enough that you could see wisps of his breath as his heat reacted with the cool autumn air, close enough that you could reach over and touch your hand to his skin, close enough that you should be scared; but somehow, you weren’t. 

You were more scared of yourself than you were of him. You were more terrified of how easily you’d let him get to you, how easily he could get under your skin again if he so desired. 

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me, y/n,” he told you in a whisper.

Your eyes were blown wide and frantic. You felt so small all of a sudden as he looked down at you. You took a step back.

“I’m not.”

He let out a breath, his dark eyes matching yours. He hesitated before lifting his hand up to graze your cheekbone slowly, moving his fingers to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but you flinched away before he could do so. 

“Seems you are a tad scared, little one,” he chuckled softly. He gestured between the two of you, “this position seems to be becoming a bit of a regular thing, perhaps you-”

“Stop it.” You snapped, hating the feeling of vulnerability that he seemed to put you under. Your cheeks felt hot, much to your horror. 

“Stop what?” He frowned.

“Stop getting in my head.” You paused for a split-second to gauge his reaction. “Stop whatever it is you think you’re doing.” 

The boy had the nerve to look taken aback. 

“I’m not doing anything.” He spoke back to you, “but you feel it too, right?”

“What?”

“That’s why you haven’t really tried to hurt me, isn’t it? You know you could if you really wanted to. You’re strong enough.” His gaze was soft now, eyes trained on yours, but he still made sure to keep the distance you’d put between you.  

“I don’t know why I-” The words fell silent from your mouth as he ran his tongue along his bottom lip. “I don’t- I’m not-” you stuttered out, mortified by your sudden inability to string a sentence together. 

He took a hesitant step closer, leaving nowhere near enough space between your bodies, but still not touching you. His breath tickled your cheek and you found yourself unable to tear your eyes away from his. 

“It’s okay, y/n,” he whispered. 

“I don’t even know your name,” you choked out, and you cursed yourself internally for not being in control of your own voice.

“It’s Mark.”

You repeated his name quietly, a strange feeling brewing up inside of you. His dark locks were falling into his eyes and grazing the tops of his sharp cheekbones. He was attractive, painfully so, and you were having a hard time reminding yourself that he wasn’t human. 

You ripped your gaze off him, kicking half-heartedly at the loose gravel underfoot as you pondered. 

“Was it you who left the paper bag outside my door the other day?” You asked, although you already knew the answer, because who else could it have been? 

He nodded, speaking out a quick “yeah” when he realised that you weren’t looking at him. 

“How did you know where I lived? And how do you know my name?” 

“I told you, I know you’ve been watching me,” he said, cocking his head to the side as though it were obvious, eyes following you as you looked back up at him. 

“That doesn’t explain anything, Mark,” you spoke, putting a slight emphasis on his name as if that would make a difference to his answer. 

“Well who’s to say I haven’t been making my own observations, y/n?” He frowned slightly, his deep voice mocking you lazily. 

“So you’ve been stalking me?” You felt your normally steady hands shaking ever so slightly at the thought of him watching you when you thought you were alone. 

“I was intrigued by you.” 

You didn’t know how to respond to that. You could tell him it was creepy, you could tell him that you didn’t want to see him again and you could turn around and go back home and put this all to the back of your mind – but you would be lying through your clenched teeth. You wanted to slap yourself for feeling the same way he did. Every rational part of you was screaming that he was just trying to lure you in and entice you before drinking you dry, but one tiny part of you seemed to be shouting louder and telling you to believe him and trust him when he said he had no malicious intent. 

And the startling truth of it all was that you were intrigued by him too. 

“Cat got your tongue, little one?” He allowed himself a smirk upon seeing the heat rush to your already slightly rosy cheeks. 

You scoffed and began backing away from him, muttering “I’ll see you around, Mark,” before turning on your heel and beginning the walk back to your apartment building. 

-

You only managed to sleep for a couple of hours that night before a rapid series of knocks on your front door woke you. You sat up slowly, letting the bed covers fall away from your body gently as you rubbed your eyes awake with one hand. You slipped out of bed and tip-toed across the cold floorboards, fumbling your way silently out of your unlit room and towards the front door. Your door was chained so that it would only open a few inches when opened without unchaining it, and given the late hour, you decided it would be sensible to keep it that way. The panicked knocking started again just as you opened the door, barely giving you time to unlock the door before it was being pushed towards you, stopping as the chain reached its limit. You froze as you took in the figure through the cracked open door. 

“Y/n.”

“What are you doing here?” You spoke with your slightly raspy, sleep-ridden voice as you stared wide-eyed at the boy you instantly recognised as Mark. 

“Are you okay?” He sounded alert and slightly out of breath, the rise and fall of his chest noticeable under the black of his button-up shirt. 

“Do you know what time it is, Mark?” A quick glance back at your clock told you that it was just past 3am. Your heartbeat had doubled in speed since seeing him on the other side of your door and you weren’t sure if it was from fear or some sick sort of excitement. 

“Can you let me in?” 

You tightened your grip on the side of the door, your fingers surely turning white from the pressure of your pressing on them. You pursed your lips as you looked at him in contemplation. 

“Please, y/n. I’ll explain I promise, but this is serious.” And because of the sheer desperation in his voice, you nodded and slid the chain to the side and ushered him in, checking the corridor for any more unwanted visitors before closing and locking the door behind him. 

He was standing in the middle of the room when you turned to face him, looking somewhat uncomfortable and unsure of what to do with himself now. You stood and looked at eachother and for a moment it felt like time stopped, like you were caught in an alluring trance for what definitely seemed longer than the five seconds that it really was. 

You prised your gaze away from his and brushed past him to flick a lamp on, illuminating the dark space immediately and casting a warm glow onto his smooth, pale skin. You told him he could sit as you gestured to the sofa and asked him if he wanted anything to drink before remembering what he was, causing you to stutter out a quick “never mind.”

You sat at the opposite end of the sofa to keep as much space between you as possible, crossing your legs and leaning your back against the arm of the sofa so you could face him. He sat with his elbows resting on his knees, resting his left cheek on his hands as he looked over at you. You were suddenly very aware of your sleeping attire and all the skin the lightweight t-shirt and shorts wasn’t covering; you felt heat rise to your cheeks, something that seemed to happen far more around Mark than you wanted it to. You still felt weary of him and from the look in his eyes, he understood your hesitancy, however much he wished you wouldn’t feel that way.  

��I’m sorry for barging in,” he offered. 

“Nobody else has been here, right? Giving you trouble?” He continued when you remained silent after his apology. “You’re really okay?”

“No, nobody’s been here. I’m fine, rather tired though.” You quipped, hoping he’d take the hint that you’d been asleep and were irked at having been woken from your slumber. 

“What’s this all about? Do you go knocking on strangers’ doors at this time often? A hobby of yours, perhaps?” You raised an eyebrow in his direction. 

“There are people after you.” 

You frowned at his grave tone. “People? Who?” 

“Vampires. Friends of the one you slayed earlier who are angry and ready to kill.” 

“I-” 

“You can’t let anybody you don’t trust in here. Not a soul, do you understand?” He interrupted as he turned his body slightly to face you, no longer resting his head in his hand. He looked alert and incredibly serious, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looked entirely exhausted. 

“And I’m supposed to trust you?” You would’ve laughed had he not looked so incredibly tense. 

“Yes.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, turning your head away from him and staring at a slightly dusty patch of floor. The two of you lapsed into silence, and you weren’t sure if you found it comfortable or not. You could feel his eyes on you, watching you intently and trying to read the subtleties in your body language. 

Your eyes widened and you inhaled sharply at the sudden but gentle movement of some loose hair being tucked behind your ear. You slowly moved until your eyes locked on Mark, who was now sat just inches away and looking at you with such tenderness in his gaze that you felt like you might break. 

“I don’t know what it is about you, but I can’t seem to get enough.” His words were whispered and said with care. “I know it doesn’t make any sense because we don’t really know eachother, but it’s like there’s this constant pull and I can’t stop it.” Both hands were now cupping your jaw delicately, and you couldn’t resist moving one of your own to rest on his as he touched his forehead to yours. “I can’t help but want to keep you safe.”

You felt hot all over and lacking any control over your own body, because this was so, so wrong, but what he was saying somehow made some sort of sense to you. Because you felt it too, no matter how much you hated it, no matter how much you wished you could hate him. 

Your eyes fluttered closed at his proximity as he glanced down to your lips, before lifting your chin and bringing his lips to yours for a split second. He had half expected you to slap him or push him away at the very least, but when you did neither he pushed forward once more and kissed you again. 

His kisses were slow and his touch soft as his thumbs gently stroked along your cheeks. He parted his lips on yours, bringing your top lip between his own and swiping his tongue across subtly, encouraging you to let him in. You couldn’t resist him. He felt so cold as his skin pressed up against you, yet so painfully right that you couldn’t will yourself to stop him as he licked into your mouth with a rich sort of passion. He tasted like the best kind of sin and he looked so devilishly handsome that you couldn’t even begin to think about how you’d got yourself into such a situation. 

He moved his hands down to grip at your waist, tracing along the subtle curves of your body as he did so and eliciting a barely-there whine from you. He pulled you closer still, leaning his back against the upright of the sofa and dragging you onto his lap in an effort to make you both more comfortable. You had one arm wrapped around the back of his neck while the other held the cup of his jaw as he continued to place long, messily drawn-out kisses onto your newly swollen lips. Your thighs were parted on top of him and you could feel him slowly guiding your hips down onto the bump that was beginning to form beneath you. He let out a small groan from the back of his throat at the sudden friction he was feeling, and you swallowed it with another open-mouthed kiss before pulling back slightly and looking at him through your heavily lidded eyes. You were both out of breath and staring at eachother with heated gazes, entirely unsure of what had just happened, what was currently happening, and yet neither of you moving to pull back further. You traced the outline of his plump lips with your thumb, pushing the skin up slightly and furrowing your brows when you saw the pointed tip of one of his fangs. 

“I don’t understand how this- I-,” you stopped yourself, not even sure if what you were about to say made any sort of sense. 

“How it feels so right?” You nodded, moving your gaze to the side. You could barely even look at him, you felt so ashamed of yourself for letting him draw you in. 

“Me neither. I’m sorry, I wish things were different,” his voice was quiet. He tipped his head forward so that it was resting just above your chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly and engulfing you in an affectionate hug. You hummed in response, whispering a soft me too before burying your face in his neck and holding him against you firmly. 

He stayed with you that night, kissing you some more before carrying you back to your bedroom and pulling you against him once you were in the comfort of your own bed. You fell asleep with his arms wrapped around you and your head pressed against his cold, silent chest. 

-

Mark was gone by the time you woke the next morning, leaving barely a trace save for the messily written note he’d left on the kitchen counter. 

Stay put today, I’ll visit you tonight – M

You spent your day doing all the things you’d neglected over the past few weeks; you picked up the novel that had been sat, unread, on your bedside table for far too long, and you listened to some old records while doing work around the house. It went by rather quickly really as you busied yourself with one thing after another. 

True to his word, Mark showed up at your house sometime after 10pm. You opened the door and your face immediately dropped at how gaunt his face seemed compared to just last night, not to mention the small, slightly bloody scratches that you could see littering one side of his neck alongside a freshly formed bruise. 

“Wha- What happened?” You stuttered out, concern evident in your voice. 

“It doesn’t matter. Can I come in?” You let him in, leading him to your room this time rather than the living room. 

You sat him on the middle of your bed and placed yourself between his legs so you could inspect his injuries. You held his face with both your hands and tilted him so you could see properly, it wasn’t anything serious but that didn’t stop you from wondering why he wasn’t healing. 

“Will you tell me what happened?” He shook his head dismissively, looking to the side and avoiding your eyes.

“It was just a couple of guys, I managed to get away.” He didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, it was something he was used to dealing with by now. 

“Slayers? Were they after you?” You asked as you stroked your thumb along his cheek softly, tenderly.

He let out a small chuckle, taking both of your hands in his and lowering them from his face until they were resting between you. He lay back on your bed until his head hit the pillow, groaning at the comfort of it. 

“You were trying to kill me too until last night, miss y/n, I trust you haven’t forgotten?” He was smiling and he let his eyes flutter shut as he placed his arms behind his head. He looked so handsome lying there, so normal, so human. 

You allowed yourself a small smile, though it soon fell to a frown once more when you looked at his face. 

“Why do you look so-” you paused, unsure of what word to use. “-sick? I suppose pale isn’t the right term since, well, you know. You look unwell, though.” You felt a little awkward as you sat on the bed staring down at Marks resting figure, should you lie with him? Stay where you were? 

“It’s nothing to worry about.” Was all he offered you, his eyes remaining closed. 

You opted for lying down next to him, hoping that at least offering some kind of physical comfort might make him feel better. Your heart sank slightly when he made no effort to pull you closer. You mentally scolded yourself for caring so much; as he’d reminded you, you’d wanted him dead until not long ago. How could you have become so attached so quickly? 

-

The two of you went through a similar routine for the next few days; you stayed in unless you needed to get food, and he would knock on your door at some time in the night, the time differing slightly each night. He would come in looking tired and a little worse each day, almost always immediately moving to your room to take comfort in the warmth of your bed. You would crawl in beside him, some nights staying on different sides of the bed, and some he would cradle you in his arms and you’d fall asleep like that. He was always gone when you woke up. 

You didn’t do a lot of talking, or rather Mark didn’t seem to want to do a lot of talking. You wondered several times if you’d said something to upset him in some way, but you figured if that was the case, he wouldn’t bother coming to yours night after night as he did. Perhaps he was just a more physical being, finding more warmth in actions than in words. But then why did it seem like he was keeping some kind of distance between you? 

By the fifth night, you’d grown tired of the routine you’d fallen into. You turned in his hold so that you were facing him, letting your eyes drag over his peaceful looking face as he lay with his eyes closed. You whispered his name, touching him gently on his shoulder until he opened his eyes. Now that he was looking at you expectantly, you weren’t really sure what you should say. Your eyes flitted between his as you tried to think of something, anything to break the tension. 

You hesitated for a moment, before leaning into him, closing your eyes and placing your lips on his. It started off slow, and you could tell he was a little taken aback by your sudden urge to kiss him, but he was quick to open his mouth and slip his tongue past your lips, groaning into you when he felt you reciprocate. 

“Shit y/n,” he said breathily.

This is the most you’d had from him since the first night he’d kissed you, and you couldn’t help but feel warm inside at the feeling of his hands on you, his lips on you. He nudged you onto your back, hovering his body over you with one hand by your head and the other rubbing comforting circles on the bare flesh of your stomach where your shirt had ridden up. You kissed until you were both panting heavily, until your lips were bruised, and his hair was roughed-up from your fingers running through it. 

He pulled back, tugging at your bottom lip as he did so, barely even pausing for breath before he was trailing sloppy kisses from your jaw to your neck. You let out a quiet moan at the intimate feeling, curling your legs around his own as he lay between them. You found yourself craving more from him, you were becoming addicted no matter how much you wished you weren’t. It was something you couldn’t seem to control, and you were used to always being in control of your emotions. But Mark was different. He was so hard to resist, so tempting. 

You were brought out of your thoughts by a sharp nip to your neck, followed by a peck to the same spot, and then another nip, harsher than the first. You felt your stomach sink as dread burned its way up your throat. 

“Mark.” You warned, placing your hands on his chest and trying to push him away from your neck. 

“Mark, stop!” He lifted his head suddenly, eyes glowing before he disappeared in a flash and reappeared at the other side of your room. 

“What the fuck was that?” You growled, collecting yourself and standing to the side of the bed in a defensive stance. 

“I’m so sorry.” His eyes had returned to a normal colour, but they were blown wide and he had the nerve to look as shocked as you felt. 

“Fuck, this was a bad idea.” He looked right at you before turning his head in shame. “I should’ve known this would happen.” He was speaking under his breath, but you could still make most of it out. 

You looked down at your hands, which were shaking ever so slightly. He could’ve bitten you. This is why you didn’t ever let your guard down. You should never have been so foolish to truly believe he wasn’t like the others.  

When you looked back to where Mark was, you were met by the sight of him with his head in his hands and his elbows braced against his knees as he sat against the wall. 

“I thought you didn’t want to hurt me?” You snapped, immediately reverting back to the cold demeanour you were so used to, the one that you never should’ve dropped for him. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, y/n.” He raised his voice in frustration, though you didn’t know if he was frustrated with you, or with himself. 

“Then why did you-”

“I thought I could control it,” he was tugging on the ends of his hair, a nervous habit perhaps. “The urges, I mean.”

“Urges?” You questioned.

“You have no idea how hard it is trying to suppress them when I’m around you, y/n. I can hear the blood as it flows through your veins, I can practically feel your heart every time it beats. And God, your scent is utterly divine.” He stood up abruptly to make his way over to you, stopping when he saw your reaction. 

You had backed yourself to the nearest wall, and you had no way of actually defending yourself. If he wanted to, he could overpower you right now. But something about the cautious steps he took told you that he wouldn’t. He didn’t want you to lash out at him, he didn’t want to truly lose you when he’d only just found you. 

You looked closely at his expression. He looked pained, and still scarily gaunt. “What’s wrong with you?” You whispered. 

He remained silent, just staring at you with an unreadable emotion in his deep eyes. 

Your eyes shot up to his when you came to a sudden realisation. “Have you not been feeding? Is that what this is?” 

He froze for a second and took a shallow step back, and then another. He looked nauseous, like he might be sick any minute. You’d hit the nail on the head, it would seem. 

“Answer me, Mark.” Your voice was stern as you made your way towards him, you didn’t want him to back away from this and take the easy way out. 

“Don’t come any closer, please.” He pleaded, his pupils dilated and his eyes hungry. You ignored him and cradled his face in your hands anyway, watching intently as his eyes returned to a devilish shade of crimson. 

“You either fight it or you let me help you.” You instructed him. As much as you wished you could just rid your hands of him like he was any other vampire, you were much too invested now. You cared about him, and you wanted to help him. That had to count for something. 

“You’re torturing me here,” his hands gripped at your wrists and he closed his eyes tightly as a combination of both agony and bliss soared through him. “Y/n, please, this is killing me.” He sounded strained, and you really felt bad for him, but he had to pull through this.

He pressed his forehead against yours and his unblinking, scarlet eyes were filled with a lust you’d not seen from him before, his breathing heavy and uneven. You stood like that for Lord knows how long, staring at eachother. You were feeling too many emotions at once, and you could tell that he was experiencing the same from the subtleties in his body language.  

“I can’t do this.” He shifted away from you once more at an inhuman speed.

You stood for a moment longer before making up your mind and walking to the kitchen, finding a small, sharp knife and carrying it back through to where Mark was. Never in your mortal life did you think you’d find yourself in such a position, and truthfully you were slightly repulsed by what you were about to do, but for the sake of the raven haired boy you’d come to care for so quickly, you’d do it. He looked at the knife in your hand and began backing away, his expression turning to one of confusion when, instead of lunging at him, you brought the knife to your own palm and made a small cut in the centre, letting the blood begin to pool there. 

“No. Stop it.” His tone was firm, but your mind was already made up. 

“It’s yours. Take it.”

“Y/n, I’m serious. Don’t.” He inhaled the metallic scent from across the room, eyes rolling back slightly as the heavenly stench hit him. Nevertheless, his tone remained the same.  

“As am I.” You stood before him, holding your open palm towards him. 

He gulped, and you noticed that his hands were trembling. He looked at you one last time to make sure you weren’t going to try and kill him with the knife you were still holding in your opposite hand, before bringing your blood to his lips. He lapped up each and every drop like he’d never been given something so delightful before, and you had to look away. No matter how much adoration you seemed to hold for the boy, you still hated what he was. He groaned in contentment, squeezing your hand to encourage more blood from the slice you’d made for him. 

You pulled away from him when you thought he’d had enough, and you were beginning to feel ever so slightly lightheaded. He wiped your blood from his lips with the back of his hand. You looked into his eyes, expecting him to say something or perhaps thank you at the very least, but the sight you were met with was not a pretty one. His eyes were reverting back to their normal colour, but he looked furious. 

“You should not have let me do that. Do you have any idea what the fuck you just did?” He raised his voice as he spoke, looking at you like a bull who’d just seen red. 

“It helped didn’t it? You feel better now, don’t you?” You asked. 

“I could’ve killed you, y/n.” You flinched as he loomed over you. “I need to leave.” 

“Wait! Mark, no. We need to talk this out.” You reasoned. Why was he reacting like this after you’d helped him liked that? You’d done the right thing, hadn’t you? You’d stopped him from falling even more ill. 

“Not now. I can’t be near you right now.” He was hurrying through your house to get back to the front door, and you couldn’t deny the hurt that panged painfully in your chest as he spoke. 

“Mark just-”

“I said I need to fucking leave!” He yelled before opening the door and storming out. You stopped momentarily at his outburst, genuinely shocked at his reaction. You had to go after him. If you left this unresolved right now then you might never see him again, and you weren’t sure how you’d cope if it came to that. You followed him out the door, not bothering to lock it behind you, and slipped into a fast jog as you made your way down the stairs of your building to try and catch up with him.

You turned one corner and then another until you saw Yuta standing a few feet from Mark, who had his back to you. 

“Yuta! Don’t hurt him! He’s not like the others.” You shouted over to him swiftly, slightly out of breath from running after Mark. 

He didn’t turn at the sound of your voice. In fact, neither of them moved at all. Yuta was staring at you wide-eyed over Marks shoulder, his empty hands trembling at his sides. 

“Yuta? Mark?” You called, continuing on towards them.

“What’s going-” you stopped yourself short when you got to them, feeling your stomach drop and your knees grow weak. Because stood before you was Mark, clutching at his chest. Or rather, clutching at the bloody stake which was embedded there. 

“No no no no no,” your bottom lip wobbled almost immediately as you took in the sight. “What have you done?” You whispered to no one in particular, though both the boys seemed to hear you. 

Marks legs crumpled and you gripped his arms to try and lower him to the ground more gracefully, falling to the floor with him. You pushed the hair off his forehead and cupped his cheek with one hand, your other immediately moving to apply pressure to the wound without taking the stake out for fear of that making matters worse. 

“Y/n,” he choked out, a little blood falling from his lips as he spoke. 

“I’m here. I’m here, baby” You cooed, tears stinging your eyes as they threatened to fall. He couldn’t leave you like this, not after everything that had happened. “Yuta, do something!” You pleaded, too scared to let your eyes leave the beautiful boy who was bleeding out on the floor. 

“It’s okay, you’re gonna be okay.” You promised him, though it wasn’t really Mark you were trying to reassure. 

“Y/n, thank you,” he sounded pained as he spoke, coughing up a little more blood as you offered him comfort through whispered words and soft touches. “And I’m sorry.” 

Your tears mixed with his as they fell uncontrollably from your eyes. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” you hushed him softly, “I’m the one who should be saying that.” You voiced through your salty tears. 

It didn’t take long after that. It all happened too quickly, really. Mark, the vampire who had managed to prise his way into your icy heart, the boy who had made you feel more in the past week than you’d felt in years; ripped from your grasp at the hands of one of your best friends. 

Within mere seconds he was reduced to nothing more than a shadow of dust once he took his last breath, and your chest hurt in a way you hadn’t experienced since you were a girl, since your brother died. 

“I’m sorry I never got to tell you how much I like you.” You whispered.