#to be clear he looks deranged on purpose i just think the mouth looks off

[theoldworldsrunnerup]

Realised recently that I never draw characters smiling. Also realised in the middle of drawing this that the reason I never draw characters smiling is because I have no fucking clue how

[ziptiesnfries]

Upstairs

kinda continued from here - Roux & Ambrose masterpost

tag list: @theelvishcowgirl @transgender-scout @gala1981

Takes place a week into Roux’s captivity

CWs: captivity, drugged food, creepy whumper, panic attack

The door creaks, and suddenly Roux is wide awake, bolting upright in bed. They blink the bleariness out of their eyes to see Ambrose standing in the doorway, the scent of bacon wafting in behind him. Despite themself, their mouth begins to water; he neglected to feed them yesterday, and now they’re sure it was on purpose. “Good morning,” he chirps. “I made you breakfast. Are you hungry?”

On cue, their stomach growls, and their face turns red. They shove the covers off their legs and hop to the floor, stumbling at the drop—they’re still not used to sleeping in a bed that’s so high off the ground.

Ambrose smiles at them, like he thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world that they’re too short to reach the floor. They want to strangle him. “Come on.” He motions them towards the door. “It’s going to get cold.”

Warily, they follow behind him. He hasn’t let them out of the bedroom yet, so they’re curious—and a little scared—to see what the rest of this place looks like.

Just beyond the door, there’s an open living room and kitchenette area, with small windows set high into the walls. Beyond the windows, all Roux can see is grass. So this is Ambrose’s basement. That explains why the bedroom—as nice and normal-looking as it is otherwise—doesn’t have any windows.

They want to keep looking around, get more familiar with their surroundings so that maybe they can find a way out, but Ambrose puts a hand on their back and guides them over to the kitchen table. There’s one place set, the plate heaped with pancakes and bacon, a glass of orange juice sitting next to it. Suddenly Roux is having a hard time concentrating on anything else.

But they’re not hungry enough to be stupid about it. They sit at the table, eyeing the plate warily. Ambrose takes the chair across from them, a perfectly innocent smile on his face. “Well?” he prompts.

Again, their stomach growls, reminding them that they can’t afford not to eat. They pick up their fork and take a small bite of bacon. That should be safe, right? It would be hard to subtly drug bacon. Unless it was cooked in something, their brain helpfully supplies. It tastes normal enough. They keep eating, trying to reassure themself that if Ambrose wanted to kill them, he would’ve done it already. But it’s not so comforting when they know that he could do a lot worse than kill them.

The way he’s watching them right now, for example, the same way he might watch a cute animal video, is a lot worse than death. “Do you have to stare at me like a fucking creep?” they ask, just before taking a tiny, tentative bite of pancake. It practically melts in their mouth; it might be the best pancake they’ve ever had. They swallow, still trying to decipher whether it tastes drugged.

Ambrose’s smile falls. “You’re very rude, sweetheart.” His expression clears quickly, though, and he rests his chin on his hand. “You’re lucky you’re so adorable.”

They glare at him, trying not to squirm under his invasive gaze. Another bite of pancake, larger this time. They wonder whether Ambrose really made this himself, but a glance behind him shows pans on the stove and utensils in the sink. Maybe the entitled rich boy does know how to cook.

They decide that the pancakes taste safe enough, and also that they’re too hungry to care. “I’m not adorable,” they finally reply as they eat another forkful of pancake. “You’re just deranged.”

It might be unwise for them to taunt their captor like that, but he just laughs. “Like I said, you’re very rude. We’ll have to work on that.” They don’t want to know what he means by that. Hopefully they’ll be out of here long before they find out.

They finally get around to the orange juice. One tiny sip, and they’re already sure it tastes wrong, something extra under the tanginess. But they keep their expression indifferent as they swallow, putting the glass down. They’re not drinking any more of that.

Then the first wave of dizziness washes over them, and they almost drop their fork. What the hell? They blink, trying to snap themself out of it, hoping desperately that it’s a fluke. Then they start feeling a little drowsy, their muscles weakening, and they know it’s not. But they only drank a tiny little bit of the orange juice—that wouldn’t be enough to do this to them. Would it?

A slow, pleased smile spreads across Ambrose’s face as he notices. “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

They grip the edge of the table, partially out of rage, and partially to keep themself balanced. “What did you do?” they hiss.

“Oh, well, I did put a light sedative in those pancakes. Just something to keep you calm.” Right now, they feel anything but calm. Their vision is getting blurry, and they don’t even realize they’re listing to the side until Ambrose reaches across the table to steady them. He quickly gets up to help them out of their chair. “Careful, there. No need to panic; I’m not going to hurt you.”

They shove him away, but it makes them lose their balance. Suddenly they’re sitting on the floor with Ambrose looming over them. He scoops them up in his arms. “Let … let go of me.” They try to claw at him, but their muscles feel so weak.

“Shh, it’s okay.” He bounces them a little, like he’s trying to calm a baby, as he carries them across the basement. “I just wanted to take you upstairs with me, and I couldn’t have you running off. You don’t have to do anything, okay? Just relax.”

“Put me down,” they whine, but they’re already going limp in his arms, their head lolling against his chest.

Ambrose carries them to the back of the basement and up a flight of stairs. Part of them wants to just close their eyes, give into the drowsiness, but they force themself to pay attention. Maybe this is finally their chance to figure out how to get out of here … Ambrose nudges open a door at the top of the stairs, emerging into a hallway with dark wood paneling. Once he starts moving, though, all sense of clarity is lost. The space passes Roux by in blurs of dark wood, gilded paintings, brass light fixtures … It makes them dizzy, trying to watch it all blur by. Finally, the nausea forces them to close their eyes.

A door creaks, and a moment later, Ambrose sets Roux down on a soft surface. Their eyes crack open long enough to see him leaning over them, with the vague outline of a wall of bookshelves in the background. He gently lifts their head to slide a pillow underneath, and they feel like a ragdoll in his hands, too drugged up to move a muscle. “I’ll just be working at my desk.” He strokes their hair, and although it makes their skin crawl, they can’t find the strength to flinch away. “Let me know if you need anything, sweetheart.”

“Fuck you.” It’s hard to put any venom behind the words, but they try.

He pats their cheek as he stands up. “We’ll work on your attitude problem later.” Their eyes slip shut as his footsteps recede.

Without much else to do, they doze. Occasionally, briefly, they try to look around, but moving their eyes too much still makes their head spin. Judging by the bookshelves and the desk across from where they’re lying, they gather that this is some kind of office. Or, rather, a study; someone as pretentious as Ambrose would probably call it a study.

For a while, the only noises are typing and quiet sighs from Ambrose. Roux tries to sleep, tries not to think about the fact that he only brought them up here to stare at them. What a fucking creep. At least they know how to get out of the basement now, but the information isn’t doing them much good in this condition. Maybe another time, though, when Ambrose trusts them enough not to drug them … they don’t know how they’re going to build that trust. They don’t even want to be here long enough for that, really, but unless they get really lucky, they doubt they’ll get an opening. He’s had them locked in the basement for the past week; he’s being careful. But maybe they can find something to pick the lock with, and maybe there’s some other way out of the basement, like a cellar door …

The soft sound of rain against the window panes snaps Roux out of their sleepy ponderings. Their stomach jolts, and they take a deep, shaky breath. It’s just rain, they reassure themself. Nothing to worry about. It’s not like it’s—

A low rumble starts up in the distance, and the blood freezes in their veins. They squeeze their eyes shut and take another breath. Please, not here, not now. Not in front of—

The thunder gets louder, and they swear they hear the windows rattle. A whimper slips past their lips, and the show of weakness makes them wince, even with the panic setting in.

“Roux?” Ambrose’s chair creaks. “What’s wrong?” They open their mouth to respond, but another rumble of thunder cuts them off. Their breath hitches as they tighten their arms across their chest, like that’ll keep their heart from pounding out of control. “Oh.” He laughs a little. “It’s just thunder, sweetheart. It won’t hurt you.”

That’s what everyone says. That’s what people have been telling Roux since they were a little kid, hiding under the bed with their ears covered to escape a storm. But knowing that it won’t hurt them doesn’t stop their heart from pounding, their chest constricting, their head going fuzzy every time they hear thunder in the distance. It may be true that thunder is only a sound, that it can’t hurt them. But the lightning? That will hurt them. The fact that it never has before doesn’t stop the gut-churning certainty that it’s going to kill them.

As if on cue, right as they open their eyes, a flash of light illuminates the bookshelves. Their chest constricts, and they begin to sob.

“Oh, sweetheart …” They hear Ambrose hurrying over, but the sound is quickly muffled as they clamp their hands over their ears and curl into a ball. Part of them is mortified to be doing this in front of Ambrose, exposing a weakness he could use against them. They desperately want to stop crying, but their body won’t let them. Every flash of light they see from behind their eyelids—even if they know it’s just their eyes playing tricks on them—sends them into hysterics all over again.

Ambrose gently lifts them up to sit beside them, but even that doesn’t snap them out of it. He pets their hair, pulling their head into his lap, and they can vaguely hear him murmuring reassurances, but the low rumble of his voice just sounds like more thunder. They can’t stop crying, can’t even control their limbs enough to pull away. They feel mortified and pathetic as they sob into his shirt and let him hold them, even though all he’s doing is making them feel worse.

Finally, he scoops them up into his arms and carries them out of the room. It’s almost a relief to be out of the study, if only because it means they’re farther away from the windows—Although the lightning could always strike the house and burn it down, their brain helpfully adds in. They grit their teeth and bury their face in Ambrose’s shirt. It’s a relief when he takes them back the way they came, back down into the basement, with its lack of windows and relative sound insulation.

He sets them down on the bed, and they curl into a ball, tentatively removing their hands from their ears. Right now, they can’t hear any thunder, but they don’t think being in the basement would completely block out the sound anyway. They’re still tense, ready for it to start up again.

The bed dips as Ambrose sits beside them, rubbing their back. “So,” he says lightly, “you’re afraid of storms?”

They jerk away. “Shut up,” they hiss, their voice thick with tears. “Just shut the fuck up.”

His hand chases after them, and he continues rubbing their back. They grit their teeth and begrudgingly allow it—they’re too exhausted and drugged to keep squirming away from him. “It’s alright, sweetheart. Everyone’s afraid of something, aren’t they?”

“I said, shut up.” Their face burns with humiliation. This is why they didn’t want to do this in front of him—because he’s so goddamn smug about it, using it as an excuse to get closer to them, to baby them.

“I hate to tell you this,” he says, “but there are a few storms in the forecast for this week.” They know he’s just trying to get a reaction out of them, but still, their whole body goes rigid. “But don’t worry, sweetheart,” he continues, “you’re perfectly safe down here. Maybe we’ll hold off on having you hang out upstairs for a little while.”

They’re too exhausted to argue with him or to retort that they’re anything but safe down here. They bury their face in a pillow and let him pretend to comfort them.

[alucarddear]

Dinner & Diatribes

Against his better judgement, Alucard allows another human in his castle again.

Note: [She/her] He is kind, even when he tries not to be. P.S. This has been sitting in my drafts for a whiiiile now, mostly because I had to publish first quite a number of very similar plot drabbles—the usual she meets Alucard while looking for shelter type of stories, so this had to wait a bit. Haven't received much of those type of requests lately so it's finally time for this original.

All this for fruits…

She knows she will essentially be seen as a trespasser, judging by the pikes that greeted her in front of this grand yet desolate-looking castle in the middle of nowhere. She really is lost, she realises. The map, before she lost it, never mentioned a castle. The forgotten Belmont estate, yes, but not a castle. Yet in front of her is very obviously a large castle of sorts.

But here she is now, and it’s nightfall. She has no choice in the matter really, not when the other option is to become dinner out there on the murky forest floor, most likely torn apart by night creatures. When she thinks of it that way, being put up on a pike by the castle’s obviously deranged owner actually seems like the more attractive option.

Gloomy, imposing castle it is then. She steps forward, shuddering as she goes.

If push comes to shove, maybe I can strike up a bargain, she thinks. Offer a service, perhaps? I don’t know, like clean the fucking bones off this deranged stranger’s lawn, maybe? She might snort if her racing heart would allow her to find genuine mirth in her situation. She just needs a place to sleep for the night, that is all. Surely, any reasonable person will understand.

She rubs her frozen hands together and continues past the pikes. 

She sets her basket down on the steps and is about to push the castle’s heavy doors open—an apology and explanation ready on the tip of her tongue—when a masculine voice rings out in the quiet, stopping her dead in her tracks.

“Halt.”

She bristles, heart racing despite herself.

“Tell me,” he says slowly as if he's talking to a mere child. “Is it ever wise to enter someone else’s property uninvited?”

Somehow the question irks her despite the precarious situation she finds herself in. Obviously not, she wants to retort. The pikes’ message is quite clear to me: Danger. Death imminent. Abandon all hope. Flee.

“No,” she admits instead, voice measured yet small. Still... he's the sick person with the pikes.

She’s afraid, Alucard notes. Erratic heartbeat, shallow breathing, and… no weapon in sight. Good. 

He realises she’s no danger, perhaps just some luckless passerby—a forager by the looks of it—but she still needs to begone.

“Then?” he asks impatiently, voice clipped and mouth barely opening, concealing his fangs.

She seems to realise then that his voice is coming from behind her, so she turns around, and is immediately greeted by perhaps the most beautiful man she’s ever laid eyes on. She nearly gasps.

Alucard hears her heart skip a beat, or maybe a couple, but he pays it no mind.

“State your purpose here,” he commands. “The truth, stranger. Do not test me.”

Oh, I hadn’t the faintest desire to, she thinks.

“I… I—” she stammers, heat somehow rising to her cheeks despite the danger she finds herself in. “I need shelter. I’m just looking for a place to sleep for the night.”

She tells him about her failed foraging. How she had acquired an old map to the orchards surrounding the supposedly abandoned Belmont estate, intending to pluck fruits of all kind to sell the next morning. She’d heard from others how abundant fruits are around this area so she braved the long trip from her small village, intending to return well before nightfall, if only her map hadn’t blown in the wind, now lodged in the tall trees somewhere. If only she hadn’t gotten lost.

“But it’s not really abandoned, as it turns out…” she laughs a little, the sound of it apprehensive, almost sheepish. And there’s your castle which the map never indicated, she wants to add, but decides against it. Maybe she is still lost. Maybe she never even made it to the right place at all. Just how many abandoned places are there in this area? There are plenty of fruit trees around though…

“No, not abandoned,” he says. “Not anymore.”

She doesn’t press him.

“So,” she smiles nervously at him. “Will you let me stay for the night?” Please?

Alucard frowns.

He glances at Sumi and Taka—at what’s left of them—and reminds himself that there is no use in befriending humans. Not even when they appear docile with their long dresses and their fruit baskets and their nervous smiles. Humans can be terribly deceptive.

This one doesn’t seem particularly threatening though, and he can see her basket filled with stolen fruits from Belmont’s overgrown orchards, so her little excuse checks out at the very least. Besides, her elocution is strange. She really is not from here. It’s likely she does not even know who or what he is.

He looks up at the moonlight, at the dead of night. Shall I leave her to die? 

He realises he is taking too long to answer, and her smile is starting to falter. He hears her heart rate pick up again. She is so frightened of being left out in the middle of the night that he swears he can smell it on her.

He sighs, and then he is lifting the dead hare in his hand that, in her trepidation, she never even noticed. 

“For dinner,” he says, resigned.

Against his better judgement, he lets her in.

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes ending author's notes

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Chapter 8/?: Grasping

Sasuke awakens abruptly, nausea clawing its way out of his throat like a soup of sepsis that’s been left percolating on a stovetop for too long, finally boiling over and soiling everything.

Stomach churning, he tries to aim it at the floor - he’s gotten better at doing that, over the years - but he doesn’t quite succeed. Hot bile, acidic with mostly digested dinner, coats the side of his bedding and part of his sleeve.

He coughs, gagging on acid and torment and hyperventilation. Then his stomach lurches again, and he turns to retch another round at the floor. Part of it floods his nostrils, stinging, and he rasps more.

That triggers another round, after which he waits a minute, sharp coughs punctuating the stillness, familiar at this point with what his stomach’s settling feels like. He shrugs off his shirt once it does, and makes his way to the kitchen, hacking on a foul aftertaste and vomit-inducing visuals flashing before his eyes.

A glance at the clock tells him it’s half past midnight as he gulps water, snorting in a manner very undignified to clear out his nasal passages and soothe the putrid taste overwhelming his insides. Then he chokes more of it down, feeling the beginnings of a pounding headache.

There are times when having a near photographic memory is not a good thing. He is very tired of recalling crackling electricity, of stumbling over body after body with lifeless eyes. Men, women, children, all with charcoal irises like his.

And teammates, with irises decidedly not like his, luster flattened to single dull colors.

And himself, at the end, deranged and dispiteous, standing where Itachi had stood a long time ago, looming over remains as if he himself is the final obstacle to defeat before it just ends, the culminating villain in some fucked up fable. All at once, he’s a child again, gagging on a demented form of truth, left to stew there for years and years and years, rotting him from the inside out.

He's noxious. He knows he is. He wishes he could spit himself out along with partially digested yakitori.

Sasuke takes another sip of water as his vision blurs, trying desperately to focus on the wood grain of the cabinets and not daring to close his eyes, lest another flash snake its way into his ocularity and undo the mild soothing the water is providing. He coughs again, throat raw. Then his mouth starts watering, a telltale sign that he’s going to throw up again, so he walks carefully to the bathroom, bottle in hand and trying not to jostle his stomach more than is necessary. Switching on the light and flipping up the seat of the toilet, he makes it just in time.

This round it’s mostly just water, and it burns a little less. The murky brown color he’s faced with seems very reflective of what he feels inside, ignominy and wretchedness and self-loathing, no substance at all, just a bitter aftertaste of that which was left behind on a wood floor a lifetime ago. There had been saliva then, too, seeping from his mouth to the floor in his cowardice.

He swallows once, a gargantuan effort. Then he takes another sip of water, studying the text on the label to try to distract himself, vile and unsettled as he is.

He doesn’t deserve Sakura, not after what he’s done. When his vision starts to blur again, he can’t read anymore anyway, so he looks at the mangled mess left of his left arm instead.

He deserves that, a maiming to fit the crime. He wishes he were a better man.

Slowly so as not to further disturb his stomach, he lies down sideways, pressing his cheek to the coolness of the floor. He feels disconnected from everything, at a loss for proper coherent thought, a mess of misery sprawled on a tile too clean for his own rancidness.

Nothing matters for a long time. He just stares into nothingness, a mild burning in his throat and eyes on a void of pure white that he doesn’t belong in, thinking about how it matches the skin tone of bodies that have been drained of all their color. It’s like he’s barely there, nothing seeming real except the hollow feeling in his chest and the buzzing sensation tempering the edge of his consciousness, like his brain has been stuffed with cotton but parts of it are burning away to nothing. Everything of substance singes away in a controlled burn, destined to always have gaping holes of meaning scorched away at random wherever the fire takes hold.

He doesn't know if there ever even was anything in the first place, deep down. Maybe corrosion is a terrible metaphor, because what's left, at the end of it? Layers and layers of useless shale and sandstone and limestone, packed atop Precambrian filth that’s been decaying there for what feels like centuries. Or magma, set to burn anything he touches.

Or electrocute it.

XXX

Suddenly it’s hours later, and a bird is chirping outside, twitters resounding through a metaphysical tunnel of distortion. Gradually it shifts into an audio that doesn’t sound quite as echoed, accentuated by light filtering in through the miniscule bathroom window.

This happens, sometimes, the nightmares and the absconding into abeyance where his brain seems to shut off, a resulting loss of significant chunks of time. Not sleeping, just staring at something dully for a while, stuck on the same cycle of repeating thought. The memorial stone is a trigger for it, he thinks. It’s why he dreaded going there, upon his return, although it's complicated. Occasionally, visiting it seems to bring feelings that are almost positive, where it feels like he’s reaching out to reclaim tiny shattered shards of what used to be his heart. Mostly, though, it’s just mourning. The reading of names may be what compels the worst of them; sometimes he thinks if he looks too long, he’ll learn things he doesn’t want to know.

Exhausted, he drags himself to his feet and begins wryly picking up the pieces, chest hurting from heaving. He throws his bedding and his shirt haphazardly into the washing machine, drowning them in soap before he grabs cleaner to do the same to his floors.

It smells disgusting, like it’s been petrifying in his stomach for years. He supposes that makes sense; a lot of things have.

Once the surface is clean, he gets in the shower, not caring that all of the hot water is being used for the laundry; the icy cold helps wake him up. He’s fatigued, lethargic, but he knows better than to try to go back to sleep at this point.

As he fights shivers in the towel afterwards, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looks awful. Pale and sickly, repulsive, purple sallow staining his skin the same color as the Rinnegan. His normal eye is bloodshot, vacant charcoal that pollutes everything it touches. He lets the black of his hair shift over his Rinnegan eye in a manner he's well accustomed to by now.

His remaining eye inches to the corner of the mirror, the front of the medicine cabinet.

He carefully procures a cough drop, and then makes sencha tea, hoping the caffeine will dull his headache. There’s a part of him that still feels like he’s hardly there, like he’s a ghost just going through the motions. When he takes a sip, it feels good on the throat, but the vomiting earlier has partially singed away the surface of his tongue; he hardly tastes it.

Sasuke then takes the photo from when they were Genin to the living room, grasping onto it for dear life in more ways than one. He alternates between studying it and gazing out the glass, to the cherry blossom tree across the street.

An hour passes, slowly, sitting there thinking about what he does and doesn’t deserve, a mess of thoughts swirling down the drain of his mind. Then another. The luminescence of the day begins trickling in more, green buds across the street gaining back their pigment.

He’s not sure if he should even go to Sakura’s still, because he feels like he’s going to make even worse company today than he usually does, as tired as he is. But he’s weak, and he selfishly wants her; there’s an equanimity only she can provide, the swingback of a pendulum briefly through a sense of normalcy, and he needs the chance to look into jade eyes, to see the light hit them, to ascertain that the chatoyancy has not been dulled. And she’s not dead, despite his inner psyche screaming at him that she would be, had Naruto or Kakashi arrived just a second later. He needs to thank them for that, when he gets the chance, though the timing has never felt right to bring it up.

And he loves her. He's not sure if his love is worth anything, contemptible as he is, but it’s the main reason he can make sense out of the absolute mess that is his inner thought process this morning. So he goes.

XXX

It helps. He’s enormously exhausted, and the light of day hurts his eyes, even once he’s inside and is only absorbing its rays from the diamond window, but it helps.

“Sasuke-kun,” she greets in a voice like honey as she opens her door to him, dimple on open display. She really is so lovely, multi-faceted jade sparking with life that nearly instantly calms some of his anxiety.

He is briefly concerned about what he looks like to her, today. He checked prior to coming over here, brushing his teeth thrice in the hopes that his breath wouldn’t be bad, that he could drench his innards in enough clarifying mint to be even remotely deserving of a small amount of her affection. His eye was a little less bloodshot at that point, but overall he still looked like hell, sickly and pallid.

“Sakura,” he murmurs in response, voice hoarse from being put through a ringer of his own making.

There is a prolonged moment in which she examines him, wearing an analytical expression that reminds him of clinician Sakura. Then the spell is broken, as if she’s forcibly turned that part of herself off, and she’s stepping aside and telling him softly, “Come in! I made onigirazu.”

He steps inside her entryway, setting his book on the console table momentarily beside where Hazel Wood lies, ready to be returned. He then shifts out of her way so he can remove his shoes. He’s not particularly hungry, but he’s glad it’s something fairly simple and heavy on the rice; he should be able to eat it fine.

He follows her inside, appreciating the subdued luminosity of her lamps along the way. The blankets are already laid out on the couch, a promise of simple warmth and companionship that he is very much looking forward to.

As his eye adjusts and he enters the kitchen, ready to grab a plate, his gaze locks on remnants of sliced tomatoes atop a cutting board he recognizes, though it’s familiar to him from his own apartment, not hers.

It’s exactly the same design as the one Naruto gifted him.

A fire roars to life in his ribcage as he freezes for a split second, an exhausted icy hot appreciation. It’s an implication that means the world to him, and particularly well timed.

She wants him around, to help prepare future meals.

“I put some sliced tomatoes in yours. I hope it’s okay,” Sakura says as she hands him a plate, not addressing the elephant in the room at all, as if she just needed a new cutting board and happened to pick up that one, though he knows that cannot possibly be the case; he'd seen at least two in her cupboard, before. “Would you like tea, or maybe some water?”

He nods stiffly, vision a bit blurry, then comprehends the second question.

“Water is fine,” he manages thickly.

They sit in front of her window, supple sunshine streaming in. It’s not too bright here, angled just right.

“...How was your morning?” He asks after taking a sip of water, voice still gravelly. He is beyond content to be sitting here, just looking at her, so much better than a picture.

“Good. Ino and I walk or jog in the early morning on Sundays, if it's nice. Hinata comes sometimes; she did today.” She chews a bite of her rice sandwich.

Sasuke blinks; she hasn’t mentioned that yet. Another chunk of her schedule falls into place. “...Where?”

A half smile blooms on her lips, dimple pushed into being. “Sometimes we run laps around the village, but usually there's no real destination; we just walk and visit.” She takes a sip of her own water. “It’s nice when Hinata comes; it tones Ino down a notch.”

He would snort, if he was in a different sort of mood.

“We went to the southeast part of town today,” she continues. “Ino wanted to see a new building they put up. Her mom has a big order of flowers to deliver there later this week.”

Flowers. In the chaos of the night he’s had, lily bulbs fell to the wayside of his mind.

Sasuke carefully takes the first bite of his own food. It’s good, as he expected; a mixture of salmon, tomato, and salted rice, simple enough to hopefully help settle his stomach. He can kind of taste it.

He chews slowly, reverently, alternating between eating and taking small sips of water as she chatters animatedly. “The flower shop's orders are really taking off now. Ino’s usually busiest once May comes. Hopefully things stay peaceful, so she can stay in the village for the most part; her mom can always use the extra help.”

They wash and dry the dishes together, afterwards, a routine that is beginning to feel familiar. She still doesn’t say anything about the cutting board, but Sasuke greatly appreciates the way it feels in his hand when she gives it to him, weighty and with a designated home under her roof. It slides into place easily in the cupboard with the two others.

They read for a while on her couch again, wrapped in their respective blankets; Sakura keeps her apartment fairly cool. It’s cozy in a way that makes his head feel funny, like he could fall asleep in minutes if he really tried, lulled by the soothing scent of berry and cleanliness. He wonders if it would be restful, if he did. Usually once enough time ellipses, well into the next day, his brain cuts him some slack, though it could be that he's just too exhausted from being up most of the night for the neurons to fire up again to such a frenzy.

Sasuke finishes the last chapter of his book sluggishly and contemplates the ending, a lengthy description of the fisherman gripping the solid railings of the dock with both hands as he comes ashore for the first time in months.

When he flicks his gaze to Sakura tiredly, she’s a third of the way through a new book, titled Among the Ruins: Post-War Reflections. It appears to be a memoir; he assumes it must be one she’s purchased, as it doesn’t have the library label. Perhaps it’s new, picked up this morning while she was out, or it could be one from her bookshelves. He would like to peruse the titles she has, sometime. He drowsily wonders which war it’s about.

He takes a careful breath and just revels in it, being here with her, mere feet away with his eyes closed but able to sense her presence, worn out with thoughts that have edges as frayed as he is. He would like to stay for dinner, too. He thinks it’s perhaps becoming implied that they’ll eat together if she doesn’t have other plans, but he doesn’t want to be rude or overstay his welcome.

Sasuke hopes he can stay awake. Maybe he shouldn’t have said no to tea earlier; the additional caffeine might have helped. He could offer to make them both some, he thinks fuzzily, but then he starts wondering if that would be odd or overstepping. It’s her tea, and her kitchen, and her cups.

Then he sleepily remembers the cutting board.

“You can take a nap, you know,” Sakura murmurs kindly, soft words echoing a little in the stillness of her space. “If you’re tired. I don’t mind.”

He blinks his eyes open, vision adjusting as he realizes he nearly dozed off.

She’s smiling from the other end of the couch. “I can make dinner later, and wake you up when it’s ready. You should rest until then.” She pauses, then adds, “I can grab you a better pillow from my room, if you want.”

His brain catches up to his auditory processing, and then his ears warm.

Oh.

The offer is tempting, though he doesn’t want to be rude. If it were any other day, he would force himself to stay awake, to spend more time with her. But it’s not any other day, and he’s drained, enervated in a way that makes him want to give in. He should ask, to make sure it’s okay, but he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t offer if it wasn’t.

“...Here?”

A flush inks its way onto her cheeks as her expression turns thoughtful. “Yes. Or... you can use my bed, if you want.”

Sasuke forces his gaze away from hers, because his face feels extremely warm all of the sudden. “...I meant… here, at your apartment.”

“Oh.” Sakura laughs in a way that sounds nervous; he hears her fiddling with the book in her lap. “I, um… just meant whatever’s most comfortable.”

When he hesitantly looks back to her, she’s red, too.

“...What will you do?”

She gestures with her hand in a waving motion to indicate it's fine. “I can read, or do some laundry or work stuff. It’s no trouble. Really, Sasuke-kun.” Her blush deepens. "...I would like you to stay… And to have dinner later. If you’re free."

He swallows before slowly nodding his acquiesce, and then Sakura is up and heading to her bedroom in a blink of mismatched eyes. Muffled footsteps pad back moments later, a pillow with a lavender pillowcase clutched in her hands.

Her bedding must be a variant of violet, then, a pastel contrast to the black of his own. He is curious about the color of her bedroom walls all over again, but then she’s handing him the pillow, and he’s too tired to continue thinking.

“...Thank you.”

The smile she wears is so soft, treasured. “You’re welcome.”

He’s out within a few minutes of laying his head on the pillow, drowsing eyes barely catching the lamps flickering off one by one as she meanders around her space.

The pillow smells like her, too, cogent in its beckoning. He sleeps like a rock.

XXX

Sakura nudges him awake hours later, leaning forward to rest her upper body against the back of the couch. The scent of miso and roasted tomatoes drifts into his nostrils while lively jade peers down at him. The light coming from her window has dimmed quite a bit. It must be well into the evening; she let him sleep for a while.

“Dinner’s ready,” she murmurs softly, wearing an expression that is incredibly fond.

He stretches slightly as he rises from her sofa, working out a crick in his shoulder and thinking that he feels much more rested. Sasuke is about to head to her kitchen to get his own bowl, until Sakura turns towards the table, and he sees that she's already set out food for both of them, green market light switched on overhead.

There's onigiri, too, and a steaming cup of sencha placed on his side that he's sure is decaffeinated.

His side.

The realization, albeit a good one, disarms him.

He has a side of her table. And a side of her couch.

Sakura recites a story Hinata told her this morning as they eat, about how Naruto initially buried every single flower bulb in their garden beds six inches deep instead of reading the directions, so they had to dig everything up and salvage the instructions on the package from the trash to replant.

“He mixed them all together, too, instead of planting them in sections like a normal person.” She laughs, and his lips turn upwards in shared amusement. “She said she hopes they didn’t miss one. Iris and echinacea can sometimes multiply out of control. She was happy she didn’t add bee balm to the list, too, or they’d really be in trouble; those can grow anywhere, even in gravel.”

The soup and tea feel good on his throat, and the rice is filling in a way that would be difficult to throw up, absorbent of moisture and chunking together to expand in his stomach until he is full, in more ways than one.

He can taste again, the richness of tomato and miso and calming ubiquitous green on his tongue and in his heart, thoughts of flowers and their idiot teammate helping to cast aside his earlier melancholy.

Sasuke loves her so much in that moment that it physically aches, her voice a balm that puts the rawest parts of him at ease.

"Thank you," he says quietly at the conclusion of the meal, grateful in ways he's not sure he'll ever be able to put into words.

Her response is simple, gentle, pure. “You’re welcome.”

As they wash and dry the dishes together in the dim light of her kitchen, Sakura tells him softly, “I put leftovers in containers for you in the fridge. Please take them with you tonight.”

He nods as his eyes sting with appreciation. When he turns to put away the teacups, he blinks to clear them as she wipes down the sink one last time for the evening.

As she sorts through her movie selection afterwards - it’s her turn to pick - he asks, “How is the poison antidote coming?”

Sakura glances at him curiously for a second from where she’s perched on the wood floor, rifling through the lower cabinet. “I think we might have it solved. Blarina toxin from a southern short-tailed shrew, and then possibly lionfish toxin, laced with algal bloom cyanobacteria. The lionfish toxin is part of the trouble; it’s such a trace amount that it was hard to identify, not enough to cause swelling on the exterior body like you’d see if you were stung by one in person. We’re still running tests, but the neutralization seems to be working on the mice so far.” She blanches a little. “Or, rather, the mice we have left. It’s diminished our stocks; shrew venom is particularly deadly to them.”

Sasuke knew it was likely to kill several of them, but not quite to that extent. He’s interested in her work, so he asks, “How many?”

She turns back to sift through her cabinet as she answers, pulling out another movie to examine. “A gland-full of venom is potent enough to kill up to two hundred of them. It’s why it took us longer than usual; we had to give them the absolute tiniest dose in order to not kill them within hours. I guess it makes sense; they’re one of the things they eat in the wild. The dose in the poison sample was high, though, venom from multiple shrews. A single bite usually isn’t enough to do any harm to humans, but when it’s quadrupled in dosage and laced with other things, it’s more severe.”

“...What’s the treatment?”

Sakura rattles off the extremely complex answer as if it’s nothing. “An antihistamine, steroid, botulinum toxin, and an antibiotic. We’re also giving them blood transfusions and flushing out the blood as it comes to the exterior machine, to get rid of the cyanobacteria. Kind of like conventional water treatment… just more complicated. More steps, filtration, and obviously we can’t use chlorine, so it takes longer.”

Sasuke blinks somewhat in awe. She really is so intelligent.

“...That sounds lengthy.”

She shrugs, movie still in hand. “It is. It’s why we’re not one hundred percent sure if we’ve solved it yet; the lionfish venom is still the weak link, and will be until we can see that the other portions of the treatment have worked to isolate it.”

“...I’d like to learn the process.”

A smile plays at her lips and a flush inks its way onto her cheeks. He supposes it was a roundabout sort of compliment; he could have worded it better, but she seems to have understood him anyway. She does about a lot of things, he thinks.

“I can bring home a kit, sometime, and teach you the basics. It could be useful.”

He nods; he would like that.

There is a long pause as Sakura bites her lip before further examining the movie case in her hand.

Then, she asks, a tentative expression on her face and peeking at him to gauge his reaction, “Want to watch a bad one?”

Sasuke wonders if she knows he would watch any movie with her, if it means he gets to be in her company like this, saved from a room with white tiles or dark wood.

“...Sure.”

She wasn't exaggerating; it is truly terrible, riddled with plot holes so nonsensical that it’s almost funny. The acting is bad, too, though perhaps that’s more to blame on the script rather than the actors.

“Even the camera work is awful,” Sakura says at one point, gesturing towards the left side of the screen. “If you look in the background here, there’s an extra that just… walks into the wall.”

He watches, and sure enough, behind the main characters, a girl walks directly into a corner and just stands there.

He snorts, genuinely enthused in a manner he would not have thought possible hours ago. Sakura laughs at the other end of the couch. It’s a sound he could listen to forever, sweet and chiseled into his heart.

They play an extensive round of go afterwards, venturing well into the night with the plinking of small pieces into place. It’s nearly eleven when she finally walks him to her doorway, two containers of tomato miso soup and onigiri in her hands. As he pulls on his shoes, Sakura sets them by his library book on the console table.

“Would you want to read tomorrow afternoon?” She asks as he rises to his full height.

He nods. “...I’ll meet you here.”

Her dimple makes a reappearance. “One fifteen?”

He inclines his head again in agreement, then decides to ask. It’s becoming easier, now that she has said yes so many times.

“Dinner, after?”

Her smile widens. “Of course. I was thinking gyudon. Light on the sugar. You could…” She bites her lip and shifts a bit. “...You could help me cook, if you’d like.”

Something turns over in his belly. “...Okay.”

She glows at him. He swallows once before reaching out to skim her freckle, enjoying the feel of her cheek against the pad of his thumb.

And then her fingers against his fingers, holding him there against her cheek, soft and steady.

Then he leans down, and his lips are on hers, a breath exhaled in unison as her entryway falls away. Her free hand twists around his neck, delicately brushing the fabric and a fraction of his skin in a way that nearly makes him shiver. It’s a long moment of quietus, a finishing stroke to a day that could have gone very differently.

It is also the longest kiss they’ve shared yet, and it is over far too soon.

He’s pulling away to look at her, letting his hand drop away, when she wraps her arms tenderly around him.

He can hardly breathe, taken off guard by the absolute sensation of comfort he’s enveloped in.

She doesn’t say a thing; just hugs him tight, her fingertips spreading across his back and face pressed to his sternum. Berry invades his olfactory senses.

Slowly he lifts his arm to carefully return the hug, swallowing a tender sort of truth, a kind that goes down easy, the evidence and action of her affection. He can feel Sakura’s heartbeat against his chest, a tempo teeming with life.

They stand there together in her entryway for a long time.

XXX

He sleeps wrapped in a clean comforter, and though it’s not for very long, it is dreamless.

He’s eating leftover onigiri when he receives a mission summons, barely past seven in the morning. He finishes his meal and pops a cough drop in his mouth before departing for the Hokage’s office.

It’s a nice day, he thinks as he walks, coming to a decision as he admires vernal greenery lining the streets. The sun is just lifting over the horizon, painting everything pale amber.

“Sasuke,” Kakashi greets as he walks in; he’s the first one there again, apparently. “Good morning.”

“Kakashi.”

Their old sensei smiles at him in the strange all-seeing manner he has. Sasuke notes the presence of a new picture frame present on his desk, replacing the one he’s given him.

He is extremely grateful to have that picture to grip onto in his darker moments. Sasuke considers thanking him then, for Iron, but then Naruto is barreling in noisily.

“Whaizzit?” He yawns raucously, as if he just woke up, sleep still clinging to the corners of his eyes. They are multi-faceted, too, even in their barely aware state, and Sasuke inwardly breathes a sigh of relief, normalcy shifting fully back into place as the door clicks behind his teammate.

Then Naruto registers that Sasuke is present. “Eh? Teme?!” Cerulean scans the room as if he’s searching for something, then he frowns, directing a lengthy glare Kakashi’s way.

“If you've called me here at seven in the fucking morning for anything that isn’t a Team Seven reunion mission, I’m going to lose it.”

Ah. He was looking for Sakura.

“Afraid not,” Kakashi answers cryptically from his desk, and Naruto’s sleepy glare tightens. Then the Hokage smiles, as if something is incredibly amusing. "Guard duty. Kotetsu and Izumo deserve a break. Things are slow this week, and we have the extra numbers.”

The copy ninja skillfully dodges Naruto’s sandal as it flies towards him. “You’ve got to be kidding. You woke me up for this? You could have told me later in the day or something!!”

“Future Hokages don’t receive special treatment, and it’s professional to give more than twenty-four hours notice if possible.”

Naruto grumbles. "All week?"

Kakashi grins. "Tuesday through Friday."

Inwardly, Sasuke twitches.

"I should specify; nine to six, Tuesday through Friday."

Outwardly, Sasuke twitches.

It's not exactly her work schedule for all four days, but it lines up closely enough that it's fairly obvious what Kakashi’s doing.

Naruto barely reacts; just snorts in a way that is caustic, as if he finds the times unsurprising. "Cool. Can I go back to sleep until it’s time to kick teme’s ass now? Hinata-chan and I were cozy."

Sasuke rolls his eyes; when they spar in the mornings, it’s typically between eight and nine. He’ll have around an hour's extra sleep at best, though he supposes he’s not in any position to judge at this point, given his nap on Sakura’s couch yesterday.

Kakashi’s smile widens, mask wrinkling. "Sure. Dismissed."

They both watch on in faint amusement as Naruto stumbles sleepily out of his office, neglecting to collect his missing shoe.

“...Some things never change,” the Hokage murmurs, sighing.

“...No, they don’t.”

“Well, anyways, before you go…” Kakashi turns to him, tapping the pen at his desk absentmindedly. “How are things?”

Sasuke blinks, recalling leftovers and a new cutting board and the feeling of Sakura’s arms around him.

And kissing. Mostly kissing. Probably too much, if his neck’s sudden warmth is anything to go by.

“Good.”

A lone visible eye crinkles at the corners. “Great. Don’t hesitate to let any of us know if you need anything.”

He lets the words hang in the air for an extended few seconds before nodding slowly.

"I was thinking…” Kakashi continues, gaze flicking down to the photograph on his desk. “...Perhaps we could make Team Seven dinners a monthly thing. It would be good, don’t you think?"

“...Yeah.”

A dark eye locks on him again. "Sai could come, too."

Ah.

"...Sure." He really should make an effort to get to know him better. His replacement seems nice enough, peculiar as he is.

"Wonderful. Let's plan on the first Saturday of every month at six, shall we? If we're all in the village, that is. I’ll let him know when I call him in later this morning."

“Okay.”

A long moment passes, then Kakashi is procuring the shoe from the area behind his desk. Sasuke notes that he holds it as far away from him as his arm will allow.

“...I don’t suppose you’d return this, when you see him later?”

Sasuke says nothing.

“...Though I suppose I could assign it as a mission to some Genin.” Then he's sighing, setting it on the farthest edge of Naruto’s work area. “Too bad I just gave an assignment to my last two.”

Shooting him a withering look, Sasuke departs the Hokage’s Office. He gets the distinct feeling as he goes that Kakashi is incredibly pleased with himself, solidified by what he calls after him.

“Tell Sakura I say hi.”

Guard duty is easy in theory, but spending thirty six hours with the dobe may be… a challenge. He supposes if the reward is being able to see Sakura after she works most of those days, he'll take it. He's sure Kakashi won't keep him in the village forever; eventually duty will call him away for extended periods of time.

It solidifies his decision; he should take the opportunity of being here to plant something.

He stops by the market vendor on the northern end to buy two packages of lily bulbs on his way home. The market is fairly slow, so there are few other people around.

The packages feel good in his hand, lighter than he expected.

Sasuke works through a section of one of his other books before Naruto shows up on his doorstep, still appearing for all intents and purposes half asleep. Their spar ends in another draw; luckily there are no cracked bones this time.

He eats more leftovers for lunch after, appreciating the taste.

XXX

Sasuke feels at home in Sakura’s kitchen, cutting scallions easily while she broils beef and prepares the egg mixture for gyudon just a few steps away. The meal comes together quickly between the two of them, savory with a sauce that is heavier on the mirin and sake than the sugar.

Food they prepare together somehow tastes even better. It’s late when they finally sit down to eat dinner, gazing out through glass at the streets below as they take their first bites.

The sauce is perfect; not too sweet.

“...I have guard duty this week,” he mentions after a while.

“With who?” She asks, though her lips twitch upwards.

He rolls his eyes. “...Guess.”

She bites her lip, and he tears his gaze away from her mouth and up to her eyes. The green is filled with mirth, twinkling with illuminated flecks.

“Good luck,” she says sincerely. “What times?”

He glances away, ears warming and wondering if Kakashi has mentioned anything to her about them being… together.

“Tomorrow through Friday, nine to six.”

There is a long pause. When he peeks back at her, she’s blushing.

“...Kakashi-sensei is nosy.” Sakura takes another bite of her food, looking shy for some reason, and suddenly Sasuke is certain that their sensei has said something to her, perhaps on multiple occasions. He wonders what.

“...He is.” He thinks, then adds as an afterthought, “...He says hi.”

They do the dishes together and play two rounds of chess. Sakura wins once, and the second round is another stalemate, though he suspects he was close to beating her.

It’s close to nine by the time they’re putting the board away. As he works on packing up the last of the pieces to store in their allocated compartment, he notices she’s gazing out the window, scanning the sky as if distracted.

The way she’s angled puts the freckle on her cheek in plain view, pale hair loosely tucked behind her ear.

Then she turns to him, pink flooding her complexion, and Sasuke realizes he’s been staring, the remaining few pieces still clutched in his hand, frozen in midair in his distraction. He hastily finishes putting them away as his own face warms. Sakura rises from the table to put the box away, footsteps echoing softly through her living space.

He looks outside quizzically for a moment, embarrassedly trying to will the color away from his face and wondering what she was looking at. It’s a clear evening, calm without a cloud in sight.

"I was wondering if…"

His vision snaps to her expectantly across the room, and her cheeks flush darker; he can see it even though it’s dimly lit, shifting from one foot to the other. She seems nervous.

"If you would maybe want to… go stargazing for a bit tonight?"

His pulse quickens, pushing at the seams of chambers and ventricles in a way that makes it feel like the vines have twisted their way in, taking hold of whatever they can clutch.

She apparently does still like that sort of thing.

And she wants to go with him.

He nods immediately, struck speechless with elation before he manages to form the question, "...Where?"

Her expression is one of relief. "I was thinking just outside the village. There’s…” She looks away, smiles. “There’s a place Ino and I go to sometimes; we went today for a bit, after training. There are wild lilacs blooming right now.” She shifts her gaze to him again. “It's supposed to be a little cooler, but the sky’s clear. We could bring tea in a thermos; I have two."

Heat creeps up his neck as he agrees, heart stammering in his chest a little, because he’s started thinking about it now, and stargazing together is very clearly romantic in nature, amongst flowers even more so.

Sakura brews tea for the both of them as he distracts himself by slicing a lemon for hers. When he glances at her surreptitiously, she’s still blushing, and jade eyes snap away as if this time she’s the one that’s been caught staring. That makes his heart pound, to the extent that he’s glad she’s a few feet away, because it’s so loud that she might hear it.

They meander to the edge of the village as evenfall settles, into the forested area just beyond the gates. As Sasuke trails behind her, divagating through subtly flattened pathways between the trees, his thoughts wander to bygone seasons.

There once was a pond, three quarters of a mile outside of the village, beyond where the Uchiha District used to be. It wasn’t officially a part of their grounds, but it was remote enough that it wasn’t easily happened upon by anyone other than their family, off the beaten path and through thicket and thistle as it was.

Itachi used to take him fishing there.

He thinks they’d gone four or five times in all, but he remembers it well, because he had been terrible at fishing, not a shred of patience. His brother caught most of them, but he would sometimes set the hook before passing off the reel to Sasuke to help him learn. It was quiet, peaceful in the way that only the wilderness is, away from the pressures of expectations. Wildflowers poked up everywhere in the later summer months, situated on a hill towards the far side of the pond. They picked some together for their mother, once; Sasuke clutched them in his hands while they made the trek back to the village, Itachi carrying their bucket of perch and bass.

It was nice in the autumn, too, warm tones flooding everything. One could sit in the swaying overgrowth flush with falling leaves for hours taking it all in and still not see it all, an overwhelmingly pure sense of peace, made heartier by the taste of freshly grilled fish later in the evening.

The walk had seemed like it took forever back then, on short legs looking upward. He’s never returned to that place, not once, since he was eight. It would hurt too much, for different reasons now than when he was twelve.

He remembers passing wild lilacs then, too, on the way there and back. He supposes they probably thrive in the chaparral throughout Fire Country, if one cares to traipse through the foliage to look for them. He stumbled upon many on his journey, just passing through on roads less traveled.

The small clearing Sakura leads them to reminds him of the pond a little, wild and flush with fading hues, framed by fragrant lilacs in bloom as she said, but there are no memories tied to it yet, so it’s better. Huge bushes of them grow unaided here, wispy purple redolence scattered by the wind into the earth's cracks, ushered in by whispers through the trees.

The wilds are not so far from Konoha, really. Like the cherry blossom tree on the hill, it's a good reminder that some things can grow easily even on rougher terrain.

Sasuke sits rather close to her, so they can drink their tea together. The sun slips just below the horizon, a cloudless sky awash in a shifting gradient. He catches jade as he takes a drink, appreciating the taste, a small bit of warmth on a cool night.

The way she’s looking at him makes his heart rate accelerate again, a serene expression that implies there is nothing she would rather be doing right now than be here.

With him.

Eventually stars begin inking into existence overhead one by one, the last bit of sun lingering just on the horizon, a muted blur of violet bleeding into black. Things are slightly clearer here, beyond the boundaries of the village, no glass or light pollution to obscure the retinas.

Once she finishes her tea, Sakura lies down the same way she does on the hill, so he does, too, trying to calm his heart rate, because he is very close to her, just within reach. The forest breathes around them, coating everything in a lilac perfume.

He used to think about her, when he looked to the stars, feeling worlds away and wondering if she thought of him that day. Being next to her is better, revered, the calm din of an evening he has craved for a long time.

When he turns to steal a look, her eyes are already on him, and there is something about that moment, as the last light fades, being here with her, that makes his chest go aflame.

And then Sakura turns slightly, reaching out towards him with her right hand, and he blinks.

She sweeps his hair away from his Rinnegan eye, a thumb gently skimming his cheek as he has hers, before her hand falls away. Though they are cloaked in the gloaming of dusk’s darkness, enough he hopes to hide the warmth that has crept into his face, there is adequate light left to see her expression, so tender, jade eyes desaturated to dark sage.

He feels seen in a way that he hasn’t felt before, recalling soft words in an exam room.

Not me.

The sky is fully lit in short order, beautiful and dark with only a tiny sliver of the moon visible. It is truly lovely, Ursa Major, Leo, and Hydra scattered before them like a painting a million years old, ageless messengers traveling from who knows where, as he did. It took many steps to get here to her, scattered revolutions passing wide arcs around the sun, yearning for a day to close the gap, to feel like he was close to ready.

It was worth every single one.

A question is on the tip of his tongue, so he decides to ask it, to give in to the impulse.

“...Any poems?” He wants to learn the words she likes, what kinds of meaning she applies to things, intelligent as she is. Sasuke imagines the inner workings of Sakura’s mind to be quite complex, teeming with all of the things she’s read, research and fiction and nonfiction. He would like to know her favorite pieces of poetry, what she holds dear in her own heart.

She shifts slightly; he thinks she must be looking at him for a split second.

There is a lengthy silence punctuated by crickets before she finally answers, “A short one,” voice hushed like the breeze around them; if he wasn’t so close to her, he wouldn’t be able to hear.

He shifts his gaze to her on his right, barely able to make out her silhouette in the dark.

“Take notice of what light does - to everything.”

The words sink into him like rain on freshly tilled soil, triggering a bricolage of recollections. Instantly he is reminded of light through the window of his bathroom, stirring him from a pit of self doubt and guilt. Then light through the windows of Sakura’s apartment, cooking and doing the dishes together in her kitchen. A nap, comfortable on her couch as day fades into dusk, lamps switched off for a period of much needed rest. Flowers, grown by a doorstep with the sun’s rays seeping in through diamond patterning. The shadow of a jasmine plant, inked onto her cheekbone, and neon lights reflectant atop pale pink hair.

The intricate stitching of an uchiwa fan, thread catching iridescence as she holds it daintily in her hands as if it is something important, to be cherished.

Her eyes when she is happy, hints of gold flecks, catching like fractals of color atop shifting seafoam.

The way white nerine lilies looked drenched in sunlight, on days that are decidedly not summer monsoons.

Stars are a form of light, too, and despite being far away, they are refulgent in their luminosity, a beauty that cuts through murk and offers much for contemplation; the gaps of darkness between them are what allows people to make meaning out of them, constellations strewn together.

He is home, surrounded by spring. It is something to behold.

“...Did you write letters to Naruto?” Sakura asks after a lengthy period of reflection, so softly that her voice is almost a whisper.

The concept is so ridiculous to him that he would snort, if not for the moment they are sharing right now and the way she asked it, no hint of a joke in her tone.

So he answers seriously, just as quietly. “No.”

There is a long pause.

“...And Kakashi-sensei?”

Ah. He understands what she’s really asking. “...Other than missions, no.”

It’s hard to tell, but he thinks he sees her fingers grip in the grass next to her, gently as if in reflex.

Sasuke tries very hard to swallow his doubts.

When they were on missions as Genin, she used to lay sprawled out like this, hands spread next to her. So did Naruto. It bothered him then, because he liked his folded together on his stomach and he was very particular about personal space, which they both invaded.

Sasuke doesn’t have another hand to fold his with anymore, though, and he’s less concerned about personal space with her than he used to be. The darkness helps bolster his confidence, too, nyctophile that he is; she won’t see the heat that’s spreading to his face here, lit merely by distant flickering stars.

Take notice of what light does - to everything.

The luminaries above them offer only a little of it, yet it's a transfixing sight, something of the epochal and the divine present that he has been drawn to for years.

So he reaches out to skim her hand with his, a tentative sort of constellation in itself, recorded in points of contact and palm prints on the skin rather than etched in alembic light in the sky.

There are soft fingertips, a knuckle gently gliding by. Then she’s interlacing her fingers with his, and suddenly it’s not tentative at all. It’s leal, steady, her small hand in his as if it has always belonged there, the scent of flourishing blooms wafting around them and painting everything in his head lilac starlight.

Her thumb brushes his skin once, twice, thrice, achingly gentle.

He should have reached out sooner, but he supposes they’re young, still. There is a lot of time ahead of them. The stars will align eventually, slow in their revolutions around common centers of mass as he is in letting people in. She accepted his apology for being late already, fine fingertips clutching an uchiwa fan with a touch just as gentle as now.

If he can only hold her hand in the dark, maybe that’s enough for now, a single star he can reach. He hopes he'll reach the others eventually.

Hours pass with her hand in his, and he is a small bit closer in revolution by the time he walks her home.

Lilac and raspberry and starlight coalesce against his lips when they collide with hers, an allegorical perfume he could easily get drunk on. He skims the freckle again, tenderly osculant, and realizes that is the start of a constellation, too, a novitious star burning brighter every time he reaches out. Kissing makes three.

Her hands around his neck make four. This time he does shiver, but he doesn’t pull away.

Sakura’s lips are so soft.

XXX

He plants the lily bulbs shortly after they say good night, under the cover of the caliginous dark that shepherds in the dew of the morning, tiny drops of moisture beginning to collect on nearby blades of grass. The stars are still out, bright enough to be beautiful but dim enough so that he can’t read the names.

Sakura would help him if he asked, he knows, but he doesn’t think he’s quite ready for that yet. He settles for trying to make his touch as gentle yet sure as hers, an elegy of calloused fingers digging carefully through the dirt, grasping and placing lily bulbs one by one. There are four bulbs in total, so he plants two on each side, nine inches apart, allowing them to poke up through the soil slightly and frame the stone; he reread the instructions when he stopped by his apartment earlier. It’s a different brand of corrosion, manually digging up layers of dirt rather than hoping they slough off, but it’s progress, and it doesn't require digging too deep.

There has to be something beneath the layers of sediment, he thinks, to feel the way he does about her. He hopes that what he feels is enough, that his slow revolutions will be worthwhile for her, in the end.

I’m sure it will be lovely, when everything finally comes together.

Being in Konoha is not easy, after everything, but being with Sakura is.

When he’s lying in his own bed a short time later, he recalls the love in her fingertips against his. It lulls him to sleep.

[orchardisland]

━━   𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞 𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐥

Let me tell you the story of one of our unfortunate residents who seems to be UNEMPLOYED on the island. Fate has assigned this individual guidance from THE LOVERS REVERSED card. But they needn’t worry, their secrets are safe with me.

DOB: march 15, 1991 DEFINING TRAITS: keen, observant, amiable, volatile, rapacious, insecure RESEMBLES: actress kwon nara

YOU ARE PRESENTED WITH A PRISTINE DECK OF TAROT CARDS. TAKE YOUR PICK.

choose for me.

-

she’s had her fate read once. eunsol remembers it vaguely: age 13 with her best friends by her side at a local temple. the mudang at the time took her hand and recited the following: your future is set, you’re very blessed. you will have a husband and a child and love them both dearly—and them, you.

as you can see, here and now, why she won’t fall for it again.

“no thank you.” her tone is curt, on her mouth a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “i don’t believe in that sort of thing.”

THE CARD FLUTTERS TO YOUR FEET. WHO WERE YOU BEFORE THIS STORY BEGAN?

she’s never seen a thing more dead.

motherhood is said to be life-changing. the bond with your child unlike any other. it’s said to empower you—the act of having a child. nurturing it from embryo to baby.

eunsol reckons all this and more only applies if the baby itself is alive.

now, for all purposes, the baby (we’ll refrain from using possessive nouns, because it is, ultimately, anything but hers) is perfectly healthy; is by the books—round eyes, infectious laugh, and a head full of hair—a perfect baby. and in the arms of her father, grandmother, grandfather, uncles, and aunts, its the most loved soul in the world.

but to eunsol, to the mother, the mother whom birthed it to begin with—eunsol can’t even look at the ghastly thing.

it can’t be alive. it doesn’t feel alive. eunsol doesn’t care if her husband thinks otherwise, if her mother-in-law dubs her deranged, if the entire family gossips, and especially not if they ship her to a mind doctor for her aliment.

postpartum depression, they’ll call it. i’m telling you the thing is fucking dead, she insists.

why? why do you think she’s dead? isn’t it obvious? isn’t it obvious its not like us? you can’t tell from looking at it?

to her credit, she had tried. she’s tried to swallow her disdain and nurse the baby. she’s held it in her arms, pressed it close to her chest, allowed it to latch and suckle from her breast—no matter how much every fiber of her being revulsed at the contact. she’s tried to love it. just like her mother did her, held her in her arms and tried her best to pick out what’s worth loving in a child born out of one’s own volition.

but the thing is dead. unlike her, the thing is dead and it had no right to try and suck her livelihood. nor did it have any right in latching onto her family, her perfect life. one that she’d so painfully curated after all these years—a woman chasing a dream life she’s only ever seen in dramas.

but the thing—the thing has to go.

and this, eunsol’s made clear to her husband over countless arguments in the months following its birth.

it has to go. it has to. is it me or it?

evidently, as you may already know, it wasn’t her. and our forlorn mother finds herself shipped off further now, longer than a 72 hour hold, to the island of gwasuwon.

it’s for your own good, he placates; empty parting words that sound more relieved than it is sympathetic. words that sound more like a goodbye than a till-we-meet-again. you can come back when you’re better.

we all know how that’ll turn out.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Company Upgrade Dates (Eng Translation)

🍒This post contains detailed spoilers for dates unreleased in English servers!🍒

I accidentally skipped the first set of Season 2 dates, the “Company Upgrade” Collection, thinking they were just Rumours & Secrets:

These dates are important as a starting point for future S2 dates! They are mostly in bullet-point form, but all plot points and important dialogue are covered ❤️

⚡️ Shaw’s Way Home Date (归路之约) ⚡️

MC arrives at Loveland City airport after a business trip and receives a text from Shaw stating that he’d be picking her up 

(even though she didn’t give him any details of her flight)

He appears, in all his glory, on a skateboard

Shaw picks up her luggage and also shows genuine concern for her work and how tired she looks

MC: I can carry it myself.

As soon as I stretch out my hand, Shaw spins the luggage around in a circle so I can’t reach it.

Shaw: If you carry it yourself, I wouldn’t have any purpose for coming here.

DELICIOUS BANTER

MC: Oh right, why did you think of picking me up?

Shaw: It was along on the way. Or I did it on a whim. Whatever reason you like.

MC: ...

Even after a week of not seeing him, this brat’s words are still as annoying.

MORE DELICIOUS BANTER

MC: Don’t you have class in the afternoon today?

Shaw: There’s class, but I skipped it.

MC: It’s not good to skip classes.

Shaw: It isn’t good, so I informed the teacher beforehand.

MC: Eh? What did you say?

Shaw: I said that I hadn’t seen my girlfriend in a month, so I want to pick her up.

MC: What...!?

Hearing this, my heartbeat goes into a frenzy.

Shaw: You really believed me?

Shaw asks MC to cook him dinner as thanks for travelling the great distance to pick her up

They return home by subway, but it’s incredibly packed

Shaw pulls her to a corner

My back leans against the wall of the train carriage. Standing in front of me, Shaw places a hand on the wall beside me, separate me from the crowd.

MC: What are you doing?

Shaw: Can’t you see?

He lifts his other hand and places it onto the wall of the train carriage, encircling me with this pose, which is reminiscent of a hug. He creates an empty corner in the crowded train. 

She falls asleep, and he holds onto her shoulders so she doesn’t sway

Shaw: Hey. We’re going to miss the stop. If you don’t wake up soon, I’ll have to carry you back.

MC: !!

After they leave the train:

MC: I didn’t think I’d actually fall asleep.

I turn and sneak a glance at Shaw’s side profile. He senses my gaze and meets my eyes.

Shaw: Not only that. You even drooled.  

MC: N-no way...

I hurriedly look at his shoulders, but can’t see any traces of dampness. I let out a huge sigh of relief.

MC: Is it very fun to lie to me?

Shaw: It’s your fault for having such interesting reactions.

At home, Shaw wolfs down her cooking. It turns out he was busy and didn’t have lunch T^T

He even helps tidy and wash the dishes for her

Afterwards, she finds him in the balcony and asks what he has been busy with

Shaw brushes them off as “unimportant things”

MC suddenly says she wants to hear him play the bass

Shaw re-enters the house and brings out an erhu instead (since MC doesn’t have a bass)

Shaw makes the erhu play her name and a “you are stupid”

MC: Why are you scolding me?

I suddenly feel a little gloomy, but he continues playing a few notes. Even though my mind hasn’t figured it out yet, my heart beat speeds up.

Shaw: Do you understand?

Shaw puts down the musical instrument and crosses the handrail over to me.

The dim light from behind the curtains is reflected in his eyes, as though filled with unwavering momentum.

Shaw: You have a really slow reaction.

Accompanying his ridicule, what enters my ears is the rumble of thunder from the clear sky.

Shaw straightens up, and his corners of his mouth hook upwards.

Shaw: It’s going to rain.

-

Shaw’s Call: here

-

🌻 Kiro’s Show Date (戏中之约) 🌻

This date basically shows how MC and Kiro share a very light-hearted relationship, where he likes teasing her

MC is at the scene of Kiro’s filming location, and comments on how realistic the effects are

Kiro is filming a gunfight, and the atmosphere is very tense

The famous Kiro Pointing A Gun At Himself™ scene occurs as part of the filming

Kiro: Since we can only pick between one of us, take my life, and you’ll be safe. It’s nothing worth being surprised over. There’s only one person who I’m willing to exchange my life for. So, tell me your answer.

There is mockery and paranoia in his eyes, but not a trace of fear.

It’s as though he already knows the other party’s choice... even if his bet is wrong, he will continue enjoying this game.

Even if death is what awaits him at the end.

Director: OK, cut!

Kiro’s seamless performance garners applause from the audience

After that, Kiro and MC head to an open air restaurant

Kiro what choice MC would make if she were the protagonist of the show and one of them has to die

MC: I’ll change the script, so the both of us can live.

Kiro keeps teasing her e.g. eating her half-eaten biscuit

She suddenly hears a loud sound, and she grabs Kiro’s hand

There are a series of explosions below as part of the special effects from the filming site

Kiro: Even though almost everything you saw today was artificial, you can remember the me of right now. The me in front of you is the real me.

I turn back to Kiro, who looks at me at the same time. His fingers are on the back of my hand. The temperature and touch are extremely real.

And the memories belonging to us will always remain in this real moment.

-

Kiro’s Call: here

-

🌹 Victor’s Secret Date (隐秘之约) 🌹

MC wakes up and finds herself in an unknown underground facility. From the unknown voices in the beginning, it’s clear she wasn’t the target of the kidnap

Victor is with her too, and they briefly go through what happened beforehand: MC and Victor were on their way to the carpark at around 7pm after going through a report

The doors aren’t locked, and they aren’t tied up

Victor: I’ll give you five minutes to adjust your state of mind.

His sentence, which came out of nowhere, startles me slightly.

Looking at his expressionless face, I suddenly realise something and laugh.

Victor: What are you laughing at?

MC: Are you... concerned about me?

Victor: ...instead of asking unrelated questions, spend your time on something useful. You still have 4 minutes and 8 seconds.

Victor gets her to check the area right outside the door. When she returns, Victor tells her to stay close to him, and grabs on to her

He reveals that he can no longer see

Despite his temporary blindness, he’s very calm

He speculates that the reason why they’re here is to keep Victor away from an auction taking place the day after they got kidnapped (which is the present moment)

Victor hands her his cuffs, which are actually electronic transceivers

MC: Boss, actually... you can give me a direct order to bring you out of here. This place looks like an abandoned experiment site, so...

I leave the remaining speculations in my heart. The people who threw us here... did they do it just to prevent Victor from participating in the auction?

We’re surrounded by darkness. I hold the electronic transceiver to find the exit.

Victor follows behind me, sometimes pointing out the correct direction.

MC: Victor, are you sure you really can’t see? Is this just a test for me...

Victor: ...you’re the one who is testing me. Do you want to get hit and become even more stupid?

He gently pulls me to his side, preventing me from turning around and hitting the wall in front.

Victor: After walking for such a long time, you still don’t know the approximate distance?

MC: Right now, I think you might be able to make it in time for the auction.

Victor: Being optimistic is good, but...

Suddenly, they hear someone walking around and shouting extremely loudly

Victor uses his palms to cover MC’s ears <3

MC musters her courage, stops herself from trembling, and finds a place for them to hide

Right now, there’s no time to figure out who this person is. No matter what, I can’t let Victor get hurt here.

I promised him once before.

The sound of the footsteps eventually disappear

MC: You weren’t worried that I’d accidentally bring us to that insane person?

Pulling Victor into a dark corner, I do my best to adjust my breathing, and force my voice not to tremble.

Victor: Since I said that I’d trust you, I wouldn’t doubt you.

Victor guesses that the people who brought them here aren’t out for their lives, or they wouldn’t be allowed to roam freely

MC then wonders why they had to blind Victor, and points out that the man just now seemed deranged. She guesses that it’s a result of simply being in the underground facility. Someone wanted him to know about the existence of the facility, but not give further details

MC: I have a question, but I’m not sure if I should bring it up.

Victor: There will be Arab merchants bringing new reagents to the auction. They contain certain special elements.

MC: I haven’t even asked.

Victor: Was my answer wrong?

I smile secretly, lowering my eyes to look at our overlapping hands.

MC: You answered wrongly. I wanted to say that even the dignified CEO of LFG can get kidnapped in such a confusing manner, and even get his eyes hurt.

Victor: If you want to obtain a precious prey, you need to prepare a cherished bait.

MC: Could it be...

Victor: That auction is also a bait.

At 7pm, there’s a signal from the electronic transceiver, and they leave the underground facility

Security reaches the scene, and Goldman comes rushing over

Victor sends a few men to the facility to investigate

Victor asks MC to follow him, and it’s clear that he doesn’t want anyone to know of his temporary blindness

MC watches as Victor successfully clips on his seatbelt:

Victor: I’m able to feel it.

MC: ...I wasn’t looking at you!

MC wonders where they’re heading to since they’re late for the auction. Victor tells her that they’re going to a winery

When she looks at the rearview mirror, she sees that the place they were at has caught on fire

MC: Did you already sense that something was amiss with the auction?

Victor: Mm. That Arab merchant is just a guise. Behind him is a private arms organisation. They used the Arab merchant just to gauge the interest level for their reagent.

MC: Didn’t you say it was an auction you needed to attend?

Victor: They just wanted to ensure good faith.

MC: And there’s no need now?

Victor: Now, there is a different way to show my sincerity.

Once they reach the winery, Victor hands MC a gun

Victor: Can I continue trusting you?

MC: You have no other choice.

In the winery, the merchant tries to push the reagent to Victor

Merchant: Does CEO Victor have doubts regarding the efficacy of the medicine? It has already gone through tests, and it can...

Victor: I need to doubt medicine that causes mental breakdowns when injected?

Merchant: ...

Victor: I’m not interested in your medicine. The thing I want is your newly mined ore field. All of it. I don’t need technical staff.

Merchant: CEO Victor’s transaction seems to be overly greedy.

Victor: I’ve said it before - I’m uninterested in your defective products. Apart from LFG, no other company can meet your capital needs.

Merchant: Aren’t you being too confident? The world is pretty big. Maybe the STF can give us similar support.

Victor: In that case, you better ensure your safety and leave Loveland City before obtaining their support. One thing LFG doesn’t lack is business partners. Meeting you personally is enough to express my sincerity.

The transaction is completed

They head to LFG, and Victor tells her to drive back

BRACE YOURSELF FOR A CUTE SCENE:

MC: Victor, I’ll send you upstairs.

Victor: No need.

MC: Your eyes...

Victor: I’ll handle it, don’t worry. You did very well today. I owe you a favour.

Victor doesn’t give me a chance to respond. He opens the car door and heads towards the main entrance of LFG.

I release a secret sigh and hastily leave the car to walk to his side.

MC: That’s the side entrance. The side entrance of LFG doesn’t open at night.

Victor: ...do you know LFG better than I do?

Switching his direction, he walks confidently towards the railing near the main entrance.

I hurriedly grab onto his sleeve in order to make this brave man stop.

The night has softened his cold edges. His shoulders are straight. Ever since what happened with his eyes, he hasn’t uttered a single word of frustration.

Perhaps he’d never say such words.

Sensing my quietness, Victor lets out a soft sigh. He turns his head slightly, then closes his eyes in resignation.

Victor: Since you want to be responsible, take responsibility till the end. Before my day lights up, don’t think of leaving.

-

Victor’s Call: here

-

🦋 Lucien’s Bondage Date (束缚之约) 🦋

MC receives a call from the newest member of Black Swan. He proudly proclaims that he has caught a “big fish” who has agreed to provide important information only if MC personally goes to the interrogation room

She receives a photo of the “big fish” - it’s Lucien.

And she knows something is amiss because Lucien isn’t someone who would get caught so easily

When she reaches the interrogation room, Lucien is tied up and injured

Even so...

His smile and posture are not those of a caged prisoner. Instead, it’s as though he’s waiting in the dark for his prey to enter a trap...

A successful hunter.

Lucien: What’s wrong? You’re not happy to see me like this? Just now, someone mentioned that... I’m a surprise prepared for you.

I clench my teeth hard, and exert more strength as I grip the iron cage.

MC: ...are you okay?

Lucien: Are you showing concern for me?

MC: I just want to know what exactly you’re planning.

Lucien: I don’t quite understand Miss MC’s meaning. Shouldn’t you tell me what you’re planing to do with me, since you were the one who made me like this?

MC: You...

MC clarifies that she didn’t know Lucien would be brought here

Lucien keeps toying with her so she snaps

MC: Professor Lucien, I think you can clearly see the situation before you. Right now, you are a “guest” invited by Black Swan. If you want to get out, you have to prove your worth. If you don’t give us something of equivalent value, we won’t let you leave.

Lucien: Equivalent value... you make sense. In that case, what do you want then? Perhaps with more specific questions, I can give you more satisfactory answers.

MC: ...I’m not a student who’s asking you questions!

Lucien: My student would never be so fierce towards me. I’m already like this, and you still don’t believe my sincerity? I’ve thought of a piece of secret information you may be interested in. This matter involves Black Swan and core members of the STF, and it’s a secret I’ve been keeping.

MC: Lucien, are you being serious?

Lucien: It would be revealed sooner of later. Knowing it earlier could be of some help to you. If you want to know, come closer to me.

I freeze involuntarily, casting a glance at the single-sided glass separating us from the surveillance room.

Lucien: As a representative of Black Swan, shouldn’t you show me some good faith if you want the information?

She goes closer to him, but he keeps toying with her e.g. telling her that he’s cold so she should come closer to warm him up. Finally, he speaks.

Lucien: Actually, I have an arrangement with someone in Black Swan.

MC: What you mean by “arrangement”? An agent you planted?

Lucien: If you put it that way, I can't deny it. A person I planned on bringing along with me when I left this place. It’s just that back then, the timing wasn’t ripe yet.

MC: After you left, did you remain in contact with the person who kept you informed about the organisation’s internal affairs?

Lucien: Yes.

MC: ...who is it?

I stare at Lucien, my heart beating rapidly. I can’t tell if my emotions can be called anger or something else.

Lucien’s eyes continue to sparkle. He arches the corners of his mouth, as though in a good mood.

That layer of suppressed anger dissipates, and I suddenly realise something.

MC: ...Lucien, don’t speak nonsense.

Lucien: I never lie. You should know that clearly.  

MC: You...

Lucien: That person is a female.

MC knows that every word and action is being watched by the people in the surveillance room

Lucien: We’ve known each other for a long time. After leaving the organisation... she has been the one taking the initiative to look for me most of the time.

MC: Nonsense! You’re just-

Lucien: Of course, I miss her a lot. Perhaps there is a tacit understanding between us. Whenever I miss her, she will appear.

MC: But the relationship between the two of you is simply sharing the benefits of exchanging information, am I right?

Lucien: ...is that so? It sounds like there isn’t a relationship at all. Did you know? Sometimes, feelings are part of a beneficial exchange. Many people simply don’t realise it, and lose out in the process. With this thought in mind, perhaps those people are the ultimate winners.

At this point, the STF barges in. Lucien frees himself from the ropes.

Lucien: I wasn’t speaking nonsense. I do have someone I want to take with me.

I feel a tightening on my wrists and I exclaim in surprise. Both my hands have been gently bound in front of me, bringing with it a silky touch.

Lucien: Now, can I take you away?

MC: ...that’s not possible.

I look him in the eyes. In the darkness, the rotating red lights occasionally flash across his face, looking blurry and dangerous.

MC: I’ve said it before. It’s all right if you choose to walk down another path, because I’ll walk the remaining half of this path on your behalf. I’ll prove to you that the decision we made at the beginning was not wrong.

Lucien ...I got it.

At this moment, I seem to understand the true loneliness in this man’s eyes than ever before. At the same time, I feel as though I’m the person he has lied to the most in the world.

Lucien: In that case, sleep for a while...

Realising what he’s about to do, I try to escape.

Lucien’s palm has already covered my eyes, the warmth reminiscent of a cloud which has been under the sun for a long time.

MC: Lucien... you're lying to me again.

Lucien: What?

MC: You...

His voice trembles in my ear. In my hazy state, I don’t know if I said the words in my heart.

He lied so that I would enter this cold iron cell and warm him up.

But his hands are burning hot, as though the temperature had been stored for a long time, reserving it for the lady who has gotten frozen in order to find him.

MC: Lucien, you don’t... feel cold at all, right?

~

When MC awakes, she’s at home. She feels an itch on her wrist and sees rope marks

She receives a notification on her phone telling her that the underground interrogation room has been sealed by the STF, but there aren’t any traces left of what happened yesterday

The interrogation materials have also been wiped

The doorbell rings, and it’s Lucien

MC: Are you Mr Advisor, or Professor Lucien?

Lucien: Right now, I’m just a neighbour who is inviting you for dinner. Will you do me the honour?

MC: Mm... I happen to be a little hungry.

Lucien smiles. When he takes my hand, his eyes fall on the ribbon tied to my wrist.

Lucien: Is this... a new ornament?

...oh no, I forgot to take it off last night.

Looking at his expression, which clearly shows that he knows what’s going on, I nod and pretend nothing happened.

MC: Even I don’t know where it came from. Come to think of it, could it have been you?

I ask Lucien, lifting my head while changing my shoes at the entrance.

He smiles, his warm fingertips gliding across my wrist. He chuckles lightly while unravelling the delicate knot.

Lucien: Next time, I’ll tie it a little more tightly.

-

Lucien’s Call: here

-

💔 Gavin’s Stray Date (迷途之约) 💔

MC is in a hut on a cliff by the sea looking for someone

She spots a familiar figure 👀

She tries to sneak away because she doesn’t want trouble, but the wind lifts her off the ground and brings her over to Gavin

Gavin: Care to explain?

Gavin lifts his head and arches his brows slightly. Both hands are crossed in front of his chest as he watches me hover in the air.

MC: I... was just preparing for a future photoshoot.

While he tries to catch her in a lie, he uses his Evol to gradually make her hover above the ocean...

MC: You... this is against the rules!

Gavin: I’ve always used my own methods to resolve issues.

MC tries to suppress her trembling, and reaches out to maintain her balance. She then realises that the air currents around her are controlled very well to ensure she doesn’t fall - Gavin is just trying to scare her

She calms down and relaxes her posture, even smiling at him

Gavin: [sighs] You’re not afraid?

He closes his eyes and sighs softly, bringing me closer to the cliff. He still doesn’t put me down.

MC: I said it before - I’m not afraid of you. So, you can’t scare me.

Gavin: What relation do you have with that person?

MC: Does STF’s mission have something to do with that person?

Gavin: This has nothing to do with you.

MC: In that case, my answer also has nothing to do with you.

His fingertips tremble and he looks straight at me. I sit on the air current and clench my fists, staring back at him.

MC: Gavin, I also have things I want to use my own methods to resolve. He has taken something he shouldn’t have. I’m not sure about the rest of it, and I don’t want to know.

The strength of the air current gradually becomes weaker. I try to maintain my balance, but Gavin suddenly holds me gently.

With one hand, he grabs my wrist. With the other, he brushes my back so I can stand on the ground steadily.

He must have stood here for a long time - he smells of the ocean breeze.

Gavin takes half a step back. This wordless hug was so brief that it almost feels like a hallucination.

Gavin: He has always been on the STF’s wanted list. For three years.

~

A few days later, MC uses intelligence from the STF to look for the man

Under the cover of the sprinkler system of the hotel, she looks for the USB drive in the man’s room

Gavin suddenly breaks the window and enters the room

The first thing he does is to scan the room for a fire... and only after he sees there isn’t any, he rushes to MC (does this mean he still has a phobia of fire?? 😭)

Just when you think this isn’t painful enough:

After pressing the off button, he casually wipes off the water droplets from his forehead and fringe. When his hair curls up in the air, it actually looks pretty cute.

That strawberry hairband and resigned expression suddenly flash before my eyes.

A curtain of water clouds my vision. I blink repeatedly, forcing myself to focus on the present.

[Note: It’s a reference to Gavin’s Prank Date]

While they talk, they discover that it was neither STF nor MC who set off the fire alarm. The man had escaped with the help of somebody else

Gavin puts a jacket over MC and carries her out of the window

MC asks if they can work together, but Gavin says:

Gavin: That’s not the way I work. The thing you’re looking for is unrelated to Black Swan, so I won’t look into it. But this doesn’t mean it’d be the same next time.

When he reaches the ground, he holds me in his arms and walks to the ambulance, blocking me from the sight of onlookers.

Gavin: She suffered some injuries just now. Bring her to the hospital.

After speaking, he lifts the jacket that’s covering my face, and leans close to my ear.

Gavin: Don’t involve yourself in this matter again.

~

Later, MC leaves the hospital, hugging Gavin’s jacket. She’s at the port.

A few minutes ago, she received a call telling her that the man plans to leave Loveland City through the port that night

It’s also revealed that the man betrayed Black Swan

Suddenly thinking of something, she calls Gavin, who already knows of the man’s plans to leave Loveland City

MC voices her suspicions that the person helping the man isn’t simply helping him escape out of kindness. From her investigations, the man hasn’t kept in contact with anyone after leaving Black Swan three years ago

Gavin says he’d head to the port, but MC says there isn’t enough time

Gavin: I know what you’re thinking. You don’t have to worry about these things. All you have to do is keep yourself safe, and leave the rest of it to me.

MC persuades him to direct her so she can find him quickly, since STF would need some time to arrive

MC: Gavin, you have to trust me. Trust me, all right?

Gavin: You have to promise.

MC: I promise nothing will happen to me, and that I have my ways of protecting myself. And I also trust that you’d give me the correct judgments.

I’m no longer that person who only knows how to let you stand in front of me. This time, I’ll stand beside you, and will not back down.

MC: Gavin, I’m at the unloading zone.

The lights from the cold machine are reflected in his eyes. Beneath his palm is the entire port.

He forces himself to lean against the chair instead of immediately rushing to the girl’s side.

Gavin: In 50 metres, there are two people at two o'clock. The target is moving towards Area C. There’s no rush. Your speed is faster than him.

MC: That’s a shuttle bus I “borrowed”.

Hearing the girl’s slightly satisfied tone, he can’t help but let out a secret smile.

Gavin: [softly laughs] Turn right.

MC: Did you just laugh...

Gavin: No.

MC: Don’t think you can lie just because I can’t see you.

Gavin: ...

MC: I guessed correctly, right? If it’s you, you’d definitely say something along the lines of “I won’t lie to you”.

Gavin: Didn’t you lie to me in front of the hut?

MC: ...

Gavin: Turn left in front. He’s stopped.

MC: I don’t have a choice sometimes...

The girl sounds as though she’s been wronged. Her voice goes round and round, worming into the tip of his heart, and gently prodding it twice.

Gavin: I...

MC: Gavin! I think I see him!

I hide behind a container secretly, watching as the man looks around furtively, as though waiting for someone.

A red dot appears on his back, and trails upwards.

MC: !!!

I rush forward quickly, throwing two black objects in the direction where the red light came from.

In the dense smoke screen, the man sees that things are amiss, and whips out a detonator from the pocket of his coat.

A massive explosion sounds. I grip the man’s collar tightly, but am held in a warm embrace the very next second.

MC: Gavin?!

Gavin: Did you really think I’d let you come here alone?

~

Gavin: So this is your way of protecting yours-

Comical ribbons fall lightly on the top of Gavin’s head, hanging in front of his left eye. 

His bright amber eyes blink. Gavin turns his head to look at the sky full of coloured ribbons. 

A gigantic inflatable man holds a banner with the word “surprise”, and it sways in the wind. 

The man freezes in place while holding onto the detonator, looking as though he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. 

MC: I knew early on that there’d be something “special” here. How is it? I said I had my ways. Unexpected, right? 

Gavin lifts his hand, gently removing the ribbon next to my ear. He fails to suppress a smile. 

Gavin: Unexpected. But we’ll talk about this later. 

He stands up, looking coldly at the man cowering in the corner. 

Gavin: MC, turn around. 

MC: Okay...

I listen to Gavin and turn around obediently. The moon hides behind the clouds, as though carrying a sense of pity. 

Soon after, Gavin receives news that the sniper has been brought under control.

After explaining how the sniper was caught, Gavin places something on the top of her head - it’s the USB she’s been searching for

MC: Even though I really didn't do anything bad, you’re just giving it to me directly? You don’t need to check it? 

Gavin: I’m taking it away if you keep asking. 

MC: I won’t ask, I won’t ask. 

However, MC has another question - how did Gavin appear at the scene when he should have been in STF’s command room? 

Gavin doesn’t give her a straightforward answer

Gavin: I was at the control system, but I could also come here. That’s it.

[And then Papergames cuts me deep by playing Gavin’s S1 bgm out of nowhere...]

At this moment, sirens blare in the distance. The special reinforcements have arrived.

I dig into my bag and realise my car keys are missing.

 A bunch of bright keys slide in the air and fall into my palm.

MC: I even thought you’d detain me for an investigation.

Gavin: Aren’t you...

He pauses, and he retracts the words on his lips. After a long time, he speaks slowly.

Gavin: You didn’t do anything bad, right? 

Gavin turns his head to the side. The crescent moon hides his eyes in the night. 

Gavin: Didn't you ask me to trust you? 

His voice is very light. It’s so light that once the words leave his lips, they are immediately swallowed up by the night wind. 

MC: What? 

Gavin: You’re still not leaving? Do you really want me to detain you? 

I purse my lips at him, then grip the car keys as I run in the direction of the car park Gavin told me about. I suddenly think of something, and turn around. 

MC: Isn’t it very convenient to work with me? If you keep rejecting me, you’ll lose out. I suggest you consider it properly next time. 

Gavin: All right, I’ll consider it. The next time you face danger, you don’t need to rush into it alone. It’s quite silly. 

MC: You...

Gavin: You can call my name.

-

Do you know why this hurts so much? Because he’s unintentionally referencing his very first date - the Relieving Date:

-

Gavin’s call: here

-

🌸 MOMENTS 🌸

Gavin’s Post: Another coincidence?

MC: I even feel like I'm staging it.

Gavin: Having your car break down doesn’t count.

[Note: I translated “staging it” from “碰瓷”, which refers to how some drivers manoeuvre unsuspecting motorists into crashes in order to make false insurance claims.]

-

Gavin’s Post: Another coincidence?

MC: I didn’t think my car would break down outside the STF entrance, causing trouble for you again.

Gavin: It’s okay, it’s no effort at all.

-

Gavin’s Post: Another coincidence?

MC: My engine might have its own ideas... but thank you for your wind in helping me move the car.

Gavin: Ahem, it’s just safer that way. 

[rainydayhogwartsimagines]

hi, could you do a draco x muggleborn reader headcanon where he falls in love with her throughout the years in hogwarts and she slowly introduces him into muggle things like tv shows and phones and basically her and hermionie always make fun of him and ron for not understanding !! i love your work btw

oh my God this idea is ADORABLE!

Draco was snooty. God that boy had something to say about everyone. But you saw past that and he became this really sweet guy. You two became these best friends and Draco actually began to hang out with the trio. Course his father was not exactly a big fan of him spending part of the summer at the Weasleys but Narcissa said "Lucius, he's making friends. Be nice." So Lucius sucked it up.

Draco absolutely adored you though and constantly talked about you. He was kind of sad that you never spent the summers in the Wizarding world. You always spent it in the muggle world with Hermione. This year though you spent part of it with the Weasleys before heading back to Hogwarts for your third year. When you walked in Draco was so FUCKING EXCITED. You brought a lot of weird things for Arthur to look at. "what's this?" Arthur asked, holding up a discman and making Harry snort. "It's a cd player." You answered. "... What's a cd?" Ron asked. "....Uhm.... Well crap." You muttered. You showed them what it was and they were mesmerized, along with Draco. You spent most of your time there showing the group different muggle devices. You had a blast, you and Draco spending a ton a time together.

However with the time you two spent together the more in love you two were. The last night you were there you sat outside on the back steps with Draco. "This was the best summer." You chuckled. Draco smiled. "Hey can I ask you something?" He asked. "What's up?" You asked. "...Do you feel like something has changed between us?" He asked. "Oh so you noticed it too! I've been thinking this was just a me thing. If I didn't know any better I'd even say that I--" you stopped yourself and cleared your throat. "what were you saying?"he asked. "N-nothing!" You lied. Draco got closer to your face and you leaned back, quickly turning red. "What were you saying?" He asked, a small smirk coming onto his lips. He knew damn well what was going on. "Drac-Draco I..." You saw that smug look and you squinted. This little shit knew you liked him. So you decided to play around too. You pulled him forward and kissed his nose, now wiping the smug look off of his face and making him blush. But two could play at this game. He kissed your cheek, making you grumble. This fucker was not winning. You gripped his shirt, yanking him forward and kissed him. To be honest, you shocked yourself. He pulled away. "I am so sorry I just got aggravated and--" he kissed you. He actually kissed you.

Well that led to you two dating. He was so happy around you, always smiling with his arm around you. School finally was back so he was seeing you every day. "I don't get it. Why not use a fucking pencil?" You asked. "I don't get that either." Hermione agreed. "It does make math WAY harder." Harry admitted. "What... What's uhm.." Ron struggled to ask. "Yeah, me and Ron are lost, what's a pencil?" Draco asked. "....Baby... Please tell me you're joking. Like PLEASE tell me you jackasses know what a pencil is?" You asked. "No?" Draco admitted. You sighed and got up. "I'm about show you." You said before disappearing. You came back with an unopened pack of pencils. "So this is like a pen. But you can erase your mistakes." You said. "....So it's a pen." Ron said. "No." You said. "So... It's not made for writing?" Draco asked. "no it is!" Hermione corrected. "So.... It's... it's a pen!" Ron said. "NO."

That argument went on for way too long. But you started showing them more. Draco loved seeing you draw though. Sitting under a tree by a lake in his arms as you sketched out a landscape. He finally got the idea of a pencil after watching you btw. But the one thing both boys took interest in was the sports. "Wait so you guys don't even keep up with muggle sports?" Hermione asked. "No. I mean, most wizards keep to careers in the wizarding world." Draco said. "Okay okay. Next summer we're teaching you baseball." You said. "Base... Base what?" Ron asked. "Baseball! Or what about rugby?" Hermione suggested. "We're not trying to break our necks." Harry said. "True. Well there's also hockey." You shrugged. Then a lightbulb practically popped over you. "We can do that this winter!" Hermione said.

And so you did, asking your parents to lend you some skates for the group along with hockey equipment. "Alright. Hockey is like football." You said. "...American or--" "English." Hermione said. "Okay. So why are we on ice?" Ron asked. "Added challenge." You said skating. Draco had never skated before and you chuckled. "you expect us to actually move on this?" He asked. "Darling, people do this all the time!" You said. He slid forward and nearly fell but you grasped his arm.

After teaching them how to skate though you taught them how to play. And oh boy you all got really into it. You stood by as a ref, watching them play nearly dying of laughter as Ron completely failed to understand how to be a goalie. As time passed you started teaching them more and more. "Dad is hellbent on knowing what the purpose of a rubber duck is." Ron said. "...I think that's just to make bathing fun." You shrugged. "But why? It's bathing." Draco asked. "Muggles are particularly boring and find enjoyment in yellow plastic ducks." Hermione answered. "That and star wars." You laughed. "...Star... What?" Ron asked. ".....We have failed as their friends." Harry said. "But they're not even that good--" you and Harry have Hermione horrified looks. "....Okay we'll show them!" She said. So that summer Draco managed to convinced his parents to let him stay with you with Ron, Harry and Hermione. You opened the door and Draco rose a brow. "....What in the world?" He asked looking at the tv in the livingroom. "this is a tv. A blessing to humanity." You said. "Amen to that." Harry nodded. You all watched the star wars movies. "DARTH IS WHAT!?" Draco gaped. "HOW-- WHAT!?" "OH MY GOD HE'S ANAKIN!?" Ron gaped. You were honestly just watching the boys' reaction. Your parents were just looking at them like "Have they never... Seen this before?"

When the movie ended Draco's mouth was open and Ron swallowed. "That was--" "Wicked." Ron said making you laugh. "So... they don't have television in the wizarding world?" Your dad asked. "No sir." Harry said. "So... how do you pass the time?" Your mom asked. "Quidditch." All of you said in unison. You did show them baseball, Draco being REALLY good at it actually. "Babe, you run!" You said. "What--" "DRACO. RUN. OVER HERE." Hermione said. He sprinted to first and you snorted. They were absolutely baffled by a gameboy. "What the hell is a Pikachu?" Ron asked. "Think thunderbird but cuter." You said showing him the Pokemon. But by far their favorite thing... Was doctor who. ThEY ABSOLUTELY LOVED THIS SHOW. "THIS IS THE PEAK OF TV CHANGE MY MIND." Draco said after watching an episode. K9 was literally his favorite character. Ron just loved the Doctor as a whole. Your boyfriend... Christ he became such a fucking nerd.

But he was also very interested in cameras. You showed him some cameras like the polaroid and he loved taking pictures. Specifically of you. You loved it when he discovered more music for the discman. He was a really big fan of the Beatles actually. Harry listened to AC/DC After Sirius was like "kid you haven't lived till you heard back in black okay?" You loved to just sit in your room and read in draco's arms. There was a surprising lack of musical instruments in the wizarding world so when you admitted that you could play guitar that kind of blew their minds. See, the thing was is that they assumed that the instruments had to be enchanted in order to make music. Not that you had to be trained to play music. You played a couple of songs and Draco fell even harder for you. He loved listening to your voice, whether it was singing or talking he just loved listening to you. You actually taught Draco how to play and discovered he had a nice voice (Yes that is a subtle nod to Tom Felton who can actually sing.) Sometimes when you all would sleep in the living room Draco would sing you to sleep as you laid on his chest. Of course in the process you would lull everybody else to sleep. You spent years showing these too adorable goofballs muggle devices.

Later when you were seventeen came the ultimate Muggle lesson though. Cars. You decided to teach these two jackasses how to drive. You had gotten your license and decided to teach Draco how to drive. "So you're going to release your foot off the break--" "Oh God we're moving." Draco whined. "....Like not even one mile per hour. Now accelerate. Remember the gas?" You asked. "Yes.... Darling do we need to go faster than this!?" He asked. ".... Hermione can outwalk the car. Yes. Now accelerate!" You said. He tapped the gas and screamed when he moved making you snort. "Do you remember where the break is?" You asked. "I NEED A BREAK." he whined making you laugh. "Draco you're doing fine. Move forward." You said. "WE HAVE TO DO MORE!?" He asked.

Ron actually wasn't that bad. He wasn't as panicked driving the car and understood the process compared to Draco who ended up hyperventilating into a paper bag. "Babe... It wasn't even that bad." You said. "THEN YOU DRIVE BECAUSE THAT THING IS A DEATH TRAP!" he said. ".....Guys, wanna go to the mall!?" You asked with a slightly deranged look. So you drove and when you went past five miles Draco was flipping out. "WAHT THE FACK!?" Draco screamed. Everyone was dying of laughter after you all got out. "THIS IS MADDENING! WHY!? WHY DRIVE!? WHAT DO YOU GAIN!?" Draco asked. "if he's being this dramatic over a car wait till he finds out about a soft pretzel from the food court." Hermione said to you. The concept of a soft pretzel was hysterical to watch the two wizards try to grasp. "Yes, but pretzels aren't supposed to be soft." Ron said. "would you just eat the damn thing?" Hermione said. It was their favorite snack. "How dare they deprive us of this?" Draco asked. "fascist bastards." Ron muttered.

[threeletterslife]

01 | Redefining Destiny

→ next chapter

→ summary: You were convinced you were in love with him. A former member of the mafia in the states, that is. It was true love. Destiny. Until one day you wake up with a memory lapse; then that love is replaced with hatred. The thought of marriage is substituted with revenge. If your love with Jeon Jungkook really was destiny, you’d fall head over heels in love again. But if only he weren’t such a hot, goading asshole. 

→ pairing/rating: jungkook x reader | PG-13

→ genre: 70% fluff, 25% crack, 5% angst | e2l!au & soulmate!au

→ warnings: none??? (ok fine JK thinks ‘shit’ once but that doesn’t really count)

→ wordcount: 3.4k

Sweat slowly trickles down the back of Jungkook's neck as he stands behind the fiery heat of the burger grill. He's been gripping the metal spatula for so long that there's an angry red dented mark in his right hand. The greasy smell of oil from the french fries has penetrated through his nose for hours now; at this point, he has no other choice but to breathe sparingly through his mouth. God, he hates working overtime.

But he desperately wants to provide for you financially, and working overtime at his local burger joint was just one small step closer to financial stability when you both graduate. It's the least he can do for you.

Jungkook adjusts his red hat, which is part of his work uniform and checks the clock hanging on the wall. Ten minutes and he's out of here. He can definitely take this hot, stuffy kitchen for ten more minutes. He's been through a lot worse in his life; in comparison, this was nothing.

Ten minutes pass painstakingly slowly, but once the clock strikes 10 p.m., Jungkook pushes the spatula into his co-worker's hands and dashes out of the kitchen, grabbing his casual clothes from his corner at the back and rushing into the restroom to change. He hates the greasy, fast-food smell that clings onto his work clothes even more than you do.

And today's supposed to be a special day. Normally after a late shift, Jungkook likes to go home and lay in bed with you as you stroke his soft hair until he falls asleep. But today is definitely a special day.

When Jungkook comes out of the bathroom wearing his normal black jeans and an oversized hoodie, he sees his long-time friend Yoongi waving at him in a corner seat of the parlor. Jungkook smiles, rushing over to slide into the seat across from his friend.

"Hey," Yoongi says. "Just finished your shift?"

"Yeah," Jungkook answers.

"How was it?"

"It was okay," Jungkook lies. "It's bearable. And it's extra money."

"It's been a while since we got to meet up like this, huh?" Yoongi sighs. "How are you holding up?"

"Since..." Jungkook whispers.

Yoongi nods. "It's been nearly two years, Jungkook, but I know how much you miss them... or him."

Jungkook nods solemnly. Yoongi's right. It has been nearly two years since the Crescents collapsed and everyone but Jungkook was murdered on the spot. He's been having nightmares about that night ever since it had happened. Nightmares about his best friend... Taehyung... He shudders just thinking about it.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that," Yoongi says. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for it."

"It's really fine," Jungkook says, shaking his head. "It's not a big deal... I just miss Tae once in a while. It doesn't always plague my thoughts," he lies. "Besides, I have Y/N, you know?"

Yoongi nods, smiling. "You lost a loved one so the universe brought you another."

But Jungkook doesn't think anyone could become the Taehyung of his life—not even you, though he loves you more than mere words can describe.

"Oh, right. I forgot to tell you, Jungkook," Yoongi says, leaning forward in his seat and grinning. He's trying to lighten up the mood; Jungkook can tell. "My wife's pregnant!"

"Really?" Jungkook gasps, his eyes turning wide as he stares at his proud-looking friend. Well, this was news that he hadn't expected at all. "Wow, congratulations!" He really means it.

"I dunno about congratulations, but I am pretty glad I'm finally going to be a father," Yoongi hums. "Except that child is hoarding my wife's attention. And I'm kinda nervous," he sighs. "A lot of pressure to be a perfect example now..."

Jungkook nods. "I can imagine. But you'll be a great father."

His friend smiles. "Thanks. That means a lot. Anyways, how's school been going?" Yoongi asks, resting his head on his propped up hand. "I know you were kinda worried because of the age gap and everything..."

Yoongi's right. It wasn't easy to start up school again after neglecting to go to college in his early adult years. He would be at least three years older (or more) than everyone else in his classes... and he hadn't touched a textbook or actively listened to a lecture since senior year of high school. He was worried that he would be severely behind all the bright and chipper students who hadn't taken several gap years. And he was behind at first. But his determination to be somehow involved in law was just so much greater than the adversities that academics hurled at him, that he fought through. Of course, you'd helped him as well. So, as of now, school was going—

"Great, actually," Jungkook answers. "It's because I'm doing what I'm interested in."

"Good," Yoongi answers. "My wife sends you her best of luck. She said being a paralegal will definitely suit you."

Jungkook smiles. "Tell her I said thanks. That was sweet of her."

"You know my wife," Yoongi snorts. "Always trying to do the right thing. Oh yeah," he pauses, "how's the love of your life?"

"She puts up with me," Jungkook chuckles. "She's been great. We've been talking about her moving in for a while and it finally happened a few weeks ago."

"That's amazing, Jungkook," Yoongi says, smiling. "You really love her. I can tell."

Jungkook laughs, face heating up just thinking about you. "You know what's funny? I hated you for the longest time—no offense—because you left us, you know, for your wife. But now I know what it feels like to be crazy in love."

Yoongi snorts. "Yeah. Wait until she's pregnant with your kid, though."

"I still think I would love her as much as I do now," Jungkook says. "I don't think our love can ever fade."

Yoongi laughs out loud. "Oh, to be young and in love!" he declares.

Jungkook makes a face that makes Yoongi laugh even harder. "You're only a year older," Jungkook protests. "And if you were in school, we'd be in the same year!"

"Sure, sure," Yoongi says.

Jungkook's about to say something snarky to get back at Yoongi when he hears the familiar tune of your favorite song playing on his phone. Last Valentine's Day, you'd gone out of your way to customize Jungkook's ringtone when you call him. It was some Christian song that you belted out every Sunday at the top of your lungs—a song that Jungkook knew every word to after listening to it so many times. "Hold up, my girlfriend's calling," Jungkook says, fishing out his phone and clearing his throat to answer.

Yoongi leans back, nodding to himself as he watches his younger friend get excited over a call from his girlfriend. Jungkook presses his phone against his ear, lips already pulling up into a smile just at the thought of talking to you.

"Hey, baby!" you chirp the moment Jungkook picks up. "Can we please have ramen for dinner? I'm craving it so hard for some reason! And it's not like we can really afford anything else..."

"Of course, baby," Jungkook says, unbelievably happy just hearing your voice. "Do you want me to make it when I get home?"

"Yes, please!" you exclaim in your bright, golden voice. "We have a nasty quiz in ethics tomorrow, remember? I have no idea how you're hanging out with Yoongi knowing that, but whatever. I've been FaceTiming like six of my friends to cram for it... But also at this point, I'm kinda getting distracted—frick, I'm going off into tangents again. Wait, okay, sorry, Kook, I have to go."

"Don't worry about it, babe," Jungkook says. "Study well, okay?"

"Okay! Bye, Kook. Have fun with your friend!"

Jungkook can tell you're smiling just from your voice. "Bye, Y/N!" He ends the call, putting down his phone and looking a bit dazed.

Yoongi laughs at him. "God, Jungkook, you really love her. It's been like what, a year? And you're already even living with each other."

Jungkook scrunches his forehead. "You ran away from the only family you ever knew to be with a girl you've reunited with for less than a year," he retorts.

Yoongi chuckles. "Touché. Maybe we're both deranged love-seeking lunatics."

Jungkook laughs. "Maybe..." he muses. "Or maybe we've found our true soulmates and we're not stupid enough to let them go."

"Ha, good one," Yoongi laughs. "If I told my wife that we were soulmates, she'd tell me to open my eyes and wake up."

"Really? But she loves you and you love her," Jungkook says.

"So?" Yoongi asks. "You loved my wife too, once. So did..." he hesitates. "So did Seokjin and Taehyung... Just because we love each other doesn't make us soulmates."

"I loved your wife a long time ago. That shouldn't even count. And that was before I knew my soulmate existed," Jungkook huffs. "I guess maybe Y/N and I are lucky."

Yoongi smiles. "Extremely fortunate," he says. "True love like that doesn't happen often in this cruel universe." He folds his hands in front of him like a wise man, leaning in as if he were going to tell Jungkook a secret. Naturally, Jungkook leans in to listen to what the wiser man has to say. "You deserve it, Jungkook," Yoongi tells him. "You deserve to have someone like Y/N to give you purpose to live. To put purpose in your life. You deserve a lot, and from what I could tell, Y/N is the 'a lot' that you deserve."

Jungkook can't stop the wide grin stretching his lips. It's rare that Yoongi has such heartfelt words to say so openly in public. He must be out of his mind—or insanely excited about becoming a father.

"Thanks, Yoongi," Jungkook says.

Jungkook knows that Yoongi's always been a practical man who doesn't believe in soulmates or destiny or any of that cutesy, Disney princess, Hollywood shit. And for months, Yoongi was Jungkook's makeshift role model—someone to take the place of Kim Taehyung, who was dead now... But Jungkook knew he and Yoongi were too different when he met you. You were something else. Something so completely different that when he's with you, he feels like he's taken to the moon. He has to disagree with Yoongi on this one. Destiny exists.

Because destiny, and what was written in the stars of the vast universe, is what brought you and him together to fall in love.

You immediately sit up in bed when you hear an ear-piercing scream, quickly reaching across to switch on the bedside lamp and turning to your boyfriend. He's kicking the covers and whimpering, sweat running profusely down his face as he squeezes his eyes shut and frowns at the figures in his nightmares. You put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Kook?" you whisper, yawning and trying to blink away your drowsiness. "Hey, you were screaming again," you say, shaking him softly.

Jungkook nearly hits your head with his when he jerks awake. And the moment you see the fear in his wet but alert eyes, your drowsiness vanishes. "Baby, you're crying," you say, pulling him into your arms and hugging him.

He relaxes a bit in your embrace for a split second before tugging back and shaking his head. "I'm so sorry, Y/N," he groans nearly breathlessly as he massages his head with his hand. You try to wipe his tears away with the sleeve of your nightshirt. "It's so early in the morning... And we have a quiz today. You need to sleep."

You shake your head, ruffling Jungkook's hair. "Sleep is the least of my worries, Kook. Tell me, it's about your friends again, isn't it?"

Jungkook stays silent, still trembling slightly from the leftover shadows of his nightmare.

"C'mon... I wanna help, baby," you say, reaching out to hold Jungkook's hand. He's sweaty and his skin feels hot against yours but you don't mind. "You can tell me. It'll make you feel better, I promise."

"It was horrible," Jungkook finally whispers. "And you were right. It was about the Crescents again..." he hesitates and you patiently wait for him to gather his thoughts and continue. "I-I watched T-Taehyung be b-brutally tortured. A-And I... I couldn't do anything about it b-because I was in invisible restraints." He lets out a gigantic sigh, shivering from the last remains of the nightmare in his mind. "Everyone else was already dead and bled out," he quickly says, spitting the words out so fast he doesn't have time to stutter. "I want to spare you the details." He's shaking as he tells you this, eyes fogged up and lips set in a thin line.

"Oh, Kook..." you breathe. You reach out to hug him. "Hey... do you want me to get you an ice pack and a glass of water?" you ask, rubbing slow circles on his back. "We can talk about it in-depth when you're feeling better."

"No," Jungkook murmurs softly in your ear. "I swear, I'm fine, Y/N. You don't have to do anything. It was just a dream..."

"It was a nightmare," you correct him, pulling back from the hug. "And you keep having them. What can I do to help?"

"You're helping right now," Jungkook says. He gives you a grateful smile. "I'm sorry I keep waking you up at ungodly hours of the night."

"You shouldn't be sorry," you reply. "You've been through a lot, Kook. It would only make sense for you to have bad flashbacks about it... Hey, if you don't want to go back to sleep, I'll stay up with you."

Jungkook shakes his head. "No way. You need your sleep."

"You do too, silly," you say. "How about we both go to bed?"

Jungkook smiling, slipping back into the covers and dragging you under with him so that you're using his pillow instead of yours. "Can you stay by my side until I fall asleep again?" he whispers hopefully.

"Of course," you say, "you're really warm, anyways." You snuggle against your boyfriend, closing your eyes immediately to relish in the darkness. "Goodnight," you whisper. "I'll pray for you so that the nightmares won't bother you again this night."

"What would I do without you, Y/N?" Jungkook sighs as he closes his eyes too, wrapping an arm around you.

"Everything," you murmur. "You're... a strong man... Kook..." you trail off. Jungkook waits for you to continue, but it seems like sleep has overtaken you before you could say any more.

Jungkook smiles. When he's in your arms, he can finally have a peaceful slumber away from the nightmares and horrible memories. He dozes off the sleep again and this time, he isn't plagued by the fatal cries of his friends' last words.

When the 2 p.m. alarm rings, Jungkook's the first one up, hopping out of bed and checking to see if you are awake. You obviously aren’t, so he decides he's going to let you sleep for a little bit longer while he makes breakfast—er, lunch.

It's Friday, which means you and Jungkook only have one class today—ethics. Jungkook has a habit of studying for his classes little by little and every day but you tend to cram last-minute. You were up until 3 a.m. last night studying and you'd also woken up at around 4 to comfort Jungkook. Feeling a little guilty, Jungkook pads into the kitchen with heavy, drowsy feet and lets you get the extra sleep you deserve.

The smell of bacon sizzling on the pan permeates through the small apartment's air, reaching the bedroom to wake you up. Soon, you're making your way into the kitchen, stretching your arms as you yawn.

"Hey, baby," Jungkook greets you, turning around from the stove to give you a warm smile. "Sorry about last night... er, early morning."

You yawn again, waving a dismissive hand as you open the fridge to take out some eggs and apples. "It's nothing, Kook. Can you scramble these eggs? I'll cut the apples."

Jungkook nods, taking the eggs from you and cracking them open expertly against the fry-pan before letting the contents fall out. He takes the cooked bacon from the pan before it burns, looking around to find some plates to set them on.

"Here you go," you tell him, handing him just what he needed.

Per usual, it's like the two of you have telepathic communication.

Once the bacon is hot and ready on the plates, the eggs are scrambled into a golden yellow and the apples are freshly washed and cut, you and Jungkook sit down at your small table and eat. Jungkook's just about to finish up his eggs when you sigh. Jungkook looks up at you, and he sees that you have abandoned your silverware, twisting around your gold purity ring—it's a small habit you picked up when you're nervous.

"Is something wrong, Y/N?"

"No, nothing's wrong, Kook," you tell him. "I'm just worried about you. You keep having nightmares, baby, and I just think it might be detrimental to your mental health...”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he lies, shaking his head in denial. “I’m fine. I promise, Y/N.”

You know he’s lying, but you don’t say it out loud. “In that case, I have a verse from the Bible for you,” you say, pausing to close your eyes. “Maybe repeating this in your head can somehow help you...” Your brows furrow as you concentrate to pull up the scripture from memory. "Be strong and courageous,” you begin, “do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go."

"Joshua 1:9," Jungkook finishes for you. "I know, Y/N. I know."

He doesn't really, though. Jungkook respects your closeness to God; he respects your religion and your beliefs, but he, a murderer, a major sinner, cannot possibly receive salvation. He can't take back the lives he's ruined, the people he's tortured and turned insane, the victims he'd killed slowly, taking his sweet, sweet time... You understand his struggles, so you don't push the subject of religion on him. But it had been a hard move for you to choose to date Jungkook. To choose to move in with him. To choose to sleep on the same bed and maintain your purity. Jungkook understands. And this mutual understanding—even though none of it was spoken verbally—is what makes the two of you so special.

You connect on a level that transcends speech and language.

"You don't deserve being haunted by the things you did when you were younger," you say. "Former mafia or not, you're a good man, now, Jungkook." You grab his hand from across the hand, encompassing it with your own. "That's what matters."

He smiles, nodding. "Thank you..."

"Of course," you say. "Hey, after class, wanna eat out for dinner? You know, to celebrate another quiz."

"Ah..." Jungkook sighs. "I can't, baby. I have to work overtime today."

"What?" you pout as a frown places itself on your lips. "You worked overtime yesterday. And you didn't get a good night's sleep today..."

"Well, we need all the money we can get," Jungkook says. "I'll be fine. Maybe you can get dinner with your friends? I'll meet you outside my workplace at 10?"

You sigh. "Alright, Kook, but you have to promise you'll sleep in tomorrow."

"I promise," Jungkook grins. "Hey, I'll clean up so you can cram a bit more for the quiz."

You laugh, shaking your head as you gather up your utensils and your plate. "No way, Kook. You know, I don't have to try as hard anymore. I'm not going to intern abroad."

"Really?" Jungkook asks, frowning. "But that's such a great opportunity, Y/N! You can't just miss out on it..."

"Well, going abroad would mean we'd be long-distance... And what if I never come back?" you say. "I'm not gonna risk that. I'm not going. I'll have to explain that to my parents... somehow."

"You don't have to give up on your future for me..."

You laugh out loud. "I think God meant for me to have a future with you, Kook."

Jungkook hums. "In that case, I can't really argue against what He planned for you, can I?"

"No," you giggle, shaking your head. "You can't."

Jungkook smiles; God or not, you and he were meant to be, and he'd prove time and again that he is worth your love.

After the ethics quiz that had gone fairly well, you and Jungkook part ways after he kisses your cheek goodbye. Usually, Jungkook walks straight to the burger parlor, but, today, he takes a little detour to the flower shop.

He's been buying you one sunflower every week since the two of you began dating. He doesn't really know how that tradition started, but it never really stopped because the two of you enjoyed it so much. But today, he wants to get you something special.

Jungkook feels a little guilty, after all, that you'd given up your internship abroad to be with him and that you always had to wake up in the middle of the night or at early dawn to comfort him through his nightmares. It isn’t much, but sunflowers give you happiness.

He makes his special purchase and walks to the burger parlor where the smell of grease and oil isn't as bad today—his mind is preoccupied with your reaction when he gives you your present.

You're already waiting for him outside the burger parlor when Jungkook comes out, a bit sweaty with the smell of burgers still lingering on his skin.

"Hey, babe!" you say brightly, hugging him and immediately taking his hand. "How was work? I went to get some street food with friends. It was so good! I have to take you there some time—goodness, are those—" Your eyes turn huge as you see the packet that your boyfriend is holding.

"Sunflower seeds," your boyfriend smiles. "I know I usually get you sunflowers... but I figured it would mean more if we could plant them and grow them ourselves."

You gasp, putting a hand to your heart. "That's so thoughtful, Kook. I don't even know what to say."

Jungkook shrugs shyly, face blushing. "It was nothing, babe... But hey, did you walk here alone? That's kind of dangerous..."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Oh no, my friend dropped me off here. I didn't even wait that long for you. You don't have to worry."

"Sorry," Jungkook says, squeezing your entertained hands. "I'm just... paranoid, I guess."

He's referring to Jimin and you know it. "Hey... I'm fine," you say. "It doesn't hurt to worry or be cautious, you know. Wanna start walking home?"

Jungkook nods as the two you begin to walk down the familiar streets, the bright moonlight illuminating what was otherwise dark. A few minutes pass before you speak again.

"It's a full moon, tonight," you say, looking up at the sky.

"I really like full moons," Jungkook hums.

You turn your head to look at him in shock. "Really? I always thought crazy things happen on the night of a full moon. Like men turn into werewolves and witches brew their potions and warlocks cast their spells?"

Jungkook laughs as he looks at you fondly through his half-opened eyes. "Maybe," he giggles. "But... I don't know... it's just that it's a better, more completed version of a crescent moon. I feel like it guides me in the right direction."

"I thought I did that, not the full moon!" 

Jungkook smiles. "You're better than the moon," he says, pointing at the stars twinkling in the night sky. "You're the stars, Y/N. You're the sun. You're my sunflower!" he exclaims confidently.

You smile, a faint, rosy blush tinting your cheeks. "I really don't know what I would have done without you."

"You'd be abroad," Jungkook says. "Studying a foreign language and becoming successful."

You shake your head. "Not at all. I'd be unhappy. I'd feel stuck. You know I hate what I'm learning..." you shrug. "Without you, I wouldn't have anyone to lean on."

Jungkook smiles. "Me too."

You smile, about to say something sweet right back to your boyfriend, but you halt walking instead. Jungkook stops with you, looking around to see if anything is wrong.

"Hey," he says. "You good?"

"Was that always there?" you say, tilting your head and looking curiously to the right. "I've never seen it before."

Jungkook looks to where you're looking and smiles curiously. It's a little shop, the windows displaying glowing potions and little sparkling trinkets. "A magic gag shop?" he asks. "Maybe it's new."

"Gosh, it's adorable!" you gasp, running toward the windows to peer inside. "Look, baby! There's a cute little flying teacup set! I can barely see the string that's holding it up!"

Jungkook catches up to you, looking in to see exactly what you are talking about. "It seems so professional," he says in awe. "Do you think the owner works in the film industry or something? Some of these look so real. Look at that!" He points at a crystal ball in the middle of the shop, displaying vibrant images of sunflower patches. "That's insane!"

"It's like it was made for us," you laugh. "Let's check it out!"

"Woah, uh," Jungkook hesitates, "it's late, Y/N. The shop's probably closed."

"The lights are on," you pout. "C'mon, I wanna talk to the owner! I wonder what they're using to get such vivid photos on that thing!"

With that, you tug your boyfriend into the little magic shop with you. One step in, it's like you've entered a new universe.

—next chapter

—masterpost

[lloydskywalkers]

it’s ironic that you should ask this now, because one) that’s the firST thing my mind went to during my rewatch so far, and two) i now have a whole bunch of lovely little oneshots like this guess which episode i watched recently

Nya should’ve listened to her gut the moment she started feeling something was wrong.

Kai calls her impulsive (which is rich, coming from him), but Nya’s instincts haven’t been wrong before. They weren’t when the Fire Nation came for them the first time, they weren’t when things went sour in the Earth Kingdom, and they weren’t when she found Lloyd frozen in the ice. While her method of action might not always the best, Nya’s instincts have rarely led her wrong.

She curses herself between gasps for breath for ignoring them this time, sprinting as fast as she can through the darkened forest. It looks so different in the dark than it had when she’d gone out with Harumi earlier. Bright and sunny as it’d been then, Harumi had been nothing more than a unassuming nonbender and a potential friend — perhaps more, for Lloyd, with how his cheeks had flushed every time she’d talked to him.

Now, with the trees silhouetted black and the echoes of Kai’s angered shouts through the forest, Nya can’t believe she ever let her get within five feet of them.

The long months of trekking from nation to nation serves her well, and Nya bursts from the thick trees full-force — only to immediately skid to a stop, the cursed red skirt she’s stuck in swishing around her legs as she sucks in a breath of horror.

Harumi stands in the middle of the clearing they were in earlier, but the scene is drastically different. The serene look Harumi once wore is gone as if it never existed, replaced by a twisted expression of malice. She got one hand raised in the air, sharp nails curved inwards as she holds Kai steady where he’s frozen across the clearing, by what Nya can only guess is the witchcraft the villagers had whispered about. Kai’s face is pale and furious, but he seems unharmed, if unable to move.

It’s Harumi’s other hand, the one that’s locked around Lloyd’s pale hair as she holds him in place, that has Nya rooted to the spot.

“Nya,” Lloyd gasps, his eyes wide and frightened. “Watch out, she’s—”

Harumi’s fingers clench around his hair, and Lloyd’s expressions spasms in pain as he twists unnaturally, his arms folding in on themselves. Hot anger sparks in Nya’s gut, and she snarls at Harumi.

“Let them go,” she says, her voice low.

Harumi tilts her head at her, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Her hand shifts around Lloyd’s hair, and he twitches again, shooting Nya a look of terror.

“No,” Harumi says, her voice silky. “I don’t think I will.”

Nya swallows. The look on Harumi’s face is deranged, makeup streaking down her cheeks like twin streams of blood, and Nya can’t believe she ever thought to trust her. She knows they’ve been getting careless lately, but this is the nail in the coffin. Lloyd’s already too trusting as it is, but they’d gotten so lucky with Jay, then Cole and Zane, that Kai and Nya had begun to let their guard down as well.

Right in the middle of the Fire Nation. Nya stomach twists. She, of all people, should know how unbelievably stupid they’ve been.

But there’s nothing for it now. Nya’s almost lost Lloyd to the Fire Nation twice, and she won’t let Harumi be the third.

“That wasn’t a request,” she says, louder this time. “Let them go."

Harumi eyes her, and her hands jerk. Kai’s expression contorts, as if straining against some incredible force, before his hand drifts toward his belt. He gives a sharp warning of “Nya!” before he abruptly sends one of his knives flying toward her head. Nya dodges easily — the throw is sloppy, without any of Kai’s usual accuracy or grace, but the force behind is enough to give her pause.

“I don’t know what kind of witchcraft you’re using, but I doubt it can match three benders at once,” she threatens. She’d tout the fact that Lloyd’s the Avatar, except not only is it something Nya’s supposed to be keeping secret, but it would probably fall flat with how Harumi’s got him easily pinned right now.

Nya hopes it’s just Lloyd being soft-hearted again, but that wouldn’t explain Kai staying so still as well.  

“Oh, it’s not witchcraft,” Harumi answers, rolling her eyes. “It’s a…unique, bending technique.”

Nya pauses, her eyebrows furrowing, but Lloyd’s the one that speaks up. “You said you weren’t a bender.” His voice is painfully small.

“Oh Lloyd,” Harumi laughs, rattling him again. “I lied, you stupid boy. Haven’t you figured it out? I’m just like you, Nya.”

Shiny droplets of water weave between her fingertips as she speaks, and Nya’s eyes widen.

“You’re a waterbender,” she breathes. Harumi nods, her teeth glinting as she smiles. Nya glances from her hands to Kai and Lloyd, watching the way their limbs twist, expressions tight with pain.

“Their blood,” Nya whispers, her mouth dry. “You’re — you’re bloodbending.”

“Oh, you are smart,” Harumi’s grin widens. “Much smarter than them.”

Lloyd grimaces as she shakes him, and Kai jerks against her hold, his eyes hot. “Leave him alone, you twisted—”

Harumi moves her hand and Kai’s entire body wrenches, flinging himself into the nearby tree with an ugly crack. Lloyd gives a panicked cry of concern, and Nya darts forward, fury giving her purpose.

“Don’t touch him!” she roars, her arms sweeping as she blasts her element at Harumi, just as Kai manages to launch an attack of his own in a bright burst of fire.

Neither hit lands. Panic lances through Nya as Harumi deflects her water effortlessly, sending it splashing into Kai’s burst of fire and extinguishing it. Harumi gives a shrieking laugh at their attempts, and Nya feels sweat bead up at the edges of her forehead. She desperately wishes the others were here — Cole or Jay would be able to handle this, even Zane could at least freeze the water effectively. But they’re deeper into the Fire Nation right now, scouting out the inner cities, and the only person to combat Harumi is Nya and her stupid raindrops.

Blinking back tears of frustration, Nya wishes, not for the first time, that she’d been born a firebender like Kai. Water is useless with her anger.

But if she used it like Harumi—

No, Nya scolds herself hotly. She’s no monster. She’s nothing like Harumi, and she’s not about to stoop to her level.

“Harumi,” Lloyd says, his voice pleading. “Harumi please, if you’d just explain why you’re doing this, then maybe—”

He cuts off in a cry as Harumi curls her fingers, and Lloyd’s arm twists unnaturally, bending like the limbs of a marionette. He whimpers as she stretches his right arm too far, dangling him like he’s caught in a deranged spider’s web, and Nya sees red.

“Stop, stop, let him go!” Her voice threatens to crack in anger, and water leeches from the grass around her, pouring between her fingers. “Do you even know who he is?”

“I know exactly who he is,” Harumi hisses, her eyes wild. “The Avatar. The one who was supposed to save my family.”

Lloyd stares up at her with wide eyes. “W…what?”

Harumi’s eyes finally leave Nya, and she glares at Lloyd in fury, her fingers practically tearing his hair out as she shakes him.

“Don’t play dumb, where were you?” she howls, as Lloyd flinches in pain. “Where were you when the Fire Nation destroyed my people? When they murdered my family? You were supposed to save them, where were you?!”

Lloyd goes as silent as he had when they’d brought him to the ruined Air Temple, his eyes glassy in that same kind of horror. Kai writhes against Harumi’s hold, and Nya’s stomach twists. It’s killing her to stay still, but with Lloyd in Harumi’s grasp and Kai still frozen near the tree, she can’t risk it.

“My family died because you weren’t there,” Harumi continues, the shadows catching on her manic expression and turning her visage monstrous in the moonlight. “Now it’s your turn, when I hand you over to the Fire Lord.”

Kai makes a noise of panic, and Nya finally wrenches herself from her stupor. “The Fire Nation killed your family,” she starts, trying to reason with her. “They killed ours too, and Lloyd’s! We’re trying to stop them. Why are you helping them?”

Harumi’s lip curls, her eyes snapping back to Nya. “Because water is weak,” she sneers. “Our tribe was stupid and arrogant to think we deserved the kind of respect fire does. With the power of the Fire Nation behind me, I can turn waterbending into something deadly. Something to be feared. Every last one of us will be bloodbenders, and with the Fire Nation, no one will ever attack us again!”

Kai stares at her, incredulous. “The Fire Nation was the one who attacked you in the first place!” he exclaims. “Are you ser—agh!”

Harumi’s wrist snaps downward, and Kai’s knees buckle, sending him plummeting to the ground with a pained cry. Nya’s heart jumps, her fingernails biting into her palms. She forces herself to calm instead, gritting her teeth. Harumi’s logic is twisted beyond belief. It’s clear there won’t be any reasoning with her.

“You’re not the only one in the world with a tragic past,” Nya snarls, and she can feel the humidity in the air itself vibrating with the intensity of her anger. “I don’t care about your reasoning. This is your last chance. Let them go, and you can walk away from this.”

Harumi’s teeth bare. “I had hopes for you, you know. You could be great. You could be powerful, like me. Instead you chain yourself to these two. How disappointing.”

She raises both hands, releasing Lloyd’s hair from her grasp as her fingers clench together. Kai and Lloyd both shout in pain as they’re dragged forward, and Kai’s suddenly pulling his sword from where its strapped to his back, his fingers shaking as they grasp the hilt.

Nya’s mouth goes bone dry. Harumi smiles. “I’ll make you a deal, waterbender,” she says. “If you can stop them, you can have your brother back. If you, can’t, though…”

Her hand twists again, and Kai’s eyes go wide in terror as he surges forward, forced into a dead sprint toward Lloyd.

“Then maybe I’ll just kill the Avatar myself,” Harumi finishes, her eyes dark.

“Kai!”

“Stop, Nya, stop me—!”

Nya’s running before she can think, barreling toward Harumi at full force. Kai is moving across the clearing faster than she can blink, his sword leveled at Lloyd’s unprotected head where he’s stuck frozen in place. Nya moves to attack Harumi with her element, but it’s immediately redirected just as before, splashing back into Nya’s own face.

“Stop it, stop it, Nya stop me now—”

Panic swelling to a crescendo in her head, Nya freezes. Harumi’s going to kill them both. She’s going to kill Nya’s family without a second’s thought, and Nya and her water will have done nothing. The tears of frustration welling up in her eyes begin to hiss, steaming up in her vision. Her hands shake with fury, white-knuckled and trembling, and the thin threads of Nya’s restraint snap.

She stretches her hand out toward Harumi, feels for her element, and reaches.

It’s almost laughably easy. Nya’s hold on her element is already razor-sharp in her anger, and the blood that thrums through Harumi’s veins is loud and pulsing. Nya feels the viscosity of it, the heavy traces of water flowing through it as easily as she does the icy streams of water at home, and for a second it’s terrifying — the sound of Harumi’s heartbeat pulsing through her ears, the watery flow of blood.

Then her rage burns hot, and Nya feels control.

Harumi screams as her arms wrench forward, and Kai and Lloyd drop with startled shouts, like puppets with their strings cut as Harumi looses her hold. Lloyd slumps to the ground below Harumi, and Kai rolls across the grass before coming to a stop, panting harshly as he flings his sword away.

Nya barely glances at them. Her eyes are locked on Harumi’s, savoring the growing terror she sees in them as she tightens her control, filtering through the very veins beneath Harumi’s skin.

“You said I’m weak?” Nya hisses, a dull roaring in her ears. “I’ll show you weak.”

Harumi strains against her hold, trying to make a last-ditch attack, but Nya has her in the palm of her hand now. She makes a choking noise before cutting off, collapsing to the dirt as Nya forces her to her knees.

Where she belongs.

A dizzying kind of elation sweeps through Nya’s veins as she realizes that she can make Harumi do whatever she wants her to. As she realizes the power she’s wielding. She can do this to anyone — anyone who raises a hand against her, or any of her family again — she can control them. The Fire Lord himself, in all his purpose to destroy Lloyd, she can tear him apart piece by piece before he even sets eyes on him.

Nya can turn anyone on earth against themselves. With her waterbending — with her bloodbending — she’ll be so powerful no one will ever challenge her again, no one will ever underestimate her again, no one will ever come close—

“Nya,” Kai whispers.

Her control shatters like glass. Nya drops to her knees, shaking uncontrollably as she gasps raggedly for air. Her vision swims, turning Harumi’s crumpled form on the grass into dozens of blurring figures, and terror shoots through Nya like lightning.

She’s a monster. She’s just like Harumi, she’s worse, she’s a monster. The thoughts that just ran through her mind — that taste of power—

Nya wants to throw up, and dissolves into tears instead.

Familiar warm arms wrap around her, pulling her close. After a moment, there’s a gentle touch as she feels Lloyd join in the embrace as well. His hold isn’t as firm as Kai — he’s trembling as badly as Nya is.

“Harumi?” Nya finally croaks, half-fearing the answer.

Kai makes an angry sound in the back of his throat, like an infuriated dragon.

“She’s alive,” Lloyd murmurs. “Just unconscious.”

Nya finally wipes at her eyes, glancing at him, and her heart sinks. Lloyd’s eyes, normally so bright and cheery, are dull and downcast. There’s heartbreak written all across his face, and Nya wants to throttle Harumi for wiping his smile away like that.

“I’m so sorry, Lloyd,” she whispers.

Lloyd shakes his head, wiping surreptitiously at his own eyes. “I guess you were right. You can’t make peace with everyone,” he says, his voice wavering.

“Harumi is not everyone,” Kai says, firmly. He turns his eyes on Nya, and she shrinks under his gaze. “And she’s not you, either.”

Nya shakes her head. “Kai, you saw what I — Kai, I just—”

“You wiped the floor with her,” Kai cuts across. “That’s all that matters.”

“Kai—”

“Look, we’ll — can we figure it out in the morning?” Kai finally shudders, his composure faltering. “We can — we can work it out then, when everything’s not…not so…”

Nya stares at him, watching as he refuses to meet her gaze. His scarred hands are wrapped tightly around both her and Lloyd now, holding them close. She remembers the terror in his eyes as he’d launched the knife at her head, and the drowning horror as he’d charged at Lloyd.

“Alright,” she finally says, quietly. “Tomorrow."

[jungcity]

bane of the devil. | ii

genre: vampire!jaehyun

pairings: jaehyun x female reader

important note: the au’s i write for nct members do not, in any way, reflect them in real life. they are only my muses for my writing and an addition to enliven my fictions! ♡

“father, i must confess

i tasted the devil,

orison in my lips

with blood on his teeth,

how could he taste like

honeysuckle,

the bitter tang of revulsion,

and the carnage of war?

father, i kissed the devil

even if i should not

will you punish me

now that i see burnish gold

in his hands

instead of blood?”

— bane of the devil // ii

A nervous chuckle broke free out of your mouth by the mention of the word ‘vampire’. Agitation filled your whole body; your fingers started to shake, your heart beating in frenetic patterns inside your chest. Jaehyun laid still, all bloodied and nearly unconscious on the sofa.

“Are you crazy?” You managed to croak, the tightness in your throat making it hard for you to speak.

Perhaps the pain of his laceration made him delusional. Perhaps Johnny told him about the death of your parents. Perhaps he knows about your obsession towards vampires. Perhaps, perhaps—

“A little bit out of my mind, yes.” His chest and shoulders vibrated by the toneless chuckle his mouth released. “Crazy? No.” Jaehyun’s eyes were still closed, but a playful smile was displayed on his lips. You have no idea how could he smile despite of his situation. He must be really deranged.

“You must be in so much pain,” you sympathized. A single paper cut hurts like hell, what more when it’s a long gash in your stomach? The mere thought was enough to make you recoil in your seat. So, you tried not to dwell in Jaehyun’s pain as you continued to sew his skin back together.

“I don’t feel anything at all.” Then he sat up from the sofa and brought his forefinger to the wound. He pressed his finger down on the incision, causing his blood to gush down his jeans.

You slapped his hand away, while he chuckles as if he enjoys seeing his blood. “What the hell?!”

“See?” he sighed before leaning back on the sofa. Sinister as it was, you have decided to just ignore his remarks and focus on the needle and thread instead. But Jaehyun seemed to be having the time of his life as he pushed on yet another statement, “How I wish I could drink my own blood.”

Bony faces, sunken cheeks, withered bodies— those were what was left of your parents’ once healthy features when you saw them lying on the metal beds in the morgue, their eyes lifeless. The same image went crashing back in your mind as you heard Jaehyun’s utterance. As much as you wanted to lash out on him for being insensitive, you could not bring yourself to now that you weren’t sure whether Johnny really told him about your mother and father’s demise.

“I don’t mean to offend, but…” your teeth twiddled with your bottom lip, Jaehyun silent beside you, “Are you… mentally ill or something?”

It’s impolite to pry. But if you would sleep in a roof with a man who nonchalantly brushes off his injuries like it was just a small scratch and not a long gash, you’ve guessed you needed to know how to walk the attenuated thread that seems to bind his sanity together. You trust you brother— despite him selling your apartment without having a word with you— you’ve met some of his friends before, and you still believe that Jaehyun is not a bad person. And that you hadn’t been wrong to allow him inside the house.

“I am not,” he finally answered after minutes of being lost for words.

“Then why did you tell me that you’re a vampire?”

“Because I am.”

There was a certain rise of intonation in his words that you have a difficulty distinguishing if it was a question or a statement.

“Did Johnny order you to do this? To scare me by standing bloodied in my doorway, and to frighten me more by saying you are a vampire? Because it’s not funny.” You slammed the lid of the sewing kit shut, breathing heavily while looking at Jaehyun. Your fingers imprinted the lid with blood.

His infamous smirk was plastered on his face in a blink, displaying his dimples. He gripped the arm of the sofa then sat up, his eyes boring into yours. “First, no one orders me around. Secondly, I don’t know shit about what you’ve just said. And yes, I think you really need to be frightened because I really am a blood-sucking bastard.”

Jaehyun bared his teeth, his two fangs elongating— Before. Your. Very. Eyes. The ravaging of your heart inside your chest was unbearable. The widening of your eyes would have been enough to let your eyeballs roll off your eye sockets.

Are you going to die now? Are you going to die just like your mother and father; lifeless eyes, wasted body? Mom and Dad. They died in such a terrible way. A cruel death for two loving souls. And they were killed by a vampire— like the monster in front of you. You grabbed the sewing kit— it’s stupid, it’s hopeless but you need to stay alive— and slammed it into Jaehyun’s face.

His face turned sideways by the impact. If a different person would put his shoes on yours right now, the person would surely collapse because of fear. But you’ve anticipated this all your life— this is your purpose. To meet a vampire, to kill a vampire. However, you are still just a person; petrified of the undead.

Breathing ragged with your heart nearly collapsing, you ran for the kitchen and rummage through the drawers to find a vinegar. Before you could sprint away from him, you need to at least injure him first. The rosary standing near the altar behind the television waved at you, you grabbed it until the cross dug in your palm.

With a vinegar in one hand, and a rosary in the other, you dashed back to the living room. Where Jaehyun sat as if he was on a vacation. His arms were laying stretched out on the head of the sofa, his eyes observing you with deviltry in them.

“Begone! You monster!” You opened the lid and threw him the vinegar, the liquid splashing on his body, on the floors and some on your own shoes. The smell of it whiffing your nose, making it itch. It would scorch Jaehyun, that’s for certain.

With the rosary raised by your hand, you shut your eyes and started chanting prayers. “Our Father, Who art in heaven, Holy be Thy Name, Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done on Earth—”

Then a howl. You opened your eyes and saw Jaehyun lying on the floor, he was in a fetal position while screaming. You did it! Without waiting for him to recover, you grabbed your phone and ran for the door. As you gripped the doorknob, the howl of pain echoing around the room was replaced by howls of laughters.

Jaehyun is laughing.

You turned around with narrowed brows. He was kneeling on the floors now, clutching his stomach while laughing. His shoulders continued to vibrate, his laughs enveloping the whole space.

“Why—? How?” was your breathless question.

“Damn, that was hilarious.” Then he slowly got up on his feet, a low laugh escaping from his lips even now. He took a step towards you, while you backed away from him.

His hands was raised in shoulder length in an instant, “Whoa. I’m not going to bite you,” he chuckled, then he raised a brow, “not unless you want me to.”

Every young adult romance books who has a cocky man as their main character had that line in one of their pages at least. It was enough to make you cringe just reading it in a book, but to be told the same thing in real life was like a dirt you could not wash off your body.

“Why… why aren’t you scathed?” You observe his body from head to toe, not a trace of scorched skin could be seen in his pale features. “Are you just fucking around?” An infinitesimal dismay bubbled up in your heart by the realization. You could have killed him, you could have taken vengeance for the death of your parents. Could you, truly? If you weren’t even sure about your theories, if you do not even have any idea about the face of their murderer?

“I am a vampire, babygirl.” He continued to advance to you, until your back was against the plain walls of your house, with Jaehyun’s one hand pressed to the walls beside your head. “So you better pack and move out tomorrow before I suck all the blood from your body.”

This close, you could see his lashes fanning his cheeks. They haven’t mistaken when they wrote vampires as terrifying yet beautiful creatures. Jaehyun is stunning.  All the papers plastered on your blackboard slowly came to life through him. You have primed yourself for this day, yet the weak side of being human ate you up as you stood unmoving, eyes focused on Jaehyun and Jaehyun’s face only. They were right when they said vampires were mesmerizing.

You could not move a muscle to defend yourself. With a heavy heart, you braced yourself for your end.  

“Hatred. So much hatred.” Jaehyun sniffed at you, you blinked. What is he doing? “Your blood would taste bitter on my tongue,” he stated, breath fanning your face. It smelled like cigarette, cigarette and mint. “You are so full of hate. Why?”

Then he took a step back, before running his hand through his hair. “Go.” His playful façade was back when he looked at you as if he’s going to pounce on you anytime sooner. “Lock your doors and don’t leave. Johnny told me to keep you safe, so don’t try to run. Because I will know.”

You should bolt out of the house and away from him, it’s preposterous if you won’t. Staying and sleeping in your bed should be out of the choices.

Where else would you go, though? Haechan’s? The little devil would surely squeeze the reasons out of you if ever you decide to stay the night in his house. Mark’s? He’s living with his own. He’d surely feel flustered by the thought of you sleeping in the same roof as him.

Jaehyun made it clear he would know if you do something as to try to leave the house, you do not doubt him one bit. On the other side of things, this is your chance to put your life out of misery: the misery that was inflicted by the murder of your parents.

Sometimes, we have to be a little bit crazy to accomplish something right? We have to be out of our minds to push our boundaries and ignite the bravery in our hearts.

Tonight, you’ve decided to be insane.

Tonight, you will stay.

—

A single dagger lay quietly on your bed. You sat, your legs crossed with each other as you stare at it with pure concentration. The blade reflecting your face in a blurred image. You bought it online years ago, and was hidden underneath your dresser ever since it has arrived. The design was remarkably artistic; a snake head as its pommel and hilt, and instead of a silver blade, it was onyx black.

Grief. It was the reason why you bought it in the first place. Of course, it was Johnny’s name you wrote in the information so you could buy the dagger. The grief and the yearning to find a vampire was what fueled your determined little spirit, resulting in you,  breaking the rules.

Jaehyun’s elongated fangs flashed in your sight as you stare at the dagger. Is he really a vampire? But the vinegar had no effect to his skin, not even the rosary or the prayers. Yet the fangs. How could he make those fangs longer? Perhaps he couldn’t. Perhaps it’s your disconcertment playing tricks on you.

You let your body fall into the mattress. It was like a hearkened prayer. A vampire showing in your doorstep when you least expect it. Was it why he does not appeared to be breathing? Or hurt by his wound and the sewing you’ve done to his skin? Perhaps he’s high, intoxicated, you have no idea. But you believed that even drugs would not obliterate the painful effect of your stomach being slashed open.  

If he’s truly a vampire, why didn’t he use his powers to heal himself? Being undead, and the blood they consumes from humans or animals makes it easier for them to recover from any wound. A gash like that in Jaehyun’s stomach would only compare to a small knife cut or to nothing at all.

There’s only one way to know. No, there are many ways to know the truth, you realized as you glanced at the full body mirror resting near your closet. Vampires can not cast shadows nor reflections. Especially when the mirror is backed with silver.

You pulled the chair, drafting table, and your little drawer away from behind the door. It was a horrendous idea to lock your door with your furnitures, only to pull them back again. Safety first, though.

What if he’s truly a vampire? The question drew you in a sudden halt, your hand frozen onto the doorknob. Then you realized that you have not prepared yourself to meet a real vampire after all. Concocting everything in your mind was easier because it hasn’t occurred to you— not even in your wildest imaginations— that you’d see a vampire today. In the modern world and years after the death of your parents.

As the saying goes, it’s now or never. So you turned the doorknob, and stepped outside your bedroom— your hand holding the dagger behind you.

Jaehyun sits on the sofa while he dries his hair with a towel. He was wearing Johnny’s clothes. The scent of your own shampoo lingers in the air, a proof that he had used it. You swallowed the irritation and sauntered up towards him instead. There’s a mirror hanged on the wall above the piano, you took a quick glance at it while planning ways on how to make Jaehyun stand in front of it.

“I told you to stay in your room,” he impassively voiced out, eyes not looking up at yours. When he did look up to you, your breath was snatched away. He looked fresh, and clean. His face was free of blood now, revealing his pale yet soft features and the redness of his lips. The beauty he possesses locked you up on your position.

“By the way, I’m charging money towards the person who looks at me like that,” Jaehyun stated before standing up.

You blinked, washing away your embarrassment by clearing your throat and slightly shaking your head. “I have to ask you about a few things.” Before he could answer, you’ve already spoken, “Where did you meet Johnny?”

“Casino,” was his bored response before reaching for the remote and tuning on the television.

“Casino? Why would you meet him in a casino?”

“Your brother owes me a large sum of money after gambling all of his in baccarat,” he explained. The various colors from the television illuminating his face.

“Baccarat?”

“Casino game, one you would not understand as a college girl.” He glanced at you then. “Do you have any beer stored here?”

You ignored his remarks and shook your head instead, “We don’t. I do not allow it.”

“Well, thank fuck that this is my house now.” He leaned and propped his arms on his legs, “Why don’t you buy me a bottle as a welcome gift?”

“Don’t you have a penny?” This time, you’re the one whose voice was laced with boredom.

“I won’t ask you if I have a dollar.”

“Your audacity, it’s impeccable,” was your sarcastic response. “Why did Johnny vend you the house? Our house?” You put an emphasis to the last words, trying to veer the conversation to your advantage.

Jaehyun merely looked at you from the television, “Didn’t I just answer your question? He lost all his money, he borrowed mine, and as payment, he sold me your house. Business.”

“I couldn’t believed Johnny would sell you this house without consulting me,” you exhaled. Realization was dashing against your mind. He really sold the house, the one thing your parents built with their blood and sweat.

“Yup. Me too,” he smiled impishly, “I couldn’t believe you would have enough audacity to hide a dagger behind you.” He stood up, walking towards you in a languid manner, “Baby, is that for me?” He asked, his mouth dripping sensuality; sweet as honeysuckle. “Because I would tell you now it won’t do anything.”

You concealed your shock by straightening your back and stepping backwards, the mirror inviting your line of sight. All you have to do is step back until Jaehyun’s façade is on its surface.

“Really? What about I stab you with it through your heart?”

The urge to bury the dagger in Jaehyun’s chest was like a magnet, pulling you with a force that made your hand reveal the dagger. Fascination flickered in his eyes as he took in the length of the blade.

“You’ve got good taste.”

The dagger was raised, so is his finger. In a blink, his finger was pressed on the very edge, his blood cascading down the blade. One step, one step is all it would take for the mirror to reflect his body. One step and—

And then his mouth was on yours. Unmindful of the dagger between the both of you, Jaehyun pressed on, his kiss going ferocious in every second. Your body went rigid, the slick flicker of his tongue on your lower lip electrocuting you in the most pleasurable way.

Vampires are sinisterly sensual creatures. They could lure you with their beauty, fascinate you with their eyes. It was another thing to read about it, and another to feel it yourself. A millennium old gens never lied about vampires’ ability to romance a mortal.

The mirror. You opened your eyes, the mirror on your peripheral. It was difficult to get a better view, especially when Jaehyun was still kissing you. Your body refused to pull away, so you pulled Jaehyun closer instead. In a very unobtrusive way, you slightly turned your head sideways, so you would be able to see the mirror.

Trying your hardest not to completely fall into the desire, you grabbed Jaehyun’s hair with your other hand, then turned your body. Verity slapped you right in the guts as you see Jaehyun’s back reflecting on the mirror. You pulled away, catching your breath and gripping the dagger tightly with your hand. He reflected on the mirror, he wasn’t scorched when you splashed vinegar onto his body, he repelled the prayers and the rosary. Is he the insane one? Or is it you?

Jaehyun’s lips were swollen, and you do not doubt yours looks like that too. You stared at each other for seconds, Jaehyun stupefied in front of you. He looked shocked, like he had just came out of water, and was struggling to stabilize his breath. Before anyone could utter a word, you sprinted back to your room and locked it behind you.

—

That night, you lay awake on the mattress. Sleep feels like miles away. You could not simply close your eyes and pretend that there wasn’t a potential vampire under your roof. And you’ve kissed that vampire. It feels like betrayal, a bittersweet kind of one. However, you’ve nailed it on your mind not to repeat the same stupidity again. Not if you want to take retribution for the death of your parents.

A Roland for an Oliver. Always.

One person needs to know your wrath tonight, though. That is your brother. So you dialed Johnny’s number repeatedly until he answered.

“Why did you sell the house without consulting me?” was your greeting. The ire that you’ve been keeping inside you for hours after knowing the imbecilic decision of your brother rose up in your throat, begging to be unleashed as a scream.

“Well, good evening my dear little sister,” Johnny’s smug reply. You could almost see his sarcastic face in your mind. Before you could speak and bring hell to him, he inhaled and spoke himself, “I didn’t sell the house— well, sort of. But not really. It’s a fifty-fifty negotiation.”

You stood up, your hand on your waist. “I couldn’t believe you, Johnny! Casino? What in the heck were you thinking?”

Johnny cursed from the other line, “So the dick really told you about it?” Then a deep sigh, “Whatever he told you, it’s true. I’ve lost all my money in a game of baccarat. Don’t ask about it, you would not understand,” he uttered, so fast you almost didn’t catch it. Why is everyone thinks you won’t understand that game?

“What about Mom and Dad’s fund? Did you—”

“No! I did not,” Johnny sighed, deeper than the last time. “Well, almost half of it.”

“What?!” The scream that was threatening to come out from your mouth was unleashed, at last. You were afraid the neighbors heard it. “You—! Why did you do that?” You muttered, exasperated. Your knees felt like they would give up any second now, so you grabbed the chair and sat on it while trying to soothe your raging nerves. “That’s for us, Johnny. For our future.”

“I know. It was bad luck, Y/N. I promise, I’m working hard as much as I can to earn the money we’ve lost—”

“You’ve lost,” you repeated.

“Yeah. I’ve lost. Just, let Jaehyun stay for a while. He’s got no one and nothing.”

“What do you mean no one? And nothing?”

“He’s got no family. And no money. He’d lost it at the casino.”

You raised a brow like Johnny would see it, “Johnny, do you know that—” I saw him standing on our doorway, his stomach open and gushing out blood? Sighing, you have decided not to tell Johnny about the bloodied Jaehyun you’ve seen on your doorstep. He would only worry about you, and that’s the least thing you wanted now that your brother is miles away. “Do you know that he showed me a contract saying you sold him the house as payment for the money you owed him?”

Johnny once again cursed, “He’s fucking around with you. I’ll show you the real contract, hang on.”

Then you pulled your phone away from your ear the same time Johnny sent you a message. It was a picture of the real contract. And it was stated in the paper that Jaehyun could stay as long as he wanted in your house until Johnny earned the money he owed him. You knew it. Johnny didn’t sell the house. There is just no way he would do that.

“I knew it. I know you wouldn’t sell our house without discussing it with me.”

Johnny took seconds to speak, “I’d never sell the house, Y/N. No matter what. It’s ours.”

You rolled your lip with your teeth, “Where are you now, though? Are you eating well? Are you alright?”

Your brother chuckled, “I am. Don’t worry about your big brother. Just study and keep your self healthy.”

A pensive sigh was what you answered him. You wished your parents’ funds was enough for the both of you. So, Johnny wouldn’t have to work his butt off working here and there to provide for you.

“Just… take care. Don’t do anything illegal.”

“I won’t. Anyway, I have to go now. I have tons of work to do tomorrow. Call you tomorrow night, ‘kay? Take care, you little devil.”

“Alright. You too. Bye, Johnny.”

Then the line was cut off. You plugged-in your phone’s charger and set up the alarm. Staying up late was a bad idea, especially when you didn’t even have an ounce of sleep yesterday. It was a miracle that you’ve reached midnight without falling on your feet and sleeping on the floors. Dinner also went in the back of your mind, your appetite vanishing because of the adventure you’ve gone through for the past hours.

Going out of the room was out of the choices too. Jaehyun could be sucking an animal or a person’s neck in Johnny’s room for all you know. You frustratedly sighed, your imaginations would be the ones that would kill you, not the potential vampire inside the other room.

To get your mind off things, you checked on your group chat for any messages. Mark and Haechan, as usual, was bickering. Haechan sent a picture of his middle finger above his plates. While Mark sent a picture of the blackest coffee you’ve ever seen in your whole life with a caption, ‘palpitate? I don’t know him’ which elicited a chuckle from you.

As you glanced at your own plates, discarded at the corner near the original position of your drafting table, envy for Haechan and Mark enveloped you. You could have been on the third or fourth floor plan for the five-storey residential if not for Jaehyun.

You turned off your phone and decided to take a quick shower. You badly needed one. Jaehyun’s warning could not even stop you from washing the dried blood on your hands, wrists, over and under your fingernails.

Silence welcomed you as you peek through the door, the television was turned off, which only means that Jaehyun’s already in Johnny’s room. You finally stepped out, towel and robe in your hands.

Inside the bathroom, your shampoo bottle lay discarded on the shower floors, a sign that Jaehyun has emptied the container. You groaned, and threw the container to the trashcan with a loud thump.

As the water cascaded to your hair down your body, you felt the kiss you shared with Jaehyun, jolting your eyes open. What was that? You touched your lips. So many years of indulging yourself about vampires and how to kill them, one kiss and you are slipping off your principles already. What feebleness, you mumbled while slightly slapping your cheek.

After your quick shower, you felt cleaner than ever. No trace of blood could be seen on your hands. You wrapped yourself up with the robe, then your hair with the towel.

As you stepped out of the bathroom, you saw Jaehyun drinking a glass of water. You wrapped yourself tighter as you walked past him. He raised a brow but did not say anything. You’ve guessed the discussion about his stay could be accomplish tomorrow. Since you already had been exhausted to the bones, sleep was all you wanted and not another argument.

“Hey.” Jaehyun called out.

You froze for a few seconds before turning around to face him. What is it he wants this time?

“What?”

“What’s your name?” He asked, arms crossed with his body leaning on the counter.

Oh, yes. He hadn’t inquired about your name yet.

“Y/N,” you declared.

Jaehyun stood straight then, pocketing his hands on the pockets of his sweatpants. “The kiss. It means nothing. No need to fret about it.”

You blinked. “I’m not fretting about it.”

“Yeah? Keep telling that to yourself while touching your lips as if you could still feel mine against it.”

All the blood rushed up to your cheeks, you do not doubt you looked like a tomato with eyes right now. “What are you talking about?” Did he peer through some hole while you shower? Did he use his vampire instincts to watch you bathe?

“I didn’t watch you bathe. As I’ve said, you’re not my type. Girls willingly peels off their clothes for me, I don’t need to peek at some hole to see tits and a pussy.”

An unbelievably loud gasp resonated from your mouth, your cheeks heating up again by his bold statement. How did he know your thoughts? “What do you think of yourself? A god?”

A smirk, “Yes.”

“You’re really unbelievable,” you muttered while shaking your head. Then you turned your back on him, not turning around even after hearing his salacious laugh behind you.

—

Heat continued to wrap your body until you kicked the blanket off of you. You slowly opened your eyes, the blinding rays of the sunlight jolting you awake. You needed not glance at your phone to know that you didn’t wake up on time.

Running a hand through your hair, you unplugged the charger from your phone. Several texts from Haechan and Mark were displayed on the screen.

[Already submitted your plate. :)]

[You bugbear, where are you?]

You typed in your reply for Mark, thanking him for submitting your plate for visual techniques. It was the right decision to leave it on his drafting tube. Then you sent a wacky picture to Haechan.

After not getting a reply from the two boys, you stood up and put on your slippers. The chaos of your room was an eyesore. You reminded yourself to clean and get back on planning later.

Jaehyun was nowhere in sight, he wasn’t in the living room nor at the kitchen. Perhaps he’s still sleeping. Or maybe he’s afraid of the sunlight. As you walked straight to the kitchen, you remembered the call you had with Johnny. Someone needs to explain himself today.

A lot of things whirled in your mind as you mix the coffee in your mug. First, you need to confirm whether Jaehyun is a vampire or not. What would you do if he is? Would you kill him? No, he would definitely kill you first if you ever did something as to think about assaulting him. Or maybe… maybe he could help you— on finding the vampire who killed your parents.

Your eyes widened by your realization, the spoon falling to the sink, making a loud clanking noise. Why had you not thought about it earlier? You muttered a curse before sitting. Yes, that would be it. Once you successfully vindicated his vampire nature, you could ask him to collaborate with you in finding the monster who killed your parents. However, Jaehyun looks like he’s going to be a huge pain in the ass. Men like him do not do things without gaining something from it.

“Yes, that’s right.”

You jerked in your seat as you heard Jaehyun. He entered the kitchen like it’s his own, walking straight towards the refrigerator and slamming it shut when he didn’t find what he was searching for.

“Can you not read my mind?” Your annoyed reiteration.

Jaehyun continued his rummaging through the drawers. “I don’t. Your thoughts are just all over the place. Too loud.”

You ignored his comment and focused on your goal instead. All while remembering the things you have learned about vampire’s ability to infiltrate minds and how to block them out of it. “You told me you’re a vampire.”

Jaehyun merely glanced at you, “Did I?” Then he continued his ransacking.

“Yes. Last night.”

He attempted to leave the kitchen, “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Then he stood still, facing you. “Aren’t you supposed to leave my house now?”

“Oh, speaking of that, I called Johnny last night. You lied to me.” You walked straight to one of the chairs and sat on it, your spoon pointing at Jaehyun’s way. “He didn’t sell you the house. You’re supposed to live here ‘til Johnny earned back the money he owed you.” A wicked smile was displayed on your lips now.

“Whatever. I better not see you again today.”

“This is my house!” You stood up from your seat, the coffee spilling as your hips collided with the table.

“Not anymore. Get out.”

“No.”

“Get out.”

You straightened your back, “What would you do, then?” Knowing that you are walking through a thin thread, still, you pushed on. “Bite my neck and suck my blood?”

Jaehyun huff out a breath, “You’re delusional.”

“You’re in denial.”

It took him two strides to face you, “Shut up.”

“Why? Did it surprise you that you revealed your true nature to a mortal? Mere minutes after meeting her?” You gathered all your willpower to smirk.

“I did not reveal you anything.” He said through gritted teeth.

You have never felt so powerful until you saw Jaehyun’s face right now. “You did. You told me—”

He turned his back towards you and left the kitchen. But your spirit has risen up, your being refractory oozing out of you. You followed Jaehyun to the living room, your hand grabbing his shirt.

Jaehyun jerked your arm away, his face ruddy from irritation when he faced you. “I didn’t tell you shit.”

“If you really didn’t, show me your wound then.” You waved your hand to where his wound was located in his stomach. “The wound that I’ve stitched up last night.”

He seemed appalled, but he quickly recovered, tuning in his smug face at the stroke. “Sorry, but my abs isn’t available at the moment. Try again next time, sweet.”

“Why don’t you just show me?” You voiced out, irritated. Jaehyun sighed and turned his back on you for the second time, but you didn’t budge as you pulled his shirt again. He tried to jerk your hand off of him but you held on.

“Let go!” He continued to wrench his shirt from your grip, the force of his hand pulling you towards the living room with him.

“Show me!”

“Damn it, Y/N! Let go!”

Jaehyun, for the last time, tugged his shirt from your hands, the force pulling you on your knees. Now you knelt face to face with his crotch, but you ignored your awkward position as you held his shirt again, then you caught a glimpse of the wound. It was a wound no more, but a faint scar instead—

“I knew it—!”

“Good mornin—! Oh shit! Oh my God! Y/N!”

You froze as you heard Mark’s shoutings, followed by Haechan’s remarks.

“Hotdog for breakfast, really, Y/N?”

You struggled on your feet, nearly tumbling again as your toe hit the foot of the coffee table. Swallowing the pulsating pain, you fixed yourself and faced your friends.

“It’s not what you think it is—”

“I told her to wait but she’s a spunky little thing, even begging and crawling for it.”

You’ve witnessed as Mark’s mouth formed a big ‘o’, his eyes nearly falling off their sockets. Haechan, beside Mark, only looked at you as if he was already tucking the information at the very back of his mind to blackmail you in the future.  

“Don’t listen to him. He’s crazy.” You tried to smile despite the embarrassment. “Johnny asked me to take care of him for awhile.”

“Yeah, sure.” Haechan snickered.

You widened your eyes at him then turned it towards Jaehyun, a forced friendly smile painted on your lips. “Just… I know this is hard for you. But stay in your room, okay? I’ll give you milk later. Be a good boy, hmm?”

You saw the irritation in his face, causing you to swallow the chuckle that was threatening to come out off you. For the last time, Jaehyun looked at you with daggers in his eyes before sauntering up to Johnny’s room.

“What was that?” Mark asked, his eyes watching Jaehyun disappear to the other room.

“Johnny’s friend. He’s been on a traumatic past, made him childlike. It’s a pity, really—”

Haechan cut your sentence off by screaming, “Y/N, what the fuck is this?! Blood?!”

Both you and Mark followed Haechan’s sight. Sweat automatically formed in your forehead as you saw Jaehyun’s blood on the sofa, almost black in color because of its dryness.

“Oh! It’s— That’s— ignore that! That’s from Jaehyun’s wound. He cut himself last night— and yes, have you had your coffee yet? Come, let’s have breakfast!” A nervous chortle was elicited from you, then.

Haechan and Mark exchanged glances before sitting on the ottomans.

“No, it’s okay Y/N. We really just came by to check up on you,” Mark declared, his palms on his knees.

Haechan, on the other side, glanced at the blood before looking at you. “Are you alright?”

A spontaneous nod, “Of course. I am!”

“He’s not giving you any troubles, is he?” Mark dug in. You shook your head. Lies. Trouble has been the first thing Jaehyun led on your doors the moment you invited him in. “Since when did he arrive?”

“Last week,” was your terse reply. “Anyways, highways, why are you here?”

Haechan kept looking at the blood, so you rushed to the kitchen and grabbed a clean rug to cover it. Only when it was covered did he answer you.

“We had a notion that maybe you’re sick,” Haechan stated. “And you told us last week Johnny’s away. Besides we don’t have any more classes so we decided to visit,” he added.

“Thank you. But I am not sick. Just woke up really late.”

After talking about your plates, and the reminders two of your professors discussed, Haechan and Mark already bid their goodbyes, no doubt to play computer games. They did not ask about Jaehyun nor the blood on the sofa any further. Instead, they’d asked you numerous times whether you were really okay before making their way out. You answered them both with a slight pat on their backs, reassuring them that all is well even if you weren’t sure of it yourself.

Jaehyun was already sitting on the sofa when you got back inside, his eyes unfathomable as he took in your presence. Suddenly, you remembered his wound, and the scar that was left of it in a span of hours.

“Shall we go back to business?” He raised his brow, an impish smile imprinted on his luscious lips. At your confused look, he attempted to untie the string of his sweatpants, resulting in you, grabbing the pillow and throwing it his way.

“Gross!” You grunted.

“C’mon. Acting all shy now? Where’s the energy from earlier? I like that version of you better.” Then a wink.

You felt the veins of your temple tick. “You’re disgusting.”

“Disgustingly hot?”

“Go to hell, Jaehyun.”

“Working on it.”

Inhale, exhale, was your continuous chant in your mind as you tried to calm your nerves. After a minute of closing your eyes and breathing heavily, you finally had enough sanity to talk to the mad man sitting on your sofa.

“You’re really a vampire.”

Jaehyun let his head fall back, his eyes closed. “I am not,” was his worn out reply.

“How would you explain your wound, then? That’s completely healed not even twenty-four hours after I’ve put it back together?”

“Y/N, don’t you know that I’m God’s favorite? That’s why I heal easily.”

“Will you stop fucking around and confirm it to me instead?” you exhaled. “You’ve already revealed yourself, Jaehyun. And if you don’t want to wake up with the whole world salivating to put a stake through your heart tomorrow, you will listen to me.”

Jaehyun looked affronted, as he furrowed his brows before opening an eye. “Was that supposed to make me shit my pants?”

You sighed, deeper than a well. One minute of talking to Jaehyun and you felt yourself going insane already. “Listen, Jaehyun—”

“Why are you so eager to know whether I am truly a vampire? A normal person would’ve knelt and begged for mercy in front of me if they’d so much as see my fangs.” He sat up straight then, regarding you with interest.

“I am not afraid of your kind.”

Jaehyun chortled, “Says the girl who literally poured vinegar on me while chanting prayers.”

“Speaking of that, how did you repel those? Those are the bane of every vampire’s existence.” You, no doubt, believe your eyes looks like they are twinkling right now.

“You don’t know enough about vampires, then.”

Your years of determined study about the lore of vampires denied Jaehyun’s insult like an instinct. “Or maybe, you are a peculiar vampire,” you reiterated.

“Didn’t admit I was a vampire, did I?”

The conversation was getting exhausting now. You feel as if running and chasing Jaehyun in an endless path that leads to nothing. Vulnerability had a hard time reflecting itself to you, but you feel like you could only reach for the answers to the questions that were circulating your parents’ deaths for years if you showed it to Jaehyun.

“Our parents died years ago.” You tried your hardest not to look at Jaehyun as you started speaking. “They said… it’s a hopeless case. The police, the detectives, and even Johnny already gave up on it. But I refused to do the same.” You cleared your throat. “My parents had two bites on each of their necks. Yes, it could’ve passed as a snake’s bite. But the two of them? A snake bite on their necks? And since when did snakes leave their victim’s body looking withered as a dead plant?” With that, you looked up to Jaehyun.

His eyes were fixed on you, devoid of any emotions. “When did it happen?”

A slight hope ignited in your heart by his question that you answered right after the words tumbled out of his lips. “Ten years ago.”

He sighed before standing up on his feet. “When they said it was a hopeless case, it really was Y/N.”

Boulders on your shoulders, that was what his words felt like. The earth and the heavens felt like closing in on you.

Jaehyun started to walk away. Ice seems to envelope all your hopes. The impact of it was different, as it came from a vampire itself. You looked up to stop the tears that were threatening to roll down your cheeks, but a traitorous tear slid down the side of your one eye, your lips shaking. You wiped it off, as harshly as you could before standing up and sprinting to your own room, the frames rattling by how forceful you shut the door closed.

—

For hours, you sat on your bed, your mind drifting off to nowhere. You refused to cry, it wouldn’t make any difference. The blackboard who has all the articles from newspapers, books, internet news magnetized your line of sight. You stood up, and walked towards it.

As you ran your hands through the crumpled papers, the image of your parents flashed in your mind. You shut your eyes closed, then the tears finally slid down.

“Mom, Dad, I’m sorry.” Your body shook, your shoulders continued to vibrate as you cried. It’s been a while since you let yourself fall. Forcing you to think that the pain of your parents’ deaths has already left. But no, it does not. Time only made it worse.

A scream resonated from your mouth as you let the pain coaxed you. You gripped the papers attached to the blackboard, and wrenched them with enough force to graze your knuckles on the hard surface, the thumbtacks scratching your fingers. Slowly, your body fell to the floors, the coldness of it biting your soles. You hugged your knees as tears continued to come out of your eyes.

Then you heard a knock.

You slowly got up on your feet. Bloodshot eyes greeted you when you looked at your reflection on the mirror. You hastily wiped your cheeks and fixed your hair before sauntering up to the door.

Jaehyun’s façade loomed over the other side.

“What?” You never meant to make the words come out vexed. But Jaehyun displayed a look of hesitation, making you uncomfortable. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“I might have a solution to your problem.”

Your gripped on the doorknob tightened, your chest constricting. “What… what do you mean?

“I meant… I might’ve a solution to the death of your parents.”

“Really?!” You held his shoulders and shook him.

“Yeah. But before anything else, I need a beer.”

After Jaehyun’s revelation, you fixed yourself and dashed for the nearest convenience store, grabbing his preferred brand of beer and filling your cart with it. You needed to be tight on your expenses after you saw the receipt, but you have no time to care one bit now that you feel elevated more than ever.

When you arrived home, Jaehyun quickly opened the bottle with his hands, while you refrigerate the others. You dashed for the living room after putting all the bottles inside.

“So, what now?” You asked like a little puppy while Jaehyun chugged down his beer.

“I’ll help you in one condition.”

Of course, there’s a condition. Thankfully, you’ve anticipated Jaehyun to be the kind of man that it didn’t surprise you anymore.

“Anything.”

“I’ll live here as long as I want. My clothes, cigs, beers— that’s all on you.” He pointed his finger at you, while holding the bottle in the same hand.

“Don’t you have any cash with you?” You tried to look kind as much as you can. Yet Jaehyun still raised a brow as a no.

“Blame the casino,” he added.

As you reckon his conditions, you grimaced privately. What would you tell Johnny if you started spending your funds? Or when you started asking for money all of a sudden?

“Alright. All your expenses, on me.” You smiled, teeth flashing while pointing at your self.

“I want my own room.”

“I will clean the storage—”

“Your parents’ room.”

With that, you stopped speaking, stopped breathing. “No.”

Jaehyun’s lips turned sideways, “Then the deal is off.” He turned to leave but you grabbed his wrist.

“Wait, alright. Alright. You could sleep there tonight. I will talk to Johnny.”

Jaehyun sat up again, a triumphant smile plastered on his lips. “Nice.”

“How did you know it was my parents’?”

The room was always locked, not when you clean it every once a week. You need not ponder how Jaehyun knew it was your parents, his vampire instincts surely told him. The room was bigger than any of the rooms inside the house, with big curtains making it cozy. There’s no doubt Jaehyun wanted it to be his just by that feature.

“Do I need to answer that?”

You shook your head. “So, how do we find my parents’ murderer?”

Jaehyun took a swig off his bottle before speaking, “Are you certain it’s a vampire?”

You didn’t answer. Instead dashed back to your own room to delve the box tucked underneath your dresser along with the dagger. In it was the picture of your parents in their withered state, the camera captured a shot of their neck, revealing the two bites each of them had. You hurriedly went back to the living room and revealed Jaehyun the pictures.

He took it with oddity, his mouth formed in a tight line. “Vampires. No doubt.”

After all these years, it was confirmed at last. You wanted to shout, but that isn’t pleasant for a time such as this. “I knew it,” you breathily stated.

Jaehyun shuffled the picture in his hands, “Some vampires has a peculiar way of killing their preys. However, the way your parents’ were murdered was no special. This is how the majority of the vampires kills.”

You leaned closer to see the picture yourself, but in a spur of moment felt embarrassed as you remember the kiss you shared, so you shifted away from him. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Yes. This gave us no clue as to who might be behind this.”

You feel your hopes shattering again. Jaehyun’s next words smashing it to smithereens.

“Vampires are all around Europe, and I do not doubt this town have several vampire clans too.” He continued, “But I know someone who could possibly identify the vampire behind this.” He waved the pictures in front of you, his mouth putting an emphasis to the word ‘possibly’. Your hope rose up in your chest again, despite the reluctance to his statement.

“What are we waiting for, then? Let’s go!” You stood up, ready to go at any given moment.

“Don’t be so excited, Y/N. He’s not a pleasant view to look at.” Then Jaehyun took one last swig on his bottle before laying it on the table with a thud.

“Anything, anyone, Jaehyun. For my parents.”

Jaehyun shrugged, “Tonight, then.”

“Where do we go?”

“Cemetery.”

—

The sky was pitch black that night, no trace of twinkling white lights could be seen in the heavens. You held your jacket tighter to your body, the howling winds with heavy mists slapping on your face, hazing your skin with little droplets of water.

The cemetery’s entrance loomed over you, the letters in the metal bars embossed with an eerily looking font. You gulped, it’s sinister façade making the hairs on your neck prickle.

“Can’t we go back tomorrow morning?” You pursed your lips after asking. Jaehyun’s eyes was fixed on the name of the cemetery above you. Eternal Rest Cemetery.

“We won’t be able to meet Hubert in daylight,” he explained.

On the way to the cemetery, Jaehyun had given you little informations about the person you would meet tonight. His name is Hubert, Eternal Rest Cemetery’s gravedigger. He didn’t tell you how had he met him, or what does he looked like other than ‘creepy’.

“Why? Isn’t daylight more fitting for meetings such as this one?” You continued to babble as you entered the vicinity. Trying your hardest not to grip Jaehyun’s arms, you unobtrusively walked closer to him instead.  

“I told you, we couldn’t meet him in daylight. And I am not bestfriends with the sun, Y/N.” Jaehyun is clothed with a black shirt, paired with one of Johnny’s sweatpants again, since you haven’t bought him his own yet.

“Why? Aren’t you immune?” You glanced at the several tombstone, waiting for some ghost to show up and grabbed you with them underground. If this scene was accompanied by a smoke, and sinisterly white lights, it could pass as a horror movie already.

The wet tombstone was glinting against the moonlight, muds covering the green grass, leaving it mixed up with brown and green colors.

“How could you keep too many questions in that pretty mouth of yours?” Jaehyun asked, snapping his head at you.

You drew into a sudden halt, flustered by his question. Against the night, Jaehyun looked ashen if not for the redness of his lips, his face was giving off a chalky visage. He looked more vampiric now ever since you saw him.

When you didn’t answer, Jaehyun started to walk again, with you trailing behind him, mindful of the tombstones watching as you passed by.

In front of the rustic metal bars, Jaehyun halted. You stood behind him, observing the size of the space where the gravedigger must have been staying. Jaehyun rattled the bars again, the rust cascading down the grass.

You start as you saw someone penetrated the metal bars. Jaehyun shifted on his position, giving you a better view at the person— or an entity— in front of him. In an instant, you were reminded by the ghosts in Lord of the Rings. Hubert looks like a green smoke, but his whole façade is intact, no missing flesh nor eyes. He is tall, clad in suit like it came from Victorian era. Now you understand why Jaehyun insisted to meet him in night time. A ghosts could not be seen in daylight.

“Hubert! My friend, do you remember me? Of course, you do! Even ghosts wouldn’t forget this face.”

Hubert brushed him off with a stare before nodding his head your way.

Jaehyun waved his hand towards you, “This is Y/N. My friend. She needs something from you.”

Hubert looked at Jaehyun meaningfully, it was like a code you have no chance to decipher. After that, Jaehyun whispered something to him, but the ghosts shook his head.

Jaehyun glanced your way, his face abstruse. Then he held your shoulder, guiding you away from Hubert who remained standing on his spot.

“I forgot to tell you something.” Jaehyun released a curse. “Hubert, he has no tongue.”

You couldn’t help but to release a curse yourself, “What?!”

“If the crime happened in a cemetery, he would surely know the vampire who killed your parents.” Jaehyun took a quick glance at Hubert, “Usually, he would write it down on a paper. But something befell him, with the involvement of dark magic. I could smell it from him, Y/N. He is enchanted.”

This time, it’s you who peeked at Hubert’s tall frame. “I… I don’t know where my parents really died.”

“A higher chance that they were killed here, then.” Jaehyun licked his lips, “Trust me. Vampires around this town usually slays their prey in cemeteries.”

It was a gnawing suspicion at you, the real location where your parents had died. The policemen said it was likely that they were dumped into the crime scene, since their body hadn’t made a pattern on the earth yet. It was distinctly possible that they were killed in a cemetery.

“How could we make him talk?” You bit on your lower lip.

Jaehyun’s eyes lingered on your lips for a few seconds before he answered. “He wants you to offer him your own tongue.”

You were thrown off balance by his statement, your words coming out as a loud baffled gasp, you were afraid you would wake up the whole cemetery. “My what?!”  

“So he could talk,” Jaehyun explained like he was talking about the strands of your hair instead of your tongue.

You felt your tongue before speaking, “Is there any other way?”

If cutting your tongue out of your mouth was the only way to identify your parents’ murderer, you’d gladly do it. But you at least need to try for different alternatives, since your tongue is a crucial part for your mission.

“Yes,” Jaehyun answered, he held his finger to quiet you down when you attempted to speak. “We would need to hunt for a witch to enchant him. But I’m telling you now it’s gonna be a lot of work. Witches has already learned how to be cunning and inconspicuous ever since Salem.”

The Salem Witch Trials. You’ve encountered it when you first started reading about vampires. It was a series of prosecutions for people suspected of witchcraft between February 1692 to May 1693 in Massachusetts. Thirty were found guilty, nineteen of them had met the infamous Gallow Hills to die by hanging.

“How did you know all this?”

“It was my on the job training before I completely transformed into a vampire.” Jaehyun declared. You would have nodded since you didn’t know that information when he started to laugh. “Just kidding.”

“Then… do you know any witch that might be in this town?” Your voice was calm and toned down now, not sure if it’s because of your location or the lingering feeling that Jaehyun might think of you as a coward for refusing to lacerate your tongue.

He wiped the sides of his mouth with his fingers, “Yes. I know one. But I don’t think she’s going to see me.”

“Then I’ll talk to her.”

Jaehyun took in your expression and the determination in your face before nodding, “Alright.” Then he turned his head back to Hubert, who has disappeared to his small space behind the metal bars. Jaehyun tried to call for him, but the ghost did not appear again.

“He could be really annoying sometimes.” Jaehyun shrugged.

—

The following days, you tried to get back on your normal life by starting off your plates and pretending as if you hadn’t just met a vampire in your doorstep, and that you didn’t make a deal with that vampire to find your parents’ murderer, and that you hadn’t gone into a cemetery in the middle of the night to talk to some tongueless ghost that might be holding the key to your life’s biggest mystery.

Exhausting, yes. But fulfilling nonetheless. Johnny had no idea about your endeavors, and you do not plan to tell him anytime sooner. You’ve also warned Jaehyun not to mention anything to your brother, which was only answered with a deadpanned expression and ‘I don’t have a phone’ statement.

Jaehyun had his own adventures at night, only returning before the dawn breaks. You did not ask about his business, but you’ve been seeing droplets of blood on his shirt every now and then. The humane part of you wanted to banish him, for threatening the life of other people, but you also didn’t want to offend him. You could not afford him bailing out of your deal.

One night, though, you had no chance to stop yourself when you noticed blood on his shirt.

“Do you kill people, Jaehyun?”

The answer could be no, since there were no news about people being murdered the same way your parents had been.

“Why do you care?” He sounded irritated that you shut your mouth for a moment before pressing on.

“How does their blood tastes like?”

He snapped his head at you, baring his fangs. “Care to offer me your neck so I could answer your question?” With that, he slammed the refrigerator door shut, and stormed out of the kitchen with beer in hand.

You watched as his back disappeared from your sight, his statement leaving puzzles in your mind.

Then you remember a fact about vampires from your books. Yes, they need human blood to sustain themselves. But that does not prohibit them from drinking the blood of other living creatures. Doing so would satisfy their thirst, but it won’t provide them the same power as human blood. Jaehyun’s wound didn’t heal according to his ability to cure himself faster than any being because a continuous doze of animal blood would render their powers weaker.

Which only means that Jaehyun does not drink human blood. A swell of pride bloomed in your heart by the realization. Perhaps he is a vampire, but he isn’t monstrous.

“Here.”

You looked up to Jaehyun, who slammed a paper on your drafting table.

You ignored it. “Can you please knock before barging in my room?”

“Look at what I’ve got.” He ignored your annoyance and motioned his hand on the paper. Only then you took a glance at it. It was an invitation. “Invitation for Madame Juana’s party.”

You stood up from your seat, eyes twinkling. “Isn’t she the witch?!”

The golden print of the invitation was exquisitely inviting that you grabbed and ran your fingers through it. You could not believe Jaehyun got the invitations.

“Yes. It is a formal party, Y/N. We need clothes, especially me.”

“What are you waiting for? Get dressed! We’re going shopping!” You giggled before pressing the invitation between your planning and design’s book.

Two hours before the malls starts to close. You quickly changed and met Jaehyun outside the house. This time, he was wearing a white shirt paired with cargo pants, one you bought him. His dog tag making him hotter than he already is.

You tried not to focus on him as you got on the bus. Jaehyun sat beside you, while you sat near the window. Then the memory of the bus you rode in weeks ago suddenly drawing to a halt went crashing back in your mind.

“Jaehyun… weeks ago. Did you… cross the streets all of a sudden?” You decided to ask. It doesn’t change anything, you were just curious since there’s a high chance he was the one who crossed the street that night, fast as a lightning.

“Yes,” was his uninterested reply. You nodded and didn’t press any further. But when you shifted to look at the view outside the vehicle, Jaehyun spoke. “Were you hurt?”

He didn’t ask how did you know. It was obvious that you were inside that bus. Slightly perplexed by his question, you shook your head. “No.”

“Did I hurt anyone?” His eyes were fixed forward, not bothering to glimpse at you.

“No. You did not.”

“We’re here,” he announced before the bus halted in front of the mall.

—

“Jaehyun, could you please slow down?” You hissed while tugging your too-tight dress further down you knees.

Jaehyun was walking ahead of you as if he was being chased by a wild cat. The painful feeling of your heels against your soles flaming your agitation. Madame Juana’s party was a formal one. And it’s not as if you could not walk with heels, you could perfectly do that even if you put a book on the top of your head. But Jaehyun’s strides makes it harder for you to do so.

The stygian corridors of Madame Juana’s mansion makes it harder for you to navigate with your too-tight dress and dangerously thin red bottoms. What literally came into her mind to decide not to put lightbulbs in her corridor? Your question was answered when you saw the light from the hall infiltrating through the open curtains at the end of the corridor. A touch of anticipation.

Jaehyun held up his hand at you when you’ve finally reached him.

“Hurry! It’s starting!” His breath fanned your cheeks as you entered the party, making you blush all of a sudden. He was clad in a simple black suit, which took a huge amount from your allowance. Despite that, he towered most of the men in the hall once you entered.

Jaehyun is simply ravishing.

Eyes from both women and men bore into his façade as you walked through the throngs of guests. Some whispering about his vampire nature, and some giggling by how good he looks like. It made you realized that this party wasn’t meant for mortals.

The orchestra was playing a forlorn music from the other side of the made platform, unfitting for a party such as this one.

“Madame Juana’s mortal husband died.” Jaehyun whispered all of a sudden, an explanation for the question you’ve asked only to yourself.

“Why is she throwing a party then?”

“Because she’s happy. She’s collected a number of rich husbands in the span of her life, Y/N.” He leaned closer, his minty breath whiffing your nose again.

You cleared your throat, trying to make your voice little. “How old is she?”

A waitress passed by, offering you a margarita. You gladly took one with a nod of thanks.

“Five hundred years old.”

You almost spat your drinks, eyes widening. “Five hundred years old?”

Jaehyun only nodded. The music halted, magnetizing your focus on the woman at the top of the stairs. She was clad in the finest silk, her skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood. If you didn’t know that she was a witch, you would think of her as a vampire.

“Don’t say that to her face later,” Jaehyun warned before clapping his hands.

You ignored his enraging ways to read your mind and started to clap your hands together. Madame Juana started to descend the stairs, her silk gown moving like ocean waves. She does not look like a five-hundred year old witch. Rather, she only looked like a few years older than you.

One of the waitresses handed her a mic, you were mesmerized by how her lips moved as she welcomed everyone who has attended his late husband’s first month death anniversary.

After her warm reception, the forlorn music became jovial. The guests started to chatter in loud voices, while Madame Juana greeted each of her visitor.

Jaehyun stood still beside you, watching the Madame like a predator… or a prey. And as if Madame Juana felt Jaehyun staring at her, her eyes suddenly shifted towards the both of you. You start in your position, feeling as if your muscles are strained. The Madame raised her hand, which is holding a glass of red wine, towards you. Jaehyun imitated her actions, and you have no other choice but to join them as they toss their glasses to the air.

You sipped on your drinks, the same time the music shuffled and then all you could hear was the Waltz of the Flower by Pyotr Tchaikovsky. Most of the guests gathered between the hall, and they started to dance. You know the piece yourself. Your mother loved it so much, teaching you how to slow dance with it when you were little.

Awestruck by the pairs of dancing bodies on the dance floor, you did not notice Jaehyun stretching out his hand to you until you blinked out of oblivion and saw him watching you with a small smile painted on his lips.

“Will you give me the pleasure to dance with you, milady?”

A hearty chuckle resonated from your throat before taking Jaehyun’s hand. He guided you towards the dance floor, securing you with his hands.

“I am not good at dancing,” you warned him with a chuckle.

Jaehyun laughed, “Let’s fall together then.”

Eyes locked with Jaehyun, you let yourself leave your worries behind for a while. You stepped on Jaehyun’s feet every now and then, but he only brushed it off with a chuckle. After a few minutes on the dance floor, you regained your footing along with the memories of the steps your mother taught you. Jaehyun spun you around with an ease of a professional.

The chandeliers painted Jaehyun’s face with a light that wasn’t meant for a creature such as him; it made him more human, more real. His dashing aura blinding you, together with his smile. All of a sudden, you forgot the bloodied man in your front porch weeks ago, replaced by a new Jaehyun. It felt like it was the first time you were seeing him.

You chuckled. Both of your laughters mixing with the music, pulling you into bliss. You hadn’t noticed when most of the guests drew into a halt, leaving a few pairs together with you and Jaehyun on the dance floor.

The both of you were catching your breaths when the music stopped, the claps of the visitors making you smile.

“Kiss! Kiss!”

Your smile was easily replaced by a flustered expression when the visitors started to chant. Jaehyun mischievously glanced at you, deepening the redness of your cheeks.

“Kiss! Kiss!”

All the chants were muffled as Jaehyun grabbed the back of your head. Your eyes widened, muscles frozen. You closed your eyes and waited for his lips to touch yours, but nothing came.

Someone cleared her throat. You opened your eyes and saw Madame Juana walking towards you. She smiled, pearlescent white teeth flashing.

“Nice to see you here, Y/N.” Then she gave you a peck on the cheek before turning her eyes to Jaehyun. Her smile quickly dropped to a frown as she took in his aura. “And you. Jung Jaehyun.”

Her smile returned when she looked at you again, “Come. Let’s talk about your parents.”

Madame Juana led you through a corridor across the entrance you walked in earlier. Unlike the other one, the corridor was flashing with lights, almost blinding you. She opened the door at the end of it. Stacks of books and bookshelves filled your sight as you blinked and refocused your eyes.

“As you can see, I have too many visitors to entertain tonight. Talk.” She waved her fingers languidly as Jaehyun closed the door behind him.

“We need your help to enchant a tongueless gravedigger,” you started.

Madame Juana sat, her eyes looking straight at yours. “I’ll help you.”

Your happiness swelled up as you didn’t expect her to easily cooperate.

“In one condition.” She propped her chin onto her palm.

“Anything!” You took a step towards her, laying your palms on the top of her table. Jaehyun followed and stood beside you.

“Kill Alena for me.”

Jaehyun tensed, his mouth formed in a thin line. “You are insane.”

You widened your eyes at him in warning and turned your head towards Madame Juana instead. “Who is this Alena?”

When she attempted to speak, Jaehyun cut her off, providing you the answers himself. “She’s the head of the Detritius clan of vampires.”

You shot Juana a look. “What makes you think I could kill her?” Even if driven by madness, you still could not. Right now, you doubt your skills— you doubt even your determination.

“That’s it, pretty girl.” She raised her finger towards Jaehyun to shut him up. “I’ve cursed Alena to die in the hands of a mortal. Your goal to make the gravedigger speak is fitting to my intentions. It’s a win-win situation, don’t you think? Not unless you’re ready to slash your own tongue out of your mouth.” She smiled her alluring smile.

You took a glimpse at Jaehyun. He was shaking his head at you, but this is your chance. It’s preposterous, but it is the only way. You shut your eyes for a moment and took deep breaths before facing Juana again.

Then you nodded.

“Perfect!” She clasped her hands. “Visit me again tomorrow, so we could talk about it in details. Don’t worry, I’m not sending you to war without weapons, darling.” She stood up and brought her hand to your cheek, caressing it. “Now get out. Both of you.”

You did as you were told, your heart hammering against your chest. Jaehyun did not speak to you until you’ve reached the outside of the mansion and until you grabbed his arm.

“Jaehyun—”

He sighed, “Y/N, I’m not sure about this one.”

You released a breath, “Why? Jaehyun, you can’t bail—”

“Alena… I am bound to her.” He ran his hand through his hair, his eyes suddenly seeing the ground more interesting than you.

You took a step back. His words blowing you out of proportion. “I don’t understand.”

Only then he looked up to you, his eyes reflecting something you could not decipher. “Y/N, Alena is my fiancée.”

[suntrastar]

abstract: chapter 3

 chapter 2!! you can also read it on ao3 :)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader

Summary: Wait- Bucky Barnes attends your art class? And you didn’t even recognize him?

Word Count: 9520. i am deranged. someone euthanize me i beg you.

Author’s note: jesus fucking christ. this is so long for no reason. probably kind of poorly written. that is okay though. i really really appreciate the support you guys have given me for the last 2 chapters!! i was a bit iffy about joining tumblr but i’m glad to be here now :) please comment and reblog!! i appreciate it so much!!! ily all ok now enjoy this mess!!!

“You want to paint me?”

Rina looks at you, shocked, mouth agape, lone cherry tomato speared on her fork.

“Yeah,” you say, and smile with your straw still in between your teeth. “You in a field of flowers.”

“You want to paint me in a field of flowers?”

“Yes- that’s literally what I just said.”

The bustle of the restaurant is loud enough to drown out the rising volume of her voice. Thankfully. She’s being excessive, again- as if this is the first time she’s ever been the center of attention- but you’re fine with it today. You almost like it.

Today, her enthusiasm is almost contagious.

“I know,” Rina says “Duh. But, like, it’s just so crazy to me that you want to put me in your second solo show ever- I mean, why me?”

“Because,” you say, and almost leave it at that, just to mess with her. “Because you’re my best friend, and the whole thing is focused on people I know. And your hair would look so good with poppies, and-”

“I’m your best friend?”

“Obviously,” you say, even though to her, it might not be that obvious. “Who else?”

“That is so sweet,” she says, and leans back in her seat, dramatically clutching her hands over her heart. Rings sit on each of her fingers, gold and heavy stone. “You are too nice to me.”

She’s really milking it. But you’ll let it slide.

Rina gives you a self-satisfied smile, which you return without too much trouble. She’s so overwrought and showy with how she sits, limbs sprawled all over, like they’ve been blown into disarray by the wind. Her hair, still glossy red, is parted down the middle and made up in two French braids, tips just barely brushing her shoulders. The hair ties don’t match.

She has no best friend. She probably has, like, five other people just like you, who she calls on when she feels like it, whenever she wants company, when she feels like humoring someone. Or when she wants someone to listen to her talk.

It comes as part of the lifestyle- can you really blame her?

“I know,” you say, veering back on topic. “Bucky gave me the idea.”

You do it on purpose.

Her eyes go wide.

“Bucky?” She says, incredulously. Like she doesn’t believe you.

The feeling of being incompetent comes quick in a flash, and it takes too much to put it away.

You’re not incompetent- his number is in your phone, after all, isn’t it?

“The Winter Soldier, I mean,” you say, and the words feel all wrong in your mouth.

“No . Shut up. You are not on first-name basis with the fucking Winter Soldier.”

“Oops,” you say.

Her jaw drops.

You’re grinning too hard. She didn’t expect this from you- you didn’t expect this from you! You take a bite of your food, some garlicky chicken thing you can’t pronounce the name of, to delay your response. It gives you time to think of what to say next.

Rina waits, stunned into silence.

“We’re… talking, I think,” you say. “I asked him for his number.”

“And he gave it to you?”

“Yep.”

There’s a story there, that you won’t tell her.

You texted him a day after class, on Tuesday. Was that too soon? You didn’t care, your mind was too muddled with so many other things- icy blue eyes and different techniques for drawing wrinkles and this week’s shopping list and the best color that went with orange-red, and the laundry that you still hadn’t done.

You were too giddy to get smart with it- all you sent was a simple Hey.

All he sent back was a simple Hi.

Then, once you had read over his message too many times, you turned your phone off and pretended it never happened.

It’s too nerve-wracking. And pointless. You’re going to see him on Monday again, anyway! There’s plenty of time to text him- everything doesn’t have to be so immediate- you’ll get around to it before then, for sure.

You just have to stop thinking so much.

“I cannot believe you,” Rina gushes, and from her expression, you believe her. “You’re all grown up! I am so proud of you. That man is delicious, I cannot-”

“Do not describe him as delicious, oh my god.”

You burst out laughing as Rina raises one eyebrow, filled in dark. Her eye makeup always kills. “Am I wrong?”

“Well… no, but…”

***

Steve leaves, but Bucky stays back at the end of class to help you clean up. Acrylics again, and it’s the second-to-last class, so you had finally brought out the canvas.

Canvas means more fun, but more mess. More paint splatters on the tables, more brushes with clogged-up bristles.

Bucky doesn’t smile as he says bye to Steve, and it makes you feel a certain type of way , but you stick to business. Cleaning supplies are pulled out, paper towels are ripped from the dispenser. Bucky starts on the tables while you roll up your sleeves and start the sink, preparing to start on the brushes.

God- these brushes.

If these brushes were washed incorrectly, you would cry. They’re new, and high-quality, and the bristles are still soft and not yet frayed or discolored, and the handles are made of thick, clear plastic, and they come in different sizes and styles, and you can barely believe it, but they all even have rubber grips.

They’re really nice brushes.

“You didn’t text me back,” Bucky says.

You wish the sink was loud enough to swallow all sound, swallow you up within it.

Still, you look over your shoulder, giving him a pained smile while he scrubs at a spot of dried paint. He looks back at you, but you can’t tell what he’s thinking.

Of course you didn’t text back- thinking less is way harder than it seems.

“I wanted to,” you say, “but I got nervous. Sorry.”

You turn back to the sink. It’s a little easier to breathe without having to look at him.

“You got nervous,” he repeats, voice still so unreadable.

Is he mad? He always looks mad, always sounds mad- you can’t ever tell if there’s anything behind it.

“Yeah,” you say, and shrug, like it’s no big deal at all, like you chicken out of things all the time, like texting is always such a cause for concern. “I didn’t know what to say. What was I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know.”

Ugh.

The sink water slowly circles the drain. You don’t look past it, only keeping your eyes on the sink and the remaining brushes- it helps calm your heart, a little. Bucky is probably on the last few tables. All of the paintings have been neatly propped up on the drying racks.

Bucky painted his entire canvas yellow.

You are so dumb.

“Um, okay” you say, shutting off the sink. The really nice brushes are all neatly piled up on the counter on top of a folded paper towel, washed and drying. “What if I was like, ‘hey, Bucky, after this class ends and I’m not your art instructor anymore, would you want to meet up sometime?’”

You turn back around and lean against the sink. It’s an effort that deserves applause- you look so collected, while your heart is beating way too fast, and Bucky, its forever opposite, just stands behind a table, spray bottle in hand.

Your hands are sweaty.

He nods slowly, and it’s a victory in and of itself- the action nearly has you weak at the knees.

“Meet up,” he repeats, voice low, like a halfhearted growl. Disdainful, kind of. “Like a date.”

You wipe your hands on your apron. It’s a totally normal, totally relaxed movement. But then you’re wishing that you wore something cuter- was this sweatshirt really the only thing you had? Do you not own, like, a blouse, or something? Didn’t you just do your laundry?

Fuck, you’re being annoying.

“We don’t have to call it that,” you say. “We can just… hang out. Eat something. Go on a walk.”

You say it casually, but honestly, you like nice dates. Dates at art museums, dates at fusion restaurants, dates at movie theaters showing indie films in foreign languages. Anything eccentric, haphazard. Spontaneous.

But you also like seeing him smile, and you like to talk, and you like to be listened to- and he is giving you that.

This is a different type of everything. It’s all upside down, inside out, twisted over in itself. You have to approach it all differently, maybe it’s because he’s too quiet or too famous or too dangerous or whatever the hell, but none of it matters.

What matters is that you want it.

You’ll realign your compass.

“Okay,” he says. “I like walks.”

“Great,” you say, and go on without hesitating, because long nights have you tired and hesitation is for the weak, “I like you.”

Bucky Barnes, real, unfitting name James, clutching dirty paper towels and a spray bottle, smiles at you.

It’s wrong, but you could just bite him.

A sudden, unprompted thought hurls through your mind- you want to paint him.

***

The last art class.

It was once long-awaited, but now, you’re actually sad to see everyone go.

You buy a tray of cookies. It’s the least you can do- everyone has been so nice to you, so respectful and cooperative. Everyone has made things fun. You don’t know if you were doing anything right, but it sure as hell has been enjoyable.

Crumbs might get in the paint, but’s a small price to pay.

“Knock yourself out,” you announce.

The tray is set out on the middle table. You forgot the package of napkins back at your studio, so you gesture to the paper towel dispenser.

Then you long for the kids in your Wednesday and Thursday classes, because unlike these people, they wouldn’t be looking so dead at the prospect of free cookies.

You shake your head and return to your perch, tucking your feet behind the legs of the stool.

Eventually the conversations trickle out, slowly turning the room warm and lovely and bright. You listen in, a little, savor it, and hop back up. There’s nothing to do- might as well make some idle chitchat, one last time.

Shonna uses a small brush to add purple highlights to the feathers of a pigeon. It’s gorgeous- and you don’t even like pigeons- but you like her painting style and the jewel tones she’s adding amidst the grey, and the orange beak, and the washed-out yellow background she’s painting over.

“Wow,” you say, and she adds another purple highlight with a flick of her hand. “I cannot stop looking at this pigeon.”

“Thank you, honey,” she says, without looking up.

She’s too focused for you to stay for too long- you have to leave the pigeon for others. Marcie waves you down and gives you the latest update about her son, abandoning her half-painted rose while she launches into a bit of a tirade- her son wants to pierce his nose, isn’t that ridiculous?

“Hey, I wanted to pierce my nose when I was his age, too,” you say, and spout something about self-expression that makes her frown.

Ahmed chimes in. You have no idea what the blob he’s painting is supposed to be, but you like it. “I’ve been trying to tell her the same thing! These kids are modern now- these are just the things they do!”

“These are just the things we do,” you echo.

Marcie heaves a heavy sigh.

***

You head over to a few more tables, and it goes by too fast and too slow, but then you’re suddenly there in the back, with your star student, and your…

With Bucky.

“I really like how this is turning out,” Steve says proudly, as you approach them.

Then, he adds, almost childishly, “Don’t look until I’m done.”

He has a half-eaten sugar cookie sitting by his paint water.

“I won’t look” you promise, and all at once, you’re almost emotional- he is such a nice guy. He’s like the human embodiment of a golden retriever. “Don’t worry.”

Steve nods, pleased and nervous at the same time. You pointedly look away from the painting as you slide into a seat, across from Bucky and his yellow canvas.

Yellow and black canvas. He’s hunched over with a fat-bristled paintbrush in hand, adding black stripes, blobby and unevenly spaced, but still unbelievably straight.  

It is all so cute.

“Very bumblebee-esque,” you say, and his forehead creases. “I like it.”

Steve smiles.

Bucky adds another line. He didn’t take a cookie. He should’ve- the chocolate-chip is so good.

“Thanks,” he says.

And Steve just smiles wider, and you almost kick him under the table, and Bucky gives you an unsmiling look that turns you to jelly.

Hat aside, he is looking exceptionally pretty today. All hair and eyes and bone structure- it makes you want to do something, like reaching out and grabbing him by the collar of his jacket. Like running a hand over his jaw. Catching his stubble under your fingertips.

Parting his hair down the middle and French braiding it.

Taking a picture- it'll last longer.

“I'm going to miss seeing you guys around.”

Steve gives you a surprised look and shakes his head. He has one arm protectively curled around his canvas, even though you’re still not looking.

“Oh, I’m sure one of us will be seeing you around,” he says, and grins.

You glare at him.

Bucky laughs.

***

The goodbyes aren’t as bad as you thought they would be.

People leave with a simple goodbye and a brief thank you, shrugging on their coats and gingerly clinging to their still-damp artwork. Marcie makes you promise her that you won’t pierce your nose. One woman who would always come to the class with a huge coffee cup sets her painting aside to sweep you into a hug.

It’s very gratifying.

Steve and Bucky linger.

Shonna does, too, but for a completely different reason.

You want to give her Rina’s contact. She probably has some painting class available, if Shonna’s interested in that sort of thing, if she’s okay with being around so much personality.

And you also want to give her your contact- so she can keep on sending you pictures of those  birds.

“One sec,” you tell her, and reach for your purse, sitting on the counter.

Bucky is standing closeby, remarkably closeby, and you accidentally brush against him.

He goes rigid.

But you’re busy pulling out a pen and a scrap piece of paper, and then you’re using the counter as a hard surface to write against, shoulders angled away from him, and you’re talking all the while- you don’t have the spare second to be concerned.

“This is my email,” you say, adding a smiley face after the address. “Send me your art. And, like, talk to me. Send me your grocery lists, if you want- I don’t care. Here.”

Shonna takes it and gives you a smile. There’s a glimmer of something in it, a knowing.

“Thank you,” she says, and laughs a little, and you suddenly fiercely miss your mother. “I’ll keep the last bit in mind.”

She looks past you. Steve, standing a few feet away, holding the canvas he still hasn’t shown you, nods respectfully. And Bucky, standing near the counter, still near you, even though he’s looking at you like you’ve scalded him.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she says.

You almost ask, “to what?” But she’s already left- Shonna and her pigeons are gone.

Steve steps up fast to take her place.

You still have no time to think.

“So, this is the finished product,” Steve says with no preamble, and with a great flourish that makes you laugh in delight, he turns the canvas around.

Oh.

Wow.

You’re not dizzy.

But you will be, if you keep on looking at this- a tangle of vines on a wall, with blooming flowers in what should be the wrong colors, dappled in light from a window you can’t see, drawn from a strange perspective. The leaves are really big and the vines are really small, and then it’s flip-flopped, and he has a hot-pink underpainting that he didn’t fully cover, so there’s pink in the leaves, pink on the wall. Pink in the un-pink flowers.

“Fuck,” you say, and then go quiet.

Steve tenses.

Now you have two very strong men looking at you weird.

You should probably fix that.

“I don’t- I don’t know what to say,” you say, stumbling over your words, feeling cotton-mouthed. “There are no coherent thoughts going on in my head right now. I’m just- where did this even- how did you even come up with this?”

“I tried to do that thing you said,” Steve says, sounding uncertain. He shifts and the painting moves with him, sending pink flickering over your eyesight. “No empty space. Because it’s boring.”

What is this called, again? Artists supporting artists?

“It is boring,” you say in agreement, and your voice comes back to you, all at once. “And holy shit, you pulled it off so well. I’m obsessed with the pink underpainting- it’s everything. You literally invented pink. And can we talk about these vines? How long did it take you to draw them all tangled up like that? And the flowers- you even gave them little stems, ugh.  And all the colors! And this lighting- I’m sorry, I have too much to say.”

Like watching a flower bloom, Steve unfurls at your praise, blush deepening with each compliment. It’s so wonderfully endearing, and internally, you sigh in relief.

“Thank you,” he says, and bursts into the brightest smile you’ve ever seen. “Also, we have one more question.”

“We?” You ask, and Bucky clears his throat.

You turn to him.

Already, you have a whole slew of problems- you have to sketch out an emerging idea and place an order for new brushes, ones with rubber grips, and you have to cook dinner when you get home because lately you’ve been ordering too much takeout, and you have to organize your closet, and you have to give an adequate and peppy response to whatever Steve is about to say-

You’re bursting at the seams.

There isn’t much room for anything else. Any concern.

“You have something to say, Bucky?” You ask, and waggle your eyebrows.

He doesn’t crack a smile- just how you like it.

“I do,” he says, smugly, and then says your name in a way that ties your stomach up in knots, that has you thinking of flowers and chiffon.

“We were wondering if you’re free tomorrow,” Steve says, and then invites you out for drinks, for tomorrow evening.

So you’ve passed the initial threshold of friendship, and now you’re onto group drinking! That’s exciting- and you’ll get to see Bucky, and you’ll get to postpone that tedious process of planning out a date- a hang-out, and you’ll have an opportunity to show up in something besides jeans and sad sweatshirts.

There hasn’t been a chance to show it off to him, yet, but you can dress.

Steve mentions another friend named Sam, who might join, too, if that’s okay with you.

“I’m cool with it,” you say. “The more the merrier, right?”

He has to be a decent guy, if Steve associates with him, and you like new people.

But doesn’t Steve also associate with, like, Tony Stark?

That man is oh-so problematic. He rolls out with a new scandal every month. He’s had enough scandals that he could release a line of red-and-gold-themed calendars- with the dates of each scandal marked in. Each month could have its own photo, too, coinciding with the dates.

Tony Stark, making peace signs at a court hearing. Tony Stark, wasted on a yacht. Tony Stark, in the middle of an interview where he bashes people who have absolutely nothing to do with him.

“That sounds like fun,” you say, and Steve lets out a breath of relief, “but I have to ask, about Sam? Is he, like, a…”

An Avenger? A genetically-altered individual? A prominent public figure with a stupid amount of money?

“He’s a really nice guy,” Steve quickly says.

“He’s a pain in the ass,” Bucky says, immediately after him.

***

As it turns out, Sam Wilson is not a pain in the ass.

He is really nice, but more importantly, he is funny.

Bucky texted you the address a few hours ago. You walk into the bar and at once, you’re assaulted by an excess of dark- dark floors, dark lighting, dark accents on the decor. None of it is dingy, just low-lit. It’s a nice place.

It might be a little too nice- nothing like the sticky-floored, rowdy sports-themed bars you usually hit when you’re in the mood to get hammered.

You catch the back of a head, wavy brown hair and thick shoulders, in a booth tucked into the corner. Steve, sitting opposite him, against the wall, catches your eye and waves you over.

Next to Bucky is a guy you’ve never seen before, Sam. Black skin, close-cropped hair, looking over his shoulder to flash a grin at you. Even in a simple shirt, you can tell that he is built.

He’s an Avenger, then. Maybe.

You’ve just barely slid in beside Steve, and you’re grinning and making some dumb comment about the disaster that is the New York subway system, when Sam fixes you with a gleeful look and leans forward.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he says, casting a side-eye at Bucky. “I’m not joking when I say this- I was starting to think that Barnes made you up. He’s always doing crazy shit like that. Anyways, you will not believe why I’m actually here.”

You humor him, because why the hell not? “Why are you actually here?”

Already, you can tell that he has that vaguely-ironic, purposely-stupid sense of humor, which you always find absolutely hilarious. And you want to know what he means by crazy shit.

Bucky looks up at you for a few charged seconds, telling you something you can’t decipher, and then ducks his hand back down to stare intensely at his drink. Something amber, with ice cubes.

“I’m here to make sure that you don’t feel bad. Because these two fossils,” Sam says, and Steve winces, “can’t get drunk. But I can! So if you wanna get trashed, I’m game.”

Under the dimmed lights, Sam’s teeth shine perfectly white. All of Steve’s friends seem to have perfectly white teeth.

“It’s because of the serum,” Steve says, and you just gawk.

They both can’t get drunk?  

Because of their fucking superhero vaccine?

“What the hell,” you say, and rest your elbows on the tabletop. Bucky’s gaze follows your arms, starting at the hems of the sleeves, trailing up to your shoulders. “That’s so… Steve, if you can’t get drunk, then why are you torturing yourself with that beer?”

“It’s for the feeling,” Steve says quietly, blushing pink, and Bucky is still quiet, and you have a feeling that this has something to do with nostalgia, or World War II, or something. The good old days.

Sam catches it too, so he buts in, quickly bringing the conversation back to something less layered, less wired.

He’s a man with nothing to hide. He tells you who he is with no hesitation, without trying to skip over or disguise anything- he’s open. He’s a war vet, too, and now an Avenger- he’s the Falcon. He has, he says, a pair of fancy-ass wings. And the coolest outfit.

“Wait,” you say, and you’re suddenly dying to know, “what does it feel like to fly?”

His eyes light up.

“You know when you’re trying to sleep, and then you randomly get that feeling that you’re falling, and your stomach does that thing?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s like that, but you can control it. It’s fucking amazing.”

He launches into a whole spiel, talking your ear off about the feeling of high-altitude wind on his skin and aerodynamics and some science-y things you don’t understand, and you get your own beer and enjoy the sweet feeling of getting buzzed on a weeknight, and as the edge you constantly have on yourself shifts, the seats shift, too.

You don’t know how, but you end up next to Bucky, in between him and the wall. Not touching, but close. Sam is across from you and Steve is next to him, and all of a sudden they’re talking about Chex Mix.

“If the Avengers were Chex Mix pieces,” Sam says, throwing the word Avenger around casually enough to make Steve’s hesitations seem horrendously uptight, “I would be the garlic chip. The best part of the whole damn bag. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Yeah, those chips are definitely the best part,” you say, adopting a mock-seriousness. “And Tony Stark would be one of those knobby-ass, crunchy little mini breadsticks.”

Sam mirrors your expression, nodding gravely, like what you’re both evaluating is a highly intellectual subject. “I completely agree. And for Rogers- man, you’re a pretzel.”

You narrow your eyes. “Square or circle?”

“Uh,” Sam says, turning to survey poor, unprepared Steve, looking equal parts bewildered and embarrassed. “Square.”

“Great choice. And Bucky?”

“Bucky…” Sam hesitates, and the briefest smile flashes over his face before he schools his expression back into objectivity, “Bucky is one of those original Chex squares. Sorry.”

“That’s cold,” you say, and Sam smiles again, and leans all the way back in his seat, bringing his hands behind his head.

“He’s not one of the yellow squares, though- those are actually good,” Sam starts, grin growing wider by the second, and you can’t tell if it would be rude to laugh. “He’s not one of those squares with extra seasoning, either. Bucky is just one of the plain brown squares. The wheat squares, or whatever the hell. Have you ever, like- have you ever wondered what the sole of a shoe tastes like? Or the eraser on top of a pencil? That’s what those taste like- that’s what he is. Just one of the plain Chex squares.”

Your jaw drops.

A roast like that from a halfway drunk man is absolutely scathing.

Bucky just levels a glare.

He’s used to this, you think. Is that his crazy shit? That he never reacts to anything?

You’re definitely a little tipsy- this is obviously no time to get wasted, but the edge has certainly been taken off, the corners of your world having gone hazy. In a lull, you watch a well-dressed man standing by the vestibule doors lean past your field of vision and receive what you think is a kiss on the cheek.

Without thinking, you lean close to Bucky and cup a hand over his ear.

Maybe he won’t react, maybe he will, but you’re not going to give him the time for either.

“I think that you’re the garlic chip,” you whisper loudly, and you’ll probably cringe yourself into oblivion over it when you're sober, but you think he shivers- and then he snorts.

“Thank you,” he says, and Sam putters out, giving you an amazed look.

***

“Heyyy,” you say later, turning to Bucky, when time has passed and you’re no longer on the subject of Chex Mix and he’s still a little too quiet. “What’s up?”

He’s quiet and troubled, drinking what might be whiskey like it’s water. Is it whiskey? You didn’t think that people actually drank whiskey- just kept it around in crystal decanters and silver flasks to look cool, like they’re main characters in a movie.

“The sky,” he says dryly, like you didn’t say that same exact shit when you were in middle school, hopelessly thinking that it was the slickest comeback.

“Very funny, James,” you say, and he huffs, and you feel a brief flash of panic, and then you’re almost apologizing, when he grins.

You know maybe three whole things about him, but you’ll press yourself up against him right here and now, under the low light of a fancy bar, with rain sliding down outside the window panes, with his friends right across the table. You don’t care.

His friends can tell.

“We’ll be right back,” Steve says suddenly, making a very showy display of getting up with Sam. Both of them send you obnoxious grins and suggestively raised eyebrows.

Bucky glares. You can’t stop smiling.

“You kids have fun,” Sam calls, and you laugh.

Just you and him, then. The mood shifts fast, turning from one thing to… another. Bucky’s eyes reflect the window outside, falling dark and darker, and you’re slipping, too.

“You look really nice,” Bucky says, and his eyes dip down in the slyest fucking move- you’re almost proud of him for it, for having such game.

A spark of heat flashes through you, as he takes you in slowly, like he’s trying to savor it.

You opted for a slightly tighter shirt, and a pair of jeans, but they’re your nice jeans. The ones without any weird streaks of paint on the thighs. And you wear a beaded necklace, and in your ears, a pair of fun, delicate hoop earrings, dangling with charms in the shape of crescent moons.

“Thanks,” you  lean back, into the wall, letting your voice drop to match the tone of his. “You do, too.”

He just stares at you, unamused. Still dark, and dangerous.

Purple chiffon, you think, and marigolds. The flower was meant for another friend, but she’ll have to manage, because now, you can only see Bucky with marigolds, with no room for anyone else.

“So,” you say, before the silence carries on and makes you do something stupid, “Done anything fun lately?”

He tenses. Again.

There’s all these things that you know you can’t ask him, things about his job and his hobbies and his metal fucking arm, which you still haven’t seen- which you’re fine with, but, like. It’s the fact that he has a metal arm in the first place- he is so detached from everything you know, and you aren’t sure if you know how to navigate it all. You don’t think he knows how to navigate it, either.

He’s hesitant, you think. But not unwilling.

You’re just going to roll with it.

”I watched a movie today,” he says, sounding so smooth that your clutch on your drink wavers. His eyes are raking you over, cold.

Red marigolds. Not the orange ones. Red marigolds with the little golden borders on the edges of each petal.

“Which movie?”

He shakes his head. “I forgot the name”

“Okay, well, what was it about?”

“Talking dogs.”

You laugh and he smiles, and then you feel light enough to float. “Talking dogs?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and he takes a sip. His mouth is very pink. Layers, you think, layers and overlapping, to make the fabric look hazy. Washed-out. “They talk when their owners aren’t home.”

“That sounds right up your alley,” you say, and you’re giggly and he’s all smiley and maybe you’re being embarrassing, but whatever, because he’s looking at you like he’s never been smiley with anyone else before, and you really, really want to lean in.

You’ll wait.

***

Sam comes back with Steve a little bit later, but it isn't until you’re getting ready to leave when he brings it up.

“You’re good for him,” Sam says, while Bucky and Steve have gone to pay. Your drinks are on him- how chivalrous. “Honestly, you’re probably too good for him.”

You laugh as you shrug on your jacket. “Doubt it.”

“No, I’m serious,” he says, voice dropping to an urgent whisper. You realize at once that he’s about to say something heavy, something concerning. “He has been through some fucked-up shit. It’s not his fault, obviously, but it’s always there. He’s never going to get over it. Sometimes he doesn’t sleep. He just stays awake, for like, three whole days at a time. Sometimes he just disappears. He never tells anyone where he goes. Sometimes he does this thing where he-”

“I get it,” you say quickly, and he must be able to see your sudden dread, because his face softens.

“I’m not trying to scare you. I just want you to know- that that’s what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Thanks,” you say, and zip up your coat, and then pat your pockets even though you know you have everything, just so you have an excuse to not say anything. Sam gives you a long look, before sighing and pulling out his phone.

Obviously, Sam is trying to tell you that Bucky is damaged.

You’re not in the business of fixing things, but you’ll take him as he is anyway, because...

“Sam?” you say, and he looks up from his phone.

“Sometimes,” you start, and swallow down whatever anxiety is starting to surface, “Sometimes he’s being all quiet and moody and angsty and whatever, I get that same feeling that you’re telling me. But then, like, he just does something. Like, he’ll make a joke, or say something, and then it’s like-”

You struggle with your words- it’s like everything you want to say is there, but you can’t reach it. Sam slides his phone into his pocket, and Bucky is coming back, with Steve in tow, moon and sun, peas in a pod. You wonder if Sam makes their duo a trio, if he’s the third invitee to their slumber party, or if he’s just on the fringes.

“It’s like- It’s like, okay. Like, I know who he is and it’s all okay.”

He nods, and smiles at you, and you sincerely hope that he isn’t just on the fringes.

***

The paintings of your parents are finished- and they are good. So good. Every detail is there, every color. Every line. The wrinkles and the flowers and the lace neckline of your mother’s dress. Looking at them makes you feel so proud- it’s been forever since you were able to properly convey your thoughts onto canvas.

They’re big, too. Larger than life. You’ll have to rent one of those orange U-Haul trailers to transport them.

On a new canvas is Rina, only halfway painted. She looks good too, even though right now she’s just a head and a torso and two floating feet, because getting the colors on her legs right is harder than you thought. It’s tricky to paint the shadows and contours without her legs just looking bruised- there’s so many flower stems overlapping with the skin, so you don’t have a lot of room to work with.

You’ll figure it out.

You might be a little in over your head, actually. Confident- a little too confident. You don’t even have this painting done, and you’re itching to start on another. A possible recipe for disaster, but every time you have a spare second, in the shower or on the subway or when you’re trying to fall asleep, you find yourself thinking about it.

Not in bits and pieces the way most of your thoughts are, but a fully formed concept; a real, true image brimming with fullness, already starting to spill over into everything you do.

You have it all figured out. You know what techniques you’ll use. What composition, what colors.

You text Bucky.

Nothing crazy. You know you could scare him off, or maybe not, not anymore- by the end of the night at the bar last week, you sat next to him and bumped up against him and whispered in his ear, and right before you left he flicked the charm on your earring, watched it sway, and then he smirked- and you almost died.

You text him Hey, and then set your phone on the farthest surface you can find, pointedly avoiding it. Rina’s calves need attention- you have paint to mix.

Ten minutes later, your phone rings.

You can’t help it, you’re weak-hearted- you drop everything and dash to your phone, dodging your carts of supplies and hopping over a stack of toppled canvases that you never bothered to pick up, and pick up on the third ring.

“Hi,” you say into the receiver, slightly out of breath.

“Hi,” he says, and he sounds slightly out of breath, too.

“Um,” you say, and laugh a little, with the heady rush of nerves flooding in, “I wasn’t expecting you to call.”

“I called because I’m a slow texter,” Bucky says.

You feel so fluttery. When was the last time you felt this fluttery?

“Oh. That’s okay. I was just wondering if you... wanted to meet up sometime soon? Tomorrow, maybe?”

Tomorrow is Saturday, a day off. For you, at least- do Avengers get days off?

“Okay,” he says, and you swear he sounds pleased. You want to cut straight to something else. Skip, jump, leap over all of these steps, so you can get to what you really want to tell him. “I think I can do that. Where are we meeting?”

“There’s this little cafe we can… we can head there first, I’ll text you the address, but I have this idea,” you say, and wait for his invitation to continue, with your heart beating dangerously fast, thrumming like it might just burst through your ribs.

“What’s your idea?”

Thank you, you almost say, but don’t.

The steps are skipped, formalities disregarded- you just tell him.

It’s the perfect time- there’s that currently rare, pretty daylight that grows with each passing day streaming in through your windows unfiltered, blocked by no blinds or curtains. You pace a little, at first, right in the sun, and then sit down on a stool, toeing the smooth wood floors beneath, cradling the phone.

You start it off simple, with the marigolds.

Red marigolds, you specify, because you feel like you have to. Then you delve deeper, into chiffon and lighting and this thing you want to try out with layering, where two elements that overlap go by a completely different color scheme. Like, you say, like the flowers are red and the clothes are black, but the places where they meet are electric pink or orange or blue or something else unusual and distracting.

Save for the sound of his breathing, Bucky is quiet. You can tell that he’s really listening, probably sitting down somewhere and focusing on you, not doing some other task with your voice as background noise. He doesn’t interrupt when you go off on a tangent about the importance of natural lighting or contradict yourself with opposing statements on color choice, or when your words start to deteriorate, when they start pouring out so fast that they slur together and become less than coherent.

Your mind is going even faster- you can see the image even when you blink.

Something at the back of your thoughts tells you to stop, to slow down. You need to chill out.  

But the idea is so vivid, so you can’t- you don’t, not until the idea is totally exhausted and you give a final sigh and go quiet, not until after giving what could count as an entire fucking speech.

When Bucky speaks again, he sounds tentative.

“I… like it,” he says, and maybe he’s holding his phone at a bad angle, because his voice is quiet.

“You do?” You say, instead of asking something else, with a sudden bad feeling in your gut.

“Yeah. But…”

You know what he says without him having to say it.

It feels like you’ve been punched.

The picture behind your eyelids burns brighter.

“That’s okay,” you say in response to his unsaid words, speaking too late, so that it's obvious that it’s not okay.

Your heart is sinking, as if it has any right to, as if he’s in the wrong. How did you go from high to low so fast?

You scared him. You put too much pressure on him too fast- it’s exactly what Sam said, that he’s all levels of wary and weird, and little things can set him off, because of everything that he’s been through-

Even if he was someone else, though, even if he was normal, he would still say no- anyone would say no to being given such a request out of nowhere.

Well, Rina didn’t, but she doesn’t count in this situation, does she?

“Sorry,” he says.

That hurts worse.

“Don’t apologize,” you say quickly. “It’s not like it’s not going to work now- I mean, it’ll be fine. Are you still down to meet, though?”

“Sure,” he says, too late.

***

Bucky Barnes does not like anything in his coffee.

He takes it black, black like his clothes, black like his soul, black like whatever other emo shit you can come up with.

It’s not that funny anymore.

Still, you keep up with it- you’re funny and talkative and charming and everything else, because you don’t know what else to do. The subject will be broached, it’s inevitable- you’ll broach it, even, but you still have to figure out how.

He’s subdued. And wearing his stupid hat, again, and you would give anything to knock it off so you could really see him, and he’s cautiously cradling his mug in a way that makes you ache everywhere.

The cafe is busy and decorated with a specific aesthetic, one that you would call manufactured bohemian. Potted plants and quirky photographs and drinks that all have fancy and ridiculous names. The baristas wear yellow aprons, and if you have a membership card, every tenth purchase gets you a free sugar cookie iced with a smiling sun.

Your cappuccino foam is dissolving. Sometimes, even though it’s mostly tasteless, you swipe it up and eat it with a spoon. Today, it seems like a bad idea- frivolous in the face of his silence and your unmotivated charisma and this stupid idea lingering between you two, like a friend that’s overstayed their welcome.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, and wonder why you feel so jumpy for saying it. “For bringing that thing up yesterday.”

To your own credit, you still sound confident.

He looks at you so darkly that you wonder if you should be afraid. Have there ever been others in your seat, afraid?

You’re not afraid.

“It’s fine,” he says, and continues staring at you like it’s not fine.

“I’m just- I was just thinking out loud,” you say. You feel like you have to explain yourself, prove something to him, so that you won’t wilt. “It was just an idea that I thought could be cool. I told you because, no , wait. I mean, I know that I- fuck. I’m sorry that it made you uncomfortable. That was really dumb of me.”

He tilts his head, eyes sliding over, and you shiver.

He looks bored.

Which is unnerving and terrifying as hell, because you have this carefully hand-crafted, precisely-cut image of who you are supposed to be, and it is not meant to be boring in the slightest, but he's bored, and you’re going to lose it.

“I said it’s fine,” he says, monotonously, giving the sudden impression that he’s about to leave. But he’s just sitting in his seat, unwrapping his hands from his mug and setting them on the table, while your hands are on the verge of shaking. “It didn't make me uncomfortable.”

If that was true, then you wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place. You wouldn’t be stumbling over yourself to say something so simple.

It takes considerable effort to keep your gaze steady. “Okay. But I still- I just want to say a thing really quick.”

“Say it.”

He’s being mean.

But this thing has been eating at you for a while now, so you don’t care.

“Um, so, we’re really different people,” you start, and before you second-guess it, you adopt your speaker voice, the teaching voice, the smart one. He has to know this about you- you’re smart. “And you obviously have all of your own things going on in your life that I can’t even imagine, and if you ever want to, like, talk about it, I’m here, but I also don’t care.”

He raises an eyebrow.

You push on.

“Like, it’s not important to me. If you want it to be, then it’ll be, but if not, then it’s whatever. I'm not- when I see you, I just see you. Does that make sense? Like, I don’t really think of any of that other stuff? If I’m supposed to, though, I’m sorry. I… I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

You don’t get nervous often, but you let out a small, nervous laugh.

It’s like your heart and head and lungs are suspended, frozen in ice while he takes your words in. The door to the cafe chimes and a large group of people step in. Middle aged women, all wearing athletic clothes. Devil’s ivy grows on the wall farthest from you- how chic- with vines snaking forward in your direction, reaching for you in green and streaky white.

He smiles.

All you see is teeth and creased eyes and a low, uncreased brow- you want to kiss him.

“Tell me the idea again,” he says, and leans back in his seat. He crosses his arms, and you watch his forearms shift and strain against his shirt, and then you clear your throat and look away and try to focus.

You inhale and gather everything, hoping that this time, you’ll be able to make it make sense.

***

One thing spirals into another. Your words were building and building, rising like a crescendo, overwhelming you to the point where you just said it outright, and-

He’s now in your apartment.

He is literally in your apartment.

You watch him survey the area- the clutter, the mismatched furniture, the crooked posters and photos and artwork hung up on the walls. The subpar paint on the walls that you didn’t choose, the cabinets made of old wood with newly replaced handles.

The entire place is creaking, becoming worse for the wear with each passing day. You could probably afford nicer, but it doesn’t matter, because you love it here- you’ve formed an emotional attachment that goes beyond sad paint and constant repairs. Your home is cozy.

But right now, with Bucky in here, it’s suddenly cramped.

“I want you to sit over here,” you say, and facing a great window, rounded on top with those gorgeous little decorative swirls, which is your favorite part of the whole place, is an armchair. It’s a steal you found at an antique store, with little tassels lining the back of the seat, upholstered with the tackiest floral print you’ve ever seen, but it’s perfect for what you’re trying to do.

The sun is shining strong and unfiltered- he’ll be lit up.

Bucky sits. He looks on edge, and beautiful.

You want to make this easy for him. But you might be too swept away in him to make any efforts- you’re still in shock that he agreed to this in the first place, so disoriented with him being here, in your place, that your trains of thought keep on derailing.

You’re closer than you wish you were, closer to losing it.

“Perfect. Give me one second.”

You go to your room, which isn’t really a room but a sectioned-off alcove with a bit of wall blocking it from view, no door- weird architecture, but whatever, to retrieve your supplies. Tape and the neatly folded swatches of fabric and your camera.

Photography isn’t your thing, but you need reference material.

When you return, he’s looking pensive, and dazzling. His arms fall tensely on the sides of the chair, but his hands dangle so gracefully, and the light catches his face and colors it golden- you are going to lose it when it comes to painting his eyes. They’re blue, but you see them as suns.

“You look great,” you say, and he blushes. You’re ready to pounce, right now.

The fabric is a little bit awkward. It has to be draped upon him- Bucky bristles at your actions in a way that tells you he’s never done anything even remotely like this before, but you persist, and he lets you.

“Get out of the chair really quick.”

“Okay.”

Bucky gets out of the chair. You hop up on it, to tape the corners of the fabric to the ceiling. It’s a flimsy attempt, but they hold and flutter just fine.

He takes you by the hand to bring you back down.

“Careful,” he says, as you make the daunting two-and-a-half-foot descent, and he squeezes your hand in his gloved one before you make him sit down again.

You are buzzing with electricity. Another point to him- that was smooth.

The loose ends of the fabric are tricky, You try at first to tape them to the back of the chair, moving back behind him to reach. Bucky’s head stays perfectly still, and the chiffon looks wrong. It looks weirdly stiff.

So you drape one on him like planned, sort of dripping down his shoulder in a bunched-up purple river, and let the other hang freely, swaying a little from the fragility of the tape.

You move back around to face him.

“This is perfect,” you say, and grin, because this is finally happening. “You look perfect.”

He’s staring all intensely again. You want to come close to him, tell him how lovely he looks, straight out of a dream. You’re so pretty, you almost say, but you have some semblance of rational thought left in you- and so you stay quiet.

The camera dangles from its strap around your neck. You take it in your hands and power it on. The settings are adjusted, and you fiddle with the shutter speed and focus and everything else before bringing it close to your eye, expecting this dream-

He’s all tense, again.

It’s the lens, you immediately think, even though that doesn’t really make sense. You look like- you look like him when he does his things. Lenses and targets and crosshairs. How is this thought so immediate?

You’re just trying to take a picture.

“Relax,” you say, and it does absolutely nothing.

“I am relaxed,” he bites out.

He’s really not. There’s something shifting in his face, something discontented, a brewing storm. His hands are starting to harshly curl into the armrests, digging at the upholstery, distorting the flowers.

The chiffon looms.

“Fix your hands. Like, move them- no, turn them back,”

You’re stooping over to fully capture him, almost ready to take a knee.

His hands flex and stay as they are, stressed and taut and not right, and the rest of him is still so-

You bring the camera down.

***

He’s in this ugly chair, surrounded by fabric, and you’re pretty and wearing a pale pink sweater, and you’re aiming a camera at him, for a picture, but he feels like a target.

White-hot adrenaline and cold and dark dread pull at both sides of him. He feels like a total mess.

Is this they all felt- how they all feel, when he is aiming at them? He tries to do things differently, now, but the tragedy still takes place, the trigger is still fired- the deed is still done. Karma, he thinks, retracing its path, coming back to bite him through you.

You’re frowning. He wants to apologize.

You take the camera down and let it dangle from the strap at your neck. He just had your hands in his- he wants them back and wants to get as far away from you as possible.

“This isn’t working,” you say, and straighten back up, placing your hands on your hips. You look powerful, and he might be trembling from clenching his jaw so hard. “You are not relaxed.”

“I’m not,” he agrees, and you sigh and fix him with a look that isn’t pity- he’d bolt if it were pity, but steely resolve.

You take the camera off your neck, and gently bend over to set it on the floor. Then you sit down beside it, wincing as your knee makes a noise, and giving him a bemused little smile that he wants to just-

Your head level with his knees as you sit, cross-legged. Hands splayed over your lower thighs, careless and carefree. Your posture slouches a bit, relaxing the way he is not, and it's relieving.

His hands grip the chair like a lifeline.

“Why isn’t this working?” You ask, more yourself than him. “You were so- nevermind. Or, Let’s… um, wait. Maybe- Can I?”

He’s always thought of you as so put-together, a born speaker, but now you’ve been stammering and stuttering all over his heart, and he doesn’t know what to do.

You reach out with your hand, hesitantly, wavering. The scar smiles pink.

He nods- his head nods, his body is moving outside of itself, and he feels sheltered and exposed, nearly covered in purple fabric and vulnerable and sitting above you, all of him bared for you to see. Hot and cold.

Your hand goes on his knee.

He’s so alarmed that he almost lashes out- he wants to think, but you’re giving him no time to-

Your other hand is reaching out, tugging at his own, and you bring yourself up to your knees and lean back on the balls of your feet, balancing. Your head is still below his chest and tilted so he can’t see your eyes, and you’re holding his hand like it’ll break.

There’s a dry-erase board fastened on the opposite wall, next to all of the other eclectic clutter. It’s filled in with a to-do list- the words COOK SOMETHING are scrawled at the top in angry red marker. He focuses on the words as you play with his fingers.

You gently trace a thumb over the ridges of his knuckles; he’s suddenly so ticklish that he flinches and chokes on a word that he doesn’t know how to say.

You nudge his hand over to the side, drape the fingers down, and your other hand is still burning his knee, setting him alight-

You’re molding him. Setting him to look how you want, manhandling him in the softest way possible. Should this feel violating? Rude? It feels good- purposeful. He’s letting you do this, and his heart is beating hard, but he can still hear your breathing and his breathing and the white noise of the traffic on the street below, stories away.

You take your hand off his knee, and nudge at his left hand, and he thinks now, how fucking stupid this is- if it’s his fucking hand, why does he wear this stupid fucking glove?

He goes to work it off and you understand, and if he wasn’t wanting so badly to be still for you, stay here as you take your picture, he would grab you by the necklace you’re wearing and drag you closer.

The glove is pulled off and dropped to the floor and the silver of his hand winks in the sunlight.

“Oh,” you say softly, and there’s a crack in your voice, and his voice would crack too, if you asked him to speak.

There’s this look on your face. He doesn’t know if you want to hold his hand or kiss it or put his fingers in your mouth, it looks like all three and he is all unfurled, too, because he is sitting back in this ugly armchair and you’re holding his hands again, and you’re backlit by the sun- like a vision sent straight from the sky.

You fix his hands.

This feels intimate- more intimate than kissing, or anything else. This feels like skipping steps.

After a moment, you pry your hands off of his, and lean back.

Wordlessly, you take the camera and stand up, and you fiddle it and back up, back to where you were at first, far away. Then you’re bringing it close to your eye, looking at him through a lens, and the shutter clicks once, twice.

You bring it back down.

“You got it?” He says, and his voice sounds rough- he sounds parched.

You look at its little screen and bite your lip. “Yeah.”

“Can you come here for a second?”

You look up at him and he’s glad that he couldn’t see your eyes before- they’re dark. “Yeah.”

The camera is tossed to the side, again, and you walk like you’re floating. The steps have been skipped, but Bucky will have to go back to them anyway- he doesn’t like to leave any stones unturned-

And so he waits until you’re close enough, and then tugs you down by your sweater- he doesn’t want to hurt you, and he’s reaching and reaching-

You laugh or smile or do something else sweet, but he’s too caught up to tell. He pulls you down to him, and surrounded by you and sunlight and fluttering purple chiffon, he kisses you.

[captainseaweedbrains]

Happy Birthday, Peeta

I rewrote a fluff prompt I got ages ago and thought I’d post it again. Enjoy!

Post-Mockingjay, during the time where they grew back together.

Can also be found on Ao3

His birthday was coming up and Katniss wanted to do something special for Peeta, something homemade.

"He does so much for me," she told Haymitch while they nibbled on the rye bread Peeta had left them for lunch. "I want to return the favor. He deserves it." And Peeta did deserve it. After these rough few months of trying to repair themselves and figure out what they were, she wanted something normal, something happy. Or as happy as they could possibly reach.

"I'm just not very good at gift giving," she confessed, picking at the bread. 

Haymitch ripped another piece off the loaf and shoved it into his mouth. "I don't know what it is with you two and owing each other, but he's not expecting a parade, sweetheart." Katniss squirmed in her seat at the thought of being paraded in front of a crowd again. "Just do something any normal girlfriend would do."

"We're not dating," she quickly insisted. "We're just...us." 

"Fine. Whatever. Make the boy dinner and, I don't know, get him paper or something to draw on. He should be happy with that." 

The idea did sound good, and Peeta always made dinner. A birthday dinner would give him a night off, let him relax. Yes, a surprise dinner would definitely be a good gift for him. She'd make his favorite meal, maybe steal a bottle of Haymitch's finest to lighten the mood. It was perfect. 

The only problem was she didn't know his favorite meal. At least something she could make. Katniss tried to think back to every meal they'd ever had together, but her own mind had been so transfixed on her plate she'd never noticed what Peeta ate. 

She would just have to find out before his birthday. 

Peeta was pouring vegetable soup into her bowl for dinner when she decided to ask. "You make soup a lot," Katniss observed, waiting for him to sit before lightly blowing on her meal.

"Can't go wrong with it," he smiled.

As expected, the soup tasted wonderful, with hints of spices Peeta kept to himself, saying it was a family secret. She tapped the spoon on the side of her bowl and sighed, wondering how to go about asking him without making it too obvious what she planned to do.

"Is something the matter?" His eyebrows were scrunched together in concern, his hand gripping hard on his spoon. Katniss patted his hand and told him she was fine. 

"I'm just thinking about the soup," is all she said, taking another timid sip.

"Oh."

The dining room grew quiet, the only sounds were the scrapes of their spoons against bowls and Buttercup begging for scraps at Peeta's feet. It was typically how dinner went for them, but Katniss didn't want to chicken out about this. She wanted to make sure what she was making Peeta would be something he'd like.

"You know, when I..." A lump formed in her throat at the thought of her family. She cleared her throat and started again. "When I was little, my father used to make this dandelion salad and my mother had this special dressing she'd pour on top. It was really simple, nothing like...like the Capitol food, but I'd always get excited whenever I'd see him walking back with a bag full of dandelions. It was my favorite meal."

It was too much, too obvious, and she shoved a spoonful of soup in her mouth to avoid blurting out anything that would trigger any emotional episode. Peeta wasn't stupid, and he always figured out whatever she was planning because he was perceptive and good at reading people, and Katniss was lucky if she could spit out a sentence every once in awhile. 

He didn't seem to notice, empathetically smiling at her, like he always did whenever something from their past was mentioned. He understood how much it hurt to talk about the dead and the hopeless, and she was so thankful for that. Another reminder why Peeta deserved a special birthday dinner. 

"I could call your mom for the dressing recipe. We could make it together." 

"Yes," Katniss said slowly, "we could make it together. So now you know what mine was. Um, so what was your favorite meal?" 

His eyes gleamed over in thought as he leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment. It wasn't often they talked about trivial things like favorite childhood foods, but it wasn't on the list of triggers Dr. Aurelius had given and that was all Katniss was concerned with as she watched his face carefully. Just because it wasn't on the list didn't mean Peeta would react lightly to topics of his family. His episodes were sparse, but it was always best to be safe.

"It sounds silly," Peeta chuckled, pulling her out of her worry, "but I loved when my dad would make fresh bread for dinner." It wasn't the answer she expected from the baker's son and her face must have shown her surprise. "I've told you we always got stuck with the stale bread—the bread no one wanted," he explained, "but on special occasions, Dad would make a fresh loaf of bread for us. Sometimes add in raisins, if we were really lucky. It was really rare, but I remember jumping up and down whenever I'd smell bread baking in our apartment's kitchen." He sheepishly smiled and looked down at his bowl of soup. "It's stupid, I know, Katniss, but it is what it is." 

"I don't think it's stupid," she comforted, taking his hand in hers. "I...I think it's sweet, Peeta. I'm glad those memories aren’t—aren't gone." His hand squeezed hers back in response and they resumed eating in silence.

Baking bread was a lot harder than Peeta made it out to be. 

It was ridiculous, really. She'd made bread plenty of times with the tesserae grains her family received. But everything seemed simple back then—her mother and sister, their tiny, dilapidated house in the Seam. Even the bread was simple, but nothing made sense any more. Not even the stupid, complicated bread recipe.

She followed every step closely. Double-checking just to be safe.

She put in every ingredient with care, like she’s seen Peeta do a thousand times and more.

But when it came time to pound out the dough, the whole project went awry. Images of Snow and Coin and Plutarch consumed her thoughts as she pounded the soft, malleable dough. Their faces smirking, toying with her, wanting. Her hands grew rougher with the dough, feeling used and spit out. They used her. Used them. Discarding them like unwanted waste when their purpose was done. And Prim. Prim. Prim. Prim. Sweet, little Prim. 

Her vision went black. Her chest heavy, lungs filling with smoke from the bombs. The bombs that killed little Prim.

Prim Prim Prim Prim

A sharp pain in her hand snapped her back to the kitchen. She was home, safe. Not the Capitol or the arena. Home. The pale dough was smeared red with her blood, her knuckles bruised and battered.

My name is Katniss Everdeen, she began her list, taking deep breaths in, eyes closed. I am at my house. I am safe. I am making bread. Today is Peeta’s birthday. I am making Peeta's favorite bread. I want to make him happy. Today is a Peeta’s birthday.

Her heartbeat slows. She cleans her hands, wrapping them in gauze, before pulling out the ingredients to start once more.

She double-checked the steps closely, pouring the ingredients into the bowl with care, just like Peeta.

Bread should not be this complicated.

The bread was almost finished baking when the grandfather clock tolled the hour, telling her Peeta would be home any minute. Katniss sat on the floor, face pressed against the oven window, still covered in flour, and watched the loaf continue to bake. Her face was tear stained and puffy, her knuckles still ached after all these hours, but part of her felt proud for sticking it out and finishing the bread for Peeta, instead of running to her bed or closet. It was definitely an improvement from months ago. 

The front door opened, startling her from her bread watch, and Katniss scrambled to her feet and patted some of the flour off her pants.  

"Happy birthday!" she cheered when Peeta stepped into the kitchen. 

His face broke out into a smile and laughed, looking around the flour covered kitchen. "I see you've been busy." He ran a finger across the countertop and rubbed the flour between his finger and thumb. “Flour? Do I smell bread?” 

"I made dinner. Your favorite meal." 

She couldn't help but laugh along when he asked in surprise, "You did?" 

"For your birthday,” she explained, taking his coat and tossing it aside. She pulled out a chair for him and told him to sit as she went and got him a drink. “You always do the cooking, but not on your birthday. We’re making birthdays special now. And I wanted to make your favorite meal because I thought it’d—you know, make you happy.”

His hand found hers, his thumb lightly tracing her bandage. Her breath stilled, unsure if he’d ask about it and ruin the happiness she felt stirring in her chest, seeing him happy, like her Peeta. But his smile grew, his blue blue eyes warming, causing her smile to grow until they both looked like deranged fools. The aroma of baked bread filled the small kitchen, making their stomachs growl.

“It’s perfect, Katniss. Really.” She shrugged like it meant nothing, but her stomach fluttered more when his hand didn’t let go of hers, and she told him the bread should be ready any minute.

The bread wasn’t burnt, like a certain loaf all those years ago, and it wasn’t perfect, like the loaves he made, but Peeta proclaimed it was the best bread he’d ever had.

“I just wanted to make you happy,” Katniss shyly told him again, blushing at his compliment. “After all you’ve done for me, it’s the least I can do.”

“Thank you for making this a memorable birthday, Katniss.” The earnestness in his voice proved he meant every word and it was then that she felt that familiar stirring, deep inside her. It felt warm and full and without even thinking about if this would set them back, she kissed him. Soft on the lips.

“Happy birthday, Peeta,” she whispered and laughed when he quickly pulled her closer for another.

[beeexx]

Chapter 2 of To all the boys I’ve Loved before Tarlos au is up. You can read it here.

Here is a little tease :)

TK makes it as far as to his locker, his and Carlos’s contract safely tucked into a book of his in his backpack, when he runs into Paul.  

 Ah, well fuck, he’s oficially screwed now. 

Paul’s eyes are narrowed and he has that very obvious ‘don’t you dare bullshit me’ look he’s gotten famous for in their group which they all know very well that lying is the worst thing you can do in that moment. TK sighs and motions for Paul to follow him to the bathrooms so they can talk privately. TK checks each stall to see if they are empty before he turns to a very impatient looking Paul staring at him.

“Okay, so I can explain.”

“Can you? Good, let’s go.”

“So what do you want to know?”

“How you went from ‘I’m never going to date Carlos I never want to see him again’ to locking lips with him where the whole school could see.” Paul imitates his voice and it’s way too high pitched to sound anything at all like TK does, but he ignores it. 

“I don’t think the whole school could see...”

“Most people videoed it.”

“Right, yeah… of course…” TK hadn’t even thought about that, well fuck, that’s not exactly something he’d want finding its way to the headmaster or to any future collage or university applications. 

“Sooo….?”

“Well the day when you went off to see Lily.”

“For the chess club.” Paul corrects and TK rolls his eyes because that is not true, no matter how hard he tries to convince him of that.

“Anyway I almost reversed into Carlos, he was fine by the way. Then Matteo has been on my ass about me being lonely and ending up some kind of hermit or something and how I should get a boyfriend. He’s been really annoying and then some stupid letters I wrote ages ago got out, probably because they accidentally ended up in the Goodwill boxes I sent out only for Carlos’ to actually get his.” He rushes through the first part of the story so he can just get to the part where him and Carlos are fake dating, because that is now a thing.

“And he was all like I’m flattered but Alex bla bla bla Alex bla bla so I just kissed him on the pitch because Alex was there and I wanted to get back at him and Carlos was annoying and I lost my mind there for a moment I think. Cut to me running away to Cafe Corner to be cornered by Carlos again and for him to actually suggest we fake date to make Alex jealous, so now I have a fake boyfriend and it’s Carlos…?” Paul’s eyes have widened, like he can’t believe a word he’s just heard and TK doesn’t blame him because it sounds absolutely deranged to his own ears too. Then Paul starts to laugh, a little too loudly and a little longer than what TK warrants to be necessary.

“Man, this sounds like one of those cheesy romance novels you keep reading. This is like straight out of a movie, I love it!”

“Yeah, yeah, I guess.”

“This is so going to end badly.”

“What? Why? How?”

“Ah TK, my sweet innocent child.” TK huffs as Paul grabs him by the shoulders to pull him close, holding on very tightly which makes it impossible for TK to shrug him off.

“It’s going to end with feelings and heartbreak.” TK scoffs.

“Feelings? What are you talking about? Feelings for who? Carlos? Are you kidding, it’s all just pretend.”

“Well in a few months’ time I might say I told you so and gloat a little bit, but I will obviously be the shoulder you can cry on when I am ultimately right.”

“I’m just helping him get back at Alex, I don’t see that as a particularly bad thing.”

“Oh I have no problem with you getting back at Alex, he’s an ass, he deserves it, all I’m saying is that these things never work out the way you intend them to.”

“Whatever, also you can’t tell Mateo and Marjan, it’s bad enough that you know, we put no snitching in the contract.” Paul bursts out laughing even harder and TK feels his cheeks flush, but whatever, having a contract for these things are important, he stands by that. 

“I won’t say a word.” He says through his laughter and TK finally manages to pull Paul off himself and leaves while giving him the finger, to the sound of Paul’s laughter ringing in his ears as the door closes. 

The rest of the day stays blissfully boring.

……

“Mateo come on!” TK shouts for what feels like the 100th time this morning and throws his hands up in defeat when there’s no reply. “Okay fuck it, you can walk.”

“No swearing TK.” Owen chides and TK gives him the finger when he isn’t looking.

“I’m coming!” Mateo shouts but TK still can’t hear him make a move from upstairs so that’s clearly a lie since he’s been saying that for the last ten minutes.

“You go on your own, I can just drive him once he’s ready.” Owen suggests.

“Actually… well actually I’m not driving today.” He says carefully.

“No?”

“No, Carlos is supposed to take the both of us.”

“Carlos? Carlos Reyes?”

“Yes, we’re I guess friends now…”

“Oh, that’s amazing, I’m happy to hear that.” His dad says overly excited for something as mundane as TK making friends, but the look on his dad’s face sends a pang of guilt through TK, he doesn’t want to lie to anyone, but then he really doesn’t want to have a conversation about how he has a pretend boyfriend to get back at Carlos’ ex that happens to be Alex either, so keeping his mouth shut about it seems logical and it doesn’t feel like his dad has to know about it just this exact moment so.

“Mhm.” He will leave Mateo though, because it’s becoming too much for TK to stand in the kitchen and lie right now.

“I’m here.” Mateo says, fucking finally done, and looking exactly the same as he does on any other school day so TK has no clue what the hell he’s been doing all morning.

“Finally!”

“Bye kids, have a good day.”

“You too.” Mateo calls as he closes and locks the door, just as Carlos drives up the road. 

“Oh, hell yes.” Mateo says excitedly as he sees Carlos’ car. TK thinks it is ridiculous and can’t help but wonder if Carlos is trying to compensate for the car in lack of certain things in other departments but he stops himself thinking along those lines immediately because nope, nope, nope no.

“Morning.” Carlos says smiling and makes sure to open the door for TK who rolls his eyes while Mateo swoons in the back.

“Stop being weird.” TK tells him and Mateo swats his hand away.

“I’m just trying to get used to the idea that you’re actually dating Carlos. EEEHH I am so happy for you.”

“Yeah totally.” TK tries to sound excited as well. Carlos gets back in the driving seat and starts the car. 

“Hi.” He says gently to TK and TK smiles and nudges him further away, Carlos chuckles delightedly. 

“Oh, here by the way TK, it’s from Grace.” Mateo says and throws something in TK’s lap, TK’s face lighting up immediately.

“Ahhh yes.”

“What’s that?” Carlos asks.

“Oh this? It’s chocolate from the Scandinavian store, it’s the best chocolate in town.” Carlos looks doubtful.

“It is! Here try some.” TK breaks off a small piece and gives it to Carlos who instead of just taking it off from TK leans his face close to TK’s fingers and very gently but purposely puts his mouth just at the tip of TK’s thumb and index finger and takes the chocolate off him, the tip of his tongue brushing against TK’s skin, sending shivers straight up his spine and making him blush ridiculously hard, Mateo wolf whistling in the back of the car. TK’s eyes snap to Carlos who is looking at him instead of at the road ahead and what he sees there makes him feel hot all over.

“Yeah, okay, wow it’s good.” Carlos is clearly impressed, his eyes lighting up, making his whole face glow in happiness, and TK breaks out of whatever the hell just happened and gulps and stares straight ahead in order to get his bearings together.

“Yeah it is.” Mateo says and for a moment TK had even forgotten that he was in the car.

“Where do you get it from?”

“It’s all the way across from town, TK is too scared to drive there himself but Grace and Judd live much closer to it and Grace is literally an angel so every now and then she goes to stock up for him.” TK tries to glare at Mateo for spilling his secrets, and giving away the location of the best supermarket ever, you can get so many nice things in those shops that you would never be able to get from the normal ones and TK is particular about keeping quiet about its location. 

“Who is Grace and Judd?”

“Our dad works with Judd and Grace is his wife, she’s a 911 operator.”

“Aahh, okay.” Carlos says and looks like that cleared something up he must have been very confused about. 

They make it to school much quicker than it normally would take when TK drives and Mateo is ecstatic, his whole face glowing in triumph when they step out to the parking lot, gaining some stares in the process that TK could really do without. Mateo hides his snickers.

“Morning.” Iris calls, comes up to punch Carlos’ shoulder, high fives Mateo and levels TK with a stare he doesn’t think is exactly hostile but not totally friendly either.

“Hi. Iris.” He takes her hand.

“Hi, TK.”

“Right, right, yes of course. I know who you are.” TK’s eyebrow raises because to her he’s probably the guy who made Carlos spill out their Chinese food just before summer ended.

“You’re Mateo’s brother, he’s told me about you.”

Oh, okay, that wasn’t exactly what he was expecting but he guesses he’s fine with that.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s right.”

“Sweet.” She leans against Carlos’ other side and puts an arm around Mateo’s shoulder, squeezing brotherly while Mateo looks like she’s hung the moon.

Oh no TK thinks.

“Iris, behave yourself.” Carlos scolds without heat.

“Me? I always behave. TK, if Carlos ever tells you that I was the one almost getting us arrested it’s a lie, remember that. It was totally him.”

“What? You almost got arrested?” Mateo pipes up by Iris’ side.

“Don’t go giving him any ideas Iris, I don’t want to bail him out.” TK says, a little sternly because he really doesn’t want to do that. Iris grins a little evilly, looking between the two, with Mateo giving her puppy eyes and TK trying to plead with her. 

“I think it’s a story for another time.” TK breathes out a sigh of relief and Carlos rolls his eyes at her. 

“Ignore her.” He whispers to TK and TK hopes he can. 

“Well, I have history, I kind of need to go…” TK says to Carlos, picking his phone up to double check the time, he hates being late.

“Yeah, sure, of course.”

“Come on Mateo, let’s go to chem.” Iris pulls Mateo with her and gives Carlos an unreadable look and sends him an encouraging smile as a parting gift, TK has no idea what their silent communication means, but they must know each other well if they can do it so easily.

“Okay, well I’ll see you at lunch, it’s a perfect opportunity for Alex to see.”

“Right, yeah, of course.” For a moment TK’s forgotten all about the whole making Alex jealous thing they got going but with Carlos’ reminder it’s suddenly very clear again that they are barely even friends. Come to think of it TK doesn’t even know that much about Carlos to begin with. He just nods and smiles and then picks up the pace to get to history and out of the vicinity of Carlos as fast as he can.

[gingerwritess]

I was thinking of Loki being the little shit he is and stealing readers food just to see her get worked up and at one point maybe saying she looks cute when she’s angry just to piss her off?? I love you!!!!!

FINALLY WROTE THIS SHEESH

this was tough stuff right here but i like it and i hope you do too! big thanks to @avenging-blackwidow for beta-ing m w a h

part 13 of loki’s happy ending, and as always, masterlist in my bio!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

You’re turning out to be quite a pest of a human.

First with all the attempts to kill him when really, he’d made it perfectly clear when he’d have liked that, and now pestering him about the whole Chitauri ordeal…Loki would be lying if he hadn’t considered a muzzle.

You’re an extreme liability, and he knows. You’ve seen too much and definitely seen too much of him - not that getting a few ogles in the midst of dying was particularly detrimental to the whole operation.

Actually, it might’ve been…nice. But you didn’t hear that from him.

Breaking up the accidental relationship was a smart move. The best move, by far. The only remaining problem happens to be you, though.

You still…remain.

You still walk around the tower with your arms full of papers, heels clicking annoyingly along the vinyl floors, turning up your nose whenever you stride past his office.

He has a nicer office than you. By far.

Loki gets a window.

Most of the time, when you happen to have to walk down his hall, he leans against the open window and gazes out at the city as you walk by—a smug little grin on his flawless, fake jawline, knowing that the breeze ruffling his strawberry blond hair serves so kindly to piss you the hell off.

The one time you’d realised he’s doing it on purpose, you’d stepped into his office, smiled sweetly over to him at the window, and dumped your coffee on his precious floor.

And then you ran, cause he flipped back to Loki in a split second and lunged at you, snarling like a rabid animal as you shrieked and sprinted down the hall.

So…things aren’t exactly good between the two of you.

Which, of course, is why you’ve been avoiding him for the past couple weeks, sighing dramatically and saying “I’m just not ready to talk about it” when people ask why the two of you broke up.

You’ve been trying to avoid break rooms altogether. They’re just a hive for questioning, and you never know if you might run into him some accidental Thursday when you don’t have witty comebacks pre-prepared.

In other news, your bagels keep disappearing.

This is day four. The bagel is in your hand when you walk through the door, you set it on your desk, turn to set your bags down, and it’s gone.

Something tells you by day four that you’re not hallucinating carrying bagels into work with you just because you’re tired, so today you’re trying a set up.

You’ve got a hunch.

Sure enough, on day five, you don’t turn around to put your bag on the chair, and you watch your bagel seemingly melt into the desk.

“Get your ass out here, Loki.”

There’s a stack of green sticky-notes next to your computer, and a word being scrawled onto the paper catches your eye.

No.

You rip off the paper, crumple it into a ball, and throw it in the trash.

“Stop taking my food,” you hiss in the empty room.

Again, the loopy handwriting appears on the next sticky-note.

You assume so much.

“Oh, sorry,” you snap, glancing at the door to make sure no one sees you about to scream at a sticky-note, “I don’t know any other magicians. Give me back my bagel.”

I’m enjoying it.

“You fucking dick - oh, hey, Nadine.”

You give a sheepish grin and wave at your coworker, setting down your scissors with a nervous laugh as she walks by.

The moment she’s out of sight, though, you take the scissors right through the stack of notes—and Loki, ever the saint, sends a spurt of black ink from the paper like some kind of inky blood, a muffled scream coming from the little stack of green sticky-notes.

“What the—”

“You wound me, darling.”

One leg thrown haphazardly over the arm of his chair, Loki grins and waves his fingers at you across the desk.

Ink drips down your arms.

Loki takes a slow bite of your bagel.

“Mmm…”

“Oh, fuck you,” you scowl, grabbing an eraser off your desk and chucking it at his face. “You owe me five days worth of breakfast, asshole.”

“Mm, no, I don’t think I do,” he hums, taking another bite. Then he decides to let out a very unsuitable for work groan, throwing his head back as he swallows.

You quickly blink and look away.

“At least you’re enjoying it,” you grumble and flop down in your chair. Fishing some napkins out from a desk drawer, you try to sop up the ink staining your arms, Loki’s gaze burning into your skin as you scrub furiously at the stains.

“That’s a lovely colour on you.”

“Shut it.”

The ink stains, but you at least get the liquid wiped away, fuming at the splotches that ruined your shirt, too—Loki and your clothes don’t seem to get along; first the coffee, now this?

He’s licking his fingers when you toss the napkins in the trash and glare back up at him.

His middle finger leaves his mouth with a pop.

“You’re quite…enchanting when you’re angry.”

“Fuck off,” you groan, and he just laughs, licking slowly along his thumb.

“One might even say…” he pauses, thumb on his lip, gaze floating to the ceiling in thought. “Cute.”

You stand up and walk to the door, holding it open without another word to the god smirking at you from your desk. “Get out.”

“Or what?”

“Or I taser you into oblivion again,” you frown, pointing out the door. “I enjoyed it the first time. I think I might get off on it the second time.”

Loki almost laughs—you catch the twitch of his mouth before he fizzles back into Dr. Laing—probably a good idea, considering you’re holding the door wide open.

“Banter,” he sighs, leaning back in the chair and draping a dramatic arm over his eyes. “Look at us, all this tension. Why did we break up again?”

“Because you were using me? You…keep threatening me and treating me like shit for trying to help you, that’s why—”

“Is that what you’re telling yourself?” He chuckles, and your forehead hits the door with a groan.

“That’s the truth, Loki. Please, get out.”

His arm lifts, just enough for him to peek out from under his elbow at you. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh, goody.”

“You pose a terrible threat to me,” he continues, ignoring your implying waves out the door. “And in the best interest of myself, I should avoid you at all costs.”

“Which is why you’re in my office.” You gesture at his lazed form, spreading across your chair. “Right.”

“Precisely.” He gives you a curt nod. “But…well, you have a phrase that puts it quite nicely—keep your friends close and your enemies closer?”

He lifts a hand towards you, lips curling.

“I can’t let you out of my sight.”

Perfect. Just what you needed, more clinging from the deranged—well, whatever the hell he is, cause at this point, you’re just confused—godly criminal.

“Look,” you sigh, leaning against the door, “I haven’t told anyone anything. I’ve lied for you, I pretended to date you, I haven’t brought up anything about your scars—”

“Oh, but you just did.”

“I—no, hold on—”

“See what I mean, darling? You can’t be trusted. That little mouth of yours tends to run whether you like it or not, and either I silence you once and for all, or you learn to control this little pity problem you seem to have.”

“Don’t,” you growl, grip tightening on the doorknob. “Don’t call me that.”

“Mm. How would you feel about having your memories altered?”

Loki stands up, wiping long fingers off on his thighs.

The air seems to drop twenty degrees and you gulp, stepping backwards into the hallway—better to at least be out of the office when you’re brainwashed by a god. Maybe, just maybe, Iron Man will happen down this hallway before your brain is fried.

Something tells you not to hold onto that hope too tightly.

“Just a quick little tweak of the mind,” Loki continues, slowly making his way towards you, hands clasped behind him. “In the interest of solely protecting myself. It’s not personal, I hold nothing against you.”

“That sounds pretty personal.”

“Oh, darling, I wouldn’t waste my precious feelings on the likes of you. You were simply in the wrong place…at the wrong time. You weren’t supposed to see anything in the first place.”

“Is this really about those cuts on your back? I haven’t - oop, h-hey.” Your back hits the far wall of the hallway.

“How cliché,” Loki hums, a small grin on his lips. “The tall, dark villain has you up against the wall.”

“I haven’t told anyone,” you remind him, hands coming up between the two of you—just in case. “You’re just scared of the possibility, right? Can’t we, um, make a deal or something instead?”

“Deals with the devil never end well.”

“I thought you were a god.”

Whoops.

Loki goes stiff, leering down at you as that patronising little smile turns cold, frozen.

His fingers press against your forehead in a matter of milliseconds.

“I don’t know what I am,” he whispers sharply, a hand slipping up to cover your mouth when you start writhing, muffled shouts for help falling short behind his hand. “And don’t pretend like you do.”

“Mmf—no, ‘oki, stop—”

“You know I can see in your mind. Do I make you feel better about yourself? Is that it?”

Your heart plummets when his eyes go red, flashing deep crimson for a split second before the hand covering your mouth starts glowing, the same golden hue that surrounded his body that fateful day he showered at your place.

Head furiously shaking no, you try to think an apology to him - not that you know what to even apologise for.

Helping him? Seeing that at some point in his recent past, someone lashed him to pieces?

Your mind does feel funny, almost…fuzzy. It’s a warm kind of fuzzy and you want to give into it, but his hand over your mouth and blue-green eyes boring into yours—

“Stop apologising,” he hisses, eyes narrowing as he presses his fingers harder to your forehead.

You fight it a moment longer.

I’m sorry, your thoughts plead, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry no one’s listening, I’m sorry you don’t know—

“I don’t want your pity.”

Your eyes widen above his hand. He heard you, that actually worked.

I’m sorry you’re hurting, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I saw, I’m sorry I tried to help—

“Stop that.” Teeth bared, his hand tightens around your mouth. “You have to stop that.”

You can trust me, I swear on my life, I won’t tell anyone anything about you, you have to trust me—

Then just like that, he pulls his hands away.

You gasp for breath and stumble away from him as quickly as you can, not noticing how he clutches his hand to his chest, eyes glistening.

“Just trust me,” you cough. “Just trust me, you don’t have to kill me o-or wipe my memory—”

“No,” he snaps, raking a still-slightly gold hand through his hair. “No, no, I don’t—I can’t do that.”

“I promise, Loki, seriously, you don’t have to—”

Footsteps down the hallway make your words fall dead in your throat. Loki immediately switches to Laing, grabbing you by the arm and hoisting you to your feet, a finger to his lips and a silent threat in his eye.

It’s Tony, sprinting, flanked by a small group of armed guards, and they come to a stop right in front of the two of you.

“What’s going on??”

“Loki,” Tony pants, bending to rest his hands on his knees for a moment, trying to catch his breath. “Decoy, clone, it’s a double in the cell, he’s—he’s out—”

Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach.

“Are you sure?”

Laing’s fingers curl around your wrist and squeeze hard.

“Yes, for sure, he just flickered for a good two seconds, it was a dead give-away to Thor. Now c’mon, we’re moving you to a safer location—”

“What??”

Laing still won’t let go, jaw clenched so hard it looks painful.

“We know you’re one of his targets,” Tony says with an exasperated sigh, waving you after him. “Move, we’ve gotta move, the son-of-a-bitch is a god, we don’t know how much time we have!”

One of his targets.

The feeling of his palm over your mouth is still as present as it was not even two minutes ago.

His red eyes, those fingers rifling through your mind.

You wrench your hand from Laing’s grip and run after Tony Stark without a thought of looking back.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

feel free to send me ideas!!

if you enjoyed…what if i linked my venmo…haha no i jest…no obligations….just in case….u don’t have to ha ha…….unless… ??

~ masterlist link in my bio ~

loki tags: @bluediamond007 @himitoshi @drakesfiance @destiel1597 @dangertoozmanykids101 @archy3001 @jcalpha1 @yzssie @skullvieplu @forthesnakeofdragons @skulliebythesea @wegingerangelica @storiesfrommirkwood @agarwaeneth @adaliamalfoy @laurfangirl424 @paradisaicsam @fitzsimmons-is-forever @ladylokimischief @katelinwrites @tarynkauai @polaristrange @loavesofmeat @canadian-ravenpuff-multishipper @lou-makes-me-strong @holyn0vak @chocolatealmondmillk @swtnrholland @kenzieam @jessiejunebug  @catticas @the-republic-and-face-of-texas @doralupin01 @whitewitchdown @atomiccharmer @falconfeather23435 @babygirlicecream @avengrcs @vethrvolnir2 @bookgirlunicorn @wabisabigrl @myhealingstar @khaleesi-marvel @ei77777 @spacecrumbs @scarlettghost13 @rocks-are-pretty-odd @confessionsofastrugglingteen @easilydistractedwriter @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @fluffyllamaswearinghats @milktearose @lcyouinhell @h0tshotholland @dontmesswithmemundane @southsidesarcasticwriter @helnik-s @lilith-akemi @fire-in-her-veinz @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mischievousbellerina @kcd15 @mellowgirl01 @lokislilcaribbeanprincess @allthingzhiddleston @scorpionchild81 @lokixme @blue-automne @galaxycharmed @devilbat @kangaroobunny @end-up-well @planetariumx @sarcsep @mrfandomtastic @amaru163 @im-way-too-many-fandoms @caswinchester2000 @kybaeza @wester-than-west @vintagesunshinebitch @adefectivedetective @poetic-nikolai @moonduhsted @kerri-masson @iamverity @innaminitus @spnbarnes @narcissxblack @woohoney @anxiousamandapanda @padmeisgay @authordreaming13 @lokisironthrone @theunknowinglys @highfuncti0ningfangirl @epicfallenismine @stubby-toe-589331 @fandomnerdsarecool @retrofantasyland @arch-venus25 @forever-trapped-in-my-dreams @littleredstarfish @marshyrebelcloud @okie–loki @atterodominatus @stfxlou @pandacookieowo @tonakings @shinisenko @tinchentitri @nildespirandum @thefallenbibliophilequote @vodka-and-some-sass @highfunctioningfangirl19 @sadwaywardkid​ @lokioneshot​

[fallinfor-youreyes]

14, 46 or 47 from brightwell please? ♥️ help a girl out during quarantine please, your writing is my saving grace

46. Argument leading to kissing 

Happy quarantine babes, I hope everyone is staying safe and healthy!

“You can’t keep doing this,” Dani says, her eyes scanning down his face and across his shoulders, down, down, down until they fall on his trembling hands.

“We caught the guy, didn’t we,” Malcolm tries to offer her a smile but her glare only grows. Before she can say anything else the EMT scrambles over and starts shining the world’s brightest fucking flashlight in his eyes, and someone else is gently probing his sprained wrist, and when his eyes finally settle back down, Dani is gone.

But Gil is there, disappointment and worry clear on his face, and Malcolm thinks he might be getting too used to that look on Gil’s face.

Which does make him feel a little bit guilty.

“You okay, kid?” Gil asks, and Malcolm shrugs.

“Wrist hurts. Concussion. But we caught the guy.” He tries to sound optimistic, but Gil’s frown deepens.

“We’ll talk about this when your head is better. I’ll get Dani to take you home.” Gil puts a hand on shoulder, and Malcolm’s guilt somehow grows from the gesture. “You have to stop doing this, Bright.”

“I know,” he lies, because it’s what Gil needs to hear, but Malcolm knows if he can help save someone’s life, he would put himself in danger again and again.

“No.” Dani is suddenly there, and she still has a smear of blood on her cheek, but her arms are crossed and she’s glaring so hard at Gil that Malcolm is almost worried for him.

“Get JT to do it, or you do it. I’m not his keeper, I’m not taking him home, again.” Her eyes slide over to him, and somehow her glare intensifies, but there’s also something else behind her eyes, something he can’t quite place, but she’s back to fighting with Gil before he can catalog it.

“Dani, please. JT is already taking the culprit back to the station, and I have to stay here to smooth things over with the news crews, I promise this is the last time I’ll ask.”

Malcolm watches her worry her teeth over her bottom lip before rolling her eyes. “I’m not doing this again,” she says, and then she walking right past him to her car.

Gils sighs and rubs his hand down his face before waving to Malcolm. “Go get some sleep. Try not to annoy Dani into murdering you, please.” Gil helps him over to the car, and then grabs his shoulder again. “I mean it, Bright, you have to stop doing this.”

Malcolm nods, mainly because he doesn’t have it in him to lie again. And then, he’s in the car and Dani is refusing to look at him, so instead he stares at his hands, and they are silent the entire ride.

He knows she’s mad. In the same way that Gil is mad, because he doesn’t care about his own safety, because he willingly puts himself in dangerous situations because a part of him feels like he deserves it, because she told him to wait for her, but he went in alone anyway.

She pulls to the curb outside his house and she still won’t look at him, and he knows he deserves this, knows this is his fault, knows she has every right to be mad at him, but part of him is still stuck on that look in her eyes he wasn’t able to catch. The part of her that might not be as mad at him as the rest.

But his head hurts. His brain can’t focus and his wrist is also mad at him for getting hurt again, and she’s mad enough at him that he knows he should leave it be.

So he does, because, maybe, he’s starting to learn a little bit of self-control.

“Thanks for driving me home,” he says, pasting on a smile that he hopes doesn’t look deranged.

Dani cracks her knuckles but is still staring straight out the windshield, so he nods and fumbles with his seatbelt and then the door, and he still cannot get his thoughts in order. He thinks he should apologize.

He thinks that might make her even more upset.

“I’ll see you when they clear me. Drive safe.” He gets out of the car and sighs, trying to force his brain into an active state, but all is does is hurt.

He’s halfway to his door when he hears the car door slam shut and then Dani is standing next to him, arms crossed and eyes still staring straight ahead. “Gil would be pissed if I let you fall down the stairs and kill yourself.” She stuffs her hands in her pockets. “Lead the way.”

Malcolm can’t help the little bubble of relief building in his chest, but he tries his best not to show it.

They make their way upstairs and he fumbles for the lights before shrugging off his coat, pausing to let Sunshine out of her cage as Dani just hovers at the door, twisting her fingers and staring at the space between them.

He’s inside, and he’s safe, and she’s done her job, but she’s still standing there and the look in her eyes that he’s unable to place is back.

Malcolm pulls out everything to make some tea, and he hear Dani sigh and drop her coat on the back of the couch and then she’s standing in front of him, anger rippling off her.

“Why don’t you listen when Gil says to wait?” There’s a slight tremble to her voice, and she’s pressing her hands together hard enough that he’s almost afraid she’s going to hurt herself.

“I’ve never been good at listening,” he says, trying to keep his voice light, trying to make this anything but what it is.

He doesn’t know how to lie to her.

He doesn’t know how to tell her he deserves the pain he goes through.

“No, fuck Bright, no. That’s not what this is about!” She runs her hand through her hair and then she’s on the other side of the counter. “You do this on purpose. Every time you put yourself into danger!”

“If we wait, someone else could get hurt.”

“If I’m too worried about keeping you safe, they can hurt anyway!”

“You shouldn’t worry about me, Dani,” he says. Her face falls, the fight slipping right out of her features, and he knows they are sort of having an argument right now, but the look in her eyes makes him want to give her a hug.

“But I do, you asshole.” She half heartedly pushes his shoulder, and then he’s pulling her closer, until she’s close enough that he gently presses their foreheads together, and she’s still not looking at him.

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to get better at listening.”

Dani rolls her eyes, but the anger is no longer there. “You won’t. I don’t know why you do it, or why you won’t talk to me, but I know you, and I know you won’t.” She presses the tips of her fingers against his chest, and she takes a shaky breath. “I don’t want to worry about you, but you make it literally impossible not too.”

“I know i’m infuriating. I just never learned any differently.”

Dani rolls her eyes again. “Bad excuse. Try again.”

She’s pressed against him and he can feel her heartbeat through his fingertips against her wrist, and they are technically still fighting, but he wants to kiss her. He wants to kiss her and promise that he will do better, that he will try to take his own safety into account, if that’s what it takes to make her happy.

He doesn’t want to lie to her. He doesn’t want to lie to Gil anymore, or his mother, or even to himself.

“I never wanted to learn any differently,” he says, the truth soft and foreign in his mouth.

“What changed?” she asks, eyes wide and too close for him to not be able to read. She’s worried about him.

The something he wasn’t able to catch earlier. She cares about him. And she doesn’t know what to do with that.

You.

He can’t say that. He knows he can’t say that because she literally was yelling at him not 5 minutes ago, and whatever they are is fragile.

But she cares about him. And he cares about her. More than he would ever admit.

“Someone decided to take away my free rides home if I ever get hurt again, and I think I’m allergic to ubers,” he says, pulling away from whatever this could be.

“Oh, my god, you idiot,” Dani says, taking his cue and pulling away as well, but as she does, he realizes he’s not ready to let her go just yet.

Malcolm’s hand catches her sleeve and the smile drops from her lips, her eyes finding his in an instant.

“You’re such an idiot,” she says again, but this time she’s moving closer and her hand comes up to cup his chin, and the next thing he knows he is kissing Dani Powell in his kitchen, and he thinks she might still be mad at him, and he knows he needs to work on being less of a danger to himself and the team, but Dani’s mouth is on his and he cannot think about anything else.

She pulls back too soon, inhaling a shaky breath before running her fingertips down his cheek.

“I’m still mad at you for putting yourself in danger.”

He nods, and she knocks her nose against his, her other hand knotting itself in his sweater.

“I know.”

She slowly, carefully presses her mouth against his again, and he’s pretty sure this is going to be what kills him.

“And I’m still not driving you home when you hurt yourself again.”

He smiles against her lips, and her fingers tighten around his shoulder.

“What about when I don’t hurt myself?”

She gasps, and he can’t help but use that moment to scoop her onto the stool.

“Malcolm, I’m never driving you home again,” she teases as he pulls away so he can start to kiss his way down her neck.

“Noted. I’ll keep that in mind.”

She wraps her legs around his and tugs him close, pulling his face back up to hers.

Dani stops, just before their lips connect again, her hands sliding down his jaw. “Malcolm.”

“Dani.”

“I hate arguing with you.”

He swallows, and her eyes trace the movement, and the moment feels too soft, too fragile to do anything rash. So he kisses her forehead, and she sighs, tugging him closer again.

“I know.”

She sighs again, and taps her fingers against his cheek. “I hate that i worry about you.”

He squeezes her hip, once, twice.

“I know,” he says, a smile threatening to split his face in two. “I want to try to be better.”

Her eyes find his, wide and scared and just a tiny bit full of something he thinks he can catalog as caring.

“I want to try for you.”

Dani rolls her eyes, and he thinks he could fall in love with her eyes rolls, but then her lips are back on his and he’s not going to let himself worry about anything else for the moment.

Because he is going to try. He wants to try.

Because Dani thinks he can be a better partner, a better friend, a better man.

And damn if he isn’t going to try to prove her right.

[tonks32]

Aiden Trevelyan X Cassandra Prompt “Hold On to Me”

There was no point in struggling or screaming. Logically, Casandra knew that, but it didn’t stop her from fighting against the metal shackles or crying out till her throat became raw. She’d be damned if she were going to be idle while these deranged blood mages bled her dry for some Maker forsaken ritual. They would not kill her in the same way they had her brother.

   “Silence!” One of the masked mages commanded. “I told you before no one can hear you. No one will find you.”

   Wrist bleeding from the metal biting into her skin, Cassandra starred at the man through the dim light. They had her bound on a stone alter in nothing more than a swash of cloth surrounded by flaming black candles. Their glow was the only light source since they blacked out the windows. “Fuck you!”

    Wrapping a hand around her throat, he slammed her head back hard enough to leave the warrior dazed. “Such a mouth for a Chantry woman. This all would’ve been so much easier if you agreed to help us.”

    Cassandra fought to clear her vision. If she passed out then she was good as dead. She had to hold out until her companions found her. Surely, they would have started looking for her when she didn’t return from bathing down by the stream. She’d let her guard down and now was playing the price. “I will never willingly help a blood mage.” Though she couldn’t quite see her mark, she spat in the man’s face. “Especially ones that murdered my brother.”

   The man let out a long sigh and motioned for another in the room to flank the altar. He swept his finger over the streak of blood leaking from her raw wrist. “He could not see his true purpose. He failed to see the tremendous power within his blood.”

   “Look at her struggling.” A third man stood at the foot of the alter. “Look at how she’s wasting that power.”

    “We must hurry before she throws away more.” The first man rubbed his blood coated finer over the bridge of his nose making his eyes glow red. “Tell the others to come inside and we will begin.”

   Cassandra became paralyzed by fear the moment the cold steel of a blade touched her throat. Just like the night her brother was killed, she could do nothing to stop the actions about to happen. They were about to drain her blood to appease some sick dragon ritual She was going to die bound and helpless. Her greatest fear.

    Chanting filled the dark room, filling her veins with ice.

    Would her brother be waiting for her on the other side? Would incomplete actions in life follow her into the Fade? Would the Maker remind her how foolish she’d been in playing it safe when the risk was worth the reward?

   The knife gleamed in the candlelight as it was raised and poised to strike. She closed her eyes on a prayer to the Maker to bring her a swift death.  

    If only she had more time.

   There was a grunt and Cassandra felt the warm thickness of blood spatter across her face. No pain, she silently mused waiting for the heaviness of death to take her. Thank Andraste for that.

   Something whistled through the air before there was another grunt and something heavy fell against the alter, scattering the candles and casting the room into total darkness.

   “Cassandra?”

    Odd, she thought. To hear his voice on the other side of the veil. Or was this the Maker’s way of providing comfort? To ease the transition of death by hearing the one voice she wanted the most in her last moments.

   “Someone find the damn keys!”

   “I can’t see a fucking thing!”

    “Open your eyes. C’mon, Seeker.”

   Feeling the familiar touch on her cheek, Cassandra’s eyes shot open to find Aiden’s glowing blue orbs staring down at her. Cassandra’s heart leaped. He found her! Tears burned the back of her throat leaving her incapable of speaking.

   “Stand back, Boss,” Bull Commanded. After throwing a lifeless blood mage to the ground, the Qunari raised his massive sword above his head and came down hard against the link holding her chains together. “We need to move. More are coming.”

    “Up you go, Seeker.” Aiden snaked an arm around her bare shoulders and lifted.

   “You will not take her from us!” The leader roared charging forward through the darkness.

   Only Aiden could see the blade going for Cassandra’s heart. Cursing, he dove across the alter, dragging the Seeker along so the blade dragged across his back and not into her chest.

   “Get her out of here!” Dorian shouted.

    “Hold on to me,” Aiden whispered against her ear. “Don’t let go.”

    Cassandra latched her shackled arms around his neck and held on for dear life.

   Not known for his strength, Aiden called on all his adrenaline as he pushed to his feet and waded through the small battle raging around the pitch-black room. “Hold on.”

   Sun blinded her when they stumbled outside. She had no bearing to where they were or where Aiden was taking her. All she knew was that with him she was safe. And that’s all that mattered. Aiden had come for her. It seemed the Maker was listening to her please after all.

   Once he was sure they were safe and no one was flowing them, Aiden fell to his knees, holding Cassandra against him. “Are you okay?”

   Cassandra couldn’t seem to find her voice. The man who was beyond terrified of the dark breached its depth to save her. The man, who detested being touched or making any physical contact of any kind, was clutching her for dear life. Overwhelmed with emotions, she buried her face into his scarred throat.

   “Are you hurt?” Drawing away, Aiden began to search, needing the reassurance before he went mad with worry. All he could think about was the knife against her throat and the utter terror he felt at the thought he’d been too late.

   His hands seemed to be touching her everywhere at once. His warmth and reassurance were the only things keeping her from falling apart. “I’m okay.”

   Aiden skimmed his fingers along her throat. “There is blood.”

   “Not mine.” Tears began to burn again and this time she let them fall knowing with Aiden she was safe to do so. “Hold me a little bit longer.”

   He pulled her tightly against him. “I got you.” Aiden felt her fingers twist in his hair almost as if she was anchoring herself. There was no flash of discomfort or any sickening sensation that hit whenever someone touched him. There was only the overwhelming relief that she was safe and unarmed. “Maker, Cassandra.”

   “What took you so long?”

   A strangled laugh worked up his emotionally clogged throat. He wasn’t used to feeling so much. To his astonishment, Aiden felt tears prickle at the corner of his eyes. The face she believed that he would come to save her left him breathless. “Had to make the save as dramatic as possible for when the dwarf writes about the grand tale.”

   “You cut it a bit close there, Trevelyan.”

   “I’m sorry.” Taking her face in his hands, Aiden pressed his brow against hers. “I’m so sorry.”

   “I’m okay,” She reassured hands drifting over his shoulders. Her brows scrunched together when she felt something damp against her fingers. “Andraste’s light, Aiden! You’re bleeding!”

   Aiden twisted trying to catch a glimpse of the wound. “It’s nothing.”

   “I’ll be the judge of that.”

   “Everyone okay out here?” Dorian asked pushing through the thick brush they hid behind.

   “Blood isn’t hers.” Aden shifted, taking her shackled hands carefully in his. “Did you find the key?”

   The mage tugged it from his belt. “Bull and Varric are ensuring no one else is lingering. We need to move out if everyone is able.”

   Seeing the great care Aiden was taking in assuring he didn’t cause any more discomfort as he unshackled her nearly made Cassandra weep. He thought of himself as a broken man with nothing by rough edges, yet here he was showing her all the gentleness and comfort in the world. “I can walk.”

   “Good.” Dorian handed her a healing potion. “For your wrist until I can heal them properly.”

   Once the mage walked off, Aiden shrugged out of his hunting coat and bundled Cassandra in it. “Take the potion,” He softly commanded.

   She pushed the vial into his hand. “You need it more than me.”

   “I beg to differ.”

   “Well, you can’t see your back.”

   Aiden shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

   “That does nothing to make me feel better. Especially since you sustained a wound meant for me.”

   “I couldn’t… Couldn’t…” Aiden brushed his hand along her blood stained cheek. How could he begin to explain that losing her was a pain that he couldn’t bear when he was still struggling to understand the sheer importance of her in his life.

   Seeing emotions flooding his gaze, she clamped a hand over his scarred wrist pleased he hardly flinched. “Aiden.”

   “We need to move out,�� Varric called out. “In case they have any friends nearby.”

   “Drink.”

   “We’ll split it.” Cassandra downed half the vial and shoved it back into his hand before he could protest. “Don’t argue, Trevelyan. You’ll never win.”

   Chuckling, he swallowed the rest of the potion. “I have no doubt.”