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#instead of continuing down this path of blood and ear and ruin and angst
daddysfangirls-marvel · 8 months
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Scars (25)
Chapter 25- Strike Two
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Warning- angst, blood, injury
"All our work is gone. Ultron cleared out using the internet as an escape path," Bruce said.
After Ultron had crashed and ruined the party, everyone picked up the pieces they could and moved to the lab. Thor was the only one who didn't stay, instead following a loose legionnaire that had stolen Loki's Staff. Everyone else was discussing what happened. Alice sat in the back of the room, picking glass out of her hands, feet, and knees as the adults talked.
"He's been in everything files, surveillance he probably knows more about us than we know about each other," Natasha said.
Alice and Loki looked at each other for a moment. Ultron knew about them. The enemy knew about them. Alice looked away for a moment, still struggling to get the glass out of her skin, Looking around, no one was paying attention to Loki or Alice. So he took the opportunity. "let me help" he whispered as he sat beside he taking her foot in his lap he took the tweezer and set them aside and used his magic to slowly pull the glass out of her foot.
"Jarvis was the first line of defense," Alice heard, looking u to see a hologram of Jarvis's computer structure shown, but it was torn apart. "Jarvis," she whimpered, gripping Loki's bicep he rubbed her legs to help her calm and soothe her sadness for her lost friend.
"Brother?" Loki said as Thor marched in and grabbed Tony by the throat
"Daddy!" Alice jumped up, trying to get to her father. Loki picked her up and put her on the table next to Maria before her feet could even touch the floor.
"Brother! Put Stark down and think about this. Use your words" It was amazing that at this point Loki was being the reasonable one.
"I have more than enough words to describe Stark at the moment," Thor said as he tossed back Tony.
"Thor, the Legionnaire" Steve got down to business Thor dropped Tony, and Loki walked back over to Alice.
"Trail went cold about hundred miles out, but it's heading north, and it has the scepter. Now we have to retrieve it again."
"Well, the genes out of the bottle clear and present is Ultron"
" I don't understand. You built this program why is it trying to kill us" Cho asked. Tony began to laugh, surprising and enraging everyone. Alice grabbed Loki's arm, sinking her nails into his coat and in his skin last time her father laughed like this, it didn't end well.
"Daddy," Alice whispered Bruce shook his head, " You think this is funny" Thor was pissed.
"No, it's probably not, right? Is this very terrible, so this so-it-it's so terrible," he continued to laugh.
"This could have been avoided if you didn't play with something you didn't understand."
Alice covered her ears. She no longer wanted to hear her father all this was too much she wanted to run to her room and lay, sleep until all this was over.
"No, no, no," Loki said as he finished up with Alice's feet and knees. " Tony is in the wrong, Thor is in the wrong, I am in the wrong. We're all in the wrong and all to blame"
"How am I to blame I did not create that Ultron think"
"Because brother, you gave him permission to use the stone when you have little to no knowledge yourself," Loki said he made a duplicate to finish taking care of Alice and wrapping her wounds as he gave the others his full attention. " Inside the scepter in the mind stone. The mind stone... is very unique. It can read the mind. When Tony started 'playing' with it, it tapped into his mind reading him. Ultron is... the you that needs to be in order to face your fears. Ultron is you" Loki turned around to see everyone look a mix of confused, surprised, and angry.
"What ... did you forget? It is my scepter".
Tony's glare was so intense it was digging a hole into Loki's cold soul. Loki was actually a bit frightened. " Get your hands off my daughter" Loki rolled his eyes snapping his fingers and his duplicate disappears Bruce come to her aid.
"You're welcome, by the way, while you all were arguing, I tended to her wounds"
"Strike Two," Tony basically growled Loki simply rolled his eyes/
-
After the argument Dr. Cho left, Loki went to his room to use magic to possibly find Ultron, Alice went to her room to change and patch up her other wounds, and The Avengers went to look for Ultron.
-
"Ow," Alice whimpered as she peeled off her shirt, the fabric sticking to the cuts and glass in her skin. She whimpered as she turned around and looked at her back in the bathroom mirror. It looked terrible glass sticking out of her skin, blood oozing down her back, and there was also blood dripping down her neck which meant a head injury she couldn't quite see as well.
Maybe if she stayed in Loki's room and refused to go downstairs. She had grown bolder as of late yet couldn't find it in herself to deny her father anything. Maybe if she denied him tonight, she would have been unharmed. Maybe she could have just laid in bed with Loki and avoided this entire situation.
But then again, she helped Dr.Cho. Would Dr.Cho still be here?
"Let me help you" Alice jumped hearing the new voice she held her shirt up to her chest " I'm sorry" Loki looked away " I wanted to help. I saw the blood dripping down your neck earlier. You're hurt, let me help"
"okay" Alice whispered holding the shirt tightly to her chest and turning her back towards him " I... please help" Loki turned back around seeing her torn and bleeding back towards him " It's hurt" she whimpered and tears spilled.
Loki held his breath and stepped forward slowly using his magic to painlessly remove the glass from her skin once all the glass was removed he kissed her shoulder "Almost done," he whispered. Using more magic, he healed the cuts on her back and her head. With everything healed, thing left was dry blood and some painful bruising, but he could do nothing really about that.
"May I?" he motioned to the washcloth on the counter she nodded. wetting it with warm water he began cleaning the dry blood from her back and neck.
Alice turned around, facing Loki, still clenching her shirt to her chest. " Yes please" she leaned into his chest, letting her head lay on his shoulder as he cleaned her back and neck. Such an intimate yet innocent moment of care, love, and heart. There was skin, but there was no sexual tension there was love but no lust. There was just ... love and need.
Once she was clean, Alice pulled back and looked up at Loki he brushed a hair behind her ear. " there's still some... in your hair. I think a shower will be needed to get that out," Loki said
"what did he mean when he said Strike Two? Are you in trouble? Did I get you in trouble?"
"that is nothing you need to worry about darling"
"If it's about you then I most definitely need to worry, tell me, please" Loki wrapped his arms around her pulled her close h kissed her forehead.
"Remember when we first meet on the helicarrier, my cell"
"it was long ago, but I remember it as if it happened just a few hours ago"
"Eight months ago"
"That's long"
" Very. On the Helicarrier, we first met. Your father pulled you away. That was strike one. A deal had been made I could stay and prove my chance but I had three wrongdoings and I'd be sent back home for punishment."
Alice wrapped an arm around Loki's waist, one arm holding her shirt still. " I'm sorry. It's my fault you're two strikes down"
"Two strikes are worth it because they lead me to you. Now you need to shower clean tonight's filth off of you, relax" Loki gives her a soft kiss on the lips. Giving her one last kiss before leaving her in the bathroom to shower.
"Call if you need me I'll be there"
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faunthekid · 3 years
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maybe this is just bc the way i am but.
oh i need c!wilbur to find redemption. he needs to cut the fake apology bullshit. the little knowing looks to the camera. he’s planning something. and, first of all, i LOVE this character, alright, but i’m not rooting for him. i’m rooting for whatever he has planned next to fall down all around him. i want it to go up in flames before it really even starts. i want his old friends and the ppl he used to care about to truly lay into him that he can’t continue down this road he’s going down, and for once i want him to listen. i want shame. i want c!wilbur soot to realize that this ugly growing rot in his heart isn’t something he should embrace and i want a BREAK DOWN. i want TEARS. i want him to realize for a lot of things in a lot of ways he doesn’t DESERVE forgiveness. and i want him to get it still from a few people. people like tommy and tubbo and niki maybe. and i want him to realize being good or trying to be and caring for people and loving them is so so much better than this grey morality and recklessness and discardment of all his past ideologies and values.
because i know this is a story of betrayal and pain. of war and blood
but it’s also been the story of healing and revolutions and friendship and god i want c!wilbur to get to heal. and i want the catharsis that comes with that. i’m so tired of villian arcs and revenge. i just hope dsmp writers know watching a character heal and change for the better, even if it makes them “weak”, that can be just as powerful -if not more- as watching a character succumb to madness, burning with his nation.
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alberivh · 3 years
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unwanted lovers
the lovers of the sinner, the thieves of the nation. Caught in despair after hiding their motives behind the ruins of aristocrats , they were now together behind the cells of execution, loving each other in no bounds of life nor death.
diluc x gn!reader
contains (proceed with caution) : major character death, gruesome death, execution. (Heavy angst, comfort/hurt, bad ending)
a/n ; I’m very sleepy these days so enjoy reading this
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“diluc..are you sure we’re going to be alright?” , standing behind the cliff, both hands and leg chained up in a huge rocks; standing beyond the other side of the sinners-walls. The cliff was a sharp one, designed to be a punishment for fugitive to regret. But you in the other hand..looked like you didn’t regret anything. Seems like you gone numb and missing, probably dying out of beneficial, but for what exact reason..? Aren’t you going to die? Aren’t you?
The air was in a perfect shape, blowing through the ears of whisper into corruptors mind. It was breezing and perfect, a match for a dead end. The flowers were all a bare minimum, seems as if it was never supposed to grow; Same as how the contradictions between you and diluc relationship.
“we sure are going to be alright…haha”
a simple small affairs of thieves, relationship grew beneath titles. scrawling through the nights of the nations, searching for victims to be devour. Fortune, foods, informations and many more. Dangerous or so, we could talk about it later; after all, privileges of the poor are none to another. Dirts fill the clothes of people with nothing, looking like a lost dog from the leach of their master; it’s how you both look. generally speaking, maybe you both are really perfect from one another. Poor and worthless, messing up the people whom privileges drowns them to exploitation. beneficial for business and public figure, making the knives on both of your throat approach the second you both slaughtered another man.
diluc look so much more than perfect, he is astonishing. Fit more to be a corrupted man instead of a filth whom licks someone toes to be payed. And to live to the fullest, he repayed those who are involved with the corrupted government, by either slaughtering them or just..stealing their granted fortune. It is a job, and to be specific it is a living hell to be in love with your own partner. Loving seems so mature, yet you both found it to be quite bothersome. or maybe that’s just how nature works for someone who grew in an abandoned wilderness. Like how diluc live after his family died, like how you live after you lost everything to the ego’s of the rich.
you both were empty, like you predicted it to be. Diluc was a scum, same as his only eye which felt like a sharpened death. kissing his dry lips as you cried in his chest, embracing the figure of a red-hair thief who ones told you an eternal peace, for the poor we live and for the rich we died, that’s how our life’s work sweetheart. Even if death embarrassed your cheeks, all you wished is for you both to be alive as soon as the worlds ends to be a better place. The smoke of his cigarettes surrounded your cries, it stings the pain of abandonment, like the cries of lovers who only lives to die in the age of glory. although you wouldn’t assume the fact he was a worth of a thousand years of reincarnation, he sure is enough for puppet like you to be pleased.
“still wearing your brother’s eyepatch i see? What’s up with you always wearing it around? You look better without it anyways.”
“he lives in the other ground of the walls, possibly already meeting my father right now. He was beneath 6 feet under the ground anyways, would you like to mourn him?”
“you could just told me he’s dead, Diluc”
“i can’t he’s supposed to be alive after all.”
that’s how you know Diluc’s past, how’d you believe his slaughter and warm to be an abominable crime. As much as you loath those who stick with their family principles, you expect nothing more than Diluc’s ability to keep you both balance from the assumptions of the rich. He is a tool and a lover, even if you fall out of love with him, you could still rely within his power..or so you thought. Fate was cruel, they decided to lend a hand for the inability to be punished by the divine.
You found a comfort at his kisses, it was beautiful. A single line of poet to an old paper, perfection. Never have you though to be deeply in love. dancing like nobody but yourself and diluc himself. Skipping through the laces of fingertips as the mansion burns to the ground, how beautiful the sunset is at the evening; the dust of the corpses which were buried trying it’s best to find the wind, but they were corrupted and only both of you were worth to be despaired. The soul of the worthless, the soul who craves justice for the none; oh god, you both really are in love.
Embracing nothing but him, loving the movement like no one but him, only him, my beloved diluc. The flowers petals which was turned into a thousand of flames are now flying and surrounding the neighborhood. Burning the whole corrupted society was unexpectedly mesmerizing. It seems like it covered the injustice of your action. Burying people underneath their grasp, leaving terrors to the innocent, maybe fairness are really that blind.
The mansion was burned to dust, leaving nothing but bones in the investigation. The fortune you took was nothing, the burns of the screaming neighbors are your daily teases. Diluc found it pleasing that you both are in love once again. Dancing once again. But this time, both of you were chained up in a chamber. Legs full of bruises, cheekbones gone frail, and lips were all drying in horrors. you both are dying in tremors.
Dancing in each other arms, suffering in worth, it’s the last night they thought. The swaying burns of guilt, the loving kisses of embrace, it’s so addicting. Although diluc was hesitant to let go, maybe it’s time to grew on the fact by loving was a cursed from the start. For both of you and diluc. The chains in your legs were rotten, making a deep infection on your ankles. A fatal sources of death and unbalance.
“can we promise something diluc?” , your voice gone hoarse. Trembling and terrified, dying wasn’t so ruthless but seeing diluc suffer was something you wish you could unchange. It’s exhausting to live like no one, maybe diluc felt so too. You were too scared to shed another tears to his chest, anxiety was planting it’s ideology beyond the walls of your mind.
The night was peaceful, maybe the starry sky doesn’t deserve it’s view. Humans are frail, fragile, and too much of a pain to begin with. If you were a god, maybe diluc could be your lover for the rest of your eternal realm. The next life would be fine, just make diluc safe from the grudge of death.
“let us marry each other in the next life, even if it meant for one of us to die again..”
“your wishes is my command, love” , an agreement. He agrees to be in love, whenever the situation is those words would always be kept near. Marriage aren’t that simple to be idealized, but knowing this is your last wish, why not accept the terms? He asked himself.
“you don’t need to be formal like that y’know Diluc, we’re in the same bounds, a fugitive in a prison..”
“well that doesn’t change the fact you’re my lover?” , he replied again. The same silence scowl your emotions to a mess. You really wished you did more than just this, everything. Kissing his lips wasn’t enough, tearing up in his chest wasn’t enough, loving him wasn’t enough and lastly, maybe in the next life your time was too short. can i sacrifice the whole world for you then? So anything that could happened in this state, all of it was for us to met again. I’m too selfish to let go, you are the best thing that universe have fortune to be.
I accept each granted the world has gave, even if it meant for me to die again. Let go of diluc’s hand, let me be the crystalflies Diluc envied; An eternal peace for lovers to reincarnated as. If anything has happened to both of us, let share the burden towards the undeserved. Because in our next life, maybe there wouldn’t be us, just you and another person in chains of eternal love-life.
so whenever i’m lost diluc, intertwined my hands again. And you, whenever you’re lost diluc, love me all over again. Because if this time wasn’t enough, then let us die in each other embrace. Loving you was an intention i never have despises, and as those ancient story told. ‘The once fallen first are the once who fell in love harder.’ I though it was a wise poet, but maybe know i understand, Diluc.
I lost you after you fell to the cliff, i have no regret on loving you. But if time was partial enough for both of us, i rather fall for you without any requited relations with you anymore. Diluc, you’re free. As free as the ocean waves, as free as the guides of the wind, you’re free. I’m sorry for letting you fall away from the range of my life, i’m sorry..
so please Diluc, meet me again sooner or after, i love you.
the pleas for the corpse to hear, here you standing in the cliff alone, waiting for someone to push you apart; to follows Diluc’s path. oh diluc..he look so lonely down’s there..blood all over his head and torso; as he saw you fallen down to his side. Eyes opened in shock, as the knife inside of his stomache rumbles to death. Stings. It stings. He watches the world shutter in his eyes, the eyepatch he use was no longer his brother remnants, it was just a decoration for another corpse to be buried in burden of love. He seems so pathetic in this state, seeing you fallen to his side and couldn’t do nothing but smile.
diluc why am i the only one talking here?
The bloody place you both fallen through was a perfect place for continuation. Trying to slip your head to diluc’s unwary neck, the warm part of his body you couldn’t let go. You heard the whispers of the wind once again, it seems it pitied the living and the dead. Diluc heartbeat was long gone, possibly gone when he smiles at you; for the last time. Diluc was just a body now, your lover have returned to another universe. To another universe you promises him before.
‘in heaven we’ll be free..in heaven we’ll get married diluc.”
the thought of you slowly losing consciousness was better than before. the warm of Diluc’s corpse was starting to fade, same as how your instinct shatter to pieces. The only thing you could see beside the sky was the knife inside his stomach, waiting for it to be freed from the blood of the filth. But your strength was long gone, death already ruins your eyes in despised of being in love. As the ancient tales says in the end of the page, they told the audience a never-ending happy tales, a hope for the lovers to heard at the end. you both are free now..
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TAGLIST : @mikachuchu , @zierx @childeluv @urujiako , @chichikoi , @noirkkat , @aphrodicts-imagination , @icecappa
proofread; @mikachuchu (thank you so much wtf mika ily for this /p)
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autumnslance · 3 years
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"In the five years following your sudden disappearance from the Carteneau Flats, your ever-faithful chocobo spent each waking moment galloping across the realm in search of [his] lost master. [His] myriad adventures are nothing less than fantastical and heartbreaking...but that is a story for another day." - Legacy Chocobo mount description.
((Animal love, loyalty, and those bonds woven by fate. So there’s some animal angst and injury, but also a happy ending. Crossposted below for those who prefer Tumblr:))
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“I need you to stay here,” her person said, rubbing her beak and scratching the white feathers of her neck.
She kweh’d softly, not liking the request but because he had asked it, she would obey and listen for the whistle binding them together, when he needed her to come to his aid.
The not-a-moon hung low and burning in the sky. The land’s aether tasted funny, the smells of nature were all wrong. Any creature with sense hid as fiends roamed.
People had little sense, she’d found. Especially her person; in his armor, his axe pulled from his back, he would throw himself into the fray with a shout to fight anything that harmed others. Normally, she would be right there with him, beak and talon and wings alongside his weapon, helping him.
“That’s my Snowlight, my good girl,” he crooned, leaving a kiss on the end of her beak before turning to join his comrades.
She had been injured in their last fight, trying to keep him safe, and so she couldn’t join him in this one but he still said she was good and that was what mattered.
She kweh’d encouragement after him, satisfied he turned back to wave one more time, before joining all the other people leaving to fight.
—-
The not-a-moon broke apart and released Horror. There were flames and pain and ear-splitting roars.
The stables were on fire.
Snowlight was too injured to fight, but not too injured to herd the frightened silly-headed carriage chocobos out of the flames. Not too injured to find the coughing stablemaster, knock a fallen beam aside, and herd him out, too. She even found one of the barn kittens, confused and afraid, carefully picking it up in her beak like a chick.
Snowlight was a good girl. Her person helped others, and so would she.
The Horror was over the field where she knew her person was. It was malms away and he hadn’t called but her heart fluttered wildly and she ignored the grooms and handlers to dash through the burning woods.
He needed her, she couldn’t let him—
The world went white, then red, then white again, and finally black.
—-
The world’s aether tasted thin and strange, like weak juice left out too long.
She pulled herself out of the little hollow of debris and ash, casting a cure on instinct at the twinges in her wings and legs and neck, the injury on her side--the one that had kept her in the stable to begin with--throbbing again. The cure helped.
Snowlight blinked, trying to get a sense of where her person was, the location of the whistle attuning them to one another.
She couldn’t find it.
She shook out her feathers and limped on to where she thought maybe she had last felt it, in the direction he had left with his friends and all the other people, toward the setting sun--though it was currently obscured by angry clouds and more ashes.
Familiar places looked strange, though Snowlight couldn’t really put a talon on why or how. The forest was oddly silent, slow to wake from the disaster. The Elementals seemed especially distant.
She foraged for berries and greens, then slept. She was cautious of water she found but had to drink; the rain that fell later helped a great deal, though it was also heavy with dust and grief. She foraged more, and then slept more under a rocky outcropping.
The pass to the north felt wrong, cold winds blowing from the hills. So she kept heading west, through the less familiar hills, to get to the gloomy place.
Snowlight could always find the gloomy place, especially when the wind blew right. It felt like a scab on the world, the magic—and Something Else—waiting under the lake’s surface. It was an easy place to find, if weird.
It took a couple days for Snowlight to reach the gloomy place; slower than usual, but she was still recovering from her injuries and the paths through the woods were not easy to navigate. There weren’t as many fiends roaming around, at least, and the ones that were could be easily avoided.
The other creatures were waking and coming out of hiding again, too. She was a little less lonely, with the small birds singing.
The gloomy place was more of a mess than usual, a crystal spire piercing the air and giving off waves of suppressed magic. The corpse in the center of the lake continued to sleep but she gave the shore wide berth, both for its slumbering guardian and for the poison filming the water.
Snowlight continued west and a bit south, still not sensing her person, nor had he called for her on the whistle. She couldn’t teleport without the pull of the whistle. Her feet hurt but she kept picking her way through the ruins of machina parts.
She went to the camp for food, but it was empty, the aetheryte exploded in size and twisted in shape, the tents and supplies torn and burned. There were no people anymore.
Snowlight kweh’d sadly, rummaging through the wreckage for anything edible. She was rewarded with burnt gysahl greens, tasting faintly of staticky aether, but it was enough to raise her flagging spirits. After considering the twisty former aetheryte for a long moment, she decided one of the half-fallen tents at the edge of the old camp would be all right for sleeping in. There was still enough man-smell to keep wild creatures away.
—-
“Well ain’t you a beauty,” the big man with the rough voice said. “Fetch a good price at market.”
“To hell with the market,” the skinny man whined. “I’m starved and it’ll feed the whole bloody camp.”
“C’mere—” the scarred lady reached for Snowlight.
She beat her wings and shrieked. The trio swore and threw up their hands to protect their faces.
Snowlight was almost to the terrible place, full of twisted aether and death. The last place she knew her person had been. This trio had come upon her as the noon sun struggled to break through the thick clouds. They smelled of blood and offal and desperation, and she did not trust them.
The whiny man ducked close, so Snowlight leapt and kicked him, throwing him into the lady with a shout.
The big man managed to snag her neck, his arms squeezing. “C’mere you overgrown chicken I’ll—”
Snowlight shoved back and up; she couldn’t fly far with the aether currents so warped, but it was enough to startle him, and now he clung to not fall even the few fulms she had lifted him. She bucked until he slipped off and then she flew away as fast and as far as she could.
There was a whistling noise and a sharp pain in her flank but she swerved and pushed faster, hearing the hissing whistle of more arrows. She fought against the weird currents and her own weary wings, risking crossing a high bank that abruptly dropped into a narrow ravine, almost like a frozen wave of earth instead of water.
On the other side she landed heavily and ran, feeling warm liquid trickle down her leg, the arrow still lodged but loose enough to shift and pinch with every motion. Even so, she pressed on.
She was close.
Spots crossed her vision. She no longer heard the mean people; only the wind. Panting, she stopped finally, swaying on her trembling legs.
Where was he?
She spent a bit of strength to cast a cure, the arrow forced out as the flesh healed. She had to rest, but the mean people might still chase her. And she had to be close to where he was. Surely it was simply the damage caused by the Horror that was obscuring the connection, his call.
He had to have tried to call her. He couldn’t go this long on his own.
There were more people dotting the ruined plain, but they were easy to avoid now that she knew she had to be sneaky. She picked her way through smoldering magitek and torn earth and twisted structures that felt Wrong and smelled Strange. There were bodies, but none of them the one she looked for, thankfully.
A whiff of his scent caught in her beak and she kweh’d happily, seeking more. Still he did not respond, it was merely the scent of his previous presence. Perhaps he was among the people.
She drew as close as she dared to the tents. To the warm, gentle pulse of the Seedseer.
His scent was not among the camp.
Snowlight pondered this as she tried to retrace her steps to where she had caught that whiff. The field was scorched, the ground rippled from the blasts of competing magic. The aftertaste of the old mage lingered on her tongue, though it had a more bitter endnote than she recalled. Snowlight kweh’d again, digging for the scents of her person and his companions, catching hints and traces, but not finding them. Not finding him.
A voice called. She looked up and saw a yellow-clad man pointing in her direction. She turned and jogged away before the Adders could come close. While they would likely be more friendly than the bandits earlier, she had not the time for them.
She still had to find her person.
—-
Snowlight found hiding spots, keeping away from the Adders and adventurers still lingering. The taste of healing magic hung over the camp, competing with the blood and pain.
The camp was the best place to find food, though; this terrible place had none naturally anymore, blasted away or warped beyond recognition.
Snowlight was a good sneak; her person had often said so, when she played the hide and seek game with him. She would hide something he used and he had to find it. It was always great fun. She had also used it to swipe food before, risking a scolding but it was her person’s own fault for trying to deny her treats when she needed them.
Her sneakiness came in handy as she maneuvered herself into the Adders’ flock and helped herself to some of the feed provided. The destriers were too tired themselves to snap or fuss and besides, she could easily fight any of them into submission and they knew it; she was an adventuring bird, after all.
She was careful to keep the others between her and the soldiers, to not let them notice or catch her. It was tricky, given her bright white plumage compared to most army chocobos. But Snowlight was a good sneak, and managed to avoid getting caught. She had things to do, after all, and had to be ready if her person called.
She still couldn’t sense him. She still had not heard his whistle.
Snowlight slipped out of the flock, leaping the makeshift fencing while the handlers were busy. Then she returned to searching the broken plain.
The Adders were getting ready to break camp; there were few bodies left amid the wreckage of the battlefield, few new wounded found. They had worked tirelessly for over a sennight, the Seedseer and the conjurers sparks of the natural world amidst the carnage.
Snowlight returned again to the place where she had scented her person and his friends. She circled around it once more, a periphery she had scratched into the ashes as she tried to figure out where they had gone. How they had gone.
“They aren’t here,” a gentle voice said.
Snowlight warked and jumped, whirling to face the weary Seedseer as she leaned on her staff. Even exhausted, power thrummed through the padjal’s frame, a barely held summer storm. She smiled at Snowlight.
“I think I recognize you,” the Seedseer said. “Yes...I can’t quite recall…” She frowned. “I don’t remember their faces. Their names. But I know you were with them, once.”
Snowlight listened, keeping still. It was only polite in the padjal’s presence. As the Seedseer paused, though, Snowlight asked a tentative “Kweh?”
The Seedseer shook her head. “I don’t know where they have gone. One moment, they were there. I know I must have seen them. But all I remember are their silhouettes in the light. And then…” she trailed off, a perplexed look on her face. “I only know they’re gone. I’m sorry.”
Snowlight chirred in frustration, ruffling her wings. She didn’t understand, and usually the padjali were easier to comprehend than other people. What the Seedseer said made no sense.
“I know, it’s difficult,” the Seedseer said, voice cracking in grief and weariness as she reached out a hand. “But come; we can take care of you, and—’’
Snowlight was a good girl. Usually. The Seedseer was to be respected. Usually.
Snowlight shrieked and reared, flapping her wings as she backpedaled from the startled padjal.
“Wait—” the Seedseer called as Snowlight whirled and dashed, avoiding the soldiers who followed the padjal, who tried to catch Snowlight on their mistress’ command.
A soldier stood in her way. Snowlight warked a single warning before barrelling over and past him, ignoring the shouts.
They were hard to hear through the rushing, pounding feeling in her head, the ache in her heart that already felt like it had run for malms.
She ran up a tilted piece of machinery, a giant wall that had fallen from the not-a-moon and flapping her wings took off, flying toward the boggy saltmarsh to the north.
Her person wasn’t there, but neither were the soldiers, or the Seedseer and her painful words.
Snowlight would rest. She would eat. She would recover. Then she would keep looking for wherever her person had gotten to.
She had to. Snowlight was a good girl.
—-
Snowlight was so tired.
Her plumage was not as bright as it had once been; she had not had a proper grooming in a long time, and injuries and life in the wild had left her more ragged than she had ever been. Her person had often called her the prettiest chocobo in Eorzea, though she looked nothing like that now.
He still had not called. She still could not sense him. She still searched, though; the Seedseer was wrong, and he was just lost. He had lost the whistle in that Horror. He was waiting for Snowlight to find him.
Sometimes, curled up under a tree or in an abandoned building or an old cave, she would sleep and dream of the days they had rode together. Of their adventures, their games, his laughter, his scritches. His warmth as he leaned back against her side while the campfire crackled, his voice as he talked about so many things. She almost never understood, but he had such a nice voice. She missed hearing it.
The dreams were happy, but waking from them was sad. Snowlight stood, ruffled her feathers, and kept looking.
She had sought him out in the ruined reaches of the western marsh and the terrible place, through the gloomy place and its unsettling waiting feeling. Through the Wood, the Elementals barely whispering anymore, rarely waking from their slumber. She crossed the scrublands and burning sands, even risking the golden plains and the lizardmen who rode across them. She picked her way among the rocky mountains, and into the frozen land in the north, the wind and ice aether unrelenting even in the height of summer.
Snowlight was not yet certain how she could cross the strait to the island; it was just about the only place in the realm she had not looked over the last five summers and winters. The Seedseer’s words echoed in her memory again but Snowlight shook them away.
Her person was somewhere. She just had to find him.
She was back in the Wood. She would have to head west past the gloomy place and the salt marsh. If she didn’t want to be caught, anyway; she would have to find a way across the sea that did not involve people.
Sometimes she found people in trouble; beset by fiends or bandits, lost children crying alone, hurt people needing a cure. Snowlight had once been a good girl, and her person had helped people. So she scared off the fiends, fought the bandits, cast a cure on hurts, and guided the lost to safety. She sometimes, warily, took food and rest from those she helped. But then they would try to keep her—or worse, turn out to be mean themselves, and so she left as quickly as possible. Some wanted her for her plumage, some for riding or working, some for food. She wanted nothing to do with them as they were not her person.
So simply best to avoid people now.
Snowlight was tired, and so missed the snare that entangled her feet, triggering a second that caught her wings.
She flailed and shrieked. There was a prickle on her neck and she felt very woozy. It was getting dark again, but that couldn’t be right as the sun had just come up.
“Finally got ‘er,” a man’s voice said from...above her? When had she fallen to the ground? She warked and tried to struggle as careful hands gripped her. “She’s a tough ol’ bird for sure, but once she’s broken in…”
The world went black, and Snowlight dreamed of running across an open windy plain, her person laughing and whooping on her back.
—-
“Gods take you, you miserable bitch!” the stablehand yelled, clutching his bitten hand.
Snowlight just chirred a warning low in her chest, her feathers ruffled up as she glowered at him, beak clacking another warning.
No one here called her a good girl. Snowlight did not feel like being good, when they kept her hobbled and more often than not in the stable. The most experienced hands would put a lead on her halter and let her run alongside them for too brief a time in too small a pen each day. Most of them were kind, and she usually felt bad after snapping at them with her beak, or scratching them with her talons.
But none of them would let her go to find her person, and her person had not come for her here, so she didn’t want to stay.
A quiet presence stepped up behind the stablehand. He turned to the slim young woman. “Nevermind this one; she mighta been some adventurer’s bird once, but she’s gone wild. Don’t like anybody, this ‘bo.”
The woman simply took the lead and approached the stall.
Snowlight turned her eyes to the woman, and her rumbling ceased. There was something oddly familiar here, but Snowlight wasn’t sure what. Tall for the kind of person she was, midnight hair, and…
Snowlight tossed her head and kweh’d, confused but excited. She had caught a scent, a scent she had only ever smelled on her person before! This woman had the same underlying tone; a warm spice that left Snowlight trembling. She barely noticed when the woman snapped the lead onto her halter.
“Good girl,” the woman said quietly, pitched in a way only Snowlight could hear—just like her person used to do, and though this woman’s voice was higher and gentler, there was something in the way the words were shaped, something in the timbre of her voice, that felt right and familiar.
It had been so long since someone had called Snowlight a good girl.
The stablehand was boggled as the woman opened the stall and led a quiet, nearly docile Snowlight out and to the exercise pen. Snowlight paid him no mind; she was trying to figure this out.
The woman led Snowlight to the pen and let her jog on the long lead. She didn’t get fussy or scared when Snowlight stretched and beat her wings. It would be easy to escape any other handler who allowed that.
But Snowlight knew the woman was an adventurer, and adventurers were strong and tricksy. And there was a quiet strength and unrealized power in this woman.
She felt like Snowlight’s person did.
The woman offered her some gysahl greens and scratched her neck just the way her person used to, finding exactly the Right Spot. Snowlight sighed.
She was so tired.
“Been awhile since you trusted someone,” the woman said. Her accent was definitely the same as Snowlight’s person, and the same tone if higher. Her scent was the same too; not just soaps and the smells people put on themselves, but deeper, in blood and bone. When Snowlight peered at the woman, here in the daylight, there were ways she moved, the way she smiled, the color of her eyes, that were the same as his.
The woman let Snowlight run a little longer, putting her through paces using the same foreign words her person used to, the ones meaning “slow down” or “speed up” or “stop” and “go.” She gave Snowlight more greens and pets and then led her back to the stable.
The other handlers were confused, whispering, uncertain. One came close and Snowlight snapped at him out of habit. “Shh,” the woman said. She didn’t scold or jerk the halter, just laid her hand on Snowlight’s neck. “We need to brush you down.”
Snowlight did feel itchy after exercise. Still, she didn’t want the others muddling things up, not when she was trying to figure out this woman and why she felt as right and familiar as Snowlight’s person had.
The woman took her time, giving Snowlight a thorough bath and brushing. She did not let the woman trim her talons though, or check in her beak; not yet. There were limits.
Snowlight’s stall was clean and there was fresh feed and cool water. The handler she had bitten earlier shook his head, hand now bandaged. “Dunno what you did, but thank you. Poor old girl was running wild for years, near as we can tell. One of many who lost their riders in the Calamity, is my guess. She’s had it rough and won’t let folks near—until you.”
The woman shrugged and smiled.
“Well thank you. You’re welcome to return and help anytime.” He was only partly joking.
The woman simply nodded, retrieving her bow and quiver from the hooks where she had left them, before she turned to go.
Snowlight lifted her head from the feed bin to kweh a goodbye to the woman. The woman turned and smiled, waving to Snowlight.
When Snowlight fell asleep that night, she dreamed of her person, as usual. But the woman was also there, her laugh joining his.
A couple days later, Snowlight was kicking a ball toy in her stall, bored until it was time for the handlers to come take her to exercises again. She stopped kicking the ball and perked up at hearing a certain step, catching a certain scent. She kweh’d toward the quiet presence entering the stable.
“Hello,” the woman said to Snowlight. “Did you want to train again?”
Snowlight kweh’d and ruffled her feathers happily. She liked this quiet woman who reminded her of her person. She thought perhaps they were from the same clutch. After all, Showlight could tell when two chocobos were related, and while people were different they had their own families too.
The woman hung up her weapons and picked up the lead rope. Snowlight allowed the woman to guide her out into the exercise pens and they played for well over a bell. Then the woman bathed and brushed Snowlight again, before bringing her back to the stall, freshly cleaned by the other handlers.
The woman stroked Snowlight’s beak. “Good girl,” she said.
Snowlight preened.
The stablemaster was nearby and shook his head. “No one’s been able to get near that bird for moons. You come along and she’s docile as anything.”
The woman shrugged. “I didn’t do anything special; just treated her nice.”
“All any of us tried,” the stable master sighed. He peered at Snowlight. “She ain’t changed her attitude to the rest of us, neither.”
“I should be back in a few days,” the woman said. “I can help again then.”
“We appreciate it,” he said. “Maybe she’ll calm down with repeat visits from someone she trusts.”
The woman nodded, and gave Snowlight one last scritch before heading out once more. She turned and waved again when Snowlight called to her. That was nice.
—-
It had been nearly a moon since the woman’s last visit.
Snowlight had gotten used to the woman coming by every few days, looking and smelling and sounding so much like her person had; it was like having a part of him back as they trained and played and cleaned up together.
But now, after those handful of visits, the woman had not returned, just like her person had not, and Snowlight was so tired.
She no longer snapped and scratched at the handlers, but now they could not coax her to eat more than the bare minimum, or play, or train.
They were good people, really; they just weren’t hers, and she wasn’t theirs. The people Snowlight wanted simply hadn’t come back.
Snowlight dozed in her stall, ignoring the sunny day and the other chocobos and handlers. Then a certain sound caught her attention, a familiar step. She blinked awake, catching a familiar scent, and kweh’d.
The woman rounded the corner and smiled as Snowlight bounced and trilled excitedly. The stable master followed, smiling too.
“Can’t say you don’t deserve it, though you sure this is the bird you want?”
The woman nodded, a giddiness to her usual calm presence that made Snowlight even more excited, too, though she did not know why. “I think she and I get along just fine,” the woman said to the stable master, turning finally to Snowlight. She scritched Snowlight’s neck. “I even have a name picked out. My brother and I used to come up with them as children, when dreaming of having our own chocobos.”
“Well much luck to you both,” he said, holding out his hand.
Snowlight trembled with excitement when she saw what he held; a whistle, just like the one her person used to have. The whistle that had tied them together, made her always able to find him--until she couldn’t.
The woman took the whistle, then looked back up at Snowlight. “Do you want to be my chocobo?” She asked, almost sounding nervous.
Snowlight thought about it. She had a person--once upon a time. He was gone now, but this woman was so much like him, possibly from the same clutch...So maybe it was all right. Maybe this person wouldn’t leave Snowlight behind--and if she did, Snowlight would do her best to find her.
After all, Snowlight was a good girl.
“Kweh-Kweh!” Snowlight agreed, bouncing excitedly. She would be an adventuring bird with a person of her own again!
The woman grinned, and after a few moments, the spell was complete and the aetheric bond formed.
Snowlight’s new person led her out of the stable, accepting the fine reins and saddle the stable master offered. “After all you’ve done for Gridania, not to mention taking on Ifrit himself, it’s the very least we can do,” he insisted. “And I’m just happy to see this girl get a fresh start and a good home.” He patted Snowlight’s shoulder. “What are you gonna name her? For our own records.”
Her person smiled. “For a white bird my brother and I could never decide between our favorites, so we combined them,” she answered. “I’m going to call her Snowlight.”
“A fine name,” the stable master said.
“Kweh-Kweh-Kweh!” Snowlight cheered, the last shadow of doubt faded; her new person even knew her name! This was the best day since…
Well, since her first person had chosen and named her.
Her person swung onto the saddle, thanking the stable master again. Then she leaned forward. “All right, girl; let’s go!”
Snowlight dashed out of Bentbranch, her person laughing on her back, to begin their adventures together.
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maria-scribbles · 4 years
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loyalty’s all i got | part two
three years ago, you had it all: great friends, good grades, and an almost perfect relationship with your boyfriend, jj. it all came crashing down when your mom relocated your family to california for work and you were forced to trade the outer banks for malibu, leaving your broken heart behind in the place you were just starting to think of as home. now you're back in town for college and to pick up the pieces, hoping to make things right again with your friends and the boy you never stopped loving.
word count: 8.6k+
ship: jj maybank x female!reader, pogue friendship
warnings n stuff: angst angst angst all around (with a happy ending tho!!), the reader being a v. sad girl, mentions of anxiety/depression, failed long distance relationship, drifting apart, self-inflicted loneliness/isolation, the classic trope of 'they broke up but they're still in love with each other' that gives me feels, swearing (it's not my writing unless someone says 'fuck' at least once), reconciliation/mended relationships, traditional cheesy rom-com rain scene 'cause i'm a Dramatic Hoe™
a/n: and here's the second and final part of this looooong two-shot! thank you all so much for reading and i hope you enjoy the finale even though i low key kind of hate it 🙃. fun fact: surfrider beach is a real place in malibu known for its great waves :) also i apologize for how long this took to post, i dropped my laptop and the screen broke so i had to wait for it to get fixed lmao. unbetaed as usual, any mistakes are my b. 
~masterlist~
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part two: like a ghost that no one knew
When you said goodbye to your friends three years ago, you should've known things would never be the same again. You were sixteen, still so young and naïve and full of an almost childlike hope that kept you from seeing the obvious: life wasn't fair. Sometimes, you could be holding all the right cards and still lose the game.
It should've been easy. You had a video chat schedule already figured out, promises of daily texts and Snapchats, a boyfriend willing -enthusiastically willing, in fact- to go long distance and make it work no matter what 'cause you both agreed that what you had was something worth fighting for. You and your friends had weathered many storms together, what was one more? It could've been easy but you underestimated just how cruel California would be.
You traded one coast for the other and watched the sun set over the Pacific alone when you would've given anything to watch it rise over the Atlantic with your friends. It hurt to surf solo but you did it anyway, even though it felt like a damn sucker punch each time you caught yourself scanning the sand for JJ and his proud smile when you successfully caught bigger and bigger waves at Surfrider Beach. 
Long distance was hard. You had days where all you wanted to do was lay on your bed for hours, safely curled up in his arms as he ran his fingers through your hair but you had to settle for his voice over the phone and one of his shirts from your closet instead. You missed everything about him: his pretty eyes that looked like the clearest ocean, the cheeky grin he'd send your way after making a stupid joke that had you affectionately rolling your eyes in exasperation, that adorable flush that spread across his face without fail each and every time you said you loved him. You longed for his constant affection; the way he always wanted to keep you close somehow, his arm around your shoulders, hand in your back pocket, or fingers entwined with yours; how he could never go a day without kissing you. Being apart was nothing short of torture.
"I fucking miss you." He said late one night during a rare FaceTime session -his phone was a piece of shit so he had to 'borrow' John B's whenever he could- and you smiled despite the knife twisting itself deeper and deeper into your heart as you played with the fraying sleeve of his old sweatshirt you wore. 
"I fucking miss you more, J." You whispered back, giggling quietly when he scrunched up his nose in playful skepticism. 
"Yeah, I don't think so, babe. There's no way." 
"Yes, way!"
Although it hurt like hell, you imagined being tangled up with him in the hammock hanging in the Chateau's yard under the North Carolina sky -the light from the moon would turn his blond hair a pale silver as he grinned down at you and cupped your cheek in his hand, closing that final distance between you for a kiss that'd fuel the fire racing through your veins- and you let that fleeting happiness carry you through the night, long after you said goodbye. You fell asleep with your phone in your hand, unaware that your mother had been listening from the other side of your closed door.
You'd been distant from her and your dad in the months since the move, obviously going out of your way to avoid them both by spending all your spare time surfing at the beach, coming home well past sunset and heading straight to your room without a word. They'd taught you forgiveness wasn't something to be given willingly -it had to be earned- and since neither of them had done anything worthy to deserve an absolution, you simply pretended they didn't exist and let yourself stew in your justified anger.
Until the morning after your video date with JJ, they'd wisely given you your space so you were pretty blind sighted to find them both waiting for you at the dining room table, one of your dad's famous cinnamon rolls on a plate set in front of your usual chair. You paused in the middle of tying one of your boyfriend's worn bandanas in your hair before abruptly continuing toward the front door, acting like you didn't see the hopeful looks on their faces that made guilt slowly start to burrow its way into your chest. 
"Y/N, wait," Your dad sprung from his seat and reached his hand out toward your elbow, his face falling when you instantly pulled back and crossed your arms. "Please, let's just talk for a second."
"I'm gonna be late for the bus," You lied and tried for the door again, sighing in frustration when he blocked your path and ushered you toward the table where your mom was sitting, biting her thumbnail. The guilt burrowed deeper: you thought she kicked that habit years ago but there she was, chewing her nail to shreds and it was all because of you (the empty satisfaction you felt knowing you were the cause of her stress made you hate yourself just a little more.).
"Jellybean, don't worry about that. I'll drive you." 
You bristled at the old nickname but sat in the chair your dad pulled out for you anyway. The smell of the cinnamon roll he pushed your way made your mouth water but you refused to eat and kept your eyes down as you played with the stack of bracelets adorning your wrist. "You wanted to talk?" You asked, deciding to just rip the band-aid off all at once 'cause knowing your mom when she was anxious and your dad being allergic to any type of confrontation, you'd have sat there all day until one of them worked up the courage to speak.
"Talk, right." Bill said with a nervous chuckle, shaking his head as he took a seat and swiped his own cinnamon roll from the pan in the middle of the table. "Uh, how are you?"
"Are you serious right now?" You asked incredulously, looking up from your lap with a raised eyebrow. "All this for 'how are you?'" 
"How would we know?" Your mom finally spoke up as she pulled her ruined nail from her mouth, only to start instantly drumming her fingers on the table. "You're always holed up in your room or at the beach, Y/N. You never talk to us anymore."
You rolled your eyes before fixing her with a deadpan stare. "Hmm, I wonder why."
"Honey, you know I'm sorry-"
"Don't, okay? Just don't." You swallowed thickly and dumped the cinnamon roll back into the pan, blinking away the awful burning pressure building behind your eyes. "I can't listen to some half-assed apology that you don't mean!"
"Y/N, we are sorry. Everything's gonna get better, just give it time." Your dad's reply was muffled by a mouthful of pastry and any other time, you'd usually be laughing at his chipmunk cheeks but instead you just stared back down at your hands again, lip quivering as you tried and failed to hold yourself together. You would not cry. You would not cry. You would not-
"Please, honey." Your mom tentatively reached out one hand like she was approaching a wounded animal, her voice so soft you could barely hear it above the rush of blood in your ears. "It hurts us to see you like this-"
Oh, fuck this shit.
"You're hurt?! Are you kidding me?" Your chair scraped along the tile as you rocketed to your feet, vision blurring when the dam finally broke. "You promised we wouldn't move again until after I graduated and you broke that promise. I let myself make friends for once in my goddamn life -I fucking fell in love, Mom! I fell in love with the most amazing boy who, by some miracle loves me, too despite me being a...a complete loser!" You were rambling now but you couldn't find it in yourself to care about or stop the words flying from your mouth. 
"God, I was happy -so, so disgustingly happy it kind of scared me, okay?" You laughed bitterly and roughly wiped the tears from your cheeks, only to have more immediately take their place. "And you didn't even stop to think before you took it all away from me! So don't even talk to me about being hurt 'cause you have no fucking idea!"
Your dad was frozen, eyes the same color as your own blown impossibly wide in the middle of another bite of cinnamon roll while your mom, two tears streaking perfect twin tracks down her cheeks, looked at you like you'd just told her the world was ending -to her, it just might've been but to you, it already had. Neither of them said another word as you snatched your backpack off the couch and stormed from the house, slamming the door behind you.
Halfway to the bus stop, you decided school just wasn't in the cards that day and doubled back, hiding behind the shed in your backyard until your tears had run dry and both of your parents left -Rebekah to the hospital, Bill to wherever he went while you were in class- before heading inside to change into your rash vest and grab your board. Despite it being early Friday morning, Surfrider Beach was full of life and you welcomed the hustle and bustle as you turned off your phone and buried it at the bottom of your bag, leaving your problems behind on the sand. 
You spent the whole day at the beach, blissfully alone and free to do what you wanted, until the sun dipped low in the sky and you were too exhausted to even think about anything but dragging yourself home so you could pass the fuck out. You caught one final wave before heading back to shore, waving goodbye to the group of other kids you'd surfed with all day (the one thing you loved about California: everyone was so chill) and trudged through the sand toward your things where, just as you expected, your sister sat on your towel, clad in a baggy UCLA long-sleeve with her phone in hand. 
"Bitch, you killed it out there!" She looked up as you dropped your board to the ground and sat down heavily beside her, slipping an old Kildare County High School sweatshirt -the first one you ever 'borrowed' from your boyfriend, much to his delight- over your head. "I mean, look at you go!"
You leaned closer to watch the video she took, the barest hint of a smile on your face when you watched yourself perform a near perfect cutback on the screen. "That's 'cause I had the best teacher." 
Daisy tagged you and posted it to Instagram before you could protest, then tossed the phone back into her bag and turned to you with a forced cheerfulness that kind of made you want to smack her. "So..."
"Mom and Dad sent you to clean up their mess." You finished quietly, tucking your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around them as your sister sighed dramatically and offered a sympathetic wince. 
"As always." She copied your position and you both stared out at the sun sinking over the water, its fading rays turning the sky brilliant shades of orange and pink. It was typical of your parents to send Daisy after you when you were upset -after all, you'd both been each other's only friend for over half your lives- and normally, you'd be glad to see your sister's friendly face instead of your mom's or dad's. That evening, though? All you felt was...disappointment.
"Guess they really don't give a shit about me." You mumbled under your breath, half-hoping Daisy didn't hear you but from the way she snapped her head in your direction, you didn't get your wish.
"Y/N, that's not it. They're just..."
"Just what? Pretending that they didn't stab me in the back? Acting like everything's all hunky-dory and they actually cared about my feelings?" 
You hastily wiped at your face when your sister silently looped an arm around your shoulders and tucked you against her side, her fingers running soothingly through the ends of your damp hair as you vented all of your frustrations -everything you'd kept locked deep inside your heart- until your voice was hoarse and the sun had long disappeared from the horizon and you had no tears left to cry.
"You have no idea what it's like, being so lonely it hurts to breathe. It hurts knowing Mom and Dad have each other and you have Daniel and I'm alone all the time." You lifted your head from her shoulder and rubbed your red eyes with your sleeve. "Worst part is, they just keep acting like I'll wake up one day and magically be okay and everything'll be all sunshine and rainbows again." 
"First off, I wanna say that I'm sorry for not making more time for you. I knew you were struggling and I'm a terrible big sister for not being here for you like I should have," You squeezed Daisy's other hand in thanks as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, her voice soft and steady like the waves crashing against the shore. "Second, I definitely don't think Mom and Dad are handling this the way they should, but I think they're trying in the only way they know how. That should count for something, right?"
You sighed and tugged the sleeves of your sweatshirt over your hands. "I guess, but they haven't even tried to see where I'm coming from and they don't get that I'm not the only one they hurt. If I have to hear one more half-assed apology, I'm gonna lose my shit. Again."
"I'm not saying you have to forgive them right away 'cause I sure as hell wouldn't until they say they're sorry and mean it. But..." She said, pulling you to your feet and shaking the sand from the towel you were sitting on, "you shouldn't keep shutting them out, okay? It's not healthy."
You tucked your board under your arm as Daisy grabbed your bag and swung it onto her shoulder before you both started walking toward the parking lot. "What if I'm never ready to forgive them?"
"That's a question I don't have the answer to." She said with a shrug. "You've gotta figure that one out for yourself."
So you followed your sister's advice. You were civil and gradually, your relationship with your parents improved until you could stand to be in the same room as them and even carry on a short conversation, even though you knew you'd probably never be able to fully trust them again. You caught them exchanging glances you could only describe as wounded when you often turned down their invitations to go to the movies or get ice cream or other things you used to love doing when you were younger but for the most part, they took it in stride and you were grateful for their little efforts. Forgiveness wasn't in the cards quite yet but with each passing day, you felt the icy wall around your heart slowly start to melt away.
But every time you thought you were taking one step forward, life pushed you two steps back. Just when you were getting things back on track with your family, the train went flying off the rails when it came to your friends and it was all your fault.
It wasn't like you didn't try -God, did you try- to keep yourself from falling back into old habits but Malibu just had a way of bringing out the absolute worst in you. Your old self, the girl who kept to herself and pushed everyone away, someone you thought you buried in the deepest grave, slowly came back from the dead with a vengeance little by little, so subtly you didn't realize what was happening until it was too late. 
One missed phone call turned into two, texts went unanswered for days or not at all, FaceTime sessions happened less and less. The last video chat had been with Kiara and it ended terribly, after you blew up at her for mending her friendship with Sarah Cameron in the near two years since you'd been gone, spitting words you couldn't quite remember -something along the lines of 'didn't take you too long to replace me, huh' and calling the blonde girl a 'heinous bitch'- but knew you regretted with everything you had and hanging up before she had a chance to explain. You couldn't even recall the last time you talked to Pope or John B aside from the occasional Snapchat and your daily calls with JJ had turned to once a week, if you were lucky.
He was trying, you could tell, and so were you but the deck was stacked against you and you were never very good at cards, anyway. It hurt to try, it hurt not to try, everything just hurt. Nearly two years apart had done their damage and coupled with your debilitating fear of being forgotten that clawed at your chest like a rabid dog, your relationship was on unstable ground and for the first time in almost four years, you were thinking about the end. It wasn't like you didn't love him anymore (holy shit, were you still completely head over heels in love). In fact, you loved him so much you realized that he could do so, so much better than you and the thought rested heavy and bittersweet on your mind, lurking in the shadows until you were ready to bring it to light.
It happened on New Year's Eve. Alone in your room, your hands shook as you answered JJ's call at midnight, his voice tired and a little hoarse from celebrating the new year three hours earlier on the opposite coast and you nearly started crying right then and there when you replied with a shaky "I think we need to talk."
"Babe, what's wrong?"
You took a deep breath and said quietly, "Everything."
"Talk to me." The pure concern in those three words nearly convinced you to call it off, to tell him to forget you said anything and that you were fine, everything was just fine but deep down, you knew you couldn't.
"I've been thinking about us and I...I just think that you deserve better than me. Someone who can actually be there for you when you need her and hold you when your dad's an asshole and see you every day. Someone who can laugh at your silly jokes and share a joint with you and clean you up when you get into fights defending your friends-"
"Babe, what are you talking about? That girl is you."
"Maybe I was but I'm not anymore and I don't think I have been since I left. I just can't be the girl you want, I can't be the girl you deserve, J -I'm a total fucking mess and you can do so, so much better than me."
"Y/N."
You didn't know you were crying until you heard the broken way he breathed your name and salt water dripped from your chin onto the bracelet around your wrist. 
"...are you breaking up with me?" His voice was impossibly small, the quietest you'd ever heard it and the exact moment your battered heart shattered into pieces was when you realized he didn't even put up a fight. 
"I think so." The words tore through you like a gunshot as you cried, curling into yourself on the bed in an effort to ward off the worst pain you'd ever felt in your life and you wondered if it was possible to die from a wound that wasn't even physical. 
He was quiet for a long time, so long you thought he hung up without you noticing through your tears, until he sniffed on the other end of the line.
"Guess we had a pretty good run, huh?" He asked with a watery chuckle and you found yourself giving a tiny, shuddering giggle in response -God, even when you were breaking his heart he still managed to make you laugh.
"The best, baby." The pet name slipped out like second nature and you winced, hastily trying to cover your mistake with an awkward cough but from the sharp breath you heard him take, he'd heard it anyway.
("I'm sorry," you said, and it stood as an apology for more than just your slip-up.)
"I love you, Y/N. Probably always will."
"I'll never stop loving you, JJ. That's a promise."
You let yourself believe him as you laid there bleeding from a gash you couldn't see, a wound you knew would never heal, and you hoped he let himself believe you, too, even when you ended the call without another word and threw your phone away from you, not bothering to see where it landed. The sound of your heavy, broken sobs filled the room and you didn't even mind when your mom, who you knew had been listening from the other side of your closed door like always, barged in and took you into her arms, stroking your hair as you cried into her lap.
If you were supposed to avoid getting hurt by leaving first, why did it feel like everything in you was broken? If you were making the right choice, why did it feel so wrong? You didn't have the answers and no matter how hard you searched, you knew you'd ever find them.  
So you tried to stay busy. You joined the surf club at school, got a part-time job at the local aquarium, did anything you could to distract yourself from the hurt and the guilt and the way getting out of bed every morning was the hardest thing to do. Surf club introduced you to Mackenzie, the one girl who was more ostracized at school -an even richer version of the kook academy you hated -than you, her for being freakishly tall and you for your East Coast attitude, and the two of you became fast, if reluctant friends. Mack didn't try to stitch the gaping hole in your heart caused by your absent friends but she numbed the pain just enough to make it bearable and you were grateful for her calm, steady presence at your side, even as you both tried to keep each other at arm's length.  
Later, you found out she was just like you, friendless and awkward with no self-esteem and a tendency to push people away, and that just cemented your friendship through the summer and your final year of high school.
Mack told you all about her life, growing up with no siblings, having height that she never learned to deal with, and a debilitating social anxiety that made making friends near impossible, and in turn you told her about how you hopped from town to town on your mother's whims, the wonderful friends you let slip away, and the beautiful boyfriend you loved enough to let go, and you both cried together for the lives you could've led.
"You two looked so happy," She said during the first sleepover you hosted as she held one of the many picture frames littering your dresser, her lips turned upwards in a small smile.
You gently took the frame from her hands and ran your fingers over the grinning face of your ex-boyfriend, his arms wrapped around your shoulders as your painted lips planted a deep red kiss on his cheek, and the wave of longing washing over you was almost strong enough to bring you to your knees. "It was the happiest I've ever been."
"Do you miss him?"
"So much it hurts."
i miss you.
i'm so sorry.
i still love you.
You'd typed and erased those texts every day but never mustered the courage to hit send and you couldn't decide if that was a blessing in disguise or the worst possible curse. Of course you still loved JJ: you promised you would and even if you didn't, you couldn't stop if you tried. He was your first love, the boy you so willingly gave your whole heart and then some; you still kept his ring on your thumb -the one he gave you at the airport the day you left- and his bracelet around your wrist, his bandanas in your hair and his face in your dreams and you knew you always would.
Before you could blink, your eighteenth birthday flew by and graduation was upon you.
You thought the second you were done with high school you'd be gone, heading straight back to the Outer Banks and the life you left behind but you found yourself stalling on sending in an application to UNC -Chapel Hill until you missed the deadline for the fall semester. On the outside, you made up a semi-legit excuse about getting your basic courses done at a community college to save money but deep down you really knew why you procrastinated: you were terrified to go back. Ever since your break up with JJ, you hadn't spoken to him or any of your old friends other than the obligatory birthday wishes on Facebook and you wondered if the damage you'd done over the years was too much to come back from, even as you tried to work up the courage to find out for sure.
Another year passed: in between earning college credits, you and Daisy took a sister's trip to Disneyland, Mack asked you to tag along on a jaunt up the coast to San Francisco to see Alcatraz, your parents celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary (your gift was long-overdue forgiveness and they said it was the greatest thing you possibly could've given them). When the time came, you and Mack both sent out your applications to UNC -you for biology, her for chemistry- and the myriad of emotions you felt when you got in was nothing short of dizzying. The old you was terrified, screaming at you to rip up the letter and join your sister at UCLA instead of opening old wounds but the hopeful you, the girl who lived without fear, the girl who fell in love and let herself be loved, screamed louder.
And so you killed the old you once again, burying her even deeper than the last time in a locked chest and throwing the key as far as you could out into the Pacific where you knew you'd never find it. You clutched your acceptance letter close to your chest and took a step east, away from California and toward the place where your broken heart still rested, scattered in pieces across the sand.
Settling in at UNC was surprisingly easy. You and Mack already clicked pretty well as friends so making the transition to roommates was natural and, dare you say it, even a little fun and the two of you quickly fell into a comfortable routine in your tiny apartment off campus in Chapel Hill. Comfortable and yet...that happiness you once felt all those years ago was missing from your life and you found yourself just as restless as you were in Malibu. While you knew exactly what you needed to do, that fear kept rearing its ugly head in the back of your mind, poisoning your thoughts: what if they wouldn't be happy to see you, what if they forgot about you, what if they hated you? What if he hated you?
It was terrifying, picturing yourself turning up at the Chateau with a hopeful smile only to have the door slammed right in your face. Deep down, you knew they'd never do that to you no matter how badly you'd hurt them but when you'd spent your whole life expecting the worst, taking a leap of faith wasn't an easy feat -something Mack just couldn't wrap her head around.
"I don't get it."
You glanced up from where you were lounging on your bed, flipping through your biology notes in preparation for your lab exam the next morning and shot your roommate a confused look. "Get what?”
Mack sat at your desk, her own notebooks lying ignored as she spun the chair around to face you, arms crossed. "Why you haven't hopped on that ferry to go get your man yet!"
You froze for a moment too long before offering a half-hearted shrug as you fiddled with the beads at the end of your bracelet. "It's not that easy. He probably wants nothing to do with me and I don't blame him."
"How do you know? You haven't talked to JJ in over a year, right?" At your tight nod, she continued, "What if he's just like you-"
"Depressed?"
Mack fixed you with a flat, unamused look. "Still in love, dumbass."
You scoffed and propped your chin in your hand as you glanced back down at your study guide, trying not to latch onto that little thought -hope and pain all rolled into one- that sparked to life at her words. He'd said he would probably always love you that New Year's Eve and back then you'd let yourself believe him but now, you weren't so sure. "Yeah, right. No way he's still...still in love with me after I broke his heart."
"Maybe he is, maybe he isn't," Your roommate said with a shrug, spinning around on the chair to grab her things. "You'll never know if you don't get over there, track his fine ass down, and talk to him."
You stared down at your notes without actually seeing anything, the slanted letters of your handwriting blurring before your eyes as the other girl flipped her chemistry book closed and stood, shooting you an warm smile that you didn't see. 
"Listen, Y/N, you're my best friend and I want to see you happy more than anything but I can't take that jump for you. Yeah, it's scary and nerve wracking and you might end up hurt worse than before, so what? That's just...life."
Mack left after that, crossing the apartment to her room so she could get ready for a date with a girl from her psych class, leaving you alone with tears on your face and a million thoughts in your head, all of them terrifying and exciting and oh so loud.
She was right, of course -Mack always knew the right thing to say- and as you stared down at the bracelets on your wrists and the ring on your thumb, the pictures on your phone and the too-big shirt hanging off one shoulder, you realized sitting around moping wasn't gonna solve anything; if you wanted your happiness, your friends, the love of your life back, you needed to step up and fight for them with everything you had. And so you wiped the tears from your cheeks and walked to the cliff's edge with your head held high, ready for the fall and whatever came with it. You were ready to fix your mistakes, no matter how badly it might hurt.
Still, you couldn't do it all on your own. You needed some help to make things right again and while you knew just who to ask, you weren't quite sure if they'd be willing to lend a hand. Desperate times called for desperate measures though and you penned a good old-fashioned letter, feeling like a heroine in a Jane Austen novel as you poured all your thoughts -your dreams, wishes, hopes- onto a piece of paper in bold blue ink and sent it off to its destination on Figure 8, your Hail Mary for a happy ending sealed up neatly in a single envelope.
Mack, bless her heart, did her best to keep your spirits up as you waited on a response but even her ever reassuring presence couldn't keep you from worrying as one week passed by, then two. Halfway through the third you'd almost given up, already wracking your brain for another way to make your plan work when your phone chimed with a text from an unknown number.
i'll help you
And just like that, the moment you'd been waiting for was finally within your reach; you told your parents not to expect you for Thanksgiving break, called your sister for a much needed pep talk, and started counting down the days until you'd see your friends again, for better or worse.
When you left the Outer Banks three years ago, it was sunny. You were sixteen, young and in love and scared about the future.
When you returned, it was in the middle of a storm. You were nineteen, a little bit older but no less in love and definitely still scared about what was waiting for you at the end of the road.
Rain pounded against the roof of Sarah Cameron's SUV as she drove away from the docks and toward the Chateau, her fingers tapping along to the music playing quietly through the radio. You sat in the passenger seat, soaked to the bone from your ferry ride from the mainland and shaking like a leaf despite the towel wrapped around your shoulders and the warm air flowing from the car's vents.
"Thanks for coming to get me," You said, wincing at the awkward lilt of your voice echoing in the small space as you spun JJ's ring around your thumb and stared out the windshield at the familiar sights streaking by in blurred shades of green and brown. Being back opened a Pandora's box of emotions in your head, both good and bad, and instead of trying to sort them out, you let them bounce around in your brain like a pinball machine and concentrated on methodically twirling the warm metal ring in circles on your finger.
Sarah briefly glanced away from the road to shoot you a small smile, her kind eyes softening at your visible nervousness. "Not gonna lie, I was pretty sure you hated me so when I got your letter it kinda...threw me for a loop. Sorry it took me so long to reply."
You wished the heated leather seat would swallow you whole as you winced again and wrapped the towel tighter around your shoulders. "For the longest time, I thought I did hate you but I realized I was just...scared of losing my friends and I took it out on you. You didn't deserve to be labeled the villain in my story when I was the one, um, sabotaging myself, I guess." You took a deep breath and picked at a loose thread tickling your arm. "And I'm really, really grateful for your help."
It was more than you wanted to admit out loud -nearly the same words were written in the letter peeking out from the center console of the car- but at the same time, you knew it was what needed to be said and from the way the blonde girl's fingers stopped tapping against the steering wheel, she knew she needed to hear it. At a red light, she quickly tapped out a text on her phone before tossing in back into her bag with another tiny grin in your direction.
"Happy to help. For what it's worth, I'm so sorry if I made you feel like you were being replaced, I never intended to hurt you or steal your friends or...or, I don't know, usurp-" 
"Sarah, stop. Please," You held up a hand to cut off her apology and offered her a self-deprecating smile. "I'm the one who's sorry. I let my...jealousy get the best of me and I feel so bad about all the shit I said 'cause that wasn't fair to you at all and I hope you can forgive me-"
"Y/N, there's nothing to forgive! We all say stupid shit when we're mad -trust me, I know." She interrupted with a bubbly, contagious giggle that seemed to scare away the gloomy storm clouds gathered over your head for a moment in time. "But I was never pissed at you, ever. I just want you to know that."
Stunned, you settled deeper into the seat and started playing with your ring again as she kept driving on, unbothered by your lack of response. You felt like you were thirteen again, back when Sarah and Kiara were your only friends, before the birthday disaster and the whole pogue versus kook feud that got completely out of hand; it felt...nice and you found yourself hoping that the blonde girl would still want to be your friend again, no matter what the others thought about your sudden return. 
"Thank you."
Sarah gave no indication she heard your quiet confession of gratitude but from the way you watched her smile grow out of the corner of your eye, you knew she did. The rest of the drive passed in companionable silence as you retreated into your own thoughts, your nerves getting worse and worse the closer you got to your destination.
You took a deep breath and let it out slowly through your nose, feeling like your heart was trying to beat its way through your rib cage. You hadn't been this anxious in a long, long time, so long you almost forgot how much you hated the tightness in your chest, how your palms would start to sweat, the way you'd chew the inside of your cheek until you tasted blood on your tongue. By the time Sarah pulled into an open spot beside the achingly familiar Volkswagen parked in front of the Chateau, you were surprised you were still able to breathe.
The sight of the tiny house, one you spent so many carefree days and beautiful nights in alongside your friends, standing virtually unchanged in front of you was like a shot to the heart and your hands, curled into fists on your lap, began to shake without warning. Shit, you were a godforsaken mess; how the hell were you supposed to do this without having a mental breakdown?
"I'm so scared."
The whispered words, barely audible over the torrential rain against the roof, slipped from your mouth before you could stop them and Sarah slowly reached one hand over to give your trembling wrist a reassuring squeeze, the corners of her mouth curled upward in a slight smile.
"Don't be. They're gonna be so happy to see you!"
You turned to look at her, eyebrows knit together in disbelief. "How are you so sure they still care about me?"
"I'm sure 'cause I've seen it. My God, if only you could've heard all the times they talked about you -'I wish Y/N was here,' 'remember that time with Y/N,' hell, just straight 'I miss Y/N so fucking much,'" She said bluntly and shifted in the driver's seat to face you head on, smiling wider at the thunderstruck look on your face. "Pretty sure I haven't gone a week without JJ saying that last one at least once." 
"I thought..." You paused, tongue darting out to run over your dry lips as you tried to put your jumbled feelings into words, "I thought he'd hate me -I mean, after all I've done, you think he still..."
"Loves you? Are you kidding?" Her reply was so enthusiastic it was hard not to believe her as she went on, her words like sunshine brightening the darkest corners of your mind. "He's still head over heels, I've never seen him even look at another girl in three damn years. You know he still wears your necklace, the one with the silver star? Kie told me all about it."
"I-I didn't." You remembered giving it to him the day you left, managing a shaky smile through your tears as you carefully clasped it around his neck, your fingers running over his skin as you settled the charm perfectly alongside that little shark tooth you'd grown to love.
('Be careful with this, baby. It's my favorite.' You had said, crying harder when he'd taken off one of his rings and slipped it onto your thumb.
'Well, this one's my favorite so take good care of it, okay?' His voice had been light but his eyes were heavy with unspoken words that you'd heard loud and clear because you knew your gaze said the exact same things.
don't let me go
don't break my heart
don't stop loving me)
You coughed to disguise the fat tears that started rolling down your face, quickly wiping them away with your sleeve but the blonde girl wasn't fooled as she gave your hand another friendly squeeze.
"Come on, they're probably wondering what's taking me so long," She sent a conspiratorial wink your way and grabbed her bag from the center console. "I told them I was picking up some pizzas but I have a funny feeling they won't be too pissed that I lied."
With a desperate grip on the strap of your backpack and your heart racing, you trailed behind Sarah through the rain to the front porch. 
"Ready?" She glanced back where you lingered at the top of the stairs, anxiously shuffling from foot to foot, and shot you a smile that did little to calm your nerves. "Just wait here!"
She knocked on the door before you could reply and yelled loud enough to be heard over the pouring rain, "Hey, it's me! Can somebody get the door? My hands are kinda full."
"Got it!"
Your bag slipped from your fingers and fell onto the porch with a loud thump at the sound of the voice floating through the open windows, a voice you heard nearly every night as you slept, in your dreams of a future you wanted with everything you had. You knew it better than your knew your own, knew every pitch and tone and lilt; quiet and raspy in the mornings when you woke up in each other's arms, loud and carefree during long days spent under the golden sun with the rest of your friends, soft and warm and laid bare at night when he showed how much he loved you with more than just words.
Sarah gave you an enthusiastic thumbs up before stepping to the side just as the door opened and you suddenly found yourself struggling to breathe as you stared into the wide blue eyes of your ex-boyfriend. JJ stared right back, one of the hands you used to hold clenched so tight around the doorknob his knuckles were white, the lips you used to kiss parted in surprise, the blond hair you used to run your fingers through falling onto his forehead like always and the familiar, beautiful sight of him standing close enough to touch made your knees weak.
"You're not pizza."
It was such a JJ thing to say and you didn't know whether to laugh or cry as you swallowed thickly and shook your head. "Sorry to disappoint you."
"I'm not."
"Oh."
Hope flared white hot in your chest at his words but it quickly started to fade, replaced by fear when he made no move toward you, his fingers still gripping tight to the door, and you felt your face start to heat in embarrassment as Sarah looked back and forth between the two of you like she was watching a tennis match. 
God, you were so stupid. What did you expect would happen, showing up out of the blue after over a year of no contact? Everything would fall into place again with just one long, heavy look? Believing it could be that easy turned you into a complete and total fool, tongue-tied and insecure and weak.
"Yo, what's the hold up?" John B's voice asked from inside the house and Sarah leaned down to call through the open window, "Come out here and find out!"
A wave of dizziness hit you like a truck and you took a sudden step back toward the stairs, arms wrapping around your stomach as it twisted itself into knots. "I'm sorry, I-I shouldn't have come. This was a mistake." You didn't notice the stricken look that crossed JJ's face or the three familiar, stunned expressions that appeared behind him in the darkened doorway before turning away and stumbling off the porch toward the road, leaving your bag behind and you definitely didn't notice how you barely made it off the bottom stair before a set of footsteps hastily gave chase. 
"It wasn't a mistake, Y/N!" JJ's desperate voice stopped you in your tracks, halfway across the yard with more than just rain running down your face. "Not to me, never to me."
His soft touch on your wrist sent shockwaves through your body and you instantly became putty in his hands, letting him turn you around without a fight to face him, watching in fascination as the downpour started to darken his gray shirt and flatten his hair against his forehead. Three years hadn't changed much about him -he was a little taller, hair a little longer, the muscles in his arms a little more defined- and when you met his wide-eyed gaze, beads of rain dripping from his long eyelashes like diamonds, you wondered if he was thinking about the differences time created between the younger you of the past and the you of the right now, too.
"Oh." You repeated dumbly, struggling for something, anything to say that didn't make you sound like an illiterate fool. Even at nineteen, words still weren't your strong suit so you let your actions speak for you as your hand reached out on its own accord to caress the silver star still clasped around his neck, the thumb still wearing his ring brushing slowly against the dip between his collarbones; he shivered, and you weren't really sure if it was from your touch or the cold. 
"Y/N." JJ said your name like a prayer, like he couldn't believe you were there in front of him, and you inhaled sharply when both of his hands slowly, carefully moved to cup your face, his calloused thumbs habitually wiping the tears from your cheeks over and over, even as more instantly replaced the ones he swept away. "I fucking missed you."
You stood there, looking like a damned drowned rat with your hair dripping into your eyes, shivering in your soaked jeans and Kildare County High School sweatshirt, the love of your life cradling your face so gently in his hands, and so many things you wanted to say flooding your brain but only the one that mattered the most managed to get by your trembling lips.  
"I'm still in love with you." 
You noticed a lot when you put your heart on the line: the steady, soothing sound of water falling through the trees, the bright, clean taste of rain on your tongue, how the sun was just barely starting to peek out from behind the stormy clouds, but they all paled in comparison to the little things you noticed about the boy in front of you; blue irises made even brighter by the red rimming his eyes, how he stepped closer on the wet grass until the tips of his scuffed boots touched your worn gray high tops, the way his hands trembled ever so slightly against your flushed face. 
"Well, it's your lucky day 'cause I'm still in love with you, too."
All of the breath left your lungs in one big rush when JJ smiled hopefully -oh, how you loved everything about that smile: his slightly crooked teeth, that dimple in his cheek, the endearing pink blush swept across his nose- and you felt yourself return it without a second thought, your own hope once again burning bright in your chest.
"Even after...everything?" Your voice shook like the fingers you slid into the hair at his nape and he leaned down to rest his forehead against yours, close enough you could feel his breath on your lips when he spoke.
"I told you I'd always love you, didn't I?"
You nodded, a delicious shiver running down your spine when he tilted his head just so and gently bumped your nose with his. You remembered all the times he did that through the years, a dizzying slideshow of memories that flashed through your mind like lightning, and your fingers wove themselves deeper in his hair. 
"I have so many things to apologize for," You said with a tiny, quiet shake of your head, tearing your eyes away from his in shame and staring over his shoulder toward where the rest of your friends watched from the porch, all crowded together at the top of the stairs with identical enthralled expressions on their faces. "There are so many mistakes I've made and people I've hurt and I have no idea how to even start saying sorry for it all." 
"Babe."
The sound of your old pet name caused your gaze to snap right back to his and your heart felt like it was about to beat right out of your chest when one of his hands trailed down the sensitive skin of your neck and then lower until it traced along the curve of your hip and left a line of fire in its wake.
"We'll figure that out later, okay?" JJ said as his fingers tucked a loose strand of wet hair behind your ear, a coy, ardent grin on his face. "'Cause I've been waiting three years to kiss you again and if I don't get to do it soon, I'm gonna lose my fucking mind."
You smiled -a wide, joyful, elated smile- and rose up on your tiptoes in anticipation. "Then kiss me." 
You didn't have to tell him twice. His lips pressed against yours desperately, like he needed you to breathe, like you were the very air in his lungs, religiously, like your mouth was the altar and he was there to worship as he pulled you close, the fingers of one hand tangling in your hair while the others dug into your hip. You kissed him back just as hard and the familiar taste of him on your tongue -mint, smoke, salt- sent that dearly missed spark racing through your veins like wildfire.
It was a little cliché, having your long-awaited reunion kiss in the rain but it was honest and candid and real and so much better than anything you could've dreamed. You lost yourself in his touch like you used to, clinging to him like a lifeline and pouring your whole heart into every fierce brush of your lips against his, both of you pulling away for a moment only to dive right back in each time. It was addictive, intoxicating, and you could've spent the rest of your life standing there in the middle of the yard and kissing like there was no tomorrow if a loud, ear-piercing wolf whistle hadn't come from the direction of the porch.
The two of you broke apart just barely, with foreheads still pressed together and swollen lips, and you couldn't stop yourself from giggling when JJ blindly flipped the bird over his shoulder before pulling you back in for another eager kiss that filled your whole body with an exhilarating, heavenly heat that never faded, even after four enthusiastic voices suddenly surrounded you like an excited swarm of nosy, buzzing bees.
"You aren't the only one who missed her, J." Kiara said, smiling widely as you reached out to grab her hand and pull her into a powerful one-armed hug, her chin resting on your shoulder.
"Yeah, stop hogging all the love!" John B added, throwing himself into the pile along with Pope, who slung an arm around your shoulders as he said, "Great to have you back, Y/N."
Sarah was the last to join and she quietly tucked herself under John B's arm with a pleased grin on her face, nodding when you mouthed 'thank you' in her direction. The six of you stood there in the rain, smiling like fools, and as the sun started to scare away the dark clouds overhead and in your heart, a weight you didn't even realize had been crushing your chest slowly began to lift away with each freeing breath. 
You still had a lot of work to do: wrongs to be righted, apologies to be made, explanations -not excuses- to be given for every shitty thing you did in your past. But as happy tears started streaming down your face once again and you felt the arms of the friends you’d thought were lost to you forever tighten around you at the sight, you knew in your bones all would be forgiven. You knew that after three long years, you'd finally come home.
-
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summonerscenarios · 3 years
Note
Hey I submitted a request earlier that I don't think went through (sorry, new to tumblr). In case it didn't, I asked if you could do an angst scenario of the MC being wounded in a real fight and getting hospitalized, hanging onto life. How would Shiro, Kengo, Ryota, Toji, Moritaka, and Agyo take it? (Ignore this the post went through) Thanks!
Me? Going overboard on a request and writing way too much filler at the beginning for the sake of a plot? MORE LIKELY THAN YOU THINK. 8000 words later and this is made~! Thank you sm to @husbandomail for proofreading this! -------------
None of the Summoners are there when you get ambushed, it’s a twisted kind of irony really - the one person who’s almost always hanging around with someone being attacked the moment they get caught on their own. You’re used to the fights by this point, you’ve been involved in conflict from the moment you first arrived in Tokyo from fighting enemies to fighting future allies, so when you first get jumped by another group who think they’ve got what it takes to take you down, you don’t even bat an eye at the confrontation, thinking it should be over soon. You were right, but not in the way you’d thought.
You don’t know when it happens, you were just preparing to call forth your sacred artifact when a wave of searing heat blossoms from your side. At first you don’t even recognize it as pain, it feels just like burning, as though you’ve gotten too close to a fire, and you look down just in time to see the knife buried in your side as the stranger rips the blade back out. The the pain hits you, and you stumble over yourself trying to make as much distance as possible from the one who stabbed you, cursing as you bring a hand to clutch at the wound - it must have been serrated, as there’s far more damage than a regular knife could cause, and the blood is already seeping through your shirt and onto your fingers as you try to keep pressure on it. It’s a moment of weakness, one your attackers are eager to take advantage of, but you aren’t going down without a fight; weapon or no, you’ll fight tooth and nail if you have to to get out of this.
And that’s exactly what happens - your attackers swarm in, some armed with knives and pipes, others bare handed like yourself, and the ensuing fight is awash with blood, tearing and screaming. Every hit you get in you’re taking three, knocking you back and slicing at your clothes and body as you have one too many close calls with weapons getting too close. Your fists are torn up and bleeding, and your arms are shredded from blocking blow after blow as you focus on a repetitive rhythm - swerve, jab, dodge, kick, swerve, jab, dodge, hit - you’re getting exhausted, movements growing sloppy with each moment spent constantly evading. You put up a good fight, at least three of them are limping from where you’ve struck them in the legs, and another is clutching his arm nursing the spot where you’d sunk your teeth in when it had wrapped around your neck. They’re wounded, but the more you hurt them the more you piss them off, and you’re struggling to keep up.
It’s brutal, and in the split second it takes you to kick away the stranger going for your throat there’s a crack and your vision goes white as your body gives out and you crumple to the floor - you’ve been struck in the back of the head, that much you know, but you can’t will your body to get back up. You’ve reached your limit, you can’t move anymore and your vision is swimming in and out of darkness, with blackspots clouding your already messy thoughts as you fight to focus on the group who are closing back in. They’re approaching you slowly, whether it’s because they’re so sure they’ve won, or if they assume you’re just faking (which would have been a smart move, in hindsight) you don’t know, all you know is that their weapons are still raised, wet and dripping from what you can only assume is your blood. They’re not done with you yet, you think to yourself, head laying slack against the floor as you glare up at your attackers with bared teeth. 
Shit, you might actually die here.
But then the walkway is flooded by lights, a passing car driving close to the pavement as it goes past. It must be too close for comfort, as at the sight of the headlights momentarily blinding your vision the group scampers off, as though terrified at the thought of being caught - it’s enough to make you laugh, if breathing didn’t feel like you were rubbing sandpaper against your throat. Instead you try to call out to the passing car, ignoring the metallic taste that floods your mouth as you try to make your voice as loud as possible. For a moment you think you catch the driver’s attention, as the car slows down just a fraction, lights trailing over the path so close to spotting you, but then you watch as it continues moving, the lights sliding out of view and basking you in darkness once again as you drop your head back to the ground. You don’t know how long you lay there - a few minutes at least - but eventually you slowly pull yourself up into a sitting position, no longer trusting your legs to support your weight as you drag yourself over to the closest wall, slumping against it with a wheeze as your body protests moving so soon. If you’re gonna pass out, it’s not gonna be face down on the floor you’re making sure of that, but you know you can’t stay here and just hope someone will come find you, not when there’s a chance of your attackers coming back. 
Yet you can’t walk, and you doubt dragging your bloody body out into the street is going to do anything other than get you hit by a car. Instead, you shove your hand into your pocket, cursing the fabric as it catches and pulls on the slices etched into your skin as you fish around for your phone, hoping that it wasn’t too damaged in the scuffle. Fortunately, it looks untouched when you pull it out, and when you turn it on the flash lights up the area around you, where you can see dark red streaks spattering the pavement like something out of a horror movie. Biting back a wince, you clumsily open your phone, fingers sliding over the screen and leaving smears as you slide through your contacts, looking for someone who can pick up your call. You don’t know who you end up calling, but the moment you hear the dial you bring the mobile up to your ear and wait, trying to keep yourself focused enough to stay awake long enough to tell someone what’s happened. You hear a voice as someone picks up on the other end - you can’t make out who but they sound happy as they say your name, recognizing the caller ID; you feel almost bad that you’re about to ruin their night with an impromptu near-death call.
You wheeze something out - maybe cracking a joke in the face of death, maybe a serious rundown on what’s happened, or hell maybe even a garble of gibberish with how your tongue feels like solid lead in your mouth as you talk. As soon as you speak the call goes silent, and you wonder for a moment if they’ve hung up, but then they’re back on the line again, saying something about holding on and asking where you are, what you can see, and questions along those lines. You do your best to answer them all, but sometimes their voice is drowned out by white noise, as though a static is clouding your head and trying to force its way out of your ears getting increasingly more persistent the longer the call lasts; eventually you can barely make out anything other than a few words, and your entire weight is pressed against the wall now hands struggling to keep a hold on the phone as your fingers go lax and lose any strength they had. Eventually the phone slips from your hands altogether and you can’t even reach down to pick it up, so you try to keep speaking as loud as you can as you stare up at the sky, looking for something to keep you awake. But you don’t find it - instead you find the stars looking back at you, sparsely dotted across the sky as the only other witnesses to the sight of you in this moment. They look so small and you have to squint to see them, noticing that their initial shine is fading, growing duller; it takes too long for your brain to register that it’s because you’re passing out, eyes fluttering open and closed. The last thing you can hear is the voice on the other end of the call, telling you to stay awake, not to close your eyes - you’ve never been too good at listening to people though…
Shiro is the one who you’d called. When he’d seen your name flash on his screen, he fully expected to hear that you were on your way back to the dorms since you were cutting close to missing curfew. His tone is chipper when he answers the call, bringing it up to his ear, but then he hears the wheeze on the other end, a hollow sounding rattle of words that makes his world freeze in the spot. Shiro would recognize your voice from anywhere, but it sounds so hoarse and pained that he goes silent at the sound, listening to the sound of you breathing as you wait for him to respond. All thoughts screech to a halt - there’s so many questions that hit him at once, all fighting for the forefront of his mind, but the red flags force their way forward. Something’s wrong, something’s happened. A wince on the other line snaps him out of his thoughts, and all at once he’s trying to get as much information as he possibly can - where are you? How far from the dorms? Can you get back? What can you see? They rattle off faster than they should be, but the panic is beginning to well up in his chest as he begins to realize the gravity of the situation and that you aren’t okay. The moment he’s able to get an address, he’s out of the room and looking for someone, anyone who can help him get to where you are and get you the help you desperately need as soon as possible - it’s a stroke of luck that there’s teachers still doing their rounds when Shiro makes it outside, as he would scoured the whole place looking for help as he didn’t want to hang up on you. 
He’s part way through trying his best to explain the situation when your phone hits the floor and he stills, eyes wide as he listens to your voice, loud but groggy and disoriented as your words filter in and out of coherency. The only thing he can think to say is begging you to stay awake, to listen to his voice in the vain hope that it will give you something to focus on, and by the time your answers begin filtering off into long silences Shiro’s clutching his phone hard enough that it hurts and yelling even though it doesn’t make a difference. He’s got a sinking feeling in his stomach that if you pass out this might very well be the last time he hears your voice, but he shakes the thought away violently as his attention whips back to the teacher, watching anxiously as they make a call to someone - he’s hoping its emergency services - and try to fill in the gaps on what’s happened. In the time that Shiro’s attention has turned from the teacher back to the phone the call’s gone quiet, he’s hoping it’s just that the calls dropped but when he checks the screen his heart drops into his stomach upon seeing the call time display. 
You’re gone - and he prays it’s not for good.
Shiro’s not allowed to go with them to the scene, but when he’s not calling the other Summoners to get them to convene he’s glued to Mr. Triton’s side, the teacher being updated on the situation as things progress. He can tell something’s wrong when Triton receives news that they’ve found you, as the momentary sigh of relief is replaced by an expression of dread which is poorly masked as he looks over at the Summoners who have all arrived. You’re alive, the teacher assures them that much, but as soon as he hears the word ‘hospital’, Shiro is struck with the reality that this is really happening. There is no worry over wounds that disappear, no grins as he’s waved off for being so concerned over temporary injuries - you won’t be coming back tonight. Going to the hospital isn’t an option, even though for once Shiro is tempted to side with Kengo about going anyway just to see if you’re gonna be okay, but it’s clear the teachers are on alert as all students are directed right back to their dorms to stay put for the rest of the night, with promises that you’re going to be okay even though he knows they don’t know that for sure. 
Shiro can’t sleep, and spends most of the night looking through his phone. Videos, pictures taken together - he keeps rereading the last message you’d sent him over and over again, getting more choked up every time he goes back to it. ‘Be back soon’, if only you knew how wrong you were, but how could you have known? How could he? He didn’t get around to responding, figuring that he could speak to you when you got back at the time, and now he regrets it, he regrets it so much that it hurts and he can’t do anything about it. He doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but when he wakes up Shiro’s head is throbbing and his eyes sting, and he feels sick when he looks at his phone and last night's events catch up to him.
It takes a while before anybody is allowed to actually see you. Your condition was worse than they had thought when you were first brought in, so you weren’t allowed visitation until the doctors knew you weren’t at immediate risk anymore, but those days of waiting are agony. Shrio can’t stand still - if he stands still then he thinks about it, and immediately jumps to the worst case scenario - so he’s always up and trying to keep his mind occupied with tasks, hand constantly hovering over his pocket to make sure he’s got his phone on him. He’s so scared that he’s going to get a call of the worst, that you’ve taken a turn and aren’t going to make it, to the point that he keeps checking it throughout the days, keeping it close even though realistically he knows that he wouldn’t be the one getting that call if something happened. 
Once the visits start you’re not allowed more than a few people in your room so the Summoners have to visit in pairs. Shiro is the first to visit with Kengo, and it takes a lot of running between floors and Kengo being too stubborn to ask the reception for directions before they’re finally directed to your room, and though they’re warned beforehand that you won’t be awake Kengo storms inside with Shiro hot on his heels. At the sight of you Shiro’s chest tightens. There’s bruises, cuts and tears everywhere he can see, the majority of them bandaged up and sterilized yet still painful to look at; he can’t imagine how much they must have hurt, how much they still hurt, and he has to tear himself away and focus on your face so his mind doesn’t immediately dip back into those worst case scenarios. Despite your injuries your face looks relatively peaceful, though the neutral expression on your face marred by scrapes and gauze makes it hard to just pretend that you’re sleeping and going to wake at any moment. He leaves flowers and a card signed by your classmates and guild members at your bedside before taking a seat right beside you, hesitant to even touch your hand whilst Kengo leans against the wall directly facing your bed. They’re only allowed to stay for a few hours, and when it’s time to leave Shiro reaches out and gives your hand a comforting squeeze, muttering words of confidence under his breath hoping that they’ll at least reach you before he leaves. It hurts to see you in the hospital, but being able to see you still living and breathing, no matter how battered and beaten, gives him hope, a hope that he desperately clings to like it’s a lifeline as he comes to terms with the fact that this isn’t over yet. You’ve got a long way to go - and Shiro hopes above all else that you’ll wake up...right?
Kengo, upon getting the call from Shiro, doesn’t really register the seriousness of the situation - Shiro wanted to explain it to everybody in person rather than over the phone, and most of the time his ‘emergencies’ are usually just some easy to fix problems with some elbow grease and a couple bruised knuckles. It’s because of this that he doesn’t rush over right away, arriving at the meetup point by the time everyone else has convened in a small cluster of concerned faces, and it’s upon seeing their expressions on top of spotting a teacher with them sets of alarm bells in his head. Those are only confirmed once Kengo hears about what happened to you, about the attack and the events that followed. It can’t be real, right? Most people who want to get revenge or get violent need only to open the app so they don't have to worry about real world damage, so unless someone was actually trying to kill you this doesn’t make sense. And if someone was trying to kill you? There’s gonna be hell to pay, and he’s not gonna sit by and let someone else take care of it for him. 
He knows that obviously they’re not going to be allowed to see you, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least argue it - what if something happens to you again?! He wasn’t there the first time he’s sure as hell going to be there the next time! He can’t just go back to his dorm knowing that you’re out there, even if you’re somewhere safe like the hospital, so it’s no surprise that he tries to sneak out anyway. Of course he doesn’t get far, as the teachers are already on alert in light of what’s just happened and so he gets confronted by Mr. Jinn before he even makes it out of the dorms. He can’t convince Kengo to go back to his dorm room, so Mr Jinn instead offers for him to come walk with him as he does his rounds through the dorm building checking in on the other students - Kengo still feels antsy about not being able to leave, but knowing that he won’t be able to think clearly if he’s stuck in his room by himself, he takes him up on the offer, even if the whole time his mind can’t stop thinking about where you are and how you’re doing. 
Once people are able to visit you in the hospital Kengo’s adamant of seeing you as soon as possible, not being able to see that you’re going to be okay for himself has been driving him nuts. It takes some convincing before they settle on visiting you in pairs, and Kengo ends up tagging along with Shiro when he makes the trip to come and visit you for the first time. He’s gotta admit, he gets ahead of himself and doesn’t think to ask for directions, going off of the room number alone to try and find your room; however, after more than a few minutes wasted going between floors with Shiro right behind him trying to get him to slow down, they finally get directed to the right place. He doesn’t hesitate to swing the door open without a second thought, only half listening to the warning that you won’t be awake when he enters the room and spots you. Now, Kengo has seen you hurt - the two of you have gotten into too many scuffles together to count, both inside and outside of battle zones - he’s seen you so hurt that you’ve had to use your sword to stand, so hurt that when you smiled he could see the blood in your teeth and smearing your lips as you wiped it away. This isn’t the same. You look beat down, weak and frail, surrounded by wires, tubes and machines and it just looks wrong. You’re his partner, guildmaster of the Summoners, one hell of a fighter and friend to just about anyone you meet, you shouldn’t be here, with the doctors still not knowing if you’re going to fully recover or not, let alone wake up at all. 
It makes his blood boil, thinking about how someone went out of their way to actively hurt you, maybe even try to kill you. He doesn’t care if they sought you out deliberately or if you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, but the moment he sees you in that hospital bed it already solidifies the resolve that he had to track down the people responsible and give them a dose of their own medicine - maybe if they’re lucky they’ll still be able to walk by the time he drags them to whoever handles this whole investigation mess. That can be handled later, for now Kengo takes a spot leaning against the wall right next to the window, arms crossed whilst Shiro sits down directly by your bedside. At least you’ll have a nice view to wake up to when you’re finally conscious - he’s not even humoring the alternative, you will wake up. The time passes by too quickly for his liking, and all too soon there’s a knock on the door as one of the floor staff informs them that visiting hours will be concluding soon. A part of him wants to argue staying for a little longer, reluctant to leave your side now that he can finally see you again, but he doesn’t wanna cause even more stress to the people responsible for keeping you alive so the two of them take their leave, with Kengo taking a moment to run his hand along the end board of your bed as he gives you one last glance. Kengo hangs around outside of the hospital for a little longer after that, giving the area a couple rounds. He’s pretty sure those thugs aren’t stupid enough to take another go at you here, they probably don’t even know who you are, but the idea of just leaving you there doesn’t settle right with him. So he stays a while, finding a wall to sit on that gives him a good enough view of your room, just one light amongst many that light the hospital, and he waits - he doesn’t know for what, but the whole time he’s there he’s wordlessly cheering you on, cause he knows that you’re gonna come out of this in one piece. You’ve beat the odds before, and you’ll do it again, he just hopes he’s around long enough to see it happen.
Ryota doesn’t immediately clock on to something being wrong, as Shiro never specified over the phone what the meeting was about, but he’d still rushed to get there nonetheless because most of the time Shiro’s meetings were about something important, or, at the very least, meant that everyone was going to show up. However, he arrives just in time to catch part of the conversation between Moritaka and Shiro, where upon hearing the word ‘hospital’ immediately asks why they’d brought it up. Ryota can’t imagine anyone being able to take you down, especially because you’ve joked about it so many times, so he’s shaken to his very core to learn that you’d been found collapsed, so badly injured that you’ve been immediately transported to the closest hospital for treatment. There’s a few minutes where he hopes that they’ll spin around and say it’s a joke while you sidle up to the group and laugh at how he fell for it, but you’d never been one to play that cruel of a prank and it’s more wishful thinking on his part, one that slowly dies as Toji, Kengo and Agyo show up to receive similar confirmations. He wants to cry, and he does once the situation fully registers. You were out there, badly hurt all alone for who knows how long - how many people had walked past and not noticed? How many hadn’t even heard what was going on until they saw lights flashing as you were carted off? The thought of you alone and in pain brings Ryota to tears, only made worse when the Summoners try to comfort him even though none of them know what could happen to you.
He’s a little bummed that he isn’t able to go along with Shiro when visitations first open up, as he wanted to be the first one to see you; however, with how wound up Kengo’s been, Ryota reasons that it’s probably for the best to let the two of them go, making sure that Shiro takes the ‘get well soon’ card that everyone had signed with him so that you can see how many people are here to support you. When Shiro returns to the guild everyone can see that it was a difficult experience, his expression one of serious distress as he takes a moment to himself before talking to the others about how you’re holding up. The fact that you still aren’t awake worries him the most, as you’ve been kicked down plenty of times and still get back to your feet, never one to stay down for long - it’s been a while since the day you were attacked however, and very little word on your progress is something that sticks him with a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. When Ryota is able to come visit he’s practically dragging Toji along with him to get there as quickly as possible, something the swordsman takes notice of as he too picks up the pace on the journey there.
Having received directions from Shiro from their last visit, it doesn’t take long for Ryota and Toji to find the room you’re staying in, and even though the window is small he can make out your shape lying down on the bed when he peeks in through the door and he feels hope welling up in his chest at the sight of you. You look truly beaten down but you’re still here, and Ryota knows that it’s something to be lucky for as he looks over the injuries that he can see. From the minute that he sits down his hand never leaves yours, holding it close and squeezing it as though expecting you to return the gesture; he tries to keep his spirits up, and talks to you even though he doesn’t know if you can hear him. From filling you in on things that have been happening since you were gone to telling you about all the things you all will be able to do together once you wake up Ryota tells you about them, rattling off how excited everyone will be to see you come home and how many gifts people are making for you to enjoy when you’re in a good enough condition to see them all - if you weren’t the life of the party before you’ll definitely be now! The atmosphere shifts a little every time he mentions you getting out of the hospital, and Ryota can see Toji’s gaze flickering over to your monitor with a carefully neutral expression as though checking to see that it’s still going, that you’re still going, but Ryota’s not gonna give up on you, no matter how long it takes for you to come home.
Ryota ends up staying a little longer than he should have, as visiting hours are over by the time he finally realizes what time it is - the nurses on the floor had allowed him to stay since he didn’t cause any trouble during his visit, or maybe they just felt sympathetic and were moved upon seeing him crying over his beloved friend. He panics a little and apologizes for staying past visiting hours, but even so he still feels reluctant to leave you, being slow to collect his things and taking the time neaten up the gifts decorating your bedside just so he can have a few more moments at your side. 
Toji takes any guild meetings seriously, so it comes as a surprise to no one that he starts heading to the meeting location as soon as he gets word from Shiro. However he knows something is wrong before he even gets there - Shiro’s voice was notably shaken even as he’d attempted to keep himself calm over the phone, pausing at points to recompose himself and continue the call. That was all he needed to begin suspecting that things were amiss, and yet he had no way of gauging just how serious the situation was until he’d arrived to find the Summoners already there, talking amongst themselves with high-strung emotions. The sight of the teacher with them only solidifies his suspicions, and when he approaches he can see that Ryota’s on the verge of tears when the two make eye contact, and the other two Summoners are faring just as poorly. Toji is reduced to silence when he figures out what’s happened in his absence, and he can suddenly understand why everyone looks so pained - their very own guild master, closest friend and ally to many, was viciously brought to their knees, reduced to a bloody mess that left everyone wondering if they were going to even survive the night. Just hearing it paints a violent picture that would make just about anyone sick to their stomach that another being would be capable of inflicting such brutal harm, and that very image keeps Toji awake even as they’re ushered back to their rooms and ordered to stay put until more light is shed on the situation.. 
He keeps himself busy during your first few days in hospital, but that's namely because he’s throwing himself into scouring the streets for any traces of your attackers he can find, following leads and piecing the puzzles of your attack together to get a better picture of what exactly went down. He wasn’t allowed at the scene, given that it at least had to be cleaned before people could use it again, but he’d gotten close enough to see the remains of your blood stubbornly clinging to the gaps in the concrete as it was hosed down, a particularly large pool of it collected close to the wall where you must have been sitting that night. Toji’s seen crime scenes before, quite a few of them stumbled upon by chance, but there’s something different when you’re looking at the exact spot where one of your closest allies was struck down and left for dead, and Toji has to force himself to stop coming back to the scene before the sight’s ingrained into his mind for the rest of his days. It’s no surprise that Toji’s out for blood, Kengo is much the same as the boy wants to see some form of justice against the ones responsible; however as the days pass he’s run into just about every dead end he’s been able to pry to the surface. He’s angry at himself for not having found the culprits by the time he’s able to finally visit - he wanted to be able to inform you that you could rest easy knowing those responsible were brought to justice, whether that was by his own hands or by other means, so the fact that he can’t frustrates him to no end.
Ryota’s all too eager to get there and see you, practically dragging him along by the arm and telling him to hurry up with a smile on his face as though he’s trying to reassure the swordsman that everything’s going to be okay. Yet Toji knows that Ryota’s taking this situation as seriously as the rest of them, regardless of how well he hides it behind a smile and words of comfort. He has to admit that he’s eager to check in on your condition as well, but doesn’t fool himself with hopes that you’ll be up and awake when they arrive; it’s still far too soon to tell, and he’d rather see it for himself before he comes to any conclusions about your current state. Upon arriving at the hospital Ryota takes the lead to guide the two of them up to the floor you’re staying on, and upon checking that it’s your room by looking through the door window, Ryota opens the door and the two of them step inside. It pains him to see you in such a state, and upon seeing your face he is only reminded of the past, when you’d rush headfirst into fights without another thought for the consequences, taking every hit and wound in stride like not even the world itself could touch you. He’d told you back then that one day your recklessness would prove to be your downfall, but he could have never predicted that his words would have been such a painful foreshadowing of where you are now. 
Taking a seat by your side, he can’t find the right words to say - what do you say to someone who could be lying on their deathbed days from now? To someone who might not even hear the words in the first place? Toji starts when Ryota begins to speak to you, clutching your hand in his as he talks as though you’re awake and well, like nothing’s wrong. He has to admit, seeing Ryota talking to you in such a way, entertaining ideas of all the people waiting for you to return back to school, makes him feel a little more at ease as he imagines those scenarios that he talks about coming true. Every once in a while his attention wanes from you as he glances at the vitals monitor beside him, watching the lines on the screen as they dip and rise in what for the moment is a steady rhythm. How bizarre that such a thin line is the lifeline proving you’re still alive, Toji finds himself looking at the monitor for longer than he should, as when he looks away Ryota gives him a comforting smile, worry clear on his face before turning his attention back to talking to you. For the first visit Toji doesn’t stay for too long, and leaves you in the care of Ryota after a few hours. However, before he leaves, Toji brings a hand to rest against your arm, careful to avoid your bandages and wounds as much as possible as he brushes your hair from your face, pausing for a moment before whispering something under his breath and pulling away. He’ll come back, once things have cleared up and he can calm the thoughts already pushing at the corners of his mind, but for now his search for the culprits begins anew the moment he steps out of the hospital doors, hands  gripping the hilts of his swords tight as his expression twists into one of grim determination. He’s going to get you justice - hopefully you’ll live to see it come to fruition.
Moritaka was the first one to arrive when he’d gotten the call from Shiro, being closer to the area in question than all of the rest as he was already on his way there. When he first receives the call there is no reason to suggest that something’s amiss, after all word spreads fast when things go wrong, especially when it involves a certain guild master. And yet when he answers the call Shiro’s tone immediately gives him pause, and he stops walking to listen; all Shiro does is tell him that something has happened and that he needs to get there as soon as possible, but that’s more than enough for Moritaka to pick up the pace, rushing to arrive at the destination in question. When he arrives he greets Shiro and the teacher, resting a hand upon his friend’s shoulder when he sees how openly frazzled and shaken up he is by the situation - rarely does he see Shiro reduced to such a state, and as that same level of concern is evident in Mr. Triton’s face Moritaka realizes that this is far more serious than he had initially thought. When Moritaka gets filled in on what happened while you were out he recognizes the gravity of the situation - app wounds are easy to heal, but wounds procured in actual combat? Especially those that are severe enough to warrant being taken directly to the hospital? Just the thought of your current condition has concern bubbling up to the surface, even more so as the other Summoners begin to show up.
Once you’re allowed people to come and visit the Summoners end up visiting you in pairs, with Shiro and Kengo going first, then Ryota and Toji, and then Agyo and himself. They were fortunate to be able to come and see you so soon after they started up visitation, as the moment words got around there were many people who wanted to come and check up on you for themselves, each one a testament to how many friends you’d brought together during your brief stay in Tokyo. The mood is somber the entire trip there, and upon seeing the entrance to the hospital Moritaka can feel the unease seeping from his small companion, an unease that he’s sure he’s radiating himself. He’s been to the hospital before - nothing major, but the therian has had his fair share of visits for various reasons, both visiting allies as well as checkups - but now? This is different, and he can feel it hanging in the air as he takes the initiative and steps inside, moving over to the reception for directions to your room. One of the nurses is kind enough to escort the two of them there, expression one of understanding when she realizes exactly which room she’s taking them to, and for a moment he could swear there’s also a look of pity that crosses her face before she turns away and starts walking. 
Before they enter the room, Moritaka turns to Agyo and warns him about what he expects to see in there - whilst Shiro assured you were making slow but sure progress, you were still in a far worse state than the last time either transient had seen you, so Moritaka feels responsible for letting the lion dog know that should he need to step out at any time to process it he can. Agyo assures that he understands, and makes the first move to reach for the handle and step into the room, where Moritaka notices he immediately freezes at the sight of you. He can see you too, laid up in bed covered in enough gauze, stitches and bruises to cover the majority of your arms and torso, and even Moritaka has to take a moment to steel himself before softly calling out to Agyo, asking if he’s still okay to step inside. The two of them enter the room, both taking their place at either side of your bed and Moritaka steals a glance at your injuries - Shiro was right about how you were on the way to recovery, as up close like this Mori can see some of your superficial wounds are well on their way to healing. But the deeper wounds are another story, and even covered up it’s clear to see that when you wake up you’re going to be bed bound for a long while so that they can properly heal.
Throughout their visit, nurses and doctors alike filter in and out of the room, most of them stopping by to check on your condition whilst a few take the time to come in and ask how they’re holding up. Moritaka keeps up a light conversation with them, assuring them that they’re fine whilst Agyo mostly keeps to himself - from his reaction Moritaka can understand why the staff might worry, he’s worried too. As the time finally arrives for them to take their leave Moritaka stands up and pats the bed beside your arm, unsure if it’s a good idea to touch you lest he end up hurting you in some way. However, when Agyo hops from his seat he turns to the warrior dog and asks for a few more minutes alone - Moritaka is surprised but offers an understanding nod, resting a hand on the young boy’s shoulder as he leaves. He doesn’t stray far, resting by the wall just outside the room waiting for Agyo to join him; he can’t hear much of what’s being said inside, not wanting to intrude on what is understandably a rough time for Agyo, however his ears pick up on the sound of crying, starting off quiet but growing loud enough for Moritaka to hear outside. His heart breaks at the noise, understanding too well the rush of emotions and uncertainty that hang in the air like a vice, and Moritaka finds himself tearing up as well as the weight of the situation settles within his mind, so much so that he ends up grabbing a fistful of his uniform and staring hard at the floor willing himself not to cry as the sound of crying continues to seep from the other side of the door.
Agyo sensed something was wrong the moment he was called to meet with the Summoners - he doesn’t know why but at the sound of Shiro’s voice the lion dog feels something weird in the pit of his stomach, leaving him uneasy as he goes to meet up with the other members. Normally, if something happened there would be a meeting at the guild, where Shiro would explain the details while the others joked about and tried to lighten the mood, but this time is different. And then, when Agyo arrives, he notices something else is different. Everyone is there, even a teacher he’s never seen before - everyone but you. Agyo asks where you are without thinking, expecting one of the Summoners to say that you’re on your way, but when he’s told that you’re not coming he’s confused. It’s a guild meeting, right? So why won’t you be there? Maybe you’re slacking off and hanging out with Tsathoggua to avoid coming to the meeting - you’d done it before - and he fully prepares to spin on his heel and march right on over there when Kengo stops him, expression grim enough that Agyo pauses on the spot. When Agyo hears your hurt he’s worried that it was some kind of accident, however he’s at a loss for words when they inform him that you were hurt enough to be put in the hospital, where you’ll be for a while. They try to tell him that you’re going to be okay, but he sees it on their faces when they cast each other nervous glances that they have no idea if that’s true; they know just as much as he does, and he suddenly feels sick at the thought of you stuck in a hospital, all alone. The first day passes and there’s no word on your improvement, then the second, then the third, and by that point Agyo’s beside himself, cleaning and re-cleaning and re-cleaning trying to stop himself from thinking about it. Every day he thinks the same thing, ‘you’re going to come back’ and every day that doesn’t happen, leaving a sinking feeling that hangs around the air right up until the day you’re finally allowed visitors.
Originally, the Summoners suggested to Agyo that it would be best for him to hold back on visiting until you’re in a better state - they’d be lying if they said that you were okay, especially once they’d seen how badly you were hurt for themselves. But the lion dog persists; Agyo wants to see you for himself, he wants to see that you’re okay and he’s relentless in assuring that he’s fully prepared for whatever ends up happening when he gets there, even if he’s not entirely sure what to expect. Even before they go in Moritaka has a heart to heart with the younger transient, placing a hand on his shoulder as he informs Agyo that he can leave at any time if he’s not prepared for what he’s going to see - it’s never easy seeing the ones you care about hurt, much less hurt enough to be placed in the hospital, so he wants to give Agyo a serious talk before he decides on whether or not he wants to go in. Honestly, he is kind of irked at first, not wanting to be babied, but he knows the situation is serious from the expressions of everyone since the news first reached him - the Summoners, his friends, even the nurses have been casting the two of them sympathetic looks the whole time they were being led to your room. So he listens to what Moritaka has to say, and, once he’s finished, Agyo’s the first one to reach for the door, trying to steel himself for what’s behind the door.
He’s not as prepared as he’d proclaimed he was, as the moment he opens the door it hits him all at once. It doesn’t feel real, not really, as though it’s a dream he’s about to wake up from at any moment, but the dull beep of your monitor is the only thing that feels real, and he fixates on it. He watches it as it moves, a stable rhythm for now, and he stands in the doorway until he hears Moritaka’s voice behind him, asking if he’s okay. Putting on a brave face, Agyo moves out of the way and sits down at your side while Moritaka takes a seat at the other side, and Agyo finally looks at you. You look in better condition than what he’d first thought, with the way he’d listened to Shiro describe your appearance he was expecting something scary, but now? You just look like you’re hurting, even though your expression is neutral. He tries to imagine what would happen when you woke up - the lion dog hopes that he’s here when it happens - he’s got a few choice words about how much you worried everyone, though he’s sure that scolding would just get waved off with a laugh as you lean over in your bed and give him head pats. 
When he closes his eyes he can almost feel your hand on his head, and he tries his best to hold onto that when he opens them and faces you again. The two don’t stay for long, as they’ve got to return back to the guild soon, but as Agyo hops off of his chair to leave he pauses, blurting out a request for a few more minutes alone before he leaves. Moritaka gives him a look, one of understanding, and takes his leave, and as soon as the door closes the room feels quieter, only the sound of that monitor beeping as he looks at you. He doesn’t know what to do, or what to say, but after a moment of looking at your face he reaches out a paw and holds your hand, clutching it tight even though he knows you probably won’t feel it. Agyo whispers something, more to himself than to you, but it’s a plea for you to come back; it’s so quiet, but those words are like a catalyst as his vision blurs with tears as they roll down his cheeks and soak into his fur, and he cries, choking out those same words again and again as he wipes desperately at his eyes. He just wants you to come back, please, come back.
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lnarizakis · 4 years
Text
i thought i’d never see the love of my life again, but here you are, right in front of me | b. meguru
pairing: bachira meguru x gen! reader
foreword: my first time writing for blue lock and for bachira!!! hopefully i did best boy (and my bf) some justice. i had so much fun writing this and i hope you guys have fun reading it hahaha. the request i was inspired by said that the reader was the one who moved away, but uh, i made it different. i still hope this is good for u!! and i hope you guys enjoy this!!
wc: 1.9k+
look out for: angst to fluff, spoilers pertaining to bachira’s backstory, post-blue lock storyline ((made-up ending, not spoilers!!))
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"You know, I never thought you were weird."
You extended out your hand, reaching out to the poor boy beat down to the ground. He looked up to you with sadness in his eyes and defeat in his inconstant breathing. He clasped onto your hand and you pulled him up from his misery. The two of you stood on the soccer field alone, and the sadness in his eyes were washed out with relief as he embraced you, crying into your shoulder.
When Bachira pulled away, you noticed the snot that ran down his nose was tinted red, mixed with blood, and you yelped in surprise, pushing him out of the soccer field with you. He laughed at your concern as the two of you made your way towards his household.
Holding his soft hand, you maneuvered around his home as you've been there several times, towards the bathroom where you were to take care of Bachira. You set him on the edge of the sink, directly in front of you, and brought out the first-aid kit stowed away in one of the cabinets of the bathroom.
Sighing, you thought to yourself, "I wish Meguru didn't have to go through all of this. I'm here for him, and I hope he knows that." You looked up at his innocent face, dabbing the wounds inflicted by his teammates with water, washing away the dried blood. He flinched when you began treating his wounds with alcohol, and to calm his nerves you placed a hand over one of his, tightly gripping the edge of the sink on which he sat. Bachira watched your face, intently focusing on tending to his wounds, and he could feel his heart racing, not from the adrenaline of the game the two of you just played, but from how you cared for him and how you were always there for him, despite all the names he'd been called for playing independently and strangely on the field.
Bachira Meguru wanted to say he was in love with you. Though he wanted to laugh at himself for being in love at only age ten, he knew that these feelings that he had for you were real. The monster in his heart whispered in his ear, telling him so. He knew that you, too, had a monster within yourself, caring for him like the gentle spirit it was. While Meguru's own was wild and reckless, consuming his whole being, yours was there to pull him up before he sank deep into madness. He wanted to say he was in love with you because he knew you felt the same.
"Good game out there," Bachira said instead, breaking the comfortable silence. The hand on his own moved up to pinch his mouth shut, not letting him speak anymore.
"Don't talk, Meguru. Some of the dirt on your cheeks might get into your wounds." He hummed, agreeing to your command.
"You're pretty skilled at your age, (Y/N)-chan. Are you gonna be a nurse when you grow up?" Bachira asked, irking you as he agreed not to speak just seconds ago. You were a passionate lover, and it got on your nerves that Bachira didn't follow what you just advised, creating the chance that he might infect his own wounds.
"Meguru, please."
He gave a single, short nod.
When you finished, Bachira hopped off of the sink and gave you another hug, wrapping his arms around you to the point where it felt like he could touch his own shoulders. Letting go, he thanked you, and as you acknowledged his gratitude, you made your way towards the front door, leaving.
That's how it always had been: you would play soccer with Bachira and his teammates almost every day, no matter the weather or the time, and typically by the end of the game he was beaten up by whoever because of his playing style. You thought it was cool—impressive, even—but apparently his teammates didn't think so. After everyone had left, you'd lift him up from wallowing in the grass with his tears and the monster in his heart to accompany him and bring him home (sometimes on your back) to tend to the injuries he'd gotten. It was a painful routine for you to follow, but it was all you had to do to stay by Bachira's side. After all, you loved him with everything you had.
Seven years later, you were there when Bachira opened up a letter inviting him to attend a training camp called "Blue Lock." Thinking it was a mere training camp to better his skills in soccer, you thought it was something that would last a week, or probably even two, but you didn't realize that the last words he would tell you for several years were "Make sure you've got something warm for me when I come back!"
It was the first time since forever when the two of you went separate paths, and even as you continued on in high school and into university, Meguru never left your mind. You wondered if he still remembered you, as soccer would be the only thing running through his own mind at an intense training camp like Blue Lock. You have heard of boys dropping out of the camp every few weeks ever since Bachira left, and though you didn't want to admit it, you wished that he would come home to you, holding him in your arms as he cried to you about his ruined dreams. It was an unpleasant thought that sat in the back of your mind, taunting you about your selfishness. It was ironic that despite how generous you were with caring for Bachira, you were completely selfish with keeping him to yourself. Perhaps that was the effect love had on you, though you weren't so sure if he was still in love with you, too.
He was. He knew he was, and always will be in love with you as much as he was in love with soccer. He missed you everyday he was in stuck in Blue Lock, and he would constantly tell the friends he made about his love. One night, Isagi Yoichi asked him as they laid in bed about who you were, and the former might as well have called Bachira's description of you his bedtime story because he rambled on for hours on end about you. The lilting tone in Bachira's voice was reason enough for Isagi to know how much you meant to the boy.
There was a knock on the door, several years since Bachira left for Blue Lock, and you let go of the book in which you were studying for medical school to open the door. In front of you was Bachira Meguru, weary and tired. Right away he fell into your arms, and his whole weight dropped on top of you. You wrapped your arms around his torso, and he exhaled deeply. From over his shirt you could feel his toned muscles that he grew from undergoing the extensive physical training.
Bachira pulled away from you, and upon seeing your face, he smiled just as he did when the two of you were children. "It's nice seeing you again, (Y/N)-chan. I missed you." He pinched your cheek with his calloused fingers, to which you whined. He laughed heartily at the exchange, and held your hand as he dragged you out of the house.
"Meguru! I was studying!" The two of you talked as if he never left.
"You can do that later! Let's go out!" He exclaimed, pulling you to his side.
Flustered at his words, you stuttered out what seemed like a question. Bachira simply laughed at your response. He took you towards the nearby beach of Chiba, and as soon as your feet touched the sand he collapsed onto the soft surface, beckoning you to do the same. An uneasy silence, unfamiliar to how it was in the past, rested over you two as you watched the calm waters in front of you.
"So, how was Blue Lock?" You asked, hoping to get some answer of the mysterious program. You had so much to ask him and to tell him after all these years. You turned your gaze to Meguru who still stayed watching the quiet waves.
"They didn't want me. I was playing against real monsters, (Y/N)-chan. More than the monster in me. In you." Bachira turned towards you and poked your chest. The both of you chuckled a bit. He sighed, then fell onto the sand, lying down. You did the same, and you were both looking up at the afternoon sky. "I don't know, (Y/N). I went to Blue Lock to find someone who could play with me, and don't get me wrong, I found people, but..." He paused.
"I also went to improve and get better. Like everyone else there. And I guess I just wasn't enough."
Frowning, you felt a pang in your heart and the initiative to reach out to him again.
"Don't say that, Meguru. You're amazing at soccer. You're always impressing everyone on the field, making everyone seem like a fool."
Bachira turned to face you, and you to him. "You really think so?"
"Of course. You're an amazing person, Meguru,” you told him with absolute certainty in your voice.
“I love you, (Y/N)-chan.”
“I love you too.” A pause. “Wait, what?” You sat up in the sand to look at Bachira, who lay beside you, smiling giddily up at you with a slight blush painting his cheeks. His hands were rested behind his head.
“I said I love you. And you love me, too.”
“I also missed you,” you added. Bachira noted how you never denied your loving him.
“I missed you, too. Did you know I never stopped talking about you one night that everyone on my team kicked me out of our room and I had to sleep in the bathroom that night?”
You laughed. “Did you really?”
“Yes! And it was so cold in there, too. No one gave me any blankets or anything!” The both of you laughed as you extended a hand to reach out to Bachira, helping him sit up on the sand. He never let go of your hand, and instead he clasped his fingers between yours. You both watched the intimacy of his actions, and you were slightly afraid he could feel the sudden warming of your hand.
Looking into his golden eyes, you could sense a seriousness about him. “You know, I wasn’t kidding about what I said,” he told you.
You had a feeling you knew what he was talking about, but you wanted to confirm it. “What did you say?”
“That I love you,” Bachira said.
“And I love you too,” you replied, pushing him down with you on top. Laughter rang in the air as you cupped his cheeks, shaking with his giggling.
“Shh, Meguru,” you said, leaning down. You gave him a soft kiss on his lips. Pulling away, he looked at you like you were his everything, as he placed a hand behind your neck to bring you down for another kiss. Whispers from others on the beach floated around you, some laughing at how ridiculous the two of you looked. Meguru opened his eyes to look in their direction, his insecurities from back when he was younger awakening.
“Meguru, don’t pay attention to ‘em. Who cares if they think we look weird? I’ve told you this before, but I don’t think you’re weird. I don’t think we’re weird!”
“Pssh, when did you tell me that?” He asked, before you leaned in to kiss him again.
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sebbytrash · 4 years
Text
Through His Eyes - Part Seventeen
Summary - Bucky arrives at the compound to start afresh but you and him have a somewhat colorful past, colorful being that you met him once before as The Winter Soldier and it did not go well. New beginnings, yeah? If you can learn to forgive.
Pairing - Eventual Bucky x Reader
Warnings -   Nightmares, angst, self loathing, sad stuff my guys.
A/N - I’m sorry. Trust me. 
Through His Eyes Masterlist
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“No, please. No.” Bucky’s agonised moans wake you, sharply, his hands twisting in the sheets. “Not her, not her.”
“Bucky, shhh, Bucky it’s a dream.” You try to soothe him, smooth a hand across his face. He doesn’t notice, or wake, just continues to fight against some unseen force.
“I can’t.” He pleads, sweat making his hair stick to his face, dark little lines streaking across his forehead to emphasise the pain already written there. “No, no.” He repeats it, over and over, a mantra, a prayer. 
You get up on your knees to crouch over him more, use your hands to shake his shoulders a little and try to ignore the way your heart hammers against your chest, the way it’s threatening to break apart in time with the agony in his screams. “Bucky, wake up! Bucky, you’re okay, you're safe.”
His eyes open, wild and terrified, and you see him see you, see the horror claim his face and see him recoil, push himself further into the mattress to be free from your touch. You know then what his dream was, and how you’d carried it to him when he woke like an unending hell, the dream that won't end.
Your chest is hollow renewed. 
“It’s me, Bucky. You’re awake, I’m here.” You sit back on your haunches, try to give him what little space you can afford without mirroring his retreat and causing any more pain. 
He swallows visibly, closes his eyes with a clenched jaw and then, just when you are about to say something, anything, his eyes open again and lock with yours, a hurricane in those sea-laden eyes. You stare right back, cautious, regretful, because this is everything you wanted to prevent, being the very cause of his pain all over again. A cycle that can never be broken, no matter how hard you try, he tries. 
“Sorry,” he tries to say, voice hoarse from the screaming, swallows again and then clears his throat, “I’m sorry. It’s, uh, been a while since I’ve had one that bad.” You can’t help but notice that he makes no moves towards you, stays exactly where he is, now back pressed against the wall. It doesn’t matter, you tell yourself, even as you ache to touch him. 
“You don’t have to apologise.” You say, automatically, roll your bottom lip between your teeth in an attempt not to press him and then the words pour out of you anyway, like the blood in your mouth. “It was me, right? The dream.” 
He looks away, the muscle in his jaw moving in time to his clenching and then unclenching of his teeth, the darkness of the room dragging along his jaw and high-hollowed cheekbones like he wills them into place, wills a physical barrier between you and him. You hate yourself for asking and yet, need him to answer.
“Yes. It was you.” He says it like it cost him something to do so, each word dragging in the air between you. You feel like a thief, stealing the words from him when he so clearly didn’t want to part with them. A thief further for stealing away his progress like a flesh and blood nightmare, a purgatory made personal for him, for you. 
The silence stretches between you, an open mouth that swallows up all sound and even the memory of sound, a hungry, endless pit of a mouth that swallows you whole. The seconds turn to minutes and slip, like sand, through your fingers and into that mouth until finally, you cast what should be a rope, and instead is an anchor into that mouth-pit. “Well, since I’m up, I’m gonna go get some coffee.”
You see the way his face changes when you say it, think that maybe a slap in the face would have hurt you less and force yourself to climb awkwardly out of his bed and slip out the door before you crumble into dust. He makes no sound, makes no moves to stop you, simply lets you disappear like that dust swept away by the wind.
You retreat to your room, locking the door behind you like it can keep away the thoughts or that wave of despair that's threatening to knock you off your newly found feet, Sam’s concrete already cracking under the strain. You spend hours or minutes pretending to watch TV, ignore Sam when he knocks on your door and Wanda when she texts. You make yourself food and then find yourself staring at the smudges on the wall whilst it goes cold on the table in front of you. The dread in your stomach claws it's way up your throat and threatens to choke you.
You think about that edge you and Bucky had danced along for so long, that leap into the fall you'd taken and those few sweet moments in between where nothing really held its weight to drag you down, soft smiles and smiling, salt water eyes. Well, gravity has its claws in you now, again, you think, and the impact of that fall is fast approaching. 
You know it's him before he knocks, the butterflies that dance along your skin and tumble in your gut whenever he’s near give you more warning than his hesitant knocks, the sounds themselves a sad little song that plucks at the strings of your heart. He waits for you to open the door, which says more about where his head is at than he probably realises, you think, a soft smile that doesn't crinkle his eyes in that way you like is offered, and shared. 
"Hi." You say, and step back to let him in, doing your best to smother those frantic wings.
"I'm sorry about earlier." He rushes out, and you can tell it surprises even him, "I was just caught off guard. And the bruises…"
He trails off and you realise then what he means, your bruises from the sparring with Steve had triggered his nightmares and the suddenness of it makes sense. It changes nothing, but at least it makes sense. 
"You know I'm going to get hurt sometimes, right? What we do here, there's no avoiding it." You begin, not really knowing how to end but knowing that you should.
"I know." His eyes flash, lightning strikes against the turbulent sea, "I just… I didn't know how much it would hurt to see you like that." 
A confession, a secret, meant to be a balm but instead feels like the flames. He'll never be free of the Soldier, you think, not while you walk around like a living hallucination of a past he never deserved. 
"I think…," You start, feel your tongue fat and uncooperative in your mouth, "We need a little space." The air in your lungs already feels like lead, like the concrete that held up your legs is now filling your lungs and chest, drowning you in your own progress.
He says nothing for entirely too long and yet, long enough for you to be grateful for a few more seconds before the collision. "Space."
"I think it's best, don't you?" 
"I can give you space, if it's what you need." He says it like maybe you are the one who needs it.
"Bucky, we can't keep doing this, it's not good for either of us." You say, every bit of emotion clawing its way up your throat, some of it desperate to take back the words. You can feel the shape of each letter scrape against your tongue. "It’s ruining you.”
“It’s not. It’s not.” He says, quieter on the repeat like it’s for himself and not you, his jaw clenches so hard you fear he will snap the tendons. “I love you.”
That’s it, that’s what does it. Breaks you down into all those tiny pieces you used to be, those ones you’ve spent minutes and hours painstakingly stitching and taping back together. You feel the words hollow out space in your chest, replacing the now useless heart that’s beat it’s last beat. The last of your arguments die with it. 
“That’s not what this is, Bucky. It’s a crutch, a coping mechanism. A way to ease all that fucking guilt we carry.” Even to your own ears, you sound void of emotion, the last bit of it carved out by the knowledge of what you had done to him. Guilt howling down the corridors of your heart. “It’s not real.” 
“Don’t say that, of course it’s real.” He breaks the invisible barrier around you and takes your hand, presses your fingertips to his chest, “Can’t you feel it?”. 
He looks at you with such hope that you are almost unmade, the full weight of it hangs off your bones and tries to strip you of that steely nerve but you fight for it, know that this is what he needs if he’s to heal. Go to war with yourself for him. Anything for him.
“I feel a lot of things, Bucky. I feel raw. I feel tired, tired of the guilt, of the fear every time I close my eyes I’ll dream of you, or that I won’t.” The last part sneaks out, betraying more than you want and he latches on to it. “I don’t…”
“Are you afraid you don't love me? Or are you afraid you do?” He asks mildly, like how you might ask about the weather. Or probably, more accurately, like he knows the answer and is just leading you down a path where the answer waits for you to want it.
You shake your head, not in answer but in anger, the kind of uncontrollable rage that comes with defeat. Of words poking at a wound you were denying the existence of. “Stop. Just stop.” Your voice breaks half way, a shout turned cry. A beg for mercy.
“What are you so afraid of?” His voice breaks too, a slow sort of break like the last ebb of his strength, the last air bubble before the silence. It cleaves you in two.
“You!” You shout, pieces of you slipping through your fingertips, not realising what your words would sound like to him. It’s not how you mean it anymore, but he doesn’t know that, takes it on face value alone and you can pinpoint the exact moment you break his ever fragile heart, because you break your own with it. Always with those matching scars and matching pain.
“I’m sorry,” you begin, drift your fingertips across his jaw and let yourself have just one more moment of touching him, “I didn’t....” He closes his eyes, closes himself off, you think, and your fingers smear against the wetness on his face. You turn from him then and head for the door, feeling every single second of the battle and war that raged for him and rages still. 
The sound of the door closing quietly behind you somehow seems worse than if it had slammed, a mirror to the way you had quietly broken the man behind it and even quieter, broken yourself. 
You take a step, and then another, and then more and more until you are out the building and gulping down the fresh air to try calm the beating of your unsteady heart. You fight the urge to go back and undo it all, to somehow scoop up all the words and pieces of you and stuff them back in place but your feet carry you automatically. Somehow, you're not sure how long later but long enough that the sky has changed color, you find yourself at a door, knocking a little too hard and too long until he answers.
“Mallow, what are you doing here?” Clint asks, taking quick stock of your current state and pulling you in for a hug before you can answer.
“I just needed to be away.” You say, and hug him tighter, “Is this okay?”
“Of course it is, come in, Laura’s making cocoa,” he ushers you in, still tucked under his arm, “and you look like you could use some.”
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shreddedparchment · 4 years
Text
Pseudo Princess Pt.11
In His Shoes
10/22/2019
Pairing: King!Steve x Reader           Word Count: 7,744
Warnings: Light smut, dub-con scene (Please do not read if this offends you or if you are triggered by it. You have been warned), language, angst, fluff, angry Steve
A/N: Well, I hammered this out in like...six hours? I don’t know. I wrote the first bit over a few days because I’ve been sick and I couldn’t relax until I got the rest out, so here it is. I hope you like it and if you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo
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Eight Months Ago
“What are you saying?” Steve wonders, the hint if irritation in his voice.
He looks at Lord Ross, almost not recognizing the man. Which is strange as Steve sees these men a few times a week.
“Lord Ross, if I may?” Lord Pierce interjects.
Ross gestures him on with a lazy wave of his hand. He’s not offended but rather impatient.
“What we are trying to say, your Majesty, is that we understand the loss you suffered. Many of at this table have lost a loved one. A wife.
“We know your pain.” He continues.
Steve’s nerves are suddenly grated. He clenches his fist and beside him, he can see Bucky motion for Lord Pierce to speak more quickly.
“Get to the point, Alexander.” Steve says, jaw clenched.
“My point is, our point is, that the kingdom needs a Queen. The crown needs an heir. It’s been two years since her Majesty Queen Margaret died and the people are losing faith that the kingdom might ever prosper.”
“You want me to get married.” Steve realizes.
“Yes. In fact, I’m afraid to say that we-” Pierce stops, and then reconsiders before he starts again. “There is a clause in Broklin law that gives the people the right to, shall we say, pass on the right of succession if the reigning monarch refuses to do his, or her, duty to ensure the prosperity of the kingdom.”
“Are you saying that you’re going to take my crown away from me, Lord Pierce? To what? Give it to yourself? Aren’t you the next in line for the throne?” Steve sounds amused, bitterly.
“As it stands, yes. I am next in line and it was not my choice to enforce the clause. The council voted and…”
Ross finally cuts in again, never afraid to be more forceful with Steve the way the others seem to fear him.
“You have one year to find yourself a wife.” Ross says, “That’s what we brought you here to say.”
The door across the hall opens and a dark-haired man with a handsome if somewhat rugged face walks in. His eyes are sharp, piercing, menacing. He smirks across the room at Steve, amused, Steve thinks, with his sudden dilemma.
His blue eyes are glued to the man until he reaches Pierce then leans down to whisper in his ear.
Slowly, Steve stands, staring at the young man with a frown. “Well, you’ve made your demand. If that’s all…”
He pushes his chair back and moves around the table, walking with sturdy steps, shoulders back and his chin flexing.
As he passes Pierce, the younger man stands up straight, turning that same smug smile on him again as the rest of the men around the table stand up in respect for their sovereign.
The young man bows his head as Steve passes.
“Rumlow.” Steve greets, reluctantly.
“Your Majesty.” Rumlow responds.
Bucky follows.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Here.” Bucky holds out a carefully folded parchment. Stamped with a peculiar ring of red and gold wax. “This just came.”
Steve stares at the letter, hesitating as he considers the response he might get.
He’s not sure what he wants to find in here.
He takes it, Bucky moves to sit across from him.
The door to Steve’s office opens once more and Sam slips in to stand nearby, listening and watching. Waiting. Everything hangs in the balance with this letter and Steve knows that the severity of it has seeped out into the various noble houses across both Broklin and Malibia.
He knows the rumors that have spread. Marriage or war.
Tony won’t believe any of that, but it means that everyone will be expecting the kingdoms to unite in marriage.
He opens the letter and puts it down on his lap.
“Steve,” Sam begins. “No time like the present.”
Steve looks at him. “I feel like I’m condemning Morgana. She’s only fourteen.”
“You’ll only be married on paper.” Bucky insists. “It’s just to get the council off your back. Give you some time.”
“But she’ll be my queen. Eventually, we’ll have to really be married.” Steve argues gently, hating the path he’s been set upon.
“Not for many years. You can get used to the idea of being with someone again and Morgana will have time to grow up.” Sam explains.
“She’s feels like family.” Steve sighs. “She’s like a niece.”
“Steve, just read it.” Bucky urges.
At their insistence Steve reads it.
“Well?” Sam asks, stepping closer and bringing his arms up to cross over his chest.
Steve folds the letter and puts it underneath their red ledger.
“I’m getting married.” Steve says, no joy in his voice but resigned to his fate.
~~~~~~~~~~
7 Months Ago
“You’ve found yourself a bride?” Pierce asks, slightly shocked. Behind him, Rumlow shifts nervously.
Steve sees this and watches them both, feeling at first nothing but as Rumlow’s brow creases more and more, he grows suspicious.
“The Princess Morgana, from Malibia.” Steve informs him.
“Princess Morgana Stark?” Ross asks, his own brow now furrowed in confusion.
“Is that a problem?” Steve wonders, looking at Ross instead.
Ross thinks for a second, leaning forward as he taps his hand against the wooden tabletop. “She’s a little young, isn’t she?”
That’s what Steve thought! “She is. But she will grow.”
“I don’t think-”
“Well, this sounds like it’s all settled. Don’t you think my lords?” Pierce asks, rhetorically.
He looks really pleased by this bit of news.
“I don’t think we need to keep the meeting going if-”
Pierce is eager but Ross is determined, and he cuts his off, raising his voice a little louder to speak above him.
“I don’t think,” Ross says, firm and making it clear that he will not be interrupted. “Your Majesty, that you understood what we meant at our previous meeting. Whoever you take as your bride will be required to produce an heir within the year following your marriage.”
All of his blood seems to rush out of his head and limbs making them cold and numb. His heart is pounding however and beside him Bucky makes a noise that sounds a little like shock and part disgust.
Steve suddenly understands Pierce’s eagerness to end the meeting here.
“I…she’s only fourteen.” Steve says.
“That’s precisely my point, your Majesty. I think, however strong an alliance with his Majesty, King Anthony Stark might be, taking a bride so young would not be wise.” Ross finishes.
Steve agrees and a flood of gratitude for the man who so often stands at odds with him fills him.
“I…” Steve looks down at his hands, leaning forward as he fidgets. “…I can’t marry the Princess Morgana. I’ll write to Tony and send my regrets and apologies.”
He rises, as do the others, and as he passes Pierce, he stops to look down at the man with pure indignation.
“You’d ruin two lives to get your hand on the crown?” He asks, his voice so quiet that only Pierce will hear him.
“I don’t know what you mean, your Majesty. I wish only to serve my kingdom.” Pierce lies and Steve can see right through it.
~~~~~~~~~~
“What’s this?” Steve stops, letting the council walk ahead of him as he turns to Sam as he holds out a small folded piece of parchment, the familiar Stark seal in bright red and gold.
He’d thought he’d seen his last letter from Tony.
“It just came. It’s for you.” Sam waits, looking ahead down the hall where Pierce and Rumlow have stopped to watch at a safe distance. “Can I help you Lord Pierce? Did you forget something in the council chamber that you’d like me to get for you?”
Steve looks at Lord Pierce who forces a smile, Rumlow scowling behind him.
“No. Have a good day Your Majesty. Sir Wilson.” Pierce bows his head and walks down the hall out of sight.
“Is there a reason you keep that parasite on the council?” Sam asks.
Steve takes the letter and gently breaks the seal.
“I don’t have any proof that he’s up to anything yet. I got distracted.” Yes. His wife died.
A reasonable distraction from the things that had once mattered. Something much more pressing or so he’d felt at the time.
He looks at the letter and he feels a fleeting rise of hope. It dwindles after a second as he finishes the letter.
“What? You’re pale.” Sam reaches out to place his hand on Steve’s shoulder for support. “Look, I’m sorry. I won’t bring it up again.”
Steve shakes his head. “No, it’s not Pierce…Tony,”
With a hard swallow, he folds the letter and looks into Sam’s dark eyes. “What about him?”
“He says that he has another daughter. Older. Who will gladly give me an heir.”
“Another daughter? With Pepper?” Sam asks, disbelieving.
Steve nods, wondering the exact same thing as Sam. Why, if he has an older daughter, had Steve not met her?
A few days later, as he sits in his office, Bucky moves in and skids to a stop holding out another large letter with the Stark insignia.
Steve stands, tears it open, and reads the words quickly as Bucky breathes heavily from his run, no doubt to get the letter to Steve as quickly as possible.
“Why the rush, Steve?” Bucky asks. “You can take your time.”
“I want this over with.” Steve insists.
He holds the page open but looks up to stare at Maggie’s corner. A vivid image of her sitting in her royal blue silk dress, her brown waves gathered up on top of her head and pinned away from her face fills his mind.
She’s sitting on her cushion, staring out at the garden before she looks over at him and smiles when she catches him watching her.
She puts her book down on the table beside her bench then gets to her feet and saunters over towards him, to kiss him? Hug him? Whisper something in his ear?
She did them all and for Steve it feels like yesterday and forever ago all at once.
The image fades and he forces his eyes to the words in the letter.
As he reads on, his brow creases. He moves to sit in his chair, and he reads it over and over.
“What’s it say?” Bucky asks, eager to know what explanation Tony will give about this mysterious older daughter that none of them had known about.
“He says his daughter, his eldest, was born out of wedlock. And she’s not Pepper’s though we’re not to say she isn’t.” He glances at the door nervously; anxious the secret might get out. “She was sent away when she presented with emotional instability issues as a toddler and was raised in a school meant to rehabilitate those with issues like hers.”
“He’s trying to send you someone crazy?” Bucky gasps, sounding betrayed for his king.
“He says she’s doing better. Much better. She’s cured and is as pleasant as the rest of us.” Steve continues, reading on.
“The rest of us? Sam too?” Bucky jokes, and Steve shoots him a quick frown before looking back down at his letter.
“He says that he’s sending for her and she’ll be in Malibia within the fortnight. We can be married, as soon as I’d like. He’ll also settle whatever amount I wish. Properties in his kingdom or gold and silver if I should wish. I need only ask.” Steve reads the letter word for word at the end and sighs.
“Will you take her?” Bucky asks, moving closer to stand by the desk. “Steve…you don’t have to do this. Choose someone here, from our kingdom. Someone we know. What about Sha-”
“No.” Steve says sternly. “Not her.”
“Marrying your dead wife’s cousin isn’t that weird. And people would understand. We already know her. We wouldn’t have to hide all of the stuff we do. She’s already invested in that side of your life. Shar-”
“I said no, Buck. Drop it.” Steve frowns up at his best friend, waiting for him to give up.
“She’s in love with you.” Bucky doesn’t desist. “She has been since before you and Maggie got married.”
“Damn it, Buck. I don’t want to marry Sharon. I-I can’t. She…they…they were like sisters I…” He looks up at the corner again, untouched, dusty, a faded memory that lives only in his mind now. “I won’t.”
Bucky sighs. “Fine. Then how will you know that marrying this Stark’s strange daughter is a good idea?”
That’s a good question. He does feel a little weird marrying someone he’s never met before. After marrying the love of his life and all. A woman he’d known since they were children.
“I’ll ask him for a portrait of her. We’ll send Natasha too. She’s honest and won’t try to trick me.” Steve pulls over a piece of parchment and quickly scribbles his letter.
“So, if you like her looks, you’re going to marry her? A portrait won’t tell you whether she’s crazy or not.” Bucky challenges, watching as Steve seals the letter.
“No. But it’ll let me at least see her. And Nat will tell me if she’s crazy or not.” Steve explains then holds out the letter for him to take.
~~~~~~~~~~
6 Months Ago
Steve looks at the portrait and only gives the girl a quick glance.
She’s wearing red. No doubt Tony chose the dress for her, knowing that he’d like the color.
She’s young. Which is expected but not as young as Morgana.
An adult. Someone who understand the responsibilities that will come with this marriage.
Unfortunately, Steve is finding it harder and harder to reconcile the fact that he’ll have to sleep with this girl.
He’ll need to consummate the marriage and the very thought sends his heart into agony.
The last woman he’d slept with had been the woman he loved. He’d taken a vow to be faithful to her. Sleeping with this girl, making her his queen feels wrong.
This feeling is fleeting. It comes and he pushes it aside quickly, easily. He can deal with this. He’s done worse. He can shut off his emotions for a while. It’s simple.
“Send word that I’ll marry her. Right away.” Steve waves the portrait away without giving it a proper glance and moves to tend to other matters at his desk.
“How soon is right away?” Sam asks, exchanging a worried glance with Bucky who is holding the girl’s portrait, looking it over.
“Day after tomorrow.” Steve states.
“Woah,” Bucky says, putting the portrait off against the wall. “Hey, Steve…why so quickly? You can drag this out. You have a year. Get to know the girl. Invite her over, court her a little. Then marry her.”
“I don’t want to court…no.” Steve insists. “I want this over with, Buck. Sam, tell Tony I’ll do it. I’ll marry his eldest.”
Sam hesitates but when Bucky nor Steve says anything, he turns and heads off to deliver the news.
“Steve…”
“Buck!” Steve almost shouts, but he chuckles without humor, holding his hands out on his desk with frustration. “Just…let me do this. I need to keep this kingdom out of Pierce’s hands. I need to marry this girl.”
“But you’re rushing.”
“Because I need it to be over.” Steve explains.
“Why? Why do you need to do it so damn fast?” Bucky demands.
“Because I never thought that I’d be marrying anyone other than Margaret, Buck!” Steve nearly shouts. “I feel like I’m betraying her memory. I was perfectly happy dying alone. Now I have to marry someone?”
“You could have waited until you found someone to love.”
“I will never love anyone again, Buck.” Steve shakes his head, meeting his friend’s intense gaze. “Maggie was my beginning and she will be my end. She was my one true love and it is impossible for me to love anyone again. Ever.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Steve should have known that he would be eating his words.
He should have given your portrait a longer look instead of a cursory glance.
As he moves around his massive throne and you come into view wearing a baby blue silk gown, your hair carefully waved and style with a tiara, he feels as if the wind has been knocked out of him.
It’s not just your beauty that shocks him, it’s what lies underneath.
He can see you clearly, the girl underneath.
There is hope and already adoration in your eyes when you look at him. He can see your nerves and he can feel your goodness from here.
You aren’t what he was expecting, and it catches him off guard.
Despite the things you will have gone through, there’s a sweetness that radiates from the spot where you stand, and his heart is a thrumming mess.
You bow to him, deep. You stay there for so long. He can see your legs lose their balance.
“Stand up, your Highness.” He tells you, a little miffed at your dedication. As quickly as he can, he makes sure to detach himself from this situation because he can’t care how your legs must be tired. “I trust your trip went well?”
Your voice is soft, breathy, nervous. He doesn’t listen too closely. He hears you but he doesn’t bother focusing. He’s too busy watching your pretty face…wait…
He steps forward, thrown by the slip of his mind. “Why are you doing this?”
Surely, you…this exquisite creature…What are you thinking?...has had other offers?
You’re confused.
“The marriage. This whole thing, why? You could have anyone.” Because you’re perfect. Damn it. “You’re a princess.”
It’s a flimsy explanation to his words but it seems to make sense as you don’t raise a fuss.
“I…I want to-to make my father happy.” You stutter, still full of nerves.
You mention his portrait and he’s confused as to how you have it…but you reach your point quickly.
“When I saw it…I decided that I-I wanted to make you happy.” You confess, your eyes sparkling with true hope and desire. For him, he realizes.
You’re hoping that this will all turn into some tale of love, but he can’t give you that. He can never give you that. He’s empty inside. Hollow. His heart buried with his love, Maggie. He has to set you straight. Before you’re married.
“That’ll never happen.” He doesn’t mean to sound so rough, so harsh…but there it is. “You will never make me happy. Never.”
The sorrow in your eyes is surprising and the heartbreak in your expression tells him that he should have left long ago. Maybe he shouldn’t have even come in here to begin with.
He wants to reach out and comfort you…He has to get out of here.
“We’ll get married in the morning. Tell Tony I accept his offer.” Quickly, without a second glance at the disappointment he’s created, he turns and leaves you standing there, flummoxed.
~~~~~~~~~~
He spouts the words. He takes your hand. He makes his promises and wants to mean them which terrifies him, and he releases your hand as soon as you’re in the carriage.
He tries not to look at you because you’re beautiful.
The silks and gold and silver that you’re draped in is not the only beauty he takes notice of. Your kind smile to those that reach out to you—the rabble—and the way you don’t pull away from their dirty hands. You’re gentle and placating.
Maggie had been kind too, but she’d been a bit harder. Her smiles slightly sterner.
She accepted no nonsense and yet, while Bucky and Sam joke around you, teasing you and teasing Steve kindly, you chuckle and take it all in stride.
Maggie would have scolded them for playing around on such an important day.
“People are watching you. Is this what you want Steve’s people to see his elite guard doing? There are eyes everywhere, James.”
And yes, it would have been right for her to chastise them, but Steve’s chest warms, and his heart gives a gentle squeeze at the laughter in your eyes. He likes how gentle you are with his friends because they can be fools, but they mean only to make you smile.
He likes how relaxed you look, nervous, sure…but you’re not stressing about your visibility. He likes that you don’t care what the world sees when they look at you—but how can you care when all there is to see is sweetness and perfection?
You’re dangerous. Steve can see that. He’s taken you as his wife and he can already feel himself falling for you. This isn’t how it was supposed to be.
He was supposed to live out his life alone, with his love for Margaret to sustain him until he died. Betraying her love like this, isn’t right. He feels forced and he hates himself for agreeing to this.
He should have let Pierce have the damn kingdom.
You reach out to him, looking to place your hand on his and the tips of your fingers are right there. He yanks it away and uses the pretense of waving at his people.
“Wave at our people, your Majesty.” He tells you flatly.
He can see your mind racing with worry. He hates that he gives it to you, but he has to stop feeling guilt towards you. You’re the intruder. A welcomed one, but an intruder, nonetheless.
“Your Majesty…” You begin gently. “…Steve.”
His breath is nearly stolen.
Another voice in the back of his mind fills his head vividly with a million cries of his name. “Steve. Steve! Steve? Steve?! Steve…oh, Steve…” He shuts his eyes, willing Margaret’s voice to fade but it doesn’t and all he can hear is her calling to him, whispers in the night, languid moans…he misses her so much.
“Please, call me by my name when we’re together. I-I’m your wife now. I want to know you.” He can see that shred of hope in your expression again.
You’re his wife…his wife…his wife is dead.
He will never say your name. Never.
“You must do as you wish, your Majesty.” He makes sure that you know he won’t say it. You are his wife in name alone. He doesn’t love you. He’ll prove it.
For a moment, as you raise your chin in what he can only assume is defiance, he thinks you might get angry.
Yes. Be angry at me. Hate me. I will never love you.
“Never mind, your Majesty.” You relent.
What?!
“I will follow your lead.” You comply, and Steve hates you for being so kind, so accommodating, maybe not as perfect as he thought…but close enough.
The wedding feast is crowded. The music is loud, just as he’d requested. He wants to drown you out. To be abel to ignore any attempts at conversation.
After Bucky’s scolding about his treatment of you outside, Steve feels worse than he did this morning. Not only does he feel like he’s failing Margaret, but now he’s also being terrible to you.
He doesn’t want to be…but he must. He won’t let you in. No one can make him.
Compared to his first wedding feast, this one is louder. Happier.
He knows that it’s probably because the people are happy to see him married but he feels bitter at their glee.
He doesn’t want to be happy that he’s taken a new wife.
At his first wedding feast he’d danced the night away with his bride. He’d laughed with his friends. He’d been happy.
He misses Margaret to no end.
He scans the dance floor and spots the two biggest fools in the castle.
Dancing together, paired off pleasantly. So much has changed since Margaret’s passing.
Bucky and Nat are together now, and he expects them to announce their engagement soon—if Nat will stop telling Bucky no.
When they marry, it will truly be a happy occasion. Something that he eagerly awaits.
Lost in his thoughts and happiness for his friends, he lets the mask slip away. He smiles.
“They make a beautiful couple.” Your voice invades his senses and pleases his already swelling heart. He likes your voice. It’s pleasant.
“Yes.” Steve agrees without thinking, not realizing his slip at first.
Bucky sends him an approving smile and he realizes what he’s just done.
He frowns, turning to scowl at you to negate his slip.
You’re getting too comfortable here. Too much at home. He’ll knock you up, then when you’ve had the baby, he’ll send you far away. He won’t have to see you or hear you or deal with your hopes.
This isn’t your home and you need to know that.
“Why aren’t they married yet?” You ask him, ignoring the frown on his face. “From what I saw of them together, it seems like Bucky would like very much to-”
His anger is unreasonable. He knows this. But you’re…you’re too risky. Already he feels himself softening towards you.
“Bucky?” He asks, his anger seeping through. “Bucky?”
“I mean, Sir James. I-When I saw him last, he asked me to call him-”
“If he asked you to then do as you wish.” Steve cuts you off, hoping to avoid your pitiful explanations.
He leans away from you though, trying to put as much distance between himself and your allure.
You lapse into silence, for which he is grateful.
It comes out of nowhere, your little hand, placed over his and it’s fire. He feels a solid burn where you touch, and it terrifies him. He shouldn’t like your touch this much, but he does.
“Your Majesty?” You check, speaking slowly, fear in your voice. Of upsetting him—he realizes.
Steve turns to stare at your hand, wondering if he would be betraying Margaret if he turned it over and took it. Would holding your hand be so bad? In front of his people, surely that’s expected?
“We haven’t danced yet.” You tell him, trying to convince him. “Isn’t it customer for a King and his Queen to-”
No! You aren’t his queen!
He stands up quickly, chair rattling and squealing against the floor. The room quiets and they watch as he faces you.
He can see the utter pleasure, the excitement in your expectant eyes—you want to dance.
“We will retire to the marriage bed.” He says and watches as your disappointment is renewed.
He can’t dance with you. Never will he dance with you.
He leaves you by your room, and quickly peels away his crown and tunic. He lays it aside and moves to his water basin to splash his face with the tepid water.
His heart is racing and his mind a hive of bees, buzzing in chaos as he tries to convince himself that this is what he needs to do.
“For my kingdom…” He sighs, looking towards the side of his bed left empty for so long. “I’m sorry, Maggie.”
He wants to cry; his heart is breaking. This isn’t what he wants. He doesn’t want you.
He moves back out, untucking his shirt as he goes. There’s no way he’ll even be able to get himself hard for you.
It’ll be simple. He’ll be unable to bed you. Then he can end this sham of a marriage.
He throws the doors to your room open and his feet stutter at the sight of you.
Your eyes are wide and full of shock and anticipation.
You’re almost naked, dressed in a thin, flimsy nightdress made of lace with embroidered peonies. He can see you. All of you.
His mind is wiped clean as he devours your body, every curve, every ridge, nipple peaks and a dip as your nightdress curves down between your legs a bit.
His blood is fire. All of a sudden, he doesn’t know what to think.
His body takes over and he moves towards you, savage hunger in his eyes. Fuck, he wants you.
As you retreat, your legs hit the edge of your bed and you whimper slightly, afraid? No, just nervous again.
He peels his shirt away and he can see you take in his own body, admiring and in awe. He’s done much to take care of his form and he hopes the scars on his sides and chest don’t scare you.
There is no fear in your eyes though, just an equal hunger to his own.
Your mouth is slightly open as you stare, at a loss almost as much as he is.
His cock twitches in his pants, harder than ever before. It’s been so long and you’re just so…your smiles from the morning replay themselves in his mind. He remembers the way you looked as you walked towards him in the church.
An angel.
He reaches for the front of his pants as a sudden worry begins to slip into your heated gaze. You swallow hard and he wonders if maybe you’re worried that he doesn’t want you.
He’ll show you.
He drops his pants and he springs free, cock gently slapping against the base of his belly.
You sigh with relief and Steve almost smiles at your fretting. He watches you lick your lips and his desire is renewed as he steps out of his pants and your eyes meet his once again.
With surprisingly steady hands, Steve reaches out and touches you. Your hips first. He squeezes them, relishing in the soft woman flesh beneath his hands. He twitches again, picturing you on your back, beneath him, mewling as he pleases you.
You’re stunned by his touch and you nearly fall back but wrap your arms around his shoulders.
The movement jars him, you clinging to him. But when he meets your eyes, he’s not afraid. He likes this, you holding onto him.
He likes the way you feel in his arms and he wraps you up in them, hands splayed out along your back where he then traces every curve of your body making you gasp quietly.
Your hands, surprisingly rough for a princess, trace along his shoulders, relishing in the feel of his skin. You move them up along his neck and then back behind his head to play with the hairs on the nape of his neck—“Oh, Steve. I’ve wanted you for so long.”
“Be quiet, Maggie, they’ll hear you.”
“I don’t care if they hear me.” She moves her hands up into his hair, caressing his scalp before she pushes herself up onto her toes. “Kiss me, Steve. Make love to me.”
Steve meets her lips with intense passion, tongue slipping past her ruby reds as he tastes her and his heart soars. She’s his, forever. This kiss will always be his.
It happens quickly. Steve’s heart pounds, the vision of Margaret fills his mind, and every touch he places on you feels like a sin. He lifts you up to push you back onto the bed, ignoring the way you shift uncomfortably in his hands.
“Steve?” Your meek voice questions, slightly scared.
He hates it when you say his name.
He just needs to do this. Get it over with. Once it’s done, he can go back to his room.
He searches for the bottom of your nightdress and pulls it up roughly. It rips in his hand and he almost stops but he doesn’t. He needs this to be over.
“Oooh, Steve…harder…” She fills his mind, overpowering the now so that all he can see, and feel is her, in his memory, vivid and encompassing.
“Steve, wait.” You’re breathless as he settles over you, and the fear is just a little filtered with desire.
“Stop saying my name.” He growls at you.
You try to touch him, but he doesn’t want you! Not you!
All at once, after a flurry of movements, he’s ready to sink into you.
You’re startled by his rush and he can see the fear returning. You’re not sure what’s happening, and he isn’t sure he’s ready for this.
No. He isn’t ready for this. But you’re…his wife…he has to…he…
“Ste-?” You begin and he can’t bear to hear you say his name again.
Just do it. He convinces himself and he’s inside of you.
He can hear you struggling. He can feel you squirming. You’re a vice around his dick and you’re crying, and he just keeps going.
Just a little more and it’ll all be over.
“Yes, Steve. Just like that. Oh, Steve.” His mind fills with her laugh, her pretty brown eyes, the stretch of her red lips as she smiles up at him, loving him.
“You and I are forever, darling. We’ll be together until the end.” Maggie promises. Laying beside him as she reaches back to trace the shape of his shoulders.
Steve wraps her up closer, giving her hips a gentle squeeze.
“It’ll only ever be you, Maggie. You’re my only love.” He promises.
“Do you wear it?” She asks, a challenge, playful. “I am the only woman you will ever sleep with? I am your one and only love?”
“Yes.” Steve kisses her. “My only love.”
“Oh, Steve.” She coos.
“Please…” You cry, a weighty sob that pierces his wistful memory. “Steve…”
He growls, angry that it isn’t her voice. Hating you because you aren’t Maggie and you’ve made him a liar. You’ve made him break his word. “Stop saying my name!”
“Steve…” You beg one final time as he thrusts and groans, then releases within you.
He shoves himself into you a few more times then holds it steady as his heart slow and his brain mush begins to resemble actual thought again.
Steve pulls away and you cry out in pain.
He freezes and finds your pretty face, only you’re sobbing, fear has overtaken you and you’re turning away from him, curling into yourself and he’s filled with utter disgust and terror at the sight of what he’s wrought.
He makes to reach out to you, to put his hand on your shoulder but you’re busy trying to cover as much of yourself as possible to notice.
The stain of blood on your sheets shocks him.
He knew…he knew that you would probably be a virgin, but he never thought that…what has he done?
He slides to the end of your bed and sits there listening to you cry.
This is not what he wanted. This is not the night he’d envisioned. This isn’t him. He would have never hurt you. He…this isn’t your fault. Maggie’s death is not your fault.
This marriage is not your fault. You agreed because you were asked. The council forced him into this marriage. But the council wasn’t here in your room.
The council didn’t force you to sleep with him. The council didn’t violate you and hurt you.
He did that to you.
This is all his own fault.
He’s a monster.
He pulls on his pants and shirt, and because he’s afraid to look at you and see what he’s done once more, he leaves you without a second glance.
~~~~~~~~~~
3 Months Ago
Steve is grateful. He’s thankful.
Somehow, some way, he was able to redeem himself a little after that terrible night in the smallest of ways.
He’d apologized and maybe you’d seen the sincerity in his words, but you’d accepted. For some reason that he cannot fathom, you’d forgiven him. You’re too good for him. He knows this.
You’d been afraid of him, that first time after it happened, and that still fills his heart with dread. He’s tried to make it right. Tried to start fresh with you, but every time he touches you in your room, he’s haunted by her and what he did to you. A reverberating echo of his past mistakes every time he’s with you.
He wants to show you that he wants you. But every time he tries, he chokes.
He can feel you stiffen beneath him and he knows that he’s failing. But he doesn’t hurt you again. He makes sure of that. He checks on you, he takes care of you afterwards, though maybe you don’t see it like that.
You seem almost not yourself when he cleans you up. Like you’re in a trance. He doesn’t even think you really know that it’s happening.
He’s sure it’s all his fault. He broke you after that first time.
“Like this?” Your voice comes from around the corner and Steve follows the echo.
You’re in the library, looking at a piece of parchment on the table you’re sitting on. He can’t see who you’re talking to because they’re out of view. He can see an arm. Probably the instructor he’d asked for after you’d confessed your lack of schooling.
He still feels a subtle rage at the thought of Tony sending you off to be locked up in some school to be neglected.
But after what he himself has done; how can he judge?
No. He frowns. He’s right to be angry. Tony’s a jerk.
“Very good, your Majesty. Now, let us move onto conjunctions.” He says, and Steve can hear the scraping pen to paper as the instructor jots a few words down out of sight.
Steve’s gaze is only for you. Sitting there looking pretty in your pink dress, pale yellow diamonds on the bodice. Your hair pulled back to keep it out of your face though that seems to be failing as it falls forward as you write.
You bite your lip as you concentrate and when you finish you turn behind you to beam at whoever is standing out of sight.
A moment later, Nat moves forward and caresses your shoulder before leaning over to look at your work.
She whispers something to you, and you giggle, eyes vibrant and you’re so happy.
Though he’s filled with pain that he cannot make you look as happy as that when you’re with him, he’s happy to know that you’re happy here at home at least and that you’re not miserable, despite the constant way he seems to fuck up.
He smiles as you’re chastised and then wait until you’re no longer being watched to laugh again.
You bite your lip once more, and Steve would give anything to caress it. To feel it pressed against his own.
He hasn’t been able to get himself to do it, to kiss you. He almost did a few times in bed, but it felt wrong to kiss you then when he’s doing what is necessitated of him.
What if he kisses you and you kiss him back because you must? Not because you want to?
He doesn’t want to take from you anymore. Not like he did that first night…He’ll wait until the time is right.
“Steve?” Bucky’s voice comes from behind him.
Fuck!
Steve backs away from the door and moves towards his friend.
“What were you doing?” Bucky asks, glancing towards the door as it closes.
He catches a glimpse of you and Steve feels his neck heat up.
“Were you watching Y/N?” He asks, excited.
“Don’t be stupid.” Steve bristles. “Why would I be watching her? What do you want?”
He turns and walks off, headed for his office.
“Steve, you were smiling.” Bucky insists.
“No, I wasn’t.” Steve argues, cursing himself for being careless.
“Steve…”
“I wasn’t!” He nearly shouts and stops to glare at Bucky.
Bucky reaches out and grasps his shoulder.
“It’s okay to fall for you wife, Steve. It’s okay to give in. She’s nice. She’s pretty. She’s a little helpless too…” Bucky admits. “I think she’s just what you need.”
“I’m not falling for her.” Steve glares.
“Why are you fighting this?” Bucky wonders as Steve slaps his hand away. “Why won’t you let yourself be happy?”
“Because I don’t deserve to be happy.” Steve’s broken his promise to Maggie, and he hurt you. He doesn’t deserve you, no matter how much he may want to.
He promised Maggie that it would only be her, and that’s who it will be. From this moment on, he will put you out of his mind.
~~~~~~~~~~
Three Weeks Ago
“Pierce!” Steve shouts, storming into the council chambers.
Pierce, alone with his cohort Rumlow, look up in surprise at the madness in Steve’s voice.
“Your Majesty?” Pierce checks as Rumlow moves to plant himself in front of him.
Steve stops, but grabs Rumlow’s shirt, shaking him. “Where is she? I know you took her.”
“Took who?” Pierce asks, standing slowly as he should in his king’s presence.
Rumlow smirks. “It looks like our king has lost his queen, Lord Pierce. How tragic.”
“The Queen is missing?” Pierce asks, mock shock in his voice. “Hot unfortunate. I do hope nothing has befallen her Majesty.”
“Looks like you finally drove her away.” Brock mutters cruelly. “If only you weren’t so torn up about Maggie-”
Steve shakes him hard. “Utter one more word…do it…I dare you.”
Rumlow’s rage contorts his face but he gets it under control and turns a scowl on his king before he forces himself to smile through heavy breath.
“We haven’t seen her, your Majesty. Lord Pierce and I have been here, under your very nose. When would we have had time to take her?”
“Is there anything that we can do to help, your Majesety?” Pierce offers.
As much as Steve wishes to deny it, he can’t prove that they took you and he aggressively releases Rumlow then turns and leaves them in the council room.
“I hope you find her.” Rumlow calls out.
Steve considers taking his head.
~~~~~~~~~~
Two Weeks Ago
“Where is he?” Tony spits and Steve can feel the rage from his spot at his desk.
He gets up as Tony shoves his way past Bucky and Sam.
He has hardly a second to look at him before a solid punch hits him square in the jaw. Crashing against his desk where his papers and trinkets rattle with the impact, Steve reaches up to grab his chin and stare at your father.
“Hey!” Sam cries out, already lunging forward.
“Leave it, Sam.” Steve orders, and Bucky quickly ushers him out to leave Tony and Steve alone.
Again. Hit me again. Steve wishes.
He will take as many hits as Tony can dole out. He deserves more. He should suffer. More than he’s already suffering in your absence.
“You were supposed to be taking care of her.” Tony rages.
He shakes from head to toe with his anger but there’s pain there too.
“She’s already lived a hard life and I gave her to you because you said that you needed a wife. A wife. Not a slave.” He rants. “Now I hear that you’ve hardly spoken to her? You keep her at a distance? Why? Because of Margaret?”
Steve has no excuses to make. He ducks his head in shame and remains leaning against his desk.
“Pepper is out of her mind with worry. What did you do? What did you tell her that she felt the need to run away?” Tony demands, hands balled into tight fists, ready to punch some more.
Steve swallows dryly, wishing he could take back the words he’d uttered to drive you out. Finally, he got what he wished for. He pushed you away…just as he was ready to let you in.
“I told her that I…I shouldn’t have married her.” Steve sighs. “That it was a mistake.”
Tony sighs angrily.
“But I only meant that I haven’t been good for her. I have caused her nothing but pain. If I hadn’t married her then maybe she might have made a better marriage? With someone less broken. Someone who could love her the way she deserves.” Steve explains, having desperately wanted to tell you these very words. “She deserves more than me, Tony. She deserves so much more.”
“And you don’t love her?” Tony demands, reaching up to wipe his mouth in anger.
“I…” Steve knows what his answer is, but it terrifies him to admit. “I do. I love her.”
Silence follows his confession and Tony slowly seethes a little less.
“When we find her, if she wants to leave you, I’m taking her home.” Tony declares. “And if you try and stop me, I swear to the Gods that I will end you and this damn kingdom.”
Steve nods, knowing that if you leave him, he will only have himself to blame.
~~~~~~~~~~
Today
The horses are skittish, unsettled by the roar of thunder overhead.
The storm had come out of nowhere and Steve had pushed them through it, drawing his black cloak over his head as it began to rain.
Here at the edge of the forest that he’s searched nearly a hundred times in the thirty plus days since you’ve been gone, he waits for a sign. Smoke from a fire, the crackling of a twig. Anything that will tell him that you’re out here.
“Where are you?” He pleads with you, hoping that you might hear him across whatever distance may separate you. “Please, Y/N. Don’t leave me.”
He would deserve it. He wouldn’t stop you.
Another clap of thunder splits the sky and draws his eyes up.
He watches the clouds swirl above his head and darken to pitch before looking back at the tress before him.
Almost losing his sanity, he dismounts as his eyes are met with a familiar large form. Blonde hair braided and wet, giant arms that could crush metal with ease, and in his arms a flash of scarlet wrapped around your limp body.
“No.” Steve gasps, racing forward towards Thor.
“Get out of the way.” Thor orders him, shoving him aside as he gets close. “We need to get her to a doctor.”
“What happened? Where did you find her?” Steve is almost floating with relief. You’re here. You’re passed out—fainted maybe?
“She fell.” Thor says, “Hit her head. She won’t wake up.”
Steve freezes. “No.”
His mouth is a desert as memories of Margaret and her fall overwhelm him.
“No.” Steve utters, then races to his horse and climbs back on. “Give her to me.”
Thor doesn’t hesitate. He places you in Steve’s arms on the horse.
Steve takes off, no hesitation as he holds you close and races towards the castle as fast as he can. “Please, don’t leave me, sweetheart. Please wake up.”
Behind him, he hears Thor calls his hammer to fly and catch up.
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wingsofkpop · 4 years
Text
Hiraeth - I.I: Stay
pairing(s): Hybrid!Im Jaebeom x Reader, Witch!Mark Tuan x Reader, Werewolf!Jackson Wang x Reader, Vampire!Park Jinyoung x Reader, Supernatural!Got7 x Reader
genre: Supernatual!AU, Dark Magic!AU, Angst, eventual Smut
warning(s): Mature languages, descriptions of death and murder, violence, graphic depictions of fighting, blood and gore, mentions of traumatic experiences, etc.
word count: 6k
synopsis: How far are you willing to go to find out the truth about Moon Dye Bay?...
chapter directory
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Once upon a time there was a lone seamstress who lived inside a little house in the woods. Few knew of her existence, and even fewer knew of her name, for outside the safety of the forest, the world and its inhabitants were cruel and corrupt. To relieve the weight of her loneliness, the seamstress sat on her roof every night to speak to the moon as it traveled across the black sky. She spoke to the moon about everything, from the rushing of the river current after a spell of rain to the plumpness of the round, ripe peaches that arrived in the summer, and when she ran out of elements of reality, she turned to ones of fantasy instead. She told the moon stories of massive dragons who breathed butterflies with wings of jewels instead of fire and planets where the seas were composed of golden honey and tall mountains of glass. 
The moon fell in love with the seamstress and her fairy tales, for she was just as keen for a companion. She loved the seamstress so much that one night per cycle, when the ocean tides were at their lowest, she would leave her nightly perch and join the seamstress on her roof. No one knew of the true nature of their relationship, whether they were friends, lovers, soulmates, but that did not matter, for the moon loved the seamstress, and the seamstress loved the moon in return. 
In order to show her love, the moon gifted the seamstress one of her brightest stars from the night sky. Upon consuming the star, the seamstress was blessed with abilities beyond imaginable: Gifts to heal creatures long past the point of decay. Talents in skill, wit and knowledge that surpassed the most brilliant scholars. And most notably, the miracle of eternal life. 
Outsiders soon caught word of the immortal seamstress who lived in the little house in the wood, and some sought to steal her and the moon’s power for their own gain. On a night when the moon was at its fullest, a band of malicious villagers stormed the seamstress’s home right on the very roof where she sat. The moon, unable to intervene, watched the villagers kill the one she loved. In a final attempt to best the attackers, the moon shattered the seamstress’s soul into pieces, which had become one with the star, and scattered them across the world. To this day, the ruins of the seamstress’s house still stands deep within the forests of time. On nights when the moon disappears from the night sky, some say that if one listens close enough, sobs and wails can be heard from the roof of the little home where the moon mourns her lost companion. 
Many have tried, but it is impossible to gather enough shards of the seamstress’s spirit to recreate the full power of the gifted star. It is said a piece of her soul resides inside all of us. Though in some, the magic is more prominent than others… 
☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ 
“—and then she started getting all defensive over it.” You hold back a sigh at Jihyo’s huff, not desiring to make your roommate and close friend aware that her over-the-phone rant is draining what little sanity remains within your mind. To be honest, you actually lost track of the conversation a couple blocks back, and have little clue over who she’s complaining about. Probably yet another one of Sana’s douchebag crushes “Like, I get you like him and all, but the dude’s literally an asshole. I mean, he’s stood her up how many goddamn times, and not to mention, the whole thing with Chaeyoung— 
“(Y/N)? Are you even listening?” You immediately snap from whatever headspace your consciousness slipped into at the change in Jihyo’s tone. Your hand raises to wipe the drowsiness of a twelve-plus-hour day from your eyes as you speak for the first time since you left the university: 
“Not really, honestly.” You finally release the breath in your lungs, “It’s… It’s been a long day.” 
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Jihyo scolds, “You know you’re free to hang up on me anytime I get too fired up. Or at least snap me out of it.” 
“I know,” You peer at both sides of the street before making your way across, pulling your jacket tighter around your body to fight the chilly, night air. “Like I said, it’s just been a long day.” 
“You can tell me all about it over some take-out, sound good?” 
“Sounds great. I haven’t eaten much today.” 
Jihyo’s grumble emerges over the line, earning an amused chuckle from your own chest. You can hear her yell something to most likely Sana, your other roommate, in the background before returning with yet another scold, “You’re in serious trouble now, (Y/N) (L/N). What have we said about skipping meals?” 
“I was busy today!” You protest, unable to hold back the smile that spreads along your lips at your friend’s mother-like nagging.
“That is no excuse!” A couple muffled sounds carry over the line, along with a hushed, inaudible conversation between Jihyo and another person. You cross another street and round the corner, preparing to cut through your usual shortcut to your apartment building, when Jihyo finally returns, “I hope you’re okay with Thai because apparently Sana’s going to die if she doesn’t get her Mango Sticky Rice...”
“I’m okay with that. You know my usual?” 
“Do you know who you’re talking to?”  
You chuckle, “Fair enough. I’ve got maybe another ten minutes until I’m home. Try not to let Sana eat all the food before I get there.” 
“No promises. See you soon, babe.” 
You hum a wordless farewell in response before lowering your phone from your ear to end the call. Without the buzz of the line and your friend’s voice to fill the silence, you finally notice how quiet and empty the streets seem. During the hours of the day, the town is usually packed with people meandering out and about in the bay’s usual nice weather. Without the sunshine, however, the nights can get rather cold, and by missing your bus, you’re experiencing that fact firsthand. 
You can feel goosebumps emerging across your skin underneath your clothing as you traverse further down the path, a flickering, lone streetlamp your only guide through the darkness. The alleyway in which you usually cut through gapes on your left, but before you enter the narrow passage, you pause to peer over your shoulder. While it wouldn’t be the first time your paranoia has emerged for little reason, considering your track record of life experiences, the sight of shadows and stillness does nothing to ease the eerie sensations creeping along the back of your neck. 
Passing the strange feeling off to the cold, you finally step into the pitch black of the alleyway, taking quicker and longer steps out of pure instinct. You pilfer through your bag, wanting to find your phone again to light your path, but as per usual, it seems to have dropped to the very bottom of the bag’s contents. A silent groan rumbles from your chest at the discovery that you’ll have to continue through the dark, or at least until you reach the opposite end of the alley. Hopefully there’s no rats or bats or—
Your entire body jumps at a loud clatter that sounds from behind. You quickly pivot on your heel to investigate the sudden noise, finding nothing but darkness, darkness and more darkness. 
“H-Hello?” Your call bounces between the brick walls of the alleyway, echoing back inside your ears. You swallow, with your throat as tight as your chest, and call again. The only sound that answers is the violent racing of your pulse and your shaky breaths. Clutching your bag closer to your chest, you begin to walk backwards while keeping your eyes trained toward the entrance you only moments before came through. The idea seems ideal, that is, until your foot catches a divot and your form collapses onto the pavement. 
It takes you a moment to recover from the fall, but you’re quick to grab one of the stiletto heels from your foot and arm yourself with as best a means of defense as you can manage. You carefully rise, shuddering as another clatter sounds from somewhere in the alley. Your eyes dart through the darkness, searching for a shadow that moves more than the rest. After maybe another minute of silence, with your makeshift weapon still in hand, you rush toward the exit of the passageway. 
A breath of relief leaves your lips as you enter a level of light where your hand is no longer a silhouette in front of your face. Using the lamp post as support, you reach down to grab the second heel from your other foot and toss it inside your bag while its twin remains prepped just in case. You can survive walking the last three minutes to your building barefoot. All else be damned. 
Just as you’re about to resume your walk home, something grabs the back of your scalp, and using the roots of your hair as assistance, yanks you back into the dark alleyway. You immediately fight back, swinging your arm as hard as you can to stab the assailant with your heel. Obviously taken off guard, the figure surrenders its hold on your hair and provides the opportunity for you to stab him again. It releases a blend of something between a groan and a growl, grabs your wrist and quite literally, launches you deeper into the darkness. 
Your body connects with a brick wall with a violent thud, stealing every ounce of breath from your lungs. You try to clamber to your hands and knees, but your right arm throbs and goes completely limp at the movement. You curse at the broken bone, but still manage to bring yourself to stand. No sooner are you on your feet, the figure, who you briefly forgot about, shoves and pins your back against the wall with a hand around your throat. 
“G-get off…!” You sputter, using your good arm to claw at its face. With speed and strength that’s mostly definitely not human, it keeps your flailing body pressed against the brick surface, yanks your arm out of the way and harshly tilts your head to the side. A loud scream sounds from your lips as binding pain erupts from your neck. Warm blood slips down your flesh like raindrops, staining the collar of your shirt crimson red. The pain is so fierce, it disorients your mind and numbs the remainder of your physical strength, leaving no room for you to fight back any longer. 
Your vision begins to grow blurry, partly from tears and partly from the painful fogginess exhausting your brain. For a moment, you wonder what will kill you first: The blood loss, the excruciating pain, or the knowledge that your life in itself is slowly slipping from your fingertips. 
You are going to die. The thought repeats itself like a broken record on repeat. You are going to die without seeing your students again. You are going to die without seeing Jihyo and Sana and all your friends again. You are going to die right here, in this dark alley, from a brutal monster that came straight out of hell. 
Just when you’re on the cusp between consciousness and unconsciousness, the figure is torn away, leaving your body to collapse to the ground. Muffled sounds of what seem to be barbaric snarls and roars spill into your ears, followed by the obvious snaps of breaking bones. Through the pitch black, you can almost make out a human-like silhouette approaching your grounded figure. 
The last thing you remember before you slip underneath the waves of exhaustion is the gentle touch of bloody hands and a soft murmur of your name. 
☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ 
Familiar faces mill about the confines of the graveyard, some as bystanders, whispering rumors behind yellow-taped borders, and some as pursuers, tiptoeing around the grounds as if one wrong step will shatter the tense atmosphere like glass. From his perch leaning against a nearby tree, Mark watches the coroner zip up the black body bag with a blank expression set across his features, contradicting the cloud of sorrow suffocating the means of his soul. Even with the corpse out of sight, he can remember her face—the still-rosy cheeks, the icy touch of fingertips, the unseeing eyes…  
The coroner rises to his feet, shaking his head before turning to speak to the town sheriff beside him. Mark continues to observe as both investigators engage in a brief conversation. As if sensing his gaze, they simultaneously turn to peer his way. Mark quickly turns his eyes elsewhere and abandons his post. He heads in the direction of the crypt, attempting to push the persistent, vulgar images out of mind. 
“Mark! Hang on!” His steps halt at the frenzied call of the sheriff, providing the opportunity for the older woman to approach. She offers him an apologetic smile and an affectionate pat on his forearm. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you anymore questions.” 
“Good. Don’t think I have anything much else to say.” The sheriff doesn’t reply to his weak attempt at humor, instead mapping out the very extent of his face. Trying his hardest to keep his features neutral, Mark stares right back at the female officer—the last thing he needs is to break down right then and there. 
After another moment of silence passes, the sheriff finally speaks, “How are you doing, Mark? Really?”  
“How do you think I’m doing, sheriff?” Mark releases a sigh, “One of my friends is dead.” 
“I know.” She also expels a deep breath, running a hand through her long, brunette tresses. Her grip stiffens just slightly, enough to be able to feel her skin trembling against his. “I wish I could say something to make it better, but I can’t believe it myself—” She chuckles scornfully, “Do you have any idea who—or what, would do this?” 
“We’re trying to figure that out.” Mark replies, “Some of us are… taking it pretty hard.” 
“Until then, you and everyone else have to be careful.” 
Mark shakes his head, “Sheriff—” 
“I mean it, Mark,” The sheriff squeezes his arm so tight that Mark wonders if it will bruise. “Whoever did this knew what they were doing, and they knew what she was. Promise me that you’ll keep on your toes?” Flashes of her lifeless body overtake the forefronts of his brain even before he can help it. He hates how his stomach twists at the memory of that foreboding symbol carved into his chest—right next to the confines from where her heart was torn.  
“I promise.” 
“Good.” A breath that Mark didn’t even know he was holding escapes his lungs as the sheriff removes her hand. “Let me know if you find anything. I’ll keep in touch.” 
“Thanks, sheriff.” The sheriff doesn’t say another word, only lays one final pat on Mark’s shoulder before taking off after a group of officers hauling the body bag into the back of a large van. Mark watches as she goes, unable to shake off the feeling of her quivering fingers until she’s out of sight. 
Ignoring the staff mopping the blood-stained gravel pathways, Mark resumes his journey up the steps and inside the tall, white-marbled mausoleum. To anyone on the outside, the structure just seems like a normal place to house a passed loved one, but to the specific few, it’s so much more. The coziness of the inside somewhat eases the anxiety flowing through his veins, welcoming the warmth the flames in the fireplace provide. He gazes around the one-room building, past towering bookshelves stuffed with ancient grimoires and cabinets lined with jared materials of all kinds, until his eyes settle on a second figure standing at the lectern placed in the center of the room, flipping through the yellowed pages of a ragged book. 
“Any luck?” Mark asks, making his way through the cluttered space beside his busy companion. Youngjae glances up from the tome that’s pretty much falling apart, and sullenly shakes his head. 
“Nothing. I tried to track her blood—” Youngjae gestures to a map on a nearby table, its surface decorated with spreading crimson lines and swirls, “—but it’s weird. The trail doesn’t go anywhere. It just…doesn’t stop.” 
“What about that mark? Anything on that?” 
“I’ve gone through everything we have on runes, symbolism, hieroglyphics, but there’s nothing that even remotely resembles what was on her chest.” Youngjae pauses, hesitant to speak the words on the tip of his tongue, but with a glance at Mark, he continues, “...It’s like whoever, or whatever killed her doesn’t exist, hyung. There’s literally nothing.”  
“Shit—” Mark curses, pinching the bridge of his nose with a huff, “There can’t just be nothing! There has to be something—!” 
Youngjae shakes his head, “I don’t know what to tell you…” The younger watches as Mark picks up his book. He flips through a few pages before slamming the cover shut with more force than necessary. A moment of silence aside from the sounds of their breathing passes until it is broken by Mark’s yell as he launches the text across the room, knocking over a collection of stacked artifacts. 
“Hyung—” 
“One of our people is dead, Youngjae!” Youngjae flinches at the elder’s harsh tone, watching helplessly as he shoves a pile of grimoires across the mausoleum floor. “And we have no fucking clue who killed her and why they did it! What if they come back, huh!? What if they come for you next!? Or Lia!? Or Jisung or—” Mark’s angered tangent falls quiet at the shrill call of a cell ringtone. Mark retracts his phone from his pocket, and with a composed sigh, answers the device and lifts it to his ear. 
Youngjae watches Mark’s face carefully as it shifts from annoyance to confusion to absolute anguish. He tries to inquire about the subject of the phone call, but Mark only lifts his finger in warning. After a couple cool replies, Mark mumbles a less-than-pleasant farewell and disconnects the line. One of his hands lift to push back the strands of his dark hair while the other frantically reaches for his jacket: 
“(Y/N)’s in the hospital. Fuck, I have to—” 
“Go, hyung.” Youngjae hums, “I’ll see if I can find anything else.” 
Mark’s composure softens. Guilt begins to flow through his veins as he recalls the harsh tone he previously directed at his younger companion. Guided by his emotions, Mark reaches forward to squeeze at Youngjae’s bicep, similar to the sheriff’s actions minutes before. He murmurs, “Thank you, Youngjae.” Youngjae only nods, bending down to begin clearing the remnants of Mark’s wrath as said figure heads out the door.
The forensic team is still cleaning the blood as Mark makes his way toward the exit of the graveyard. 
☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ 
The first color you see when you open your eyes is white, playing more into your assumptions that you’re currently in the beginning stage of the afterlife. As more and more of your consciousness and common sense return to your brain, the puzzle pieces of the strange situation slowly begin to slide into place. You’re not floating in a cloud at all—but in fact, laying on the most uncomfortable bed known to man. You groan, forcing yourself to sit up as to collect more clues to your surroundings. 
A soft murmur of your name and set of hands on your shoulders takes you completely off guard. Immediately, memories of your encounter with the violent creature invade your brain like water to dry soil. You flail your limbs wildly, attempting to defend yourself against the unknown figure with each kick and punch. 
“(Y/N), hey! Calm down!” The stranger seizes your wrists before you can knock his eye out, tugging your arms to rest on your lap. It’s painfully aware that his strength outmatches your own, so you make no other attempts to use force—also partly due to the gentle tone of his voice. You allow the stranger to guide your upper body back to lay down on the bed, using the  opportunity to peek at his face:
The man is despicably handsome to the point his features seem to be sculpted by the gods themselves. His face is long, with a jawline that is sharp enough to slice your finger if you were to reach up and touch the structure. You can’t tell which is more alluring, between his dark, almond-shaped eyes, or his full, rose lips. Then again, the jet black, fluffy hair atop his head is also a close third…or the milky canvas of his strong neck—
“...(Y/N)?” When the stranger speaks again, you notice a strange lilt to his voice, almost like an accent of some sorts. But like the figure himself, you can’t place where you’ve heard such a figment of speech.  “...Can you understand me?” 
“I’d hope so.” You murmur blankly, “What am I? A fucking alien?” 
The stranger’s lips curl in amusement at your retort. He pulls a lone chair closer to your bedside, not once breaking his gaze from your own. You ignore the strange shivers that crawl down your spine as he takes a seat, leaning forward to rest his forearms atop the edge of your mattress. Through the corner of your eye, you notice the multitude of wires connecting your arm to the machines stationed on the opposite end of the bed—so you’re not dead. What a relief. 
“You’re in the hospital—” 
“Figured that out already, pal.” You sigh, rolling your head back into the pillows and allowing your eyes to slip shut. The act does little to calm the storm occurring inside your mind, so frustratedly, you open them again and instead, peer at your unfamiliar companion with a raised eyebrow, “Pardon my French, but who the fuck are you and why are you here?” 
Before the stranger can settle the confusion bubbling through your entire body, a knock sounds from the door a few feet away. It slides open to reveal a woman in a white coat with a clipboard and pen in hand. With a sweet smile across her face, the doctor enters the room to approach your position on the bed. 
She outstretches a hand, “Hi, (Y/N). I’m Dr. Yoo Jeongyeon. I heard you had a pretty rough night.” Too lost inside bewilderment, you accept her formal greeting without saying a word. Dr. Yoo pays no mind to your silence, instead checking the machines at your bedside. “You should be glad Jinyoung found and brought you here.” She finishes recording the results of the pacemaker before requesting you to sit up for a moment. You do so, looking straight ahead as she checks your eyes. “You suffered a nasty concussion—”  She switches off the light, “—so how do you feel?” 
“I feel…” Your voice fades before you can give a complete answer. It’s not that it wasn’t an easy question—it’s the fact that right now, you feel great… The best you’ve felt in the past couple years as a matter of fact! But that doesn’t make any sense, especially with what you remember from the alleyway. There was blood… and you’re pretty sure your arm was broken too…
“It’s okay to be a little out of sorts. Especially after hitting your head and knocking yourself out.” Dr. Yoo assures, marking something down on her clipboard before nodding, “Everything looks great, but we’re going to keep you here for the rest of the night just as a precaution. You’re free to go home first thing in the morning.” 
“Wait, I swear I—” 
“Please let one of the nurses know if you need anything else. I’ll see you in the morning.” You watch as Dr. Yoo bids both you, and the man called Jinyoung, a brief goodnight and exits out the same door she came through only minutes ago, leaving your thoughts swirling with even more questions than before. 
You shake your head, “I didn’t fall though. I was attacked.” 
“Like she said, you hit your head pretty hard.” Jinyoung shrugs, “Your memory is probably a bit off.” 
“That’s not—no.” His face grows visibly surprised at the drop in your tone, but still retains his usual neutral aura. “I know what I saw.” 
Jinyoung releases a heavy, almost annoyed breath before climbing to his feet. More shivers attack your helpless body as he leans forward, diminishing the distance between the two of you until his nose is only centimeters from brushing your own. You can taste the mint of his breath as he speaks. Calm, collected, and slow: 
“You fell and hit your head. Nothing else happened.” Amongst his strange words, you can’t help but notice the rather unusual behavior of his eyes. The ring of his chocolate, brown irises disappears as his pupil grows three times its normal size before shrinking down to a nonexistent dot—you don’t like the familiar ghost of paranoia breathing down the back of your neck. 
“What the hell is wrong with your eyes?” 
For the first time, actual emotion lifts to Jinyoung’s face in the form of pure disorientation. He lurches backward, as if finally realizing how uncomfortably narrow the distance was between the two of you, and clears his throat. Although it’s probably a trick against the bright, alabaster background, you swear you saw his eyes once again flash to black. 
  “Nothing. It’s the lighting.” He manages to get over his confused state, or mask it beneath another layer of vacancy, before awkwardly gesturing to your cell phone on the bedside table. “I called your friend, Mark. He was the first contact on your list, so I just thought…” 
“That’s… really nice of you.” 
“He should be arriving soon…” Jinyoung, once again, stiffly points in the direction of the closed door. “I should wait outside to make sure he finds your room…” He hurries to the doorway, eager to be rid of the tension lingering between the two of your forms, and peers over his shoulder to nod, “I hope you have a goodnight, (Y/N).” 
“Jinyoung, wait—” You hurry to sit up, hoping to catch your mysterious savior before he disappears from the room. Thankfully, Jinyoung, with one foot out the door, pauses at your command. This time, he does not turn to meet your gaze—and you curse the longing that sparks in your gut because of it. 
“Thanks for… bringing me here, I guess.” Your cheeks burn as you say the words out loud, wondering if Jinyoung can hear the slight waver to your tone. You expect the stranger to nod his head, like before, and high tail out of your sight, but as always, Jinyoung does what you least expect: He turns around and delivers a tight-lipped, but surprisingly sweet smile. 
“You’re welcome.” His response makes your insides flutter, “I… I hope to see you again soon.” Jinyoung doesn’t give you the chance to return the conversation, and with one final glance, vanishes through the hospital doorway. Even with his presence gone, your body thrums with the remnants of his aura. Partly because of the lingering aftertaste of his charming presence:
—And partly because of the apprehensive feeling in your gut that grows the more you dwell on the abnormality of his gaze. 
☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ 
Jinyoung never meant for the night to turn out like this. He only wanted to get out of the manor—well, get away from his brother before he broke his neck. Literally. Jinyoung never meant to catch your scent during his midnight stroll, nor eventually find you in that alleyway, where he watched as you bravely attempted to fight off that crazed, bloodthirsty fledgling with nothing but a single shoe. The logical part of his brain initially forbode his intervention, but watching how you fought that vampire awoke the remaining human component inside his soul.
—He realized that he couldn’t let you die. 
So against his better judgement, Jinyoung saved your life… and now he’s paying the price. 
“You better have a damn good explanation or I’ll hex you into the next fucking century.” Jinyoung waits patiently as Mark exits the hospital elevator, barely flinching as he shoves his body against the nearest wall. Ignoring the pure rage wafting off of the witch’s body like a Spring scent, Jinyoung raises his arms and replies coolly: 
“Please take your hands off of me.” 
“Not until you explain to how (Y/N) was almost killed by a fucking bloodsucker.” Mark tightens his hold on Jinyoung’s collar, pressing him further into the surface of the wall. “If this is because of your douchebag brother, then I swear—”
“I already told you that Jaebeom cannot turn other vampires.” He pushes Mark’s body with just enough force to free himself from his hold. “And so help me, if you try to go after my family again, I’ll kill you and your pathetic minions.”
Mark scoffs, “Just because you can’t be killed doesn’t mean you’re invincible.” Jinyoung quickly bites his tongue to hold back his retort and inhales a deep breath to calm the frustration brewing through his veins. His mind, against his own will, conjures up the memory of you sitting and staring at him from the hospital bed. Just the image of your bright, fire-lit eyes eases the tension from his shoulders, washing away whatever anger remained inside his gut. 
Jinyoung sighs and changes the topic, “(Y/N) is fine. After I killed him, I fed her my blood—” 
“Oh, fucking hell—” Mark curses, burying his face in his palms. “Yeah, everything is just peachy.” 
“It was either that, or she die from blood loss. Take your pick.” 
“We had a deal,” The witch begins, “The coven, the pack and the league would allow you and your brother to stay in town as long as no other bloodsuckers make an appearance—“ 
“I can’t keep count of every vampire that comes into town,” Jinyoung replies truthfully. “Last I checked, that’s your seer’s job.” He takes note of the painful expression that overtakes Mark’s face, replacing his frustrated tone with one of concern, “What happened?” 
“Nayeon is dead.” He feels an imaginary punch sink into his gut at Mark’s sullen answer. “She was killed a couple hours ago.” 
“Killed? By what?” 
“That’s what we were trying to figure out when I got your goddamn call.”
Jinyoung shakes his head, “I’m sor—” 
“Save it.” Mark finishes just as a couple of chatting nurses clad in sky blue scrubs turn the corner and stop in front of the elevator. Both him and Jinyoung offer the hospital staff polite smiles, waiting a couple breaths for the metal doors to slide open and the passersby to enter. Only when the doors shut and the elevator dings, is when Mark continues: “Where is she?”
“Room 116. I told her I called you.” Jinyoung quickly moves forward as Mark tries to push past him, blocking the doorway so he can’t pass. “Hang on—” 
“We’re done talking—”
“She can’t be compelled.” Jinyoung ignores how Mark tries to shove him aside, keeping his body rigid and exactly in place. 
Mark rolls his eyes, “Well, no shit. I gave her a ring infused with vervain—” 
“She wasn’t wearing it,” Jinyoung insists, “And her blood is clean. You know what that means.” 
“Are you out of your fucking mind!?” A couple surrounding bystanders curiously glance their way at Mark’s hiss. The witch releases a heavy breath before dragging Jinyoung to a more inconspicuous corner of the hallway. His voice is quieter when he speaks, “Look, I know this girl. There’s no way in hell she's anything remotely supernatural.” 
“Then explain how she can’t be compelled by a Prime Vampire.” Jinyoung argues, narrowing his eyes as Mark scoffs and turns to begin the journey to your room. He purses his lips before calling out, “I know you feel it too.” Mark freezes, but doesn’t say a word. Jinyoung takes his silence as a means to continue, “—that rush you feel whenever she’s around… like you’re the most powerful being in the world.” 
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mark replies before peering over his shoulder to shoot Jinyoung a stern glare, “Stay the hell away from her. Or else.” And with that, Jinyoung watches as Mark scurries down the white hallway and disappears around a corner. 
Jinyoung releases a sigh, lifting a hand to run his fingers through his hair. His thoughts are scattered: Stressing about a witch killer lurking around the town… Dreading his future encounter with his ignorant, dastardly counterpart back at the manor… Pondering over the reasons why Mark lied just seconds before…  
But most importantly, Jinyoung wonders when he will be able to see you again. 
☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ 
Mark doesn’t understand why he’s so nervous to see you. Maybe it was the look in Jinyoung’s eyes that has him spooked, or the fact that you can’t be compelled by one of the most powerful vampires in existence. Since you came to Moon Dye Bay, Mark has been able to shield the truth of the monsters that go bump in the night from your innocent eyes—the knowledge of your resistance toward mind compulsion proves that he has to be even more careful… especially with a supernatural murderer in the picture. 
He inhales a deep breath before rapping his knuckles against the wood of the door. Your gentle call for his entry immediately lifts the heaviness from his chest. With less hesitation than before, Mark opens the obstacle and slips past the doorway into the room, his eyes softening at the sight of your body tucked beneath the sheets of the medical bed. 
“Hi.” 
“Hey, Mark.” Just the way you say his name spills warmth through his limbs, settling like a warm blanket over his heart. He makes his way to your bed to gather your figure in his arms, appreciating how yours and his bodies fit like puzzle pieces. 
He murmurs against the crown of your head, “How are you feeling?” 
“Honestly… confused as hell.” Mark pulls back at your weak attempt at a laugh to watch your face instead. His desire to caress the swell of your cheek comes at him so strong that he has to station his hands on your knees as a distraction. “I swear I was attacked by—I don’t even know what—but I don’t even know…” 
“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.” 
“I know, I just—don’t understand how things just got so screwed up, you know? I don’t even—Mark, what’s wrong?” 
Your question seizes his attention, causing his eyebrows to furrow from confusion. He opens his mouth to inquire about your out-of-the-blue concern, but his words die at the hand that appears on his cheek. He watches in disbelief as you wipe a tear from the edge of his eye, wondering where during the conversation he had begun to cry. Whether it’s the pure compassion in your eyes, or the traumatic encounters throughout the night, Mark doesn’t know… but he allows himself to break down in your hold. 
He allows himself to melt into your embrace as you pull him down against your body. He allows the sobs to freely flow from his lips and catch into the crook of your neck. He allows himself to be vulnerable for that one moment… because he can’t show weakness anywhere but with you. 
“I… I thought I lost you…” Mark feels your hold tighten at his whisper, “I can’t lose you… Not you…” 
“You won’t, Mark…”  For a moment, he allows his heart to trick his mind into believing your words meant more than what they’re intended for. Just for a moment, Mark actually convinces himself that here, in your arms, is where he belongs…but he knows it’s far from the truth. 
Because even though you may feel like home—Mark can never, truly satisfy his homesickness for you.
120 notes · View notes
the-hotter-otter · 3 years
Text
Strangers || ATEEZ Fanfic
Tumblr media
Seonghwa X OC
Mafia/Crime AU
3.7k words
Part 3 || chapter list || previous chapter || next chapter
Hyejin can’t fully commit to Seonghwa’s tempting offer, meanwhile Hongjoong continues to keep secretes.
Warning: blood, minor death, injury, violence, knife use
Angst, fluff, smut, cussing, violence, death
note: ayo shit will start moving soon I promiseee, I seriously don’t know where this story is gonna go but fuck it we’ll see. 
No pov
Hongjoong wasn’t at all surprised when Seonghwa came into his office late at night. He could tell there was a lie in between the lines Seonghwa spoke when he confronted the two last week. Being best friends for years with a bit of blood, death and guns on the side really did bring people together. 
“What’s her name?” Hongjoong asked, he couldn’t stay mad at Seonghwa. Hongjoong knew punishment wasn’t necessary on the eldest who was already racking his brain on it, as a leader he could tell when further discipline was needed and when it was best to leave it to their own self conscience. “If she’s staying here, I should at least know.”
“Lee Hyejin,” Seonghwa said, cursing the weird feeling of familiarity he felt after saying her name. 
“Lee hyejin?” Hongjoong quirked an eyebrow, he’s definitely heard of the name from somewhere, he just couldn’t pinpoint where. “Sounds familiar.”
Seonghwa merely nodded, somewhat glad that Hongjoong didn’t directly question him. “I’ll take responsibility for her.”
Hongjoong liked the sound of that, though it didn't change the fact that he was overlooking one more person. “That means a lot of things hwa, keeping her in line, taking care of her, watching her and protecting her if shit goes down.”
“She isn’t 5.” Seonghwa sighed, “I’m not spoon feeding her.” 
“But she knows.” Hongjoong reminded him, “and she knows she has you wrapped around her finger, people take advantage of that.” 
“I can always shoot her.” Seonghwa said as if it were so simple.
Hongjoong looked him up and down, silently judging the older one. Hongjoong sighed, he wasn’t exactly up for this kind of conversation at 2:30am, “Dramatic much... Aish don't waste the bullets, the suppliers have been shitty to us lately.”
“What I’m saying is you won't have to worry,” Seonghwa said, “you’ll barely notice her.”
Hongjoong looked Seonghwa up and down, “you want her to stay that badly?” 
Seonghwa was taken back by the other’s awkward perspective, “yes? There really isn’t any ulterior motive.”
Hongjoong gave a dawdled nod as he chuckled, “I’m playing with you hwa. Bring her in, I’ll let the others know of our latest addition.”
Seonghwa was about to step out of the office when Hongjoong suddenly spoke up again, “don’t forget about that task I gave you.”
Seonghwa gave a sharp nod, “I'll see to it by the end of the day.”
“Dont fuck up!” Hongjoong noted loud enough for the other to hear, he could imagine the rise he got from it. Deep down he was just joking, after all, Seonghwa never fucks up. 
Hongjoong enjoyed the tease he gave his best friend, more often than not, the former was in tight situations with serious consequences, loosening up was often the last thing he’d find himself doing. 
His smile was short lived when he suddenly felt the vibrations of his phone, and it wasn’t from the bold red one that was sprawled on the desk with the many papers. His face dropped drastically upon realizing that someone was calling the phone hidden deep in his pockets. There was only one person who’d be ringing. 
Mazaki Meiyo.
“Yes?” Hongjoong cautiously spoke up, his eyes darting around the office. He got up and opened the door to check if anyone was giving his conversation a listen. 
“They moved the deal.”
Hongjoong pinched the bridge of his nose, “when?”
“In an hour. You know just as well as me that this isn’t going to end smoothly.”
“Your deals rarely end well.” Hongjoong scoffed bitterly, he pulled the phone away from his ear when the other line went dead. He had to go now if he were to make it in time, he couldn’t afford to be late, not for these kinds of deals. 
Hongjoong pushed off his seat and swiftly buckled his hidden artillery onto his thigh and around his torso, making sure that his best weaponry was in close reach, ready for whatever conflict he was about to get into. Pulling the hood over his masked face, he checked the location Meiyo had sent him. 
The leader eyed the pile of paperwork that was due in a matter of days, he dreaded the inevitable all-nighters we’ll have to pull because of it. 
As Hongjoong left the household in silence, he turned his main phone off completely and stowed it in a hidden compartment. No one was going to find him tonight.
-
Hyejin pov
I stared at the phone screen in dismay, the loan shark has been after my ass for the debt I’ve yet to pay. I've been trying, but even after much struggle I only possess half of what I owe. 
I hated to take that offer from Seonghwa, the money from that deal would have covered my debt and rent from my residence long enough for me to make something out of a scrubby part time job, he just had to ruin me once more.
Then again, what other choice do I have? I leaned back on the wall of the alleyway, I don’t know anyone in this world. I was forgotten years ago, Seonghwa is the last person I’d go with, but he’s also the only one. 
My eyes drifted to the tall buildings around, they blocked the sunlight from ever entering these shabby alleys with large bins and locked deserted gates and doors. I met with the gazes that had been watching me for a while now, in a building a few blocks away yet still in perfect view, two middle aged men who most likely reeked of cigarettes and alcohol admired me from their apartment which could easily come off as an abandoned building left to collect dust and grime.
I squinted my eyes as I felt my vision start to give into fatigue, unrealistic hues of blue and neons started bouncing around. Every now and then, the migraine in my head would dust my eyes with a cloud of grey that blurred my sight ever so slightly. I sighed as I began seeing four instead of two weird men. I tried to refrain from focusing on anything, the lack of good sleep and food had me feeling all sorts of murky effects. 
Their stalkerish behaviour had been creeping me out for the past few days, despite it, I never saw a proper reason to leave the little spot I've claimed for rest. Plus, the odd duo hadn’t made any advances that had worried me thus far. 
The day continued, and the city had been busy as usual. Bikes raced down the side of the roads and paths, scaring the uptight mothers into a slur of curses. Teenage girls carelessly skipped around in their tiny croptops, powdery make up and flaunty shoes with boys their parents have no idea existed. Cars drove with their temperamental owners honking and anything and everything, then there were the workers who were either strolling around after their shifts or sprinting in swerves around people in effort to not be late.
Yet here I was sitting in a slump not so far from the hoards of people, absorbing the natural noises of the city that started to sound more like blaring megaphones instead of white noise. 9pm had crept faster than I expected, truthfully I wasn’t sure whether or not to go through with Seonghwa’s offer. I still had a chance to reconsider, perhaps I could deal with the information for money? After all, a controversial topic surrounding Seonghwa would no doubt bring in a big sum. 
I shook my head from the ludicrous thoughts, there was no guarantee in shady business, ever. It's a far-fetched plan, and the fact that I didn't have a name to my face meant I was that less convincing. 
Though I knew this offer would mean gambling my safety and if I were to stretch the possibilities, my own life. I still wasn’t 100% on board with the whole moving in with Seonghwa and whatever team he’s apart off, neither could I fathom the thought of that sinful man working with people, and that’s without mentioning his sudden change in attitude towards his victims.
It was yet another reason why I’m so reluctant to associate with him, because this isn’t the Seonghwa I was familiar with, he was a stranger, and no one is at ease when they’re affiliated with someone they don't know, especially when that person had guns, knives and all sorts of deadly possessions in their grasp. 
I groaned as I got up with a hazy mind. I looked up and to my suprise the stretchy men were back to watch me, it started to feel uncomfortable now. “Nice knowing you too I guess…” I keep my voice to a murmur. Soon I found myself heading to the meeting spot. 
My heart feels enraged with regret, and it’s impossible to ignore. There was a mere few minutes till the clock struck 9, I can get out of here now or never. 
The Central Train Station was quite grand. With multiple steps just to get to the entrance, neatly trimmed gardens surrounding the place and ancient pillars that held up the building. It was one of the older buildings that turned into a modern utility. 
“Fuck...” I muttered under my breath, “no, fuck this.”
Before I could think I was already speed walking to get the hell out of here. I had pride, I could at least preserve that after losing everything else. 
-
No pov
Blood coated the blade and splattered across the floor and walls of the office, the books on the shelf were drenched and soaking up every bit of red fluid. If only the man had just followed through with the deal, he wouldn’t have ended up dead. 
“What a hassle.” Seonghwa sighed, as he wiped his blade clean on his way out, though it was satisfying seeing the horrors painted on his face as Seonghwa taunted him, revenge for the knife he flung at Hongjoong during their last deal not long ago. 
Seonghwa analysed the slash along his shoulder area, it wasn’t serious at all but it sure did look ugly and soaked his dress shirt in a dark red, in the midst of the tension it felt numb but as his heart rate came down he could slowly feel the stinging pain emitting from the open flesh. He let out a relieved sigh after knowing that none of his own blood had ended up dripping anywhere. 
If it weren’t for the man’s sleeping family in the other room, Seonghwa could have easily finished it off with a bullet but he had to move silently. In turn, it cost him when the man felt fit to fight back with his own blade.
Seonghwa felt Hyejin was partly accountable for his injury. 20 minutes was a bit of a rush for a mission like this, but he had no choice if he was going to make it to the station in time. There was a chance that Hyejin wouldn’t even show up, and that chance made seonghwa unsteady and tense. 
As he pulled up to a red light he felt a distant memory unfold, one that brought a sense of discomfort.
Laughter bubbled up in the front of the car, toothy smiles that twinkled despite the gloomy rain outside. The lull of the music had been turned down for a while now as the soft chatter continued. 
“Hyejin, I told you I don’t need anything for my birthday.” Seonghwa insisted once more with a light chuckle, his one hand on the wheel while the other tried to hold her hand back. He watched in helplessness as she clipped the dangling toothless charm around the rear mirror of the car, her little laugh escaping her lips as it dangled between them.
“It’s cute! I’m telling you, you look just like him.” Hyejin insisted, “and that’s not even the best part.”
Seonghwa couldn't help but smile when the toothless unclipped in half to reveal a small photo framed inside, the details were minuscule but clearly contained the two of them on one of their more memorable dates. 
“Ya, this looks expensive, how much did you spend on me.” Seonghwa diverted the conversation as he observed the matte black of the green eyed dragon. 
“It wasn’t much, don't worry hwa.” Hyejin patted his hand, “I’ve got something else, it's more personal since I made it myself.” 
“So you have something else now?” Seonghwa sighed, though his stupid grin betrayed the annoyed look he tried to show.
The red light cascaded from red to orange to green and before hyejin could whip out the other half of her gift seonghwa sped off, “fine! I’ll accept your gifts, love.”
Seonghwa sneered at the Toothless charm he had yet to take off, if anything it became part of his car’s identity, making it slightly easier to navigate the garage of small black cars, specially on the days when all the vehicles would be together. 
Seonghwa had pulled to a slow stop in front of the station, hiding the charm was his first and foremost priority, Hyejin would most definitely recognize it. 
As he was about to yank the chain off, the corner of his eyes caught a sudden shadow appearing at the window.
Completely forgetting about the charm, Seonghwa halted in his seat, his hand already clasped around the gun latched onto him. It wasn’t until a hesitant Hyejin peered through the window did he relax his grip. On the other hand, Hyejin was feeling anything but relaxed, especially after seeing the bloodbath of a man in the driver's seat.
“So you’ll take my offer?” Seonghwa asked as if it wasn't already obvious enough, Hyejin scoffed. Her response was seen through the way she snuggled down into the passenger seat in a strained sigh of relief after being situated on the hard concrete for days on days.
Throughout the ride Hyejin had kept a careful observation of the roads they had been speeding across, if worse came to worse, she could make a run for it. 
Hyejin silently and subtly glanced around, the car itself hadn’t changed at all, not even the peppermint scent it gave off from the gum Seonghwa had been loyal to for most of his life, though it was currently heavily overpowered by the stench of blood. Hyejin didn’t want to know how and what got him that gruesome injury.
However, the most prominent and unusual feature that had still existed in the car was the all too familiar charm that dangled and swung around underneath the rearview mirror. The dragon's bright green eyes and toothy smile didn't go unnoticed, especially since Hyejin was the one who got it for him years ago. 
Hyejin had the decency to stay silent about it, the stiffness of the air was already far too overbearing, there was no need to intensify it’s sour atmosphere.
“It’s not just me who lives here.” Seonghwa brings up, 
“I figured.” Hyejin sighed, she had heard the many rumours over the years of how a certain group had been overturning the criminal world with unrivaled skill and accomplishments, they became big in the industry. This group of young, skilled men made a name for themselves and it became one feared by many, ATEEZ. 
Though it wasn’t just their skill that had made them the talk of many circles, it was the people within the group, the majority of which already had a reputation high on their shoulders. Hyejin had heard of the promising sniper who had joined their ranks, the insanely witty dealer who knew how to smooth talk his way to riches, the stealthy man who snuck into and claimed dangerous possessions without a single sound. 
Then there was the hitman who possessed the skill of 100 men, he was a young and promising lone wolf who had been rumoured to have joined ATEEZ.
Hyejin didn’t want to believe it was Seonghwa, in fact she didn't want to hear about anything related to Seonghwa, but it wasn’t possible when she was involved with loan sharks and illegal exchanges for the money she was in dire need for. Of course, because of her interactions with others, Hyejin was aware of Seonghwa’s growing skill and relevant changes, it disgusted her to say the least, how much better he had gotten at taking lives.
However the failed deal from last week confirmed her denial to be wrong, Seonghwa was well and truly closely associated with a group, and that group was no doubt ATEEZ.
“Dont try anything stupid.” Seonghwa warned, Hyejin rolled her eyes slightly, “I’m serious, I see the way you're memorizing these roads.”
Hyejin froze momentarily, she eyed Seonghwa who had removed his eyes from the road after stopping at a red light. Hyejin had forgotten how sharp he actually was, the intellectual from highschool still existed within him.
Hyejin got the chance to really see how much Seonghwa had changed, even underneath all of that stained blood and light smears of dirt, she could easily tell that his facial features had sharpened immensely, he wasn’t the same soft faced charmer that made highschool hearts throbs on a daily. If anything, Seonghwa now resembled a high class heartbreaker with a body count worthy enough for a world record. 
Of course some things don't ever change, like his lush lip and stunning eyes that stared back at her. Before the awkwardness could settle, Hyejin looked away, subconsciously glancing at the toothless charm. Seonghwa noticed the glare she gave it, his hands went to take it off but was ultimately stopped by the swat Hyejin gave.
“What’s the point of taking it off now? You had years to do that.” Hyejin raised an eyebrow. 
Seonghwa did not respond and merely sighed as he began moving on the road once again. Hyejin was taken back when they suddenly verged off into a bush area, what was a simple scenery of grass turned into a splatter of greenery. Trees towered high, vines and dense bushes had taken over, it was an untouched forest and they were driving right through it.
Hyejins eyes squinted in growing concern, she wanted to believe they were just passing through to get to another town, but her panic only continued to rise as they got deeper into the maze of nature. Her eyes glare at Seonghwa who seemed to have already expected her to build up doubts.
“Jump out and you’ll be as good as dead.” Seonghwa warned, as he quickly glanced at her stray hand reluctantly reaching for the handle.
“Where are we going Seonghwa….” Hyejin glowered at the driver who was rather unfazed. Even when the subtle sound of a knife being drawn was heard, Seonghwa didn't look away from the road.
The driver pushed his head back against the seat as soon as he caught sight of the fast approaching knife. With the blade a finger's length away, Seonghwa sighed, “I’m not gonna hurt. We’re going to the house, so put the knife down and have a little faith.” 
“Who the hell lives in a goddam forest?!” Hyejin hissed in a raised voice, her eyes teared up from staring so intensely into his side profile. 
“Put the knife down or we’ll both die.” Seonghwa lowered his voice, and Hyejin did not comply. The male halted the car to connect his eyes to hers, in one swift and unnoticeable movement, he grasped her wrist tightly, causing the knife to be let loose and drop to the pit of the car. Hyejin suddenly let a sharp exhale out as Seonghwa pinned her hand down in between them. She cursed her hazy headaches for causing the drastic disadvantage against Seonghwa.
“Stop panicking, we’re almost there.” Seonghwa said as he began driving once again, Hyejin didn’t attempt to squirm out of his hold.
“Your a fucking joke,” Hyejin hissed, “I’ll never put faith in you, not after all the shit you’ve done to me.” 
Soenghwa pinched his lips together at the indirect upbringing of her family’s murder. He wasn’t about to smooth that mess out now, it’ll require a calmer Hyejin and a better situation to explain. 
Hyejin tried to compose herself, but she knew the only way to soothe her panic was to see proof of what Seonghwa was saying.
As they pulled into the driveway of Horizon, Hyejin's tense shoulders melted into the seat. Seonghwa scoffed as he got out of the car first. The jerking of his head signalled for her to get out, hyejin sneered at the man, “give me a damn second will you?”
Seonghwa rolled his eyes before heading inside momentarily, most likely to check if anyone was still up in the early stages of the night. Hyejin took the time alone to get a good grasp at what she had just gotten herself into.
A house, full of dangerous men, in the middle of a forest and a single long ass road back to civilization. 
This wasn’t ideal at all, and Hyejin started to regret this more than ever.
As she took in short breaths her eyes trailed back to the rear mirror charm. All of a sudden, curiosity had her fiddling with the Toothless till it unlatched. She furrowed her eyebrows at the sight of the blank frame. It wasn’t that she was disappointed, it was merely confusion.
“But you keep the charm…” Hyejin glared at the Toothless that was once a gift of love. In the back of her mind she wondered if her other gift was still intact.
Hyejin could worry about that later. Right now, she needed to stay sane and alive, she knew well enough that she would never be guaranteed a way out of death's grasps. Relish in the house and slowly pay off her existing debt? Yes. Get comfortable and trust that your back will be safe in a distant place full of criminals? Hell no.
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philliamwrites · 3 years
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i could make you need me all the time (pt.2)
Fandom: Persona 5
Pairing: Akira/Akechi
Tags: #justice rank 8 spoilers, #slight angst, #persona 5 royal spoilers, #new semester spoilers
Words: 3.4k
Summary: Akechi is counting numbered days, preparing himself for the end. Akira being himself doesn't help.
Note: Part 2 | Inspired by ‘Make it Holy’ by The Staves.
i could make you need me all the time
    Lavenza is not what Akechi has expected. Not that he’s expected anything specific in the first place, but a little child with golden eyes, staring at him with such an intense gaze that he is the one looking away first, is new. Akira being too prying for his own good is nothing new though. He stays after everyone leaves the nurse’s room, leaning against a white wall between two areca palms while watching Akechi on his quest to find band-aids he doesn’t even need.
    Nothing and everything changed after Christmas Eve.
    They aren’t fooling around in Save Rooms anymore. No one buys their ‘Forgot something and have to go back’-trick because no one leaves Akira and him alone for even a second. Akira thinks it’s rude. Akechi doesn’t really care. If possible, he doesn’t want to see him at all.
    “My sports uniform looks good on you,” Akira says. There’s a slight tilt to his voice Akechi’s heart always responds to with a little jolt—the eradicated-the-enemy-fashionably-tilt, the-I’m-your-rival-don’t-get-too-cocky-tilt, the post-orgasm-satisfied-tilt. Where once adrenaline shot through his body, only electricity remains that paralyses him.
    It’s the first time his body simply shuts down instead of running or fighting, effectively betraying him.
    Avoiding Akira is like trying to run away from a bee while wearing cologne that smells of pansies. It isn’t too evident in Maruki’s palace. Any slip-up means potentionally risking all their lives, so Akira approaches him for obligations only. Healing, consultation, strategy. Akechi lets him, always catching him staring at his ass though.
    Everything gets trickier when they’re in the real world. There’s only so long Akechi can hide in his cold one-room apartment, emptied by Shido’s henchmen at some point during his disappearance in December, before a phone call or message summons him to meet with the rest. He does want to defeat Maruki. He does not want to achieve it by pretending to be friends.
    “If you have time to simply stand there, why not use it to plan our next infiltration?” Akechi asks without looking back, pretending that rummaging through the cupboards requires his whole attention. He’s a man on a mission, adamant that if he only ignores Akira long enough, he’ll just lose interest like a child growing bored with their toys.
    He underestimates him.
    Again.
    “Morgana and the rest have that covered.” Footsteps draw closer. Akechi’s body tenses into one hard, solid muscle. “I’m here because there’s something we need to talk about.”
    “Is that so?” Akechi closes a cabinet door with a loud bang, marching to the other side of the room. “Because I have nothing to say to you.”
    There are million things he wants, maybe needs to say, but simply thinking about them closes Akechi’s throat off, choking him with this bitter taste of rotten glory and ruined dreams. He’d rather die than allow this weakness to take hold of him.
    “Akechi.”
    He ignores him, rummaging through a drawer that’s crammed full of snacks. No band-aids. He hates this place.
    “Akechi.”
    Dull pain throbs at the back of his head. He tells Robin Hood to make Loki stop, but silence in return reminds him that since the boiler room, Robin has been gone. It’s easy to forget that sometimes. It isn’t as easy falling asleep again after waking from a nightmare where he hears Robin’s atrocious screams still ringing in his head.
    He tears through the next drawer, refusing to think about anything else except band-aids, band-aids, band-aids, what shitty nurse room doesn’t have band-aids—
    “Goro.”
    Akira is so close; he feels his warm breath on the back of his neck.
    Fight, flight or stay to be devoured. Akechi barely turns his head, eyes creeping up slowly to Akira’s face. Being this close was never a problem before—Akechi has had enough time to count every single lash, black as spilt ink, cursing them curling like crescent moons and throwing long shadows over high, winged cheekbones he can draw with closed eyes on paper. This face is as familiar as his own. He’s seen it angry, laughing, frowning; wearing a wicked, cruel smile, contort in hot, all-consuming pleasure: slightly open mouth with pink, swollen lips, blushing, hot cheeks. Dead, empty eyes. Red, thick blood between slanted eyebrows.
    In his nightmares, Akechi hears Robin’s scared screams in the boiler room, and sees Akira’s slack face slam on the prosecutor’s desk.
    No. There really is nothing to say.
    “Goro?” Akira’s voice is barely a whisper. “You’re shaking.”
    If there is a time for his body to betray him, it isn’t now. Akechi turns away, his mission forgotten. Right now, he needs to get as far away from here as possible. Akechi never feared his mistakes to catch up to him some day, but Akira, alive and kicking Akira, proves him wrong over and over again. “If there’s nothing else, it’s time for me to go,” he says.
    He shoves Akira out of his way, quickly pulling his hand back as if burnt by this simple touch. He manages to cross the room halfway before Akira’s voice makes him stop.
    “Were you looking for this?”
    He turns around. Akira is holding a partially opened package of band-aids, presenting them like bait to prey that doesn’t know any better. Akechi wants to bare his teeth.
    “I’m not here to play games,” he hisses, stomping towards Akira who beelines towards him as well, approaching Akechi too fast. Two feet until they crash like stars and swallow everything. One foot until they collide like cars and explode into tiny, burning pieces. Before they set the room in flames, Akira halts.
    “Good,” he says and takes Akechi’s wrist—far gentler than he’d expected or liked, and leads him to the sitting area near the door where he can see the exit so close and yet so far. “Because I’m not playing.”
    Akechi clicks his tongue.
    He drops begrudgingly into an armchair, folding one leg over the other and crossing his arms. Akira knees down in front of him, just a few inches away from his legs. It reminds Akechi of a similar image several months ago, only he was still acting for an audience that never cared about him in the first place, and Akira was wearing a tight, black latex cop uniform.
    Only one of those things makes him want to go back to that time.
    “Let me,” Akira says, holding out one hand to Akechi like a knight asking for allowance to kiss his maiden’s fair hand.
    “I’m not a little kid,” Akechi hisses but it lacks its usual venom. Akira doesn’t pressure. Wordlessly, he waits, the inside of his palm lying open, vulnerable.
    Akechi stares daggers at it, hoping it will simply disappear. When the result disappoints, he takes the easy route and slaps his hand in Akira’s. “Just hurry up.”
    Akira hums. He’s inspecting Akechi’s hand, searching for the injury like a scientist looking for the answer of the afterlife. His hold is light like a feather, careful and hesitant, as if the universe granted him the honour to look after a priceless treasure that builds kingdoms and burns countries.
    “Where do you need it?”
    “I can do it on my own.”
    “Oh, I don’t doubt your abilities.” Fumbling with the bandage, Akira pulls his eyebrows together in concentration, a little smile flirting with his lips. Akechi knows it, the everything-is-a-game-to-me-smile but this time stakes are too high for him to join. “But humour me. Now, where do I put it on?”
    He glares at him. Seeing no way to win, he turns his hand, his palm fitting perfectly against Akira’s, showing the little, shallow cut on one finger.
    Akira stares at it, very unimpressed. “Are you an actual child?”
    Akechi pulls his hand away—too slow. Akira’s fingers latch around his wrist, holding him in place. “Wait, wait, I’m joking.”
    “You’re not funny,” Akechi replies drily. He watches Akira put a bandage around his finger, smoothing it out with his thumb.
    “This…” He digs his thumb slightly where the wound is, making it burn but Akechi doesn’t flinch. “… looks like a ring, doesn’t it?”
    Akechi raises one eyebrow. “It doesn’t.”
    “Like a wedding ring,” Akira continues as if he didn’t say anything. Akechi looks down at the band-aid around his ring finger. He feels too awake all of a sudden, yet extremely tired. Everything buzzes, from his head to his toes, and he can’t tell if it’s Maruki’s Actualized Happy World or Akira touching him or the fact that he should not be. He remains very still, like a corpse, and stares over Akira’s curly mop of hair at the mirror hanging at the opposite end of the room. Brown eyes stare back at him—unflinching, lifeless like the glassy eyes of a dead fish until he blinks and it’s just his normal, usual face.
    “Don’t tell me you’re entertaining the absurd idea of marriage,” he mocks, a crooked smile cutting his mouth into two red lines. “What are you, a lonely housewife in her thirties?”
    “What can I say, I’m a romantic at heart,” Akira answers. He isn’t smiling.
    Akechi’s grin dies. “If you have time to think about something this foolish, then there will be no problem in securing the path to the treasure tomorrow, right?” His voice sounds weird to his own ears. He feels sick.
    Finally, his hand is set free as Akira places it carefully on Akechi’s knee.
    “You’re smart enough to figure out where I’m going with this conversation,” Akira says, rising to his feet. He seems a little absent minded, his eyes unfocused and thoughts far away from this room. “Think about my proposal.”
    “Propo—” Akechi jumps to his feet, his ears buzzing with a swarm of angry bees. He’s so close to Akira, their chest almost touch. He smells it again: coffee, washing powder, sweat. No blood this time. It feels wrong. “I have no interest in entertaining this stupid idea.”
    “Do you hate it because it’s a social construct and divorce is way too expensive,” Akira asks, his eyes snapping back to Akechi and focusing with too much determination in them on him. “Or is it the thought of living with someone that allows you to be vulnerable that scares you.”
I’m not scared of anything, Akechi wants to say. What comes out instead is, “Why did you ask if you know the answer already?”
“Because I want to hear it from you. I want to know what you want.”
    What does Goro Akechi want? No one has asked him this before, so he’s taken aback a second, speechless. A lump grows in his throat, burning every time he swallows.
    “I don’t want someone else to decide how I live my life,” he says eventually. Slowly, word for word so Akira understands that what makes Goro Akechi the person he is, is something he was never allowed to have in the first place and the crave for it now is like craving air underwater. “I don’t want to be someone’s puppet.”
    Akira’s voice grows louder. “Then what do you want?”
    Akechi’s body shudders with rage. I want to live.
    He turns around, blinking furiously against the burning in his eyes. “We’re done talking. You can contact me if there are important things we need to discuss. That’s what I want.”
    There is no answer, but he knows he’s got his point across. Some people take Akira’s silence for what it is, when sometimes it speaks louder than his words. Right now, he feels it like a solid pressure against his skin, leaving dents and reshaping his body and he’s afraid to turn around and look in the mirror again.
    Marriage.
    Marriage with Akira Kurusu of all people.
    What an absolutely stupid, horrendous idea. What a horrifying dream and scary hope to plant into someone whose soil is home to maggots and vermin that only know the taste of blood. Akechi takes that seed and hides it somewhere deep, deep inside his chest where the dirt hasn’t reached; an almost forgotten place that still loves toy guns and collects Phoenix Ranger Featherman stickers to put them on his bento lunch box.
    That is the only part of himself he wishes Akira could get to know before the end as well.
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neoneversleeps · 5 years
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bad guy | j.jh
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pairing: jaehyun x reader - bad guy
genre: angst, fluff, smut
warnings: cheating, swearing, semi-public sex, fingering, oral (female recieving)
description: 
The damn leather jacket that hangs over your desk chair is what compels you to finally come face to ace with the man whose heart you broke months ago. The outcome of the encouter however, is not what you had expected in the least. 
(this fic is kind of a twist on bad guy by billie eilish)
words: ~5k
playlist ⟡
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You feel the blood trickle down your nose before you even feel the impact. It takes a few seconds to actually register that you’ve just been punched in the face. Slaps were a common occurrence but actually being punched? Now that was a new one. You had to hand it to her, she had a mean right hook.
A chuckle escapes your mouth as your hand wipes off the blood on your nose. You could hear the murmurs of shocked onlookers around you. The girl seems even more infuriated after you chuckle, face contorted in anger as she opens her mouth to scream at you.
"You slut! Making out with my boyfriend for everyone to see?
You simply roll your eyes at her. This wasn't the first time you had heard those words. You hadn't really ran any background checks on the long list of hookups you had these past couple months. You couldn't bring yourself to care much, either.
"Who do you think you are, going around kissing other girls boyfriends?"
You cock your head at her, slightly narrowing your eyes.
"Shouldn't you be asking your boyfriend why he's going around kissing girls that aren't his girlfriend?"
She pauses, suddenly at a loss for words. A few seconds later she stomps her foot, not unlike a toddler during a temper tantrum, huffs indignantly and storms off, boyfriend in tow, tail between his legs.
You decide to head to the nearest bathroom, behind the club, to inspect the damage. You catch some stares as you round the corner, the people there clearly finding your bloodstained appearance more interesting than whatever else they were talking about before. You didn't shy away from any of the glances, choosing instead to sneer back at them, which made them turn their heads away without a fault.
You near the outdoor bathroom, a small rectangular construction with only one meek bathroom stall and a poor excuse for a mirror. Closing the door behind you, you lean forward on the sink and inspect your nose. It could look worse for wear, nothing broken at least. The bad lighting and smudged mirror didn't exactly let you see the full damage, but there was no cracking and no continuous pain so that was a positive. You figure it must be just a few burst blood vessels. You splash some water on your face, cleaning off the already drying blood. You look back up at your reflection. The shirt was ruined though. Bummer, you didn’t own a lot of white shirts that you liked and unfortunately, you did actually like this one.
Slightly sighing in frustration, you leave the stall to go hail a cab, ready to head home for the night.
The door of your small city apartment clicks shut as you enter. You flick on the lights and glance around. The place was in disarray to no surprise. Every time you claimed you’d tidy the whole thing up, something more important always seemed to come up. Truthfully, you couldn't bring yourself to care.
You glance at the clock as you stroll into your kitchen. 2:39am. Perfect time for some plain old buttered toast. You hadn’t drank much, the alcohol levels in your blood probably close to zero at this point. Your stomach, however, was growling in demand for food. So you get to work, taking two slices of bread out of the freezer and placing them in your hand-me-down toaster.
After finishing your honourable 3am meal, you slowly shuffle past your bedroom door and into the adjacent bathroom. You discard your clothes, making a mental note to throw the bloodied shirt away instead of just throwing it in with the wash.
As you step under the shower, the warmth of the water envelops you. None of your neighbors in the apartment complex showered at this hour, so it was always a guarantee for hot water. You stand in the stream for a while, letting your muscles relax and letting the water wash aways all your sins, worries and fears. Of course the water couldn't actually wash those away, but you liked to believe it could linder them. Make them disappear even for a little while.
The bathroom floor tiles are cold against your feet after you finally decide you'd soaked up enough water for the night (morning, technically). You dried off your body, wrapping the towel around your figure before wrapping another one around your hair. You made use of the few skincare products you had for your nightly (again, more accurately morning) routine.
You pad out into your bedroom, removing the towel from your hair and trying to dry said hair with it as best you could. Your eyes flick to the jacket hanging on your desk chair in the corner of your still dark room, illuminated only by the path of light coming from the open bathroom door. It was an old dark brown leather jacket, surely worth a lot when first bought. The years of use have worn it at its edges but it still shines pristinely, leather well kept.
A face flashes before your eyes. The owner of that very jacket. Jung Jaehyun. The one boy who had managed to get a little too close for comfort. The thought of him leaves a bitter taste of hurt and regret in your mouth. A twinge of guilt twists your insides as well.
You had been meaning to give the jacket back to him, tired of it being a constant reminder of your past relationship. You had been saying that for months now though, yet you never got around to actually get it back to him. Coward. the voice in your head helpfully provides the real reasoning behind not returning the jacket. You would one day. In fact you would go tomorrow. Today? Ok, realistically that wouldn't happen. You settled for the coming week. The coming week  you would return Jung Jaehyun’s jacket.
Content with your decision, you change into your pyjamas and slip into bed, the clock on the nightstand reading 4am.
It’s a wednesday afternoon two weeks after the bloody nose incident that you finally walk down the street where the garage that Jaehyun works at is located. Ok so maybe you didn't quite adhere to the deadline you set for yourself, but you were here now, right?
You were slowly approaching Jaehyun’s workplace. The buzzing sounds  of various machinery filtering in through your ears. The garage always had its doors open, probably willing more wind to enter the hot work space. The afternoon sun stands proud in its place, rays casting a golden light onto the city and pleasantly warming its citizens. Even though you appreciate the balmy caress of the sunlight on your skin, you imagine being stuck working on a car in this heat would be most uncomfortable. Jaehyun never seemed to mind however, you couldn't remember him ever complaining about his job. He was good at what he did, although he did always talk about rising up in the ranks. He didn't want to work at a garage for the rest of his life, and you couldn't blame him. You were sure he would achieve his goals however. If there was one word you would use to describe Jaehyun, it was determined.
Your eyes search the area as you arrive in front of the garage. There’s a nervous feeling in your gut the longer your eyes search, the jacket in your backpack seemingly getting heavier by the second. Maybe you shouldn't have come.
You’re about to turn on your heel but before you can do so, your eyes catch sight of a brown tuft of hair behind the car on the far end. You would recognize that soft brown hair anywhere.
Your feet stroll over to the car furthest away from you. A red 1966 shelby. Nice model, a vintage mustang, the apparently freshly redone paint-job glistening in the afternoon sun. Now, you wouldn't consider yourself a cars connoisseur by any means, but your granddad had taught you to have an eye for value.
“Beautiful car.” You say, your fingers lightly hovering above the shiny red paint, careful not to touch. The man behind the car gets up with a chuckle. “Yeah, well, she's not mine-.” A pause. “Oh, hey, y/n. What brings you here?” The tone of his voice is casual, but obviously forced. It stings just a bit. He stands there just as you remembered him. His well-built frame stands tall, defined muscles visible in the black tank top he was wearing, honey brown fringe damp from the sweat falling just below his eyebrows. His hair had grown a little since you last saw him.
“Oh, you know. Just passing through this area and thought I might stop by. Maybe looking to buy some car air fresheners.” His face tilts, eyes narrowingly only a millimeter. “Uh huh. You don't own a car though?”
Shit. “Right well… it's for a friend. Her car always smells musty.” You recovered rather well in your defense, able to play it off with a chuckle.
“Um, okay. Is that really all? Because if yes I should get back to work before-” “No!” Okay, that was way too quick, you mentally reprimand yourself. Clearing your throat, you continue.
“No, actually, that's not all. I was wondering… if maybe you would like to go get a drink sometime?” What!? What the hell was that? You were supposed to give him his leather jacket back, not ask him out.
Even Jaehyun looks surprised at your question. His hands fly up to his hair, running them through it a couple of times, a habit you had seen countless times before. “Well I, um-” “Jaehyun!” You heard the rather shrill voice of a girl coming from your right. Soon enough the girl that had called his name was now plastered to his side, hands curling around his arm.
“Who’s this, Jaehyun?” The fake tone to her voice is so obvious you want to roll your eyes.
“Oh uh, Y/n is an old...friend of mine. Y/n, this is my girlfriend Nina.” She sticks her hand out and you take it, albeit begrudgingly, while forcing a smile. “It's nice to meet you.” The blonde smiles back, face scrunching up just a little too much to be considered genuine.
“Likewise.” She quips before directing a pout at Jaehyun. “Hyunnie, you promised you’d get off work early to go to that one restaurant I was telling you about.” Hyunnie? You internally shiver in disgust at the pet name. Jaehyun's eyes, which were previously staring at yours, suddenly flit over to Nina’s face.
“Oh yeah, of course. I’ll go get ready and be out in a sec. Why don’t you go wait in the car?” He smiles at her, dimples showing prominently in his cheeks. You hadn't seen those in a while. “Ok!” She says chirpily, leaning up slightly to peck him on the mouth. Suddenly the pit of your stomach boils with anger. Why were you angry? You surely weren’t jealous, were you? No, Y/n. You broke up with him, remember? You ended things.
She turns in your direction, blonde hair swishing around in her high ponytail. “Bye, Y/n!” The lilt in her voice almost made you want to gag but you force out a smile instead and bid her a goodbye as well.
“She’s nice.” Jaehyun almost snorts. Apparently you hadn’t managed to keep the slight disgust out of your voice as well as you had hoped.“She is. I like her.” He says the words as he looks at you. It almost feels like he’s trying to gauge your reaction. You simply nod and give him a tight-lipped smile at first, your hands digging themselves into the pockets of your denim jacket.
“Well, she’s your girlfriend. Isn’t it kind of a given that you like her?” You state more than asks, although you do feel slightly confused now that you thought back on his words. Jaehyun just shrugs nonchalantly.
“Anyways, you heard her.” He jerks his head towards, presumably, the direction of his car. “I'm heading out now.” He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, as if considering his options. “About that drink, text me and we can agree on a day. Just as friends though, right?”
It was your turn to be surprised now. You hadn't expected him to actually accept, especially after his girlfriend had interrupted the two of you. It takes you a few stunned seconds before you can respond. “Um, yeah of course. Just as friends.” You scan over his face, curious if you could make out any hidden emotions, but all you can see is Jaehyun’s pleasant smile.
You start to walk backwards, suddenly itching to get out of the now slightly tense and awkward atmosphere. You feel his eyes trail after you. “I’ll text you then. Bye, Jaehyun.” You turn fully after your goodbye, still feeling the burn of his gaze on your back.
“Bye, Y/n.”
You walk home that day in the afternoon sun, a weird feeling brewing deep in your stomach and Jaehyun’s leather jacket still safely stored inside your bag.
You watch the droplets of condensation slowly slide down the side of your glass, thumbs drawing idle circles on the table. Jaehyun should be arriving any minute now. The thought of him makes tiny balls of sweat form at the base of your neck. You’re nervous. Just like the day you went to see him at the garage, you were starting to regret ever texting him in the first place. Thinking that maybe you should've just ignored his acceptance of your invite.
You had tried to, really. But Jaehyun’s name on the message app on your phone had tempted you one too many times. You had caved a few nights prior, asking to meet at a relatively well-known bar in the city and now here you were, sitting alone at a table, leg bouncing in anticipation.
You heave a sigh and take up your phone. Just as you decide to distract yourself with some mindless game, you hear the scrape of a wooden chair from across you.
Jaehyun gives you a smile as he sits down in front of you, prominent dimples poking out. “Sorry I’m late. Got caught up in traffic. Have you been waiting long?”
You shake your head. “No worries, I only just got here about five minutes ago.” Liar. You had been waiting for over half an hour. Jaehyun glances at your glass and raises an eyebrow. “They must have fast service then.”
You don't let the nervous churn of your stomach get to you as you respond. “For a pretty girl sitting alone in a bar? The service is always fast.” You let a small smirk adorn your lips and Jaehyun chuckles at the statement. “Fair enough.”
After a quick glance at his phone screen, Jaehyun directs his attention back at you, leaning on his forearms. “So, how’ve you been?”
You lean back a bit, unconsciously (or more likely consciously) putting space between you and Jaehyun. “Oh you know, going to work, reading up on the news, getting into brawls outside of clubs, the usual.” Jaehyun laughs at what he assumes was a joke. You bite your cheek as a smile finds its way onto your face as well. If only he knew.
It’s ridiculous really, how easy you could fall into conversation with Jaehyun. It feels natural. However in your mind there’s a voice constantly reminding you that this was just what you had come to fear all those months ago. What you had with jaehyun, you had considered it a fling, even though it had felt like a relationship more than you cared to admit.
Your parents failed marriage and the many failed attempts at love on your own part had made you quite opposed to the idea of a relationship. The last time you had been with someone for longer than two weeks had been Jaehyun. You were adamant about keeping feelings out of the mix as best you could, but Jaehyun was a dangerous man. He had found a way to weasel himself into your heart and as soon as you had realised, you shut him out completely.
You wonder why jaehyun was sat in front of you at that moment, an easy smile on his face. When you think back to the night you “broke up”, you recall being rather horrible to him. The hurt expression on Jaehyuns face resurfaces in your mind and you push it down, choosing instead to focus on the conversation.
You laugh genuinely at Jaehyun’s crazy work story and watch how he leans back, the smile on his face making his eyes crinkle up. He was still gazing at you after you finished your little fit of laughter. “What?” You ask, a shy grin pulling at your lips under his gaze.
“I missed your laugh.” You don't fail to notice the way his eyes trace over your face and down over your body, lingering at the curvature of your breasts in your low-cut tee. You shift slightly in your chair and his eyes flick back up to meet yours. You both stare at each other, as if daring the other to back down.  You can feel Jaehyun's leg brushing against yours under the table.
Oh, you think, Jaehyun was a dangerous man indeed.
The bathroom wall is cold against your bare ass as Jaehyun slips your jeans further down your legs. You were unsure of how you got here, your memory going hazy after the little staring contest you had earlier. He’s kissing you feverishly, lips travelling up and down the sides of your neck as you claw at his t-shirt covered back. You audibly gasp as you feel his fingers rub at your clit through your panties. “Fuck, you’re so wet already.” You whimper as he grunts in your ear. You had slept and made out with countless people over the past months and yet none of them could make you feel even a fraction of pleasure compared to what you felt whenever Jaehyun touched you.
His mouth trails down further along your body, roughly pushing your t-shirt and bra out of the way to latch onto your nipple, his free hand coming up to play with your other one. Your head falls back against the wall as he grazes your sensitive bud with his teeth, loving the mix of pain and pleasure.
Jaehyun’s hands grab hold of the back of your upper thighs as his face hovers above your heat. He looked up at you through his lashes and you grabbed a fistful of his hair as you urge him on, the ache between your legs nearing unbearable.
A jolt of pleasure shoots up your body as you feel Jaehyun's tongue lick up your slit before pushing his tongue inside of your folds. His hands still work at your clit in small circles, applying just the right amount of pressure to the bud. You bite your lip as you try to hold back the moans that were threatening to spill, this was still a public restroom after all.
“Fuck, Jae.” You curse as he inserts two fingers into your entrance, moving to suck and kiss at your clit. You could perfectly picture his satisfied smile as he hums against your core, once again sending vibrations throughout your body. Gosh, how you had missed this.  
As Jaehyun picks up his speed, you feel the knot in your stomach twist tighter, the gasps leaving your mouth becoming higher in pitch. After a few more pumps you feel your walls contract around Jaehyun’s fingers and pure bliss overcomes you, your body going limp, almost sliding down the wall if it weren’t for Jaehyun coming up to support your weight.
“Shit, I missed this so much. I missed you so much.” Jaehyun mumbles in your ear as he turns your body. Now you stand facing the large bathroom mirrors, hips slightly digging into the border of the sink and panties still halfway down your thigh. You stare at your reflection. You look fucked out, hair and clothes in disarray, with a flurry of small marks beginning to form on your neck and Jaehyun slowly kissing down your shoulders. Looking at yourself was like a slap in the face. This was wrong, oh this was all so wrong. You broke up with Jaehyun. Jaehyun had a girlfriend.  You were fucking Jaehyun in the bathroom of the bar where you had asked to meet up as friends. Friends.
Shit. Panic floods your body and you know you need to get out. Out. Out. Out. You turn around and promptly push Jaehyun off you, nearly making him topple over in the process.
“We can’t do this! You- I - We- we just can’t!” You make quick of pulling your underwear and jeans, grabbing the purse you had previously discarded and rushing out of the room, Jaehyun still struggling to keep up with the sudden turn of events.
“Y/n!”
You hear his shouts coming from behind you but you don’t stop. Making your way through the tables, you desperately try to smooth down your hair so you wouldn’t look as disheveled. You push open the main door and the cold air of the night hits you as you step out on the streets. A shiver runs down your spine. All of this was wrong.
And all of it was your fault.
It was currently around 8pm and you’re sat on the couch in your apartment, the stark light of the tv screen casting shadows around your dark room. You mindlessly flick through the channels, not really finding anything worth watching. Your eyes keep on wandering towards your phone. All week you had been avoiding Jaehyun as if he were the pest. You Ignored both his calls and his texts. There was a twinge in your gut.
None of this was Jaehyun's fault. You had given him false hope of a relationship and broke it off. You had ignored him for months after. You had asked him out. You had made him cheat on his girlfriend. You were the one that had played with him as if he were some toy.
He cheated on his girlfriend because of you. Granted, you had slept with guys who were in relationships over the past few months, but that was different. You didn't know prior if they were in a relationship or not, they were just a hookup.
But this time, you had actually seen the girlfriend. Talked to her, touched her. And while yes, you had not liked her in the slightest, that didn't justify your actions. You were a cheater.
Just like your dad. Thanks brain, for that helpful reminder. You sigh in frustration at yourself. Maybe you should just go to bed.
You get up and switch off the TV, but just as you are about to head to your room, you hear a knock on the door.
You freeze, unsure of what to do. A few seconds later, the knocks are repeated. Deciding to just see who it is and not stand around in your living room like an idiot, you make your way over to the door.
“I broke up with Nina.”
These are the first words that leave Jaehyun’s mouth, as he stands on your doorstep. You don’t know what to respond in all honesty. Jaehyun worries his lips between his teeth. “Can I come in, please?”
You nod in your stunned silence and step to the side to let Jaehyun through, letting the door click shut behind him. There’s a pause, you don't know what to say and it seems like he doesn't either.
After what feels like an eternity spent in silence, Jaehyun finally turns to face you. “Ok, I’m gonna say something now and… before you say anything in response, please hear me out.” There’s an unsure fluttering in your chest, your heartbeat speeds up as your hands begin sweating slightly. The situation makes you anxious but after a deep breath, you nod at Jaehyun, signaling to him that he could continue.
“I know that what we had a few months back was intended to be nothing but a fling to you. I may not have known it at the time, correction, I had no idea it wasn’t serious for you at the time. We had been together for three months by then. I believed your lies, I’ll even go so far as to admit  you fooled me.” He chuckles in attempt to lighten the blow, but its bitter and it makes the guilt in your stomach rise up to your throat like bile.
“I don’t think it was directly your intention to hurt me though. You probably wanted something fleeting, a temporary boyfriend to get your insisting friends off your back. But you fell in love.” You cross your arms defensively on your chest, an innate response to Jaehyun’s accusing statement.
He sighs and pauses for a moment. “You can lie to yourself all you want, Y/n. I know you were in love. I know it because I felt it too. And you realized... and you got scared.” You feel stubborn tears prick at your eyes and turn your gaze towards the now very intriguing pattern of your carpet floor.
“Now maybe this isn’t my place to say but.... but I feel like it is. I know why you’re scared of the possibility of loving someone, of loving me, but this whole agenda you have of pushing away anything that might make you happy is ridiculous.” You can hear the anger in his voice and it pushes you to do something you know you shouldn’t.  
“You say that if you know anything about me!” You yell at him and his expression is taken aback for a second before the furrow between his brows reappears.
“Oh, I don’t know anything about you? Will you stop pretending that our relationship, which by the way, was an actual relationship, didn’t happen? Just for one second, can you acknowledge the fact that we had hour long conversations, that we actually shared our feelings? That you’ve told me about the crap you went through.”
Your breathing has become labored. You want to disagree so badly, want to argue that he knows nothing, that he’s wrong. But he wasn’t, and you sure as hell knew it. “Fine!” You scream. “Fine! Okay! I admit it. We did have a relationship! It was real! I did-” You inhale a shake breath, your voice not as strong when you continue. “I do love you and it scares me.” Tears are flowing down your face freely and you don’t hold back, you can’t, not anymore. “I’m so scared because I love you… so much. I love you more than anyone. These past few months, I- I’ve tried e- everything to get my mind off you but I can’t- I can’t and I’m so fucking sorry. I’m sorry I mess shit up and make you confused and make you cheat-” “Hey, hey, hey” Jaehyun cuts you off as he crosses the space between you, his warm hands cupping both sides of your face. “First of all, the cheating part… we both take blame for that. And the confusion thing, well, it’s true, you did confuse me…a lot but it’s okay because you love me and I love you... and I forgive you.”
You shake your head fiercely and try to pull his hands from your face. “Don’t you get it, Jaehyun? I’m no good for you. I’m… I’m the bad guy.” jaehyun chuckles softly as he rests his forehead against yours, little puffs of his warm breath hitting your face. “You’re not the bad guy, Y/n. You deserve happiness. Will you let me give you that happiness?”
You breathe out deeply through your nose and close your eyes, feeling the anger and frustration at yourself slowly seep out of your body. Jaehyu’s touch relaxes yu and as you open your eyes to look at him, he smiles and leans in to press his lips against yours. It’s a short kiss, sweet and caring and delicate. The kiss is followed by another and another, until they get longer, more heated, more passionate.
Jaehyun’s calloused hands travel around your body with ease. He softly pushes you against the wall and presses his body flush to yours. His kisses trail all over your face, your neck and al the way down to your collarbone. It isn’t long before he hoists you up and you instinctively wrap your legs around his middle . Everything feels natural, easy. You let yourself relax fully and fall into his touch. You let him carry you to your bedroom and push you down onto mattress, let his kisses wander further south until your squirming under his hold. You let your sounds of passion echo through your room until late into the night and finally, finally allow yourself to actually feel something.
You’re done holding back from love. You could finally admit what you were repressing for so long.
You love Jung Jaehyun.
You trace the small crack in the wall next to your bed in the dark. It was well past midnight, and yet you’re wide awake. You feel Jaehyun’s arm safely secured around your waist, the warmth of his body behind you seeps into your very soul. The room aroundyou is quiet save for the few times a car outside passes by and the shallow breathing of the man pressed up against you. Some time ago, you would have found that Jaehyun’s arm around your waist felt like a cage, something that weighed you down and tugged at your heart uncomfortable. Now, however, you find comfort in the way his skin feels on yours, the way you can faintly feel his heartbeat against your back. You feel safe.
Your eyes fall to the corner of your room, where the brown leather jacket still lay folded over a chair. You smile to yourself.
You would give it back, eventually.
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helaintoloki · 4 years
Text
Season of the Witch | Michael Langdon
chapter thirteen: Lost
masterlist
pairing: Michael Langdon x witch!reader
warnings: language, angst, violence, graphic descriptions, adult content, deception, toxic relationships, abuse, death, witchcraft, satanism and all that other good ahs stuff
notes: mostly a filler chapter, slight angst
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“Y/N?” A gentle knock to the door, then the silent creak of the hinges as it’s forced open. “Dear, it’s time to eat. You need your strength.”
There is no reply from the lump hidden under the covers, and if Cordelia wasn’t so connected to her daughter she might have never known someone was still inhabiting the room. She hadn’t moved from the spot in days, hadn’t uttered a word to anyone, hadn’t so much as slept. A part of her had died forever, and y/n would never be the same again.
She had felt it, screamed in agony at the sudden emptiness in her heart. Her baby was gone, never to be seen again, and there was nothing she could do.
Cordelia silently sets the silver platter on the bedside table before carefully sitting on the edge of the bed. Y/N doesn’t move or shift her gaze, and instead continues to stare at the wall. Frowning, her mother gently combs her fingers through the girl’s greasy hair. She hadn’t showered since after the birth, and Cordelia tried not to notice.
“Y/N?” No response. Myrtle had told Cordelia not to meddle, to let the young girl heal in her own time. But the coven didn’t have time. They had to act quick in order to to prevent the antichrist from obtaining power over the coven.
“Sleep,” Cordelia murmured, and as she waved a hand over her daughter’s face, y/n’s eyes fluttered shut and she sunk into a peaceful sleep, the only good sleep she’d have since the event.
And as she slept, Cordelia was quick to remove the pain and the bad memories, so that when y/n woke she would remember almost nothing. Just her mother’s loving embrace, her sisters’ warmth, and Michael. Cold, cruel, evil Michael.
~~~
When he felt the first heartbeat dissipate Michael gave no hesitation and paid no heed to its absence. He wasn’t worried, he knew it was her. And he knew she’d be back, and in a matter of seconds she was.
However, it was the fading of the second heartbeat that brought him to his knees and knocked the wind out of his lungs. His child, his creation, his son.
He was there now, could see it all so clearly. His bouncing baby boy swaddled in blankets and cradled in the arms of a blonde woman dressed in black. Cordelia. His blood boils and fists clench at his sides as he watches the scene unfold with utter helplessness. She whispers for the baby to sleep, enchants the child with a spell Michael can’t quite make out, then sets him adrift in the stream.
Tears fall silently down Michael’s face. Tears of anger for Cordelia, tears of anguish for the loss of his son, tears of sympathy for his beloved. He can feel her sorrow as if it’s his own, and in a way it is. But at the same time Michael knows there is a special bond between mother and child that cannot be experienced by anyone else, and he sobs for her. For them.
Michael was mean, and Michael could be cruel, and Michael was known to be harsh, but with a child in the picture he would have loved her until his dying breath. What he felt for her now was not exactly love, not by definition. Y/N was a nuisance to his schemes and an obstacle, but he admired her power and her strength, her courage. Delivering the spawn of the antichrist in itself was no easy feat, and he adored her as the mother of his child. She was weak in spirit at times, rolling over constantly in hopes of pleasing her mother the supreme, but that was nothing Michael couldn’t have fixed. He would have helped her, remolded her into someone new. Someone worthy of the title as Queen of the Underworld.
But all of that was snatched away from him, and Michael now had nothing. His plans were ruined, hopes for the future destroyed, and chances of y/n joining his side slim to none.
Michael would find Cordelia. He’d find her and hurt her in every way possible, make her suffer for as long as he could before he finally killed her. He’d get his baby back, sweep y/n off of her feet, and carry them away somewhere safe, somewhere no other threat would ever find them.
And they’d be happy.
~~~
It seemed as if that so called god up in the sky had finally decided to punish Michael. First his son, and now his beloved Miss Mead reduced to nothing but a pile of ash. He collapsed to his knees, screaming in agony because he did not know what else he could do.
Michael felt sick to his stomach, body hunching over as he sobbed. Why them? Why now? When he was so close to success, so close to achieving his goals. He could feel the power, taste it on his tongue as it caressed his fingertips. The tears ran hot from his baby blues and he’d never felt more alone in his life than he did now.
“It’s over.” That damned voice. Her mere presence sends his fight or flight responses into overdrive, blood boiling and stomach churning in disgust. Cordelia Goode.
She stands there, tall and proud and smug, and Michael doesn’t think he can hate her any more than he does now. How could y/n love this woman? Call her a mother? Could she not see who the real monster was?
“We know who you are. Your allies are all dead.”
“An innocent baby,” Michael snarls, but his voice falters with pain and sorrow, “a child.”
“I did what had to be done,” Cordelia says, and there was no hint of regret or remorse in her tone. Nothing. She wasn’t sorry. Not in the slightest.
“I’ve already proven to you that I can defy death,” he scowled through his tears, “I’ll bring my son and my Miss Mead back. I’ll take y/n, and together we’ll watch you die.”
“You can go to hell, but you won’t find either of them there,” Cordelia affirms. Michael falters.
“What have you done?” He asks weakly. His throat feels raw and sore from the screams and the tears, he’s weak.
“Their souls are hidden by a spell only I can break.”
With her words Michael is instantly brought back to the river stream. He sees her lips pressed closely to his child’s ear, whispering sweet nothings that become words of Latin. And he understands the gravity of the situation, realizes his child is gone forever.
Cordelia watches as he sinks to his knees, legs giving out underneath the weight of his failure. Not so powerful now without his allies, not so strong and intimidating. Alone he is able to show his true colors, his true identity. To Cordelia he is nothing but a child, a lost soul with no one else to turn to now.
“You’re alone. But you don’t have to be,” she comforts, voice gentler now. “You don’t have to follow the path your father has made for you. If you come with me, I can help you. Y/N sees humanity in you, I see humanity in you. Maybe together we can find it.”
He watches through teary eyes as she extends a comforting hand towards him, opening a new door of opportunity, a second chance. All he has to do is take it. And he does.
Cordelia smiles, helps the boy to his feet, but doesn’t anticipate the way he harshly tugs her closer, an iron grip on her wrist and a fire in his eyes fueled by his hatred for her and her coven.
“Somehow, someway I am going to bring her back,” he swears hoarsely. “And then I’m going to slaughter each and every one of you witches. But you know what else I’m going to do? I’m going to take y/n from you, make you watch as I corrupt her and turn her against you so you’ll know what it’s like to lose. You think you know what’s best, Miss Supreme? You never should have touched my son.”
Tears fall down his face but the promise of his words ring strong in Cordelia’s ears, and she can only feel fear and unrest as he walks away. His figure disappears until he’s nothing but an outline in the distant, but he’ll always be lurking around every corner waiting to strike.
And she won’t be ready when he does.
~~~
It’s been four days. Four days without water, without nourishment, without rest. He’s fading, growing smaller. He has nothing left, but he has everything to offer. Why hasn’t my father come?
Michael pushes the hallucinations away: the children, the angels, even Miss Mead. But the sight of her, glowing and happy as she coos to the small child in her arms... Michael couldn’t keep her away even if he tried.
“You’ve got to get up, Michael,” she chastises, “what example are you setting for your son?”
“M-My son?” Michael croaks, trembling fingers reaching out to touch the baby. His feet are so tiny, untouched by the world and its sin. Michael lets out a shaky breath and shuts his eyes, body leaning forward until his face is nestled against her stomach. He stains the white fabric of her dress but she says nothing.
“Are you really giving up now? Have you given up on us?”
“I-I’m trying,” he insists, fingers bunching up the fabric of her dress in fistfuls. The dress is cool against his hot tears, she’s a breath of fresh air. “I promise I am.”
“I love you,” she whispers into his hair, “but you’re not strong enough.”
“I am,” he begs, “please don’t go. You’re all I have left now, don’t leave.”
“Be stronger. I love you.”
“God loves you,” a voice echoes, and Michael stumbles back with wide eyes. She’s gone, and in her place is an angel. His bright wings are the color of her dress before it was tainted by his touch. But perhaps she has always been tainted. Perhaps she just couldn’t see it until Michael.
Be stronger, her voice echoes, I love you. Be stronger, I love you. Be stronger.
“What do you want from me?!” He shrieks into the void, and his screams echo in reply.
~~~
It’s almost been a month since the birth of her grandson and Michael’s disappearance, and Cordelia feels hope and happiness blossom in her chest. Her girls are growing stronger each day, but y/n? Well, there’s no doubt as to who the next supreme is.
It took a few days for the side effects of Cordelia’s spell to wear off, but once they did she was a brand new witch. She held no recollection of the child she once carried in her womb or the sorrow of her loss, but she remembered Michael. And she knew he was bad, and in her newly improved mind she held no love towards him. Only the fear and hatred planted there by her mother.
“She’s doing much better,” Myrtle comments, breaking Cordelia out of her haze. The two women watch as y/n frolics out in the gardens with Binx in tow, reviving the decaying flowers and plants so that they bloom once again. “But she seems different.”
“Stronger,” Cordelia figures
“Delia, I know what you did,” Myrtle sighs. “It won’t last forever, especially not on such a powerful witch.”
“Then I can do it again,” Cordelia argues. “Until it lasts forever.”
But the effects were already fading, and as y/n’s roses grew so did the love in her heart for the boy with the blond curls and blue eyes.
And with the love came the emptiness, and with the emptiness came the resentment towards her mother.
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tag list: @ticklish-leafy-plant @touchoflangdon @anacerta @bluebirdbts @heda-mikaelson @redlovett @fuck-yeah-bruno-buccerati @ateliefloresdaprimavera @quechulitaaa @theeonlyroman @hecohansen31 @frenchzodiacgirl @michaelsapostle @hoeposey @spider-stud @frozenhuntress67 @jokingarthur @brookethompsonownsme @enigma-xlii @thederpyllamaoflove
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aureumjeon · 4 years
Text
@seventeenthingsblr: can you do 38 and 8 with Yoongi for the angst plots please?? Thank you!!
I see you, bub. 💗 Here ya go! Hope you enjoy this lil blurb. added a keep reading tag!
“I’m never letting you go.” + “All I wanted was for you to be happy.” with Yoongi.
Genre; relationship!au, badboy(?)!yoongi, BIG angst, fluff. Warnings; mention of alcohol and smoking, cursing. Word count; 1.4K
++
‘No new messages.’ Your phone screen read before you’re tossing the clump of metal to the floor. “Y/nieee,” Somi droned, her voice reeking of annoyance. She then flopped her petite body next to yours on the mattress of your bed “Are you done sulking over a boy now?” Missing your usually outgoing and talkative self, she pouted. “I wanna hang out with you so bad.” “He’s been ignoring me for a week now.” You muffled through the pillow concealing your face, each word coming out inaudible. “I don’t know what I did wrong” Your sniffles were barely muted by fabric. “Maybe it’s what you didn’t do.” She brooded sarcastically, yanking the rectangular plush off of you and chucking it to the other side of the room. She brattier that usual, you think. “What?” Your blood shot eyes squinted at the abrupt exposure to the florescent light on your ceiling. Nose equally red and lips disgusting chapped. “Maybe it is you, maybe you did something that ticked him off. Maybe he found you annoying and decided to ghost you. Maybe he doesn’t like you anymore. Who knows?” “Okay, stop. You’re not helping.” Your worry lines started to show as your eyebrows knit together, not liking her current attitude. A sour grimace imprinted on your face. “Like, at all.” “Ugh–” She frustratingly mewled, suddenly pouncing on top of you like a lioness striking its prey. Caging you between her arms that were currently pushing and fisting at the bed sheet where you laid flat. “Let’s go out. Jin’s hosting a party tonight. That’ll definitely get you mind off of Yoongi.” "No.” Your voice was stern and unyielding, reinforced with your incorruptible resolve to stay in bed all day long. “Please, Y/n! I swear it’ll be fun!”
You pushed her hovering frame and quickly cocooned yourself with the thick comforter, tucking in the edges and shielding yourself from her incoming attacks. It was essentially a game of  tug of war now, with Somi giving it her all. You were wrong to underestimate her strength because now the two of you were laughing uncontrollably at the tangled position you’ve put yourselves into.
Knowing Somi, she’d saved the best for last. With her wild puppy-dog eyes focused on you, she was soliciting her desired answer from you like a seasoned haggler. Whenever she’d put on that face, you knew you were screwed. You sighed as a sign of surrender, “Fine.” Her eyes lit up exponentially while a wide grin cuts from ear to ear. “I’m picking your dress and doing your make up.” Ten minutes in and you’re already regretting your decision. Loud music rattling up entire house, dozens of people occupying the whole dance floor and couples two steps shy of fucking each other in the living room. “I thought you said, this was going to be fun.” You say over the noise, “The only thing this party is making me want to do is go home and sleep.” Somi grabbed two red cups from the table of refreshments and shoved it in your hand. “Get some alcohol in your bloodstream. It’ll do you some good.” She winked. You rolled your eyes to the side and recognize a familiar head of silvery hair. Could it be? No, it couldn’t. But what if? Your body began moving on autopilot, abandoning your friend behind and slipping past the sea of sweaty bodies to get to where the male silhouette was. You reached the end kitchen and caught a glimpse of the same boy puffing out smoke through his lips with a cigarette tucked between his fingers. “Y-Yoongi?” You were second guessing since you couldn’t really tell if it was him by the way the smoke was still clouding over his face. As the smog around him began to dissipate, his features were finally distinguishable. “Y/n? I didn’t expect to see you here.” His cold facade never wavering even at the sight of you, you think. You scoffed at his fine choice of words “Since when have you been expecting to see me?” Fury bubbled up your in your chest and your cheeks were set ablaze. You wanted to erupt like an angry volcano, spewing out lava and rocks everywhere, obliterating everything that crosses its path. “You’re the one who’s snubbing me! I’ve been wasting my time thinking about what I might have done wrong and you’re here at some wasted party enjoying your ass away while your girlfriend has been crippled by anxiety 'cause you can’t give a damn about how she might be feeling.” There was a significant pause before you could compose yourself again after that horrible mental break down. People were already staring at the commotion you’ve caused, and it’s time to wrap it up. Quick. “And quite frankly,” You huffed, connecting you arms in front of your chest  as you continued to speak, “I wasn’t expecting to see you here either. Good bye, Min Yoongi.” You concluded that someone who’d disregard you like without reason wasn’t worth even one second of your time. You turned on your heel and faced him with your back, preparing to walk away. Before you could split, Yoongi’s already gotten his hold on you and spins you around. “Y/n,” He looked at you with vulnerable eyes, his voice was the softest you’ve heard from him. “Hear me out, please. All I need is two minutes, let me explain.” “You’ve got one.” The resonance of your voice was icy cold. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, like he was swallowing a huge mass stuck in his throat. He was having second thoughts if he should say it or not but he pushes through, “Your parents talked to me. They said if I genuinely wanted what’s best for you, I should break up with you and leave you alone.” “And you decided this on your own without even consulting me?!” You were stunned at his confession, but the rage still empowered the initial shock. You knew from the start that your parents weren’t quite fond of Yoongi, with his reputation and all.  Though you didn’t imagine they’d go this far to ruin your relationship with a guy they know nothing about. Under Yoongi’s hard and rigid exterior past all the scars and tattoos he had, hid a little boy who’s just scared. A boy who’d rather put up a tough face than convey his true emotions; a boy who’d rather shoulder all the burden on his own than let the ones he loved suffer; and boy who’d give up his own happiness just to see you smile. Yoongi was everything but what people perceived him to be. Yoongi was your saving grace. He was your personal angel sent from heaven to make your miserable life more tolerable. He’s that little tune you’d hum in your head when your nerves got you; he’s that soft blanket you’d drown yourself in when you wanted to hide from the world. And he’s the person you’d share your whole life with. What you didn’t understand was why he didn’t tell you about it instead of making things more complicated. “Don’t I have a say in this? I’m one half of this relationship, Yoongi. Do I really mean that little to you?” You were on the brink of tears, the strain in your voice was a solid confirmation. You fought the sobs wanting to escape with the strength you had left. “All I wanted was for you to be happy.” His hand was starting to loose its grip on you, dropping weakly at his side. His eyes were heavy and swollen as he looked up at you. “And me? I’m not good for you, y/n.” “You don’t get to decide what’s good for me. My parents don’t get to decide what’s good for me.” This time, you couldn’t stop the wave of emotion washing over you like a massive tidal wave. Globules of the salty liquid started spilling from your ducts. You pressed forward into him and buried your face into his chest, his once dry shirt was now soaked with your tears and snot. “I do,” you sniffled, wrapping your arms around his torso. “I get to decide what’s good for me, Yoongi.” “I’m sorry, y/n.” With his voice hoarse and husky, he placed a chaste kiss atop your head. “This time, I’m never letting you go.”
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