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chickenfics · 1 year

Text

Scars

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Fem!reader - Western AU

Summary: Running from a past that haunts you and a future that is unsure, the last thing you wanted was to take up with a stranger. Strangers, you'd learned, are almost always more trouble than they're worth. But when dangers from the life you're trying to leave behind get too close for comfort, drastic times call for drastic measures, and the stranger you'd once feared becomes the only person you can trust -- and perhaps the only person you'd call your friend. Now you both just have to make it out alive...

Word Count: 8.3k

Content warning: past trauma, phantom pain, depictions of healed wounds

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged for future chapters!

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Chapter 5

The door creaked lowly, swinging inward to let a few strands of sunlight slide past it and settle onto the floor. Dust swirled in its wake but was soon disrupted by the movement of a presence across the dry, weathered floorboards. They creaked beneath the weight of boots, thumping softly with every step. There was a moment of stillness and silence, and the house almost returned to what it had been like before the door had been opened and sunlight had been allowed through. And then a gun was holstered with a metallic click.

“Search the place,” a deep voice said into the silence, and suddenly boots were moving across the floor in a way that was hardly silent or careful. They were greedy.

Red shouldered his way around Mickey and began shoving the few bits of furniture around, looking under the small table in the corner and amongst the sparse cookware in the kitchen, tossing things aside carelessly. Bernie, her shoulder still bandaged and still sore, took the other side of the room and knelt down next to the fireplace. She ran a finger through the ash.

“Well, someone’s been here,” she muttered, holding up her black-stained finger before brushing it off on her trousers. “I’d say no more than a few days ago.

Mickey only grunted, knocking the heel of one boot against the toe of the other before heading down the hallway at a casual, seemingly disinterested pace. When he made it to the two doorways, he stopped and glanced inside. The smaller room was empty. There wasn’t a place to hide, anyway, only a crib and a cot and cobwebbed corners. And a teddy bear, Mickey noticed with a scoff, smirking disdainfully as he toed it aside with his boot.

He didn’t bat an eye at the blood in the crib.

The next room over was a bit more interesting. There was a dresser, and Mickey felt a smile starting in his chest. It worked its way onto his lips when he saw what was inside.

“Well well well,” he sang, slowly meandering back into the main room of the house, a pair of old, worn boots dangling from his fingertips. “Looks like we caught ourselves a pussy cat.”

Red’s face broke with a splitting grin, an eager glint filling his eyes.

“I told you we hadn’t lost ‘em, didn’t I? I knew we was still headed in the right direction.”

“You did say that, didn’t you,” Micky offered. Then in a single, swift motion, he dropped the boots and grabbed Red’s face, fingers digging into his skin. “This time we’d better not fucking lose them.”

Red gulped, nodding enthusiastically.

“Good,” Mickey muttered, releasing him with a shove. “Now let’s move. I’m losing my patience.”

He said it as if he’d had any patience at all.

________________________________________________________________

“I need to make a stop,” Bucky broke the silence. It had been almost three days since you’d left the house. Things had been quiet, and the weather had gone back to normal: hot and dry. You were looking forward to the river that, you hoped, was only a few more days away.

Perhaps longer, though, you realized as Bucky’s words registered.

“If that’s okay with you,” he clarified, and you realized that he hadn’t been telling you, but asking you.

“‘Course,” you nodded -- and nodded again when he tilted his head.

You trusted him; a realization that you continued to discover over and over again, and one that was equally as unfamiliar to you every time. But you did trust him, and so you were willing to follow him almost anywhere. Even if he didn’t give you the specifics of what the “stop” was -- as in this case.

He’d been the one holding the map, keeping track of your course to ensure you were pointed in the right direction, so you hardly noticed when he veered off to the East; not until the terrain changed, growing into a sparse, damp forest with large trees and a spacious, clear floor beneath the otherwise thick canopy.

It was only when the building -- a small log cabin -- came into view that Bucky spoke again.

“An old friend lives here, runs a pharmaceutical shop for folks passing through. He, uh… makes something for me. For my… arm.”

You raised your eyebrows, more at all the information he’d just provided instead of telling you to “wait here” and disappearing mysteriously -- which he would have had every right to do.

“Is this the old friend you had a falling out with?” you asked.

“No,” Bucky quickly said. “But he’s a friend of that friend.”

“You have a lot of friends,” you admitted, and Bucky laughed weakly.

“Yeah. Tell me about it.” Then he turned to look at you.

“You can come in if you’d like, he’s one of the good ones. But you can also stay out here. I’m sure the horses would enjoy your company. Alpine likes all the treats you give her.”

You looked away, having not realized that he’d noticed you doing that. The mare had really grown on you, and whenever you ate your small meals, you always shared a little with both her and Horse. You had just started to apologize when Bucky gave you such a genuine smile that the words died on your lips. Instead you considered what he’d said.

“I… think I’ll come with you.”

You weren’t so sure about meeting new people, but if Bucky trusted them, you were willing to take his word for it. Besides, even if you were in the middle of nowhere and it was only for a few minutes, you didn’t like the idea of being separated. You didn’t want to give them the chance -- any chance at all -- to catch you alone.

“Alright,” Bucky nodded, dismounting Alpine as the two of you reached the porch. Looking up at you, he seemed to grow a little shy. “I, uh, think you’re gonna like him, but if you don’t, you can always come back out here.”

You smiled faintly at the extra care he was taking, thanking your lucky stars that Bucky was such a strange man in the very best way.

“Okay,” you confirmed and slid off of Horse, tying him on the porch’s post next to Alpine.

“Great,” Bucky came to stand next to you, smiling in that way that made his eyes go soft and kind, and then climbed the stairs to the porch. You followed, staying behind him as he opened the door and giving one last scan of the forest behind you as the two of you stepped inside.

The cabin was dimly lit, the sparse light from the forest filtering in through two windows at the front. The only other light came from a lamp sitting on a counter, which took up the entirety of the far wall. In front of it lay rows of wooden shelves, various jars and bags filling them. You looked around, trying to blink the sunlight out of your eyes as you adjusted to the dark room.

Then you heard sudden movement off to your left, the sound of glasses clinking together as they were placed onto a shelf, and you jumped. In a single motion, you stepped behind Bucky and he stepped in front of you.

“Well,” a strange voice said, low and gravelly, but soft. “Wasn’t expecting to see you anytime soon.

“Hello, Bruce,” Bucky replied, tipping his hat at the man in front of him. You leaned around his shoulder and found rich brown eyes staring back at you. Bruce passed a quizzical look in your direction before turning back to Bucky.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Just passing through. I was wondering if you had any more of that stuff…”

You watched Bruce straighten up, his soft eyes scrutinizing Bucky for a moment before nodding and looking away.

“I don’t, but I can make some if you can spare a few minutes.”

“Thank you. Really,” Bucky murmured, seeming almost guilty. The other man only waved a hand, finally offering him a small smile before glancing back at you.

“Who’s, uh…” he gestured.

“A friend,” Bucky quickly supplied. “We’re, uh, headed in the same direction…”

Bruce raised his eyebrows and nodded disinterestedly, then began scouring the shelves. He picked a few jars, a glass bottle, and a small canvass sack before heading for the counter at the back of the cabin. When Bucky spoke again, there was a new hitch to his voice.

“Have you… seen anybody else, since…”

“No, Barnes, I haven’t,” Bruce tersely replied, looking up at him knowingly for a moment before returning to his work. Bucky nodded and began to scan the room like he was searching for something. Probably a distraction.

“I take it Stark is still looking for me,” it wasn’t a question as much as it was a statement he was seeking confirmation on.

Bruce stilled, nodded, and then dumped some loose dried leaves into a small jar.

“Yeah, I think it’s safe to say that. I would tell you to just talk to him, but I think we’re way past that.”

“Yeah, well… he was never one for listening much anyway. Talking, sure, but putting a clamp on it long enough to let anyone else get a word in… mmn,” Bucky shook his head.

“Can you blame him?” Bruce replied, a stern defensiveness to his voice.

You felt Bucky tense from where your hand had instinctively fallen onto the small of his back. You hadn’t even noticed you were doing it until that moment, but something about the way Bucky hadn’t stepped out of your reach made it impossible for you to let go.

“No,” he dryly replied. “Suppose I can’t.”

Bruce finished pouring some ingredients into a bowl, mixing them into an almost clear paste before scraping that into the small jar with the leaves. Giving the glass a little tap with his tool, he screwed the lid on and slid it across the counter to Bucky.

“That should last you awhile, if you can ration it.”

“Thank you… I appreciate it, Bruce,” Bucky softly replied, sounding like he was trying to convince the man it was true.

“Yeah, don’t mention it,” Bruce waved his hand before wiping it on his apron. “Uh… you haven’t,” he cleared his throat. “You haven’t heard from Nat, have you?”

Bucky shifted his weight.

“No. No, sorry, I haven’t.”

Bruce only nodded like he’d been expecting as much.

“If you see her,” he said, voice raising slightly. “Will you give her my regards?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, lips forming what was supposed to be a smile but was more a grimace. “Of course.”

“Thanks,” Bruce replied, smiling genuinely for the first time since you’d entered the cabin.

Bucky nodded, tipping his hat once more before turning away. But before he could leave, Bruce called after him.

“I hope you find them, Bucky. Despite everything, I really do.”

You glanced between the two men, only barely catching Bucky’s short nod before he was heading for the door. Turning around to say your farewell, you found Bruce watching you.

“Hey,” he gestured with his chin. “You alright?”

Your eyebrows twitched upward in surprise at his interest in your wellbeing. But then, if he was someone that Bucky trusted, perhaps it shouldn’t have seemed that odd.

“I’m alright. Thank you, sir,” you softly replied, tipping your hat at his barely-there smile.

Out on the porch, Bucky was waiting for you. The door had just swung shut behind him before you were making your way through, but in that short amount of time his brow had narrowed in concern.

“Y’okay?” he checked, and you smiled softly. That was twice in the matter of a few seconds that you’d been asked if you were okay. The irony that no one had ever cared to ask you that in the past was not lost to you.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you reassured him.

“Good,” he smiled in return.

________________________________________________________________

A day later, you came upon the river. It was smaller than the last, but it cut through the harsh, dry landscape like a ribbon of hope. You and Bucky dismounted, letting the horses drink their fill -- and laughing when Alpine began to paw at the water, nearly drenching both of you. She would have if Bucky hadn’t tugged you out of the way, chuckling at your amused expression.

Soon Horse started joining in on the mischief and you had to pull them both back so you could mount again and cross the river. The other side was cut off by a steep slope -- the gully Bucky had pointed out on the map -- and it took you a little while to find a place for the horses to safely climb it. When you did, thankfully with no accidents despite the uneven ground, you were met with a forest of half-dead trees.

You and Bucky tethered the horses to one of the more stable-looking branches and then began setting up camp far enough away from the gulley that it didn’t pose any risk. The sun was just beginning to lower itself into the horizon when you finally worked up the courage to speak what had been on your mind since you’d made it to the river.

“Bucky?” your soft voice broke the silence the two of you had gotten so good at working in, and the man looked up at you attentively. “I think I’d like to go back down to the water and wash off a bit…” you wanted to ask him if he thought it was safe enough to do such a thing, but you already knew the answer; it never truly was.

“Okay,” he hesitantly started, straightening up and rubbing his back. “You gonna be okay by yourself down there?”

“I think so,” you shrugged. The idea of being naked alone wasn’t ideal -- but the idea of being naked with Bucky was out of the question, and you really wanted to feel clean for once, so there really wasn’t much of a choice.

“Alright,” he reluctantly agreed, looking about just as thrilled at the idea as you, minus the personal benefit of being clean. “Just… please be careful.”

There was earnestness in his voice and the way his hand reached out for you before pulling abruptly back to his side.

“Always am,” you replied, gathering up some of your things and checking to make sure you had your revolver before turning away and making for the gully.

The stream was calm; quiet, with soft flowing water that cooled your skin and swept all the dust away. You had a small bar of soap saved for occasions such as these, and you scrubbed it between your hands before venturing further into the water. Letting it wash over your head was enough to make you feel more alive than you had in a long while. It was a wonder what a nice bath could do.

You scrubbed layers of dirt off of your skin, working the soap under your nails and along your chest and neck -- careful of the healing wound on your collarbone -- trying to remove every bit of the last few months from your body. However, some things soap would never be able to wash away. You lifted your hand, fingers itching to rub at your neck, but you just couldn’t. You couldn’t touch it without that layer of fabric preventing you from really feeling it.

You dipped yourself back under the cold water, holding your breath as you prayed for the river to wash the memories out of your head. You’d give them all up if it meant you could forget what they’d done to you. But when you broke the surface, your head was still just as much your own; memories, nightmares, and all. So you focused on the dirt. You washed it away until your skin was clean and you felt refreshed.

Then you heard a branch crack somewhere off in the forest and you remembered where you were. You tensed, eyes immediately finding your revolver, which you’d left next to your pile of clothes along the riverbank. Barely breathing, you scanned your surroundings for a moment before lunging towards the shore.

It had probably just been a bird, or maybe a groundhog. It wasn’t Bucky because you knew he would have announced his presence long before you’d ever get the chance to hear him approach. Still, you’d wasted enough time, and you didn’t want to spend a moment longer away from camp.

Wading out of the river, you used an old blanket to dry yourself off before jerking your clothes over damp skin. It would have to do. You hastily buttoned up your shirt and stuffed your feet into your boots before slinging your holster across your back and heading for the slope, keeping a tense eye out for anything that might be a threat. Despite your momentary panic, you made it back to camp without any conflict. Bucky had already started a fire, and he looked up briefly at your approach.

“Oh good. I was starting to worry you’d gotten swept away.”

“Not this time,” you replied with a smile as you sat your holster onto your rolled-out cot, no longer finding it concerning how it became such a relief whenever you returned to the man’s presence.

“Well, like I said--" Bucky had stood up to face you when he froze, eyebrows knitting slightly, and that was when you realized:

You’d forgotten to put your bandana back on. You’d been in such a hurry to get back to camp that you’d barely buttoned up your shirt, and now he could see--

“Y/N,” he whispered, brow lowering as he stepped forward.

It was an impressive scar; big, with gnarled, raised skin that stretched from the hollow of your neck to a few inches below your ear. It had taken a long time to heal, and sometimes you still felt like you were carrying around an open wound. Sometimes it still hurt like hell, though you imagined it always would. The memories hurt worse, but the scar tissue itself provided its fair share of pain. The skin that had healed over the wound was tight and sore, and you still hadn’t regained full mobility in your neck. At least, not without discomfort.

Your old life had left its mark on you in more ways than one, but the scar on your neck was the biggest physical indicator; and now Bucky was looking down at it with so much worry, so much pain in his eyes that you couldn’t breathe. You felt tears push their way into the backs of your eyelids and you tried to swallow them down. No one had seen your scar before. No one but the people who had put it there, and they hadn’t looked at you with even an ounce of the kindness that Bucky was. It was making you panic.

You opened your mouth to speak, but all you could manage was a small inward breath. You didn’t even know what you could say, didn’t know what you could tell him.

Bucky’s brow twisted and he quickly turned away -- an action which sent a stab of shame through your chest a moment before he turned back to you with a strip of brown cloth in his hand. His eyes easily found yours, but you couldn’t read the expression in them, so instead, you reached forward and took the cloth. This time you were the one to turn away, but just like the last, you felt the pierce of shame return.

When you turned back around, Bucky’s eyes snapped up from where he’d no doubt been studying the back of your neck, trying to find answers that he wasn’t sure you’d be willing to offer. Even so, he still asked.

“What... Jesus, what happened?”

“I,” your unreliable voice broke harshly, and you felt the tears welling stronger, pressing harder against your skull. You grit your teeth and took a breath, which turned into a weak, bitter laugh.

“I never wanted you to f-find out,” you said, the words sounding so familiar. “Wanted to av-avoid that look…”

Bucky nodded, glancing down and wrangling his face into something kindly impassive before looking back to you.

“Right,” he nodded again. “Right, of course.”

Your eyes sought over him, over the curves and lines of his face, trying to tell what he was feeling. Trying to see if he was angry with you. Bucky had always been fairly straightforward, but the dam in your head had broken and past memories were flooding in so quickly that you couldn’t see him anymore. All logic was gone, and the surety that Bucky was a gentle man -- at least with you -- was overshadowed by your fear of anger. It was a fear that had stuck with you for so long, and though it had gone away for a time, you’d always been sure that it would come back. You’d been waiting for the illusion to crack and for the pain to seep back in through re-opened wounds.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t…” you wrang your shaking hands together. “I’m sorry. I--”

“Woah, woah,” Bucky gently interrupted, taking a step towards you -- and not saying anything when you instinctively stepped back. “Don’t ever apologize for what they did to you. Ever. If you do that, they keep on winning -- even when they’re not here…”

It was knowing, the way he said it. And it was then you realized that of course he knew. His scars were just like yours.

“I’m sorry,” you said it again, only this time you weren’t sorry for yourself. You were sorry that he knew exactly what it was like to feel so helpless. To be so broken…

“It’s okay, doll,” he softly replied. “As crazy as it sounds, it really is. Took me a long time to figure that out. Takes even longer to believe it.”

You registered the wetness on your face far too late to stop the tears from coming. Without bothering to turn away, to try and hide them, you reached up and wiped a sleeve across your cheek.

“How’d you do it?” you asked, voice small with desperation.

“I have no idea,” Bucky replied with a sad grimace -- a smile, you realized. Or, what was left after shattered pieces had been put back together; it would never be the same, but it was something. “If I ever figure it out, you’ll be the first person I tell,” he added, and you laughed.

It felt good.

________________________________________________________________

If you’d expected anything to change in the way Bucky was around you, you’d have been wrong. In all honesty, you hadn’t expected him to ever find out about your scar; it was always something you’d held so close, with tightly grasped hands and white-knuckled fingers. You’d held onto it like your lifeline -- like if anyone found out about it the world would come to an end and you’d cease to exist. But now Bucky knew, and you were still here, and he still met your eye when he spoke to you, and there was no hesitation when he handed you your portion of the food he’d cooked over the fire.

And you supposed that it made sense, considering Bucky’s arm. Surely it was something that he’d tried to hide, something that he’d kept just as close to him as you had kept your own scars, and yet you’d seen it and you didn’t feel any differently about him. You had many questions, and even more that you were unwilling to ask for fear of the answers, but he was still Bucky. You’d never truly known him, anyway, so discovering his arm hadn’t changed what you knew you felt when you were near him.

It was easy to see how Bucky’s scars didn’t make him any less human. It was much more difficult to feel that way about yourself.

You couldn’t leave your neck alone. After supper and even throughout the meal, your fingers found the cloth that now replaced your handkerchief. You could feel the bump of the scar through the fabric. It ached. It always ached more when you thought about it, the memories bringing back a phantom burn that made you feel cold and sweaty -- that made you wonder if anywhere was safe when the danger was just as real in your mind as it was in reality.

You didn’t notice, but sometime during the evening the sun must have set, and Bucky must have cleaned up from dinner. Blinking rapidly, you tried to shove down the panic at having suddenly lost time, at not being able to recall what had happened. All you could see was that dark room and the roar of the fire and Mickey with--

“Can I show you something?” Bucky’s voice broke the silence and cut through your thoughts. And then you were seeing him again, the fire glowing softly in the indigo light of the late evening. You swallowed.

“Yes.” Barely a whisper, hardly a reply, but there.

He nodded, mouth set into a firm line, almost a grimace. Then, with a little jerk of his head, he began to undo the buttons of his shirt. You watched him silently, trying not to stare at the glinting metal as he pulled the fabric off and tossed it aside before reaching over to his saddlebag. His hand reappeared with the jar. You opened your mouth, unsaid questions on your tongue, but all you could do was watch as he rolled the jar from one hand to the other before reluctantly looking at you.

“This, uh… is supposed to help. With,” he gestured to his arm. “With the scars. I don’t really know what’s in it. Bruce is the science man, I just do what he tells me.”

“H-Help?” you replied, your voice still struggling. “How?”

“Not sure,” Bucky shrugged -- then seemed to remember he was shirtless and hunched his shoulders. “Uh, I think it helps the scar tissues. Stops it from hurting as much. I… I put it on every few days, or… when it’s bothering me more than usual.”

“Oh,” you managed, a single breath, and Bucky’s eyes met yours for the first time.

“You’re welcome to try some, is what I’m gettin’ at.”

You sat up straighter, face stilling over a blank expression.

“Oh,” you said it again. It felt unreal, to be talking so openly about something that kept you up at night. About something so awful. Every moment you did, all you could think about was what had happened. You could smell the burning deep in the back of your throat.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, taking effort to swallow. “Okay.”

Bucky watched you for a moment, then stood slowly. In the moment that he approached, he towered over you -- and suddenly you remembered that there had been a time when you were afraid of him -- when anyone standing above you would have had your heart racing and your eyes searching for the fastest way out. But now… now you felt nothing, even when he stood barely two feet away from your seated form, you felt nothing. You’d never known the place that held your fear could ever be so empty.

Bucky sat down next to you, crossing one leg beneath him and leaving the other propped up, bent at the knee.

“You just… take a little and put it over the area that hurts the most. Jus’ like a lotion.”

You smiled at that, unable to imagine Bucky ever indulging in something like lotion. But then your smile fell, eyebrows twisting together because for some reason you hadn’t realized that you’d have to touch it. You weren’t sure you could. Generally, you tried not to. Phantom pains always arose beneath your fingertip no matter how gentle you were, and even on those rare days that they didn’t, the memories were enough to make you feel like your chest was going to split clean in two and the gore would spill out until your life eventually drained away.

“Bucky, I--” you wrung your hands together. He watched you intently, a wrinkle between his brows. “I haven’t,” you waved a hand at your neck. “I-I can’t…”

“Okay. That’s okay,” he offered, sounding sure -- sure enough for the both of you while your brain was too filled with the fear of memories and of the softness that had somehow managed to trail behind them.

“You don’t have to do it. Just an idea,” he said, his voice a clear tell that he had something else he wanted to say. You waited, eyes wandering up to meet his for a brief moment before the blues were too piercing, too kind. You felt like you would be picked away to nothingness under that gaze. So you stared at your feet and watched your hands wring together between your knees to give the vain illusion that they weren’t shaking.

It was always illusions -- everything you’d ever tried to do for yourself. You’d never tried to grasp onto something that was real, only ever skipped from one dream, one nightmare, to another. Now it felt like it was all going up in smoke; all you had left was yourself, bare-boned and waiting for the next direction. And Bucky -- perhaps he was there too, off to the side, giving you room, waiting to see what you’d do next. You wanted to believe him, that it got better. You wanted to believe him about a lot of things, and that struck you as odd because your issue had never been believing, but trusting. In a world where you’d always, without doubt, believed Mickey, you’d never trusted him. You’d wanted to, at first -- who doesn’t want to trust their brother? Their family? -- but eventually you’d stopped trying. And eventually, you’d stopped believing him.

Now, though, you found yourself staring down the barrel of the exact opposite problem; you trusted Bucky, more than you probably should have, though he’d given you no reason to doubt that judgment, but you didn’t believe him. As much as you wanted to, the notion that you’d ever be okay, that you’d ever be anything more than a scatter of broken pieces, seemed impossible.

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice, gentle, soft, easily lost beneath the hushed mumbles of the trees. “Don’t go too far, now. Not where I can’t follow you…”

You took a breath.

“I want to believe this will work. It’s silly because I know it’s not some cure, but…it’s something, and that’s more than what I’ve got.” Your eyelids felt heavy, too sluggish to bother with blinking. It was like someone had attached an iron to your head and was sinking it to the bottom of a lake. Drown out anything that breathes, you thought. That’s what it felt like. Drown anything that moves.

“You’re not gonna know until you try,” Bucky replied. His voice was steady, filled with the logic you were currently lacking. You couldn’t find it, through all your thoughts, though you knew it would come back just in time for you to be embarrassed. Now, however, you couldn’t find much within yourself to care.

“I’m…” Scared, you’d been about to say. It was the truth. You wondered, though, if it was plain on your face; if you even needed to say it, or if Bucky could already tell.

It’s okay,” he murmured, so patiently that despite all of it you really did believe him this time. You let out a heavy breath, nearly choked on it, and felt it pull your chest down towards your knees. You leaned heavily on your arms and tried not to shake.

“It’s just an idea,” he started, suddenly sounding nervous -- unsure. “Just an idea, but… maybe we could help each other out.”

His eyes slid down your face, over the curve of your jaw, and landed disarmingly on the scarf around your neck. It hit you suddenly, what he was getting at, but against all odds, it hit you softly, too. In a way, it made perfect sense for Bucky to offer something like that. In a way, he was the only person who could.

“I’ve never…” you shifted, then set your jaw. “No one’s ever touched it, since…”

He nodded like he understood.

“Like I said, just an idea.”

You thought about it, about that idea, about what it might mean; a gentle touch in a place that had learned to only ever know pain, that had learned to mistrust. But he was right: you weren’t going to know until you tried.

“Okay,” your voice barely managed a whisper.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you replied, and you surprised yourself with the truth of that statement and how little you were now struggling to accept it. You took that as a good sign.

“You want me to stop, I stop,” Bucky said, and something in his voice had changed -- a firmness that would have sounded threatening if it weren't for the circumstances.

You nodded, and then you did one of the hardest things you’d done in a long time. You reached up and untied the strip of fabric around your neck. Carefully, meticulously, you draped it over your thigh and smoothed out its wrinkles so you didn’t have to think about Bucky’s eyes wandering over the scar, taking in the darkest secret that your life had borne.

“Y/N,” he gently whispered. You knew what he was asking. You dragged your eyes away from your lap and looked up at him, those startling blues, hidden behind a shade of gentleness. You’d seen them when they were angry, when they were scared or disbelieving or cold -- but to you, they were always gentle. No matter what you’d done, that fact had never changed.

And even now, when he was seeing what felt like all of you, not a single blue changed its shade.

You nodded, the final permission he was looking for. You nodded even though you were scared -- maybe just as scared as you’d been that night the scar had been put there; your fear of pain turning instead into a fear of pleasure. But still, somewhere deep in the back of your mind you found yourself hoping desperately that it didn’t hurt, like a child going to visit a doctor. You just didn’t want it to hurt.

It was all you could think, watching Bucky unscrew the lid of the container. Even as you looked away, it was the only thing in your mind’s eye -- the overwhelming need that, for once, something would feel alright. When Bucky reached out, shifting closer so he could better reach you, an unmistakable rigidness spread through your body. When his fingers brushed your skin for the very first time, you flinched. You’d tried not to, tried to repress it because you didn’t want him to think you were afraid even though you were. You didn’t want him to feel like he was doing something to hurt you even though, despite all his kindness, he was.

But as much as you’d tried, there were some things your body would never unlearn.

Bucky made a noise, soft and low in his throat. His thumb traced a light path up towards your jaw, sliding along the skin behind your ear. He hadn’t even touched your scar yet, you realized. You sighed, heavily, and Bucky’s thumb ran another line across your skin. He did it countless times, over and over and over again. His fingers moved slowly, tracing invisible paths along your skin, down to the collar of your shirt, across to your sternum and then back up your neck. Never once did he touch the raised skin of your scar. He drew close to it, inch by inch, until you no longer stiffened at the proximity; until he could trace an outline a mere inch away without you losing your breath.

You knew you were shaking, you could feel it, but you couldn’t pull away from him. No matter how scared you got, you just couldn’t; it would feel too much like a betrayal, even if it was the one thing your mind was telling you to do. But, after a little while, that instinct screaming in the back of your head fell to more of a drone, and then eventually nothing but a disquieting buzz.

It felt… good. Your throat was closing up and your body still seemed to insist that you should be afraid, but the touch was good. You hadn’t realized how much you’d longed for it, and now that it was there, you found it hard to breathe. Bucky’s fingers were rough, calloused from years of hard work and an even harder life, but his touch was softer than anything you’d ever known. His skin felt warm.

It was a warmness that, to your surprise, you instantly missed when he drew his hand away. Your eyelids had fallen shut and, somehow knowing exactly what was coming next, you kept them closed thinking maybe it would be easier. It wasn’t. When Bucky’s hand, now cold from the ointment, touched your scar, you tensed, sucking in a barely stifled whimper and forcing it into a gasp. You’d never hated yourself more, but no one had ever touched you there with anything more than malice; your body didn’t know what to do with anything but pain.

Your eyes flew open in enough time to watch Bucky’s jaw tighten. This time, he closed his eyes, just for a moment before glancing away and out into the darkening forest. His hand hadn’t moved, still hovering close enough to your neck that you swore you could feel the warmth of it, and in that moment you knew that he hadn’t pulled away yet only because he was worried the sudden movement would make you flinch again.

You weren’t scared of him -- you swore you weren’t. For a second you considered telling him this, pleading with him to believe you because you didn’t want him to think that you were. But you didn’t because there was a part of you that knew it wasn’t necessary, and there was a part of him that already knew all the words you could have said to convince him. Fear was such a learned reaction, and Bucky knew this. It was why he’d practically begged you not to touch his shoulder even though he could have done so much more than plead.

Fear was a learned reaction; easy to acquire, hard to forget. Your heart raced, fueled by the power of old things that were too integrated to be pulled apart.

Bucky’s thumb dragged softly down the side of your neck, a silent act of reassurance. You took a breath. Bucky watched you, and then he repeated the same gentle touch, only this time a few inches to the right. The muscles in your neck tensed, hollowing out, and you squeezed your knee so hard you were certain to leave a bruise. Bucky did it again, slowly -- carefully. You could feel your skin absorbing the coolness of the ointment. It felt tingly, for a moment, and then you felt nothing.

With the ointment gone, he traced a finger over the scar, following it from below your jaw down the curve of your neck -- following it to the very end.

“He…” Bucky’s eyes finally found yours, searing you in a way that made you feel picked clean and bare. “He did this to you?”

For some reason, the question came as a surprise. Maybe because, for you, there’d never been anyone else that could have ever done something like that. For you, it had always been Mickey. Sure, others had hurt you, but the things that kept you up at night had always come from him.

The question came as a surprise, but even if it hadn’t, you wouldn’t have been able to answer. Your throat had closed up and you couldn’t trust your voice. So instead, you turned your eyes to Bucky, and in them, he found the answer; you knew because you watched as he tried not to let his anger flash across his face. He failed, but he quickly looked away, and, by the time he turned back to you, it had been replaced.

Now he looked sad. His big blue eyes were glassy and everything about his expression was heavy. No one had ever seen your pain and looked on it with so much compassion as right now, and you felt your own face twist as your vision swam. You screwed your eyes shut, but it didn’t stop the tears. You’d wanted it to, but it didn’t. It was never that easy.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky breathed, and his touch left your neck quick enough that you winced, but then his calloused hand was cupping your cheek, fingers curling just behind your ear.

His thumb brushed a stray tear from your cheek in the same way that it had traced over your skin only a few moments earlier. You raised your hand and weakly gripped his wrist. Your eyes were closed again, and you felt his thumb rub tiny circles into the skin below your eye. When you opened them, he was looking at you with kindness and searching and an upset brow.

You didn’t know what had gotten into you, then, but you laughed. Bright and somewhat frantic you laughed, and then you had to sniff; your head was fuzzy and your airway felt clogged, but you’d done it -- you were still alive and breathing. Bucky smiled sadly and then, with a final moment to press closer, he removed his hand from your cheek. Just like his fingers at your neck, you were surprised by how quickly you missed the way it felt.

“Talk to me, doll,” he said, a hitch of concern to his voice.

You weren’t sure you could. You sighed -- heavily -- and then tried. You couldn’t get the words out, they were like cotton in the back of your throat; so instead, you reached out and grabbed his hand, giving in a brief squeeze before letting go. You had to let go because you were afraid of what you’d do if you held on longer. It was all so unfamiliar to you, touch like this. You’d crossed into a territory that was completely uncharted. In a way, though, you’d done the same thing when you’d agreed to go with Bucky.

If any of the decisions you’d made in your life were the right ones, it would be those.

“Alright,” Bucky nodded, still sounding unsure. He glanced down at the jar in his lap. You watched his left arm flex beneath his shirt, and for the first time you noticed that it made a sound, when the material that had replaced muscle contracted; a soft, airy whirring.

“You showed me yours,” he said, suddenly reaching up to unbutton his shirt. “I suppose it’s only fair that I show you mine.”

“Bucky, no” you finally found your voice. “You don’t have to--”

He shook his head, taking a moment to stare at you.

“I want to,” he said.

You looked at him and then you nodded. While you tied the cloth back around your neck, Bucky shrugged off his shirt, letting it gather at his waist. Wordlessly, he passed you the jar. There was something solemn between you, like the feeling in a church after disaster -- something quiet and reverent and perfectly understood for what it was. There was also something that felt like a vow; an exchange of touches that brought the promise of mutual protection.

Bucky’s scars were worse than yours. It was a simple fact, nothing more. The skin on his shoulder was gnarled, raised lines curving along the muscle in a crisscross of strips and chunks. You’d once met a man who’d been attacked by a grizzly when he was a boy. The bear had taken his right arm and left a patchwork of scars behind, spreading down along his collarbone and up his neck all the way to his temple. He hadn’t been able to grow hair on his right side, and he couldn’t hear out of that ear. His jaw had creaked when he’d talked to you, and you couldn’t help but wonder how he’d survived.

With Bucky, it was both the same and different. You knew that no bear had caused his scars; it would have been easier that way, but it wasn’t true. The truth, you knew, was more complicated -- more heartbreaking than the physical remnants. Maybe it was for that reason that, in the same way you’d wondered how that man had survived, you also wondered how Bucky had made it through whatever had done this to him.

"Bucky--"

"S'alright," he replied, smiling despite the fact that he'd gone a little pale. All you could do was shake your head.

Bucky tilted his chin like he wanted to say something else, to argue his claim that it really was alright, but he remained silent. Even as you moved closer, your elbow coming to rest on his thigh, he didn’t make a sound, just took a shallow breath. You reached out slowly and your fingertips fell onto the scars that stretched along his collarbone. Bucky tensed, his right hand snapping up to grab your wrist. His grip was firm but not nearly enough to hurt you, and you got the overwhelming sense that he was holding back.

Your eyes widened a fraction, questioning.

“I just need to…” he shifted his hand around your wrist, getting a better grip on it while somehow growing gentler than before.

“That’s okay,” you said, and you understood that right now he needed to feel in control.

So you did the thing he’d been kind enough to do to you. You lifted your hand to just behind his ear, brushing some strands of hair out of the way. That was where you started, but you steadily made your way across his jaw, down his neck. Maybe you didn’t have as much confidence as he had, but it was the only thing you knew to do. And maybe it didn’t relax Bucky in the way his very same actions had relaxed you, but even though his muscles remained tensed and his breathing shallow, he let his eyes fall shut.

When you reached the scar tissue on his shoulder, he sucked a breath through his teeth.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “Did I hurt you?”

Bucky shook his head. You brushed your thumb over one of his scars, then Bucky’s hand was sliding up yours. Carefully, almost experimentally, he splayed your fingers out, pressing his palm flat against the back of your hand until it was laying against his shoulder. Your pinky brushed the cool material of his arm where it connected to his skin. He shivered, head ducking low so his hair fell in a curtain around his face. You turned your hand around so your palms were facing each other. After a moment, Bucky gave you a squeeze and you took that as the okay to keep going.

You applied the ointment like you were painting a canvas; detailed and without daring to rush. You traced the many lines across his shoulder until Bucky wasn’t struggling to breathe anymore, and then, when you were done, you took a chance at letting your hand slide onto the material of his shoulder. There was a red star on his bicep that you hadn’t noticed before. You reached down to touch it, but Bucky jerked away, and suddenly his eyes were open and staring into yours; you felt your breath catch.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that,” he said. You stared down at your lap.

“Can you feel? When I…” you laid your hand back onto his shoulder. He let you, this time.

“I know you’re there, but… it’s not the same.”

You hummed thoughtfully as you slowly slid your hand down his bicep, brushing past the red star. Bucky craned his head so he could watch as you maneuvered his arm palm up. When you reached his wrist, you hesitated only a moment before continuing down to explore his hand.

“What does it feel like?” you asked. Your thumb brushed the center of his metal palm.

“Like… something warm.”

You placed your hand into his, intertwining your fingers. Bucky watched as you lifted your joined hands, propping your elbows onto his thigh. He looked at the way your skin settled against his metal like he’d never seen something like it before in his life. Then, with twin releases of breath, you both pulled away, suddenly aware that the rest of the world around you had kept on spinning while you’d been so lost in each other. Your fingers instinctively found your neck, feeling at the scar through the fabric of the cloth Bucky had given you, and Bucky pulled his shirt back on. The atmosphere around you felt like it had been recently stirred but was now calm; quiet. Almost peaceful, if you didn’t think too hard.

“We should head out bright and early tomorrow. Keep moving.”

You nodded, wrapping yourself up in a coarse blanket. Now that you and Bucky had moved away from each other, you felt colder than before.

“How long do you think until we reach your friends?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky said, standing up to stoke the fire before settling down on his bedroll. “I know there’s an old mill probably a couple days ride from here -- that’s our halfway point. Little over halfway, maybe, if nothing holds us up.”

“Let’s hope nothing does,” you murmured, setting your hat aside.

“Amen to that,” Bucky dryly replied.

The fire was dying -- crackling quietly into cold soot.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah…”

“Thank you.” The words weren’t enough, but they were all you had.

“Funny,” he whispered above the sounds of the fire and the night. “I was gonna say the same thing.”

________________________________________________________________

Taglist: @desert-fern

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes western au #western au #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link

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invisibleraven · 8 months

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"Go back to sleep, (term of endearment)." / Royal Purple

Kayla tossed and turned in the big empty bed, unable to find sleep. And she knew the empty nature of the bed was the reason she had been staring at the ceiling and still awake even as midnight was far behind her.

Sure it was nice to be able to stretch out, not to fight for the covers. But she missed Reggie's heater like nature spooned up behind her. Julie's little snuffly noises as she held her in her arms. Now she was cold and it was too quiet. She had gotten used to sharing the bed, and with no one here, it was too hard to sleep alone.

She knew it was only for a little bit. Reggie and Julie were gone on tour with the Phantoms while Kayla had to stay behind to work on a new show she had been hired to choreograph. That didn't stop her from missing them intensely.

Next time she hoped she was free to go on tour with them. Sure the tour bus was less than ideal, but at least she could see their faces every day, hear their laughter. Maybe sleep occasionally.

Kayla groaned as she looked at the time, knowing she had an early start and it was already going to suck and involve the biggest mug of coffee she could brew.

Desperate, she pulled up FaceTime, hoping against hope that one of her partners would still be up. They should be on the east coast by now, so the time difference was in their favour.

Reggie's face appeared, smiling but confused. "Honeybee? What are you doing up?"

"Is that Kayla?" Julie's voice called, and Reggie nodded, Julie popping up on the screen, their faces squeezed together. "Aww, can't sleep?"

"The bed's too big without you," Kayla pouted. "I miss my human body pillow and space heater."

"We miss you too," Reggie said. "It's hard to sleep without your snoring mixing with Julie's."

"I do not snore!" both girls chorused, then giggled. It was an old argument by now, and Reggie had more than once threatened to tape them sleeping so he could prove himself right.

"We'll be home soon," Julie promised her.

"Not soon enough," Kayla grumbled.

"I know," Reggie piped up. "Next time you're coming with us, though the beds on the tour bus barely fit one person, no clue how all three of us would squeeze in there."

"We'd make it work," Julie smiled at him. "Mi cielo, why don't you steal our stuff to sleep with and hopefully that will help?"

Kayla beamed, holding up a finger. She grabbed a flannel of Reggie's that mostly smelled like their shared fabric softener, but if she tried she could detect a whiff of his woodsy aftershave. Then a shirt of Julie's the scent of her floral perfume still barely clinging to the cloth. She put on both, and grabbed the overly large teddy bear Reggie won her one day last year at a fair. Cuddling that she got back into bed, suddenly feeling a wave of tiredness washing over her.

"Go back to sleep my little honeybee," Reggie cooed at her.

"Okay pumpkin," Kayla replied with a yawn. "Don't you two stay up too late either."

"We're headed to bed now mi cielo," Julie promised her. "See you in our dreams."

"Sounds good," Kayla mumbled, ending the call, her eyes sliding closed. Sleep still didn't come super easy, but she found herself finally slumbering.

And while the next day came too soon, Kayla woke up with a smile on her face and ticked one more day off her calendar until Julie and Reggie came home. But she still stole pieces of their wardrobe to get her through the day.

And smirked to herself when she saw their expressions seeing her in their clothes on their video call that night.

#filled prompts #ficlet #jatp royal purple #julie and the phantoms

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fafnirhumgy · 1 month

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More stuff about the super Persona crossover I’ve been yapping about, this time as random tidbits! Putting a linebreak under this one because it’s pretty lengthy…

While in the real world, all the furries take human form. In the Metaverse or highly fused regions, they return to their normal bodies.

In making the initial doc obsolete, the Wild Cards of the story currently are Aigis, Yu, Ren, Flynn, Marco, and Jayce. However, none of them can use their Wild Card abilities save innate perception of the Velvet Room because the rules of the game got screwed hard by three (and counting) separate world’s supernatural things colliding into the Persona world. In exchange, everyone’s got Sub-Persona stuff.

I realized that the plot heavily leans on the Hum being the most disruptive of the otherworld forces and wanted to include the other worlds as well. So I decided that the current specifics are the Hum hijacking Shadows and rumors to make them bleed into the real world, the Parents hijacking the Sea of Souls for future assimilation/experimentation and making themselves at home at the detriment of the memespace already there, and the demon that Jayce sees exploiting the Persona world’s rules to become an actual Demon and gaining power exponentially as a result. Any one alone would be troublesome, but manageable. Together, the world’s on the brink of collapse.

Jayce joins Flynn in having the Crocodile as the equivalent of the Fool. In fact, I was thinking of having all the anthro newbies having the Paul Christian deck. Either that or Thoth. Probably the former.

Each of the worlds now have different summoning methods. For Echo, they have to replicate a symbolic act of sacrifice for their strongest regret and breaking a cycle of some kind (Flynn using a lighter and letting his Persona rage forth from the flames almost scorching him off, TJ tearing apart a rosary, Leo tossing away the anchor band). For Adastra, they have to break out of bindings made of flowers representing their strongest outward emotion (Marco crushing the bloom of a dandelion collar as dual hope and freedom, Alexios shattering wolfsbane manacles). Haven’t figured out what to do for Socially Awkward.

Hikari and Guernica aren’t Persona Users. They’re just that in-tune with the Sea of Souls due to their prior experiences in Enlil’s theatre and Jerri’s world respectively, as well as being artists really dedicated to their craft.

Sophia managed to redevelop the same ability that EMMA had to create Jails. After neutering the power so any Jails she made couldn’t steal Desires and were little more than digital simulations of what a heart’s inner world would be, distorted or otherwise, Ichinose and Sophia sealed this ability away. Of course, eventually they need it to figure out certain things about information being hidden directly in hearts as part of a gambit by Nyarly and Philemon…

The general flow is Investigation Team in Inaba going to Tokyo, finding the Phantom Thieves, then scurrying over to Iwatodai and the Shadow Operatives to deal with an upsurge of Shadows since local space-time was still healing up there before the crash. Then, after a bit of touch-and-go miscommunication and actual communication with Hikari Studios, it’s a worldwide roadtrip.

The fusion of worlds gets bad enough that Morgana can turn into his van form at one point while the Phantom Thieves are left car-less. Surprisingly, despite the weirdness thus far, Carl is the only one who gets surprised by this. Some of the others wonder if Teddie and Koromaru can do the same.

Teddie eventually finds a Shadow mask in his bear fur, marked with his one-of-a-kind Star arcana. Thanks to his development he brushes it aside easily and even shows it off for some funny moments and team exposition, and even proves surprisingly helpful when infiltrating a Shadow nest at one point.

Philemon’s idea of helping is giving the newcomers Personas. Nyarlathotep’s idea of helping is pulling out the Innocent Sin cast for a reboot of the Masked Circle - in his words, “solving a failure with another failure”. He honestly believes that his “help” wouldn’t change the hopeless scenario that came of the disastrous world fusion, and is flabbergasted to see that having a team that knows how to manipulate rumors that come true to their advantage and already mucked with the Sea of Souls once was a perfect counter to the bigger threats.

Contemplating making Meera one of the VN Attendants alongside Sydney. Dunno for Jayce.

Language barrier? Don’t worry, just apply an unhealthy amount of cognitive crossover!

During the compulsory beach episode, Jayce debating with Marco over which athlete is hotter: Maccon, or Akihiko. Maccon is just huge and very huggable, while Akihiko is definitely more stylish and has just as well a lean build as the ex-wrestler’s own bulky build. Chase is trying not to get distracted by either man in question or the other women like Mitsuru around, this being the longest reprieve he’s had from the Sam simulation’s influence.

If this ever got made into a game, I’d want the system to be a weird mix of modern Persona, the Q spinoffs, and the Persona 2 duology. To be more precise, five Persona users in a battle and the Once More system, but with Shift and Q’s Boost instead of Baton Pass. While boosted, it can either be kept as a powered-up state or spent to execute a fusion skill, provided the right skills (or allies!) are in the current loadout. Hitting weaknesses with fusion skills can result in Once More regardless of if the enemy is knocked down or not, and additionally allows you to “chain” fusion skills together if you included a Boosted ally.

#echo vn #adastra #echo project #socially awkward #visual novel #crossover idea #persona series #persona 3 fes #persona 2 innocent sin #persona 4 #persona 5 #writing #persona q2 #mega crossover #this idea has spiraled out of control #me finishing this up and thinking deviously: what if i added solatorobo #but no i must have restraint #and to think i’ve barely written a single piece of this yet #if i ever get to it

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ravynfyre · 5 months

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folks, if you want a shot of pure joy, you gotta watch the Teddy Bear Toss from the Phantom's hockey game last night:

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mitchbeck · 5 months

Link

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flyersheartbreaker · 2 years

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Cam York dodging Stuff Animals last night after his Asst. on Mayhew's Goal | 12.11.21 |

#Cam York #yorkie #yam cork #via phantoms facebook #lehigh valley phantoms #phantoms hockey #phantoms lb #phantoms teddy bear toss #philadelphia flyers #flyers hockey #flyers lb #ahl #nhl #hockey

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morgansyorkie · 2 years

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Wade Allison’s reaction to fans trying to throw a Teddy Bear over the glass during tonight’s game | 12.11.21 | x

#wade allison #ally cat #wades world #garrett wilson #lehigh valley phantoms #phantoms hockey #phantoms lb #philadelphia flyers #flyers hockey #flyers lb #ahl #nhl #hockey #phantoms teddy bear toss

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brockachu · 2 years

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wade allison cheering for a giant teddy bear, that’s the post | from lehigh valley phantoms twitter | 11 dec 2021

special cc: @couturriere

#i’m sure there are other wade fans but my brain went to you first #he’s just So Excited about it. also i just love teddy bear tosses. it never gets old #flyers lb #philadelphia flyers #lehigh valley phantoms #wade allison #op

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apocalypticgargoyle · 3 years

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Could i get a part two on the bef sharing trope with dream? I wanna see the green man struggle with internal FEELINGS about the reader and that night bc its adorable

Head very very full

☾ 𝔽𝕝𝕒𝕥 𝕋𝕚𝕣𝕖 ☽

pairing: Dream x reader

warnings: none :)

links: ao3, main, pt. 1

a/n: Thank you for the request! I hope you enjoy this xx

After scraping together your appearances, you and Dream climbed back into his car and settled back into the bends of the highway, hoping to reach your destination soon. Since the two of you had gotten up, Clay had been weirdly quiet, which you pretended not to notice and continued to ramble and talk to him. His absent-minded responses were completely uncharacteristic for him, but pointing that out would probably evoke some sort of frustrated response from him about you being obsessed.

You rolled your window down slightly while the two of you were stopped at a red light. Clay pressed his back further against his seat to stretch before pulling off his hoodie and tossing it in the back. Your eyes lingered on his arms, your mind drifting to the feeling of his skin against yours. You hated how, despite his immature reaction to the situation, you yearned to be back in his embrace again. You had half a mind to make him stop at another motel and ask for one bed just to prove a point. You weren’t sure if it was to him or yourself.

You reached for your drink that was wedged into the cupholder, accidentally brushing his arm that was resting on the console. He jumped at your touch, acting almost as a reflex and making you quip an eyebrow at him teasingly. “You should be careful; I have the worst case of cooties,” you joshed. Clay narrowed his eyes to the brightness of the sun, shaking his head slightly at your joke. The light made his eyes almost an iridescent forest green.

He placed both hands on the wheel, looking more tense than he had before. You bit back a laugh at his obvious discomfort. You reached to turn up the radio and let him have his quiet time.

You’d been on the road for an hour when the car blew a tire, leaving you and Dream on the side of the road, standing side-by-side as you stared at the deflated wheel. “Can’t you just change it?” You mumbled, sending him into a dark chuckle.

“WOw, wouldn’t that be NiCE.” He stepped closer to the car, kicking the tire with his foot. “Only, I don’t have a spare.” He ran a hand through his hair, his shirt tightening around his shoulder. You chewed the inside of your cheek, trying not to enjoy his meltdown. He went into a fit of mumbling to himself before digging out his phone and calling a tow truck. “The one time I take country roads, I swear to- Hi!” His dynamic changed completely as someone picked up on the other end. You walked over to move beside him again, settling against the passenger door as he paced in front of you slowly, attempting to make the act of calling the auto-shop less awkward for himself.

“It’ll be a few hours,” he stated after ending the call, resting one of his arms on the roof of the car and leaning his weight against the metal beside you. His towering frame blocked the wind from reaching you. He looked around the two of you at the desolate fields. You were truly isolated from civilization.

You finally made eye contact with him, a small blush creeping to his cheeks before he looked away again. “What should we do until then?” You asked, digging the toe of your sneaker into the dirt. “I mean you seemed to like cuddling yesterday so…” you mumbled barely above a whisper.

He scoffed, with an eye roll before crossing his arms. “That information dies with the two of us, okay?”

You couldn’t help the grin splitting your face. “What? We can’t talk about that?” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “You were like slobbering on my shoulder, all nestled up! It was actually really cute, Clay.”

“I regret agreeing to this trip with you,” he muttered.

But you continued. “I feel honored being your personal teddy bear. The Great Dream actually snuggled up to me-”

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

“-And to think, if it weren’t for that tiny motel bed, I would never know what it was like to-”

Clay cut you off by swiftly grabbing your forearm and pulling you to his chest. Before your mind could register the abrupt action, he pressed his lips against yours. Your thoughts had turned into radio static as you leaned into his kiss. Yet, just as it had begun, Clay parted from you. He sent you a rather deadpanned look, masking the hesitation swirling behind his eyes. His grasp slipped from you as he took a step back. Without thinking, you grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him into you and signing a peace treaty between the two of you with a grander kiss. His breath was hot against your cheek as he sighed into your lips.

It felt right to be this close to him, like you were home once again. One of his hands settled against your jaw, the coarseness of his thumb lightly brushing against your skin with a softness you previously weren’t sure Clay had within him. Your hands spread to wrap around him, deepening your kiss. The sun beat down against your skin, as the smell of Clay’s body wash began to blend into your senses.

With reluctance, Clay pulled away from you breathlessly. The two of you stood in silence, your fingers reaching up to brush against the phantom feeling of his lips on your own. You felt giddy inside at the pure shock of the matter. “I think I saw a house down the road. Wanna check it out?” He asked, nonchalantly reaching through the window and grabbing his jacket. You wordlessly nodded, following close behind as he began down the dirt road.

#dream x reader #dream fluff #dream imagine #mcyt x reader #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt imagine #mcyt #mcyt fandom #dreamwastaken x reader

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amayawolfe · 3 years

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Itsy Bitsy Spider (Chrollo x Fem.Reader)

A/N: fluff, spiders, angst, some harsh language

Word Count: 5262

Summary: Having been born in Meteor City, the majority of your life has been nothing but hardships. Looking back on it, you often wondered how you even made it to adulthood let alone become the treasured partner and wife of eight years to the head of the Phantom Troupe and mother to yours and Chrollo's son.

In the middle of prepping dinner, Chrollo and some of the troupe return from a successful mission. Your husband fills you in on the details as he and a couple of the members begin to help in the kitchen. The peace is suddenly shattered when your six year old comes running into the kitchen terrified, screaming, and claiming there is a monster in his room!

taglist: @to-move-on-means-to-grow @daisies-write

The menu music to the DVD you were watching gently woke you from your unintentional nap. You blinked your eyes a few times to bring them into focus and stretched your curled up body along the large, overstuffed couch. This particular spot on the couch was often your place of rest unless your husband was home; in which case the couch was hardly ever used.

Using the remote you turned off the tv and player then pushed yourself up into a sitting position. You snatched up your phone from it's place on the coffee table and checked the time. It was nearly early evening.

"Guess I should start thinking about what to make for dinner," you said to yourself as you swipe through your phone to check for messages.

Down in this underground hideout beneath Meteor City, phone signal alone was nearly impossible to receive. Thankfully, one of the family was able to figure out how to set up a computer that would broadcast Wi-Fi into the hideout from a line that went to the surface where a receiver was carefully hidden. This way, you could at least send and receive messages between the family and yourself.

Your eyebrows rose and a smile touched your lips when you saw that you had a message from your husband, Chrollo.

Luci: Shopping run was successful, we should be home in the evening.

You smirked a little at the cryptic message. The "shopping run" Chrollo was talking about was actually a heist during a gem and jewelry show. A heist in which you had helped plan out with your husband and three other family members.

You glowered down at your phone when you realized the message had been sent a little over an hour ago while you were asleep.

"I really need to get a louder phone," you muttered to yourself as you began to type a response.

You: I just woke up...

You: I haven't started dinner yet, is there anything you or the others would like?

Phone still in hand you got to your feet and head in the direction of your son's room. As you walk through the hideout your sock covered foot falls are silent from a lifetime of practice. You pass a collection of pictures hanging along the walls. There are photos of you, Chrollo, your son, as well as the rest of the family doing random things a family would do.

There were a couple from around the holidays and you and Chrollo are watching your son open gifts. Another was on Chrollo's birthday and two of the members had sandwiched his face between two pieces of vanilla cake with strawberry frosting. The look of shock and horror on Chrollo's face had been perfectly captured. While it was one of your favorite photos, he despised it. Chrollo's favorite picture on the wall was of you and him stretched out on the day bed in the library reading a book together while his head was resting on your nearly full term pregnant belly. You had to admit, it was a very cute picture.

The home was enormous, consisting of s/n's room and his own bathroom, yours and Chrollo's large master bedroom with a large bathroom, a gourmet kitchen, library, study, massive living room, dining hall, training area along with a gym and a pool, a giant vault for looted treasures, multiple guests rooms with their own bathrooms, there was even a "war room" where missions and strategies were discussed.

All the rooms in the place were lavishly decorated and furnished for maximal comfort. Any electronics and appliances were always top of line. Your husband always insisted on the best of the best for you and the family.

Upon reaching your son's open door way you peeked in on him and found him laying on his belly on the floor reading a book aloud softly. He had his collection of stuffed animals surrounding him as though they were an audience listening to the story he was telling. A majority of them were a variety of teddy bears of all shapes, colors, and sizes. Ever since he saw a picture of a tiny teddy bear defending a sleeping child from a large monster he had taken a great liking to them.

S/n's favorite teddy bear was one that Chrollo had asked Machi to make for him during a difficult time for s/n where he was greatly missing his father whenever he went on missions. It was of average size for a teddy bear and had medium brown fur. The button eyes were the same shade of grey blue as Chrollo's and it even had a dark long coat with white fur lining. But how Machi really outdid herself were the little details of a tiny book with a felt cover sewn to the teddy bears paw, the same mark on it's forehead as Chrollo's, and giving the bear little blue green glass bead earrings.

Your son had been so happy to the point of joyous tears when his father gave him the bear made especially for him. He decided right there and then to name the bear "Sir Brollo." Upon s/n announcing this, you had to bite your tongue so hard it bled to keep yourself from laughing at the bright red look that came over your husband's face. Sir Brollo had a front row seat sitting right beside s/n as he read. That bear rarely ever left your son's side.

You rest your head against the door frame as you leaned against it and listened to your son read to his "friends." It saddened you knowing your son had no one to play with except for you and the family when ever they were home. But being the son of the head of the heavily feared and all powerful Phantom Troupe, precautions had to be taken. There had been a few dangerously close calls of s/n being taken away to be used as revenge or leverage against the Phantom Troupe. Close calls that resulted in a sense of dread and anxiety that never fully went away. Even after Chrollo had gathered the nen techniques needed to build you, your son, and the family this safe place, the possible threat of invasion always weighed heavy in the back of your mind. And poor s/n was never allowed out of the hide out unless he had you or Chrollo and at least three other members of the family with him.

These constant negative feelings that lingered in the air had taken a toll on your son causing him to become a very nervous and skittish child with a fear of nearly everything. You and the others hoped that, over time, he would be able to shake these fears and stand up to them.

When your son finished the chapter he was on you lifted your head and gently called his name. "s/n"

The child jumped and looked up at you with wide blue grey eyes. His father's eyes. You could feel the sadness in your own eyes form at his frightened expression.

"I'm sorry kiddo," you said softly and entered his room to kneel down close to him. "I didn't mean to startle you, I just wanted to let you know that your father and some of the family will be home soon."

"Oh, okay, thank you mommy," s/n replied softly.

"Is there something special you want for dinner tonight?" you asked.

"Hmmm, not really. Just, no fish, please," your son wrinkled his nose, "I really don't like fish."

You couldn't help but laugh aloud at his response. Stroking his soft hair you leaned forward, and kissed him on the forehead.

"I know, baby, I know. I promise, no fish."

s/n smiled at your words and he began to kick his feet in the air just above him. "Who else will be home?" "I think your uncles Fei, Phinks, and Shal will be coming in with your dad."

Right then your phone pinged and vibrated alerting you to a message response. Glancing down at it you saw Chrollo had responded to your previous question.

"Oh," you said, "speak of the devil."

Luci: I have been asked to put in a request for your famous stew.

You looked down at s/n, "How does stew sound for dinner?"

His eyes grew wide and he smiled happily.

"Yeah!" he cheered as he rolled to one side and pumped a tiny fist into the air. You couldn't help but laugh again and ruffled your son's hair.

"Alright my silly boy, would you like to help me in the kitchen?"

"No, I want to keep reading to Sir Brollo and the others," he answered honestly. "I want to finish a few more chapters before time to eat."

"Okay, I'll come get you when it's time to eat then." You rose to your feet and started to leave the room. At the door way you turned and added, "I love you, sweetie."

"I love you too, mommy," s/n beamed then returned to his book.

As you made your way to the kitchen you messaged your husband a reply.

You: I can do that, I'll go ahead and get started. See you soon?

Luci: See you soon, princess.

You felt the warmth of a blush touch your cheeks. A reaction that always occurred when Chrollo called you by his favorite pet name for you.

When you entered the massive kitchen you set some upbeat classical music to play from your phone. You loved listening to music while you cooked and baked. You then brought down a large stock pot as well as collected a peeler, knife, mixing bowl, and cutting bored. From the fridge you set out a large chunk of beef, bacon, carrots, and celery. The pantry had the potatoes, flour, beef stock, onions, a bottle of red wine and garlic you needed.

You really felt like you were getting into the grove as you gave your hands a good scrub. You diced up a few slices of bacon and tossed them into the stock put and turned the stove flame on to a medium high heat. While the bacon started to cook and release the greasy fat you were going to brown the beef cubes in, you cut the beef chunk into bite size pieces with impressive speed and accuracy. Chrollo wasn't the only one good with a knife.

Once the meat was all cubed you tossed it into the mixing bowl along with some olive oil. Tossing the meat and oil in the bowl until the meat was evenly coated you then added flour, garlic powder, onion powder, season salt, and pepper; stirring it until it the meat was all evenly coated.

Checking on the bacon and giving it a stir, you decided to let the bacon bits crisp a bit more and started working on dicing up a large yellow onion. Humming along with a playful piece of classical music known as "Thunder and Lightning polka" by Johann Strauss II, you really felt like you had a good rhythm going and was very much engrossed in your work.

So much so you didn't even notice someone quietly enter the kitchen and walk up behind you. You didn't notice them watching while you worked, waiting for a pause in your actions before placing their hands on your waist.

You let out a small yelp of surprise as you knocked the persons hands aside and spun around quickly, bringing the sharp edge of the kitchen knife up to your would be assailant's throat. You had expected to see the face of a dangerous stranger. But instead, you where greeted by the warm, familiar face of your husband. There was a small playful smile on his lips and an extra little gleam in his eyes. Chrollo normally wasn't one to sneak up on you like he just did, but he did tend to become mischievously playful after a successful mission. You figured it was most likely from the adrenaline high.

"Damnit, Chrollo," you hissed as you removed the knife from his neck and leaned back against the counter, "You know better than that. What if I had cut your neck wide open?" "Mmm, but you didn't," he replied softly.

You sighed and rolled your eyes, Chrollo was never one to dwell on the "what ifs" of life.

"I got you a little something, my dear," he stated as he reached into the pocket of his favorite long coat. Your husband was always bringing you little gifts when ever he went on a mission without you.

From his pocket he with drew a small, dark navy blue velvet box and held it before you. You quickly washed and dried your hands so as to not to get the box all dirty, carefully took the box from his hand and let out a small gasp upon opening it.

Inside the dainty box was a small rose charm necklace. The piece was masterfully crafted as the delicate petals of the rose were made from chips of rubies while the petals were made of dark green chrome tourmaline chips. Both gems were set in fine gold which also made up the delicate stem of the rose. The chain was made of fine delicate links also in gold.

"Oh Chrollo," you breathed in awe, "it's absolutely gorgeous."

Your husband smiled at your reaction, pleased to see you so happy with the piece he had picked out for you. He held up his hand to take back the box.

"May I?"

Without a need for question you handed the box back to him. You watched him take the necklace out of the box and he returned the box back to his pocket. You turned around as he held up the necklace and you moved your hair at the way so Chrollo could have unobstructed access to your neck. He stepped closer as undid the delicate little clasp and carefully hung the necklace around your neck.

After he redid the clasp behind your neck he slid his hands to your shoulders and placed a soft, warm kiss on your neck. Chrollo's breath tickled the fine hairs on the delicate skin causing goosebumps to erupt down your arms.

"A piece fit for a princess," he whispered against your ear in a low, sultry voice.

His hands moved down your sides to your waist and pulled you closer to him. Your back flush against his chest, you tilted your head to one side allowing him easy access as his he ran a trail of soft kisses from just below where you neck and shoulder connect to your ear. Chrollo's arms came around your waist and he hugged you tightly as he nuzzled his nose against your ear and breathed against the sensitive flesh. You braced your hands against the counter as your knees started to feel weak.

Mischievous and playful were not the only moods that overcame Chrollo after a successful job. You looked forward to the private activities that were most likely to take place between you and your husband behind the closed bedroom door later that night.

"Hey boss, we finished placing all the merchandise into the vault," called a familiar voice, ending the tender moment between you and your husband. As romantic as he could be, Chrollo was never really comfortable showing physical affection in front of the others. Something that both amused and annoyed you the entire eight plus years the two of you had been together. Your husband gave you one last chaste kiss just below the earlobe before turning to Shalnark walking through the kitchen doorway.

"Thank you, Shalnark. And what are the others up to?"

"Oh, they're arguing over what to watch until dinner is done," Shal laughed.

"Why am I not surprised," you said over your shoulder as you started to scoop the crispy bacon bits out of the stock pot with a slotted spoon. "Say, since you two are here why don't you help me out with peeling and cutting the vegetables? The sooner everything gets into the pot the sooner it'll be done and we can eat."

"Sure thing!" Shal beamed, causing you to smile. He always seemed so happy to you and reminded you of a little ball of sunshine.

"I'll go put my coat up and then I'll come back and help," Chrollo replied and strode from the kitchen. Shalnark came over and washed his hands.

"If you don't mind, could you go ahead and peel and chop up the carrots first?" you asked as you started to add the coated beef cubes to the bacon fat.

"Yea, I can do that," Shal chirped. He dried his hands and set to work peeling the carrots. "How's everything been here the last few weeks?"

"Dull and quiet," you said with a sigh as you turned the meat cubes, "it's pretty much the same routine when everyone else is away. Not that I am complaining, really." "I would hope not," Chrollo entered back into the kitchen without his coat. He was wearing a dark sleeveless shirt with a high collar and some white bands creating a pattern down the front, a dark pair of jeans and white socks. The shirt showed off his toned arms, chest, and shoulders and it enticed you to take a nice, long looks at your beloved.

"'Dull and quiet' means 'safe' for my two greatest treasures." Chrollo took his turn at washing his hands before asking, "Now, what shall you have me do, dearest?"

Deciding against speaking aloud the first thing that came to your mind and causing your husband to blush in front of a family member, you set him to work on peeling and cutting potatoes.

You had removed the meat from the stock pot and added some red whine to deglaze the bottom of the pot when Feitan came in mumbling.

"Did you lose the coin toss, Feitan?" Shal asked while he was chopping the carrots.

"Yes," he sighed, then added bitterly" and I would much rather help here than watch another sports game."

Chrollo smirked and Shalnark chuckled while you bit back a laugh. The three of you knew that Feitan would have greatly prefered watch some documentaries on famous criminals; yet somehow Phinks normally won the coin toss on what they would watch when it came to what those two would watch.

"Well, Fei, in that case you can get the dinner roll dough out of the fridge, space them out in a greased baking then cover them with a towel so they can start rising."

You felt the look Feitan shot at you more so than saw it. He had obviously been kidding about wanting to help out on the kitchen. Or, at the very least, he was putting on a show pretending that he actually didn't want to help out when in truth he did.

When you didn't look back over your shoulder at him after a bit he sighed and went to go do as you had asked. You had made sure to give Feitan an easy enough task where he didn't have to ask someone to help get something down or where he would have to get a chair. You knew he could sometimes be a sensitive and prideful when it came to matters of his height.

"So tell me, love, how did the mis-" your question to your husband was suddenly interrupted by the terrified screams of your son coming from his bedroom.

"MONSTER!! MOMMY THERE'S A MONSTER!!!"

Your heart nearly stopped as you dropped what you were doing and started to turn to run out of the kitchen along with Chrollo and the other two.

Chrollo was the first to the door but came to an abrupt stop as s/n came around the corner and ran into his father. Your husband grabbed hold of him to keep him from falling backwards then maneuvered your son away from the door towards you so Feitan and Shalnark could pass to go investigate s/n's room.

Keeping himself between the doorway and you and your son, Chrollo knelt down beside s/n who was now clinging to you and shaking with tears forming in his eyes. He placed a gentle hand on his son's upper back while you stroked his head.

"Tell me what happened, son," he calmly ordered.

"I was r-reading my book and a big monster c-came out of the corner of m-my room." s/n stammered.

"What kind of monster, sweetie?" you asked.

"We couldn't find anything, boss," Shalnark reported as he and Feitan returned.

"It looked like a b-big spider!" s/n added.

Chrollo's eyebrows started to creep up his forehead, "Spider?"

Your son nodded.

"PHINKS!" you nearly roared. Phinks had been known to play pranks on s/n in the past. Pranks that didn't go as he had planned and usually scared the poor kid senseless. The Troupe member claimed he was just trying to help s/n get over his fears, you usually ended up beating the crap out of him regardless.

"It wasn't me!" came Phinks's response as he quickly joined Shalnark and Feitan. "I swear!"

He shied away and stood behind the other two when you locked a deadly glare onto him.

"No, mommy, it wasn't Uncle Phinks," s/n sniffled, "I was reading in my book and it got to a part with monster spiders then a huge spider appeared in my room!"

There was a silent pause before nearly all the adults let out a collective sigh and their guards dropped.

"See, I told you it wasn't me," Phinks muttered as he went back to watch the game.

"Another false alarm," Feitan sighed while walking back into the kitchen. "That's some imagination," Shalnark stated and gave s/n a pat head, "you must have thought the spider was one of those creature right out of your book, huh?"

S/n nodded his head. His face was starting to turn red as he began to realize he had most likely been afraid of nothing once again.

"But," he whispered sadly, "there really was a big spider in my room. And, I'm afraid it's going to hurt Sir Brollo."

"Sir Brollo will be fine, love," you assured gently. "Give me a minute and daddy and I will come help look for the spider, okay?"

s/n nodded and released his grip from you to stand a little closer to his father who rested a hand atop his sons head in means of comfort.

You went to the stove, reduced it to medium low heat, added in the beef stock and spices then turned to Feitan and Shalnark.

"Could you two please finish cutting up the vegetables and add them to the pot? Once that's done add in the meat last, give it a good stir then put the lid on. It should be good on it's own after that."

"Can do, boss lady," Shalnark beamed.

You thank them both and join your son and husband and the three of you head towards s/n's room with Chrollo in the lead. Upon entering the room everything seemed normal. S/n held onto you at the doorway and Chrollo walked a few steps further in while looking around carefully. As he rounded the end of s/n's bed, looking down at a part of the floor you and s/n couldn't see, Chrollo actually jumped a little and a look of surprise appeared on his face.

"Well, I was not expecting that." He blinked a couple times then began to look around the room for something.

"What is it?" you asked. Chrollo smiled a little as he took a large clear plastic container and dumped out the contents to one side. He then went back over to the part of the floor you could not see, turned the container sideways and slowly knelt down.

"An understandably good reason for our son to be scared," he replied softly, "at least at first."

All you could see your husband do was make some slow, careful arm movements. He was speaking softly, to softly for you to here. You wanted to move forward to see what he was messing with but your son didn't want you to leave nor did he want to go farther into the room.

You didn't have to wait long though, as Chrollo began to stand you could now see what he had corralled into the plastic container. It was indeed a spider, but not just any spider, this sider was enormous. With it's legs fanned out it was easily larger than your husbands face.

"It's a snowy tarantula," Chrollo explained as he slowly walked over to the two of you, "it's sort of an ironic name considering it usually lives in hot, arid climates like the desserts around Meteor City."

Once he was within a couple meters of you and s/n he knelt down and gently set the container on the floor. The creature inside barely moved as it seemed to turn and look up at Chrollo.

"It's called a 'snowy' tarantula due to the white hairs all over it's body. The hairs actually shimmer and reflect the light just like fresh fallen snow. An evolutionary trait that developed to help reflect the dessert heat away from it's body and keep it cooler. A magnificent specimen to behold when the light hits it just right. Come see, s/n. She's actually quite docile."

S/n looked up at you and you gave him a warm smile and a nod. He slowly let go of you and took one slow, cautious step after another towards his father and the spider that had frightened him so. You carefully followed behind your son wanting to get a look at the tarantula as well.

As the two of you came closer, the tarantula daintily turned and looked up at you. You gasped slightly at the beautiful deep blue eyes that now stared up at you.

"Now watch," your husband instructed and he began to carefully rotate the container in a circular side to side motion causing the light to dance across the hairs of the tarantula.

"Whhoooaaaa." Your son's eyes grew wide in awe as a rainbow of prismed light moved over the hairs of the tarantula, giving her the effect of a living gem. "She's so pretty. I've never seen anything like it, daddy."

Chrollo stopped the rotation of the container and carefully set it on the floor. He then reached over, placed his hand on the back of his son's head and gently pulled s/n's head towards his own as he too began to lean forward. The two touched foreheads over the tarantula and looked into each others eyes.

"There is no shame in having fear, s/n, but do not let that fear keep you from learning and understanding the unknown. What once was scary and ugly could turn out to be something wonderful and beautiful once you find the courage to face it. Do you understand?"

Your son smiled and nodded slightly, "Yes, daddy, I understand. I'll try harder to be brave, just like you, mommy, and the rest of the family."

Your husband returned the smiled and closed his eyes, "Very good, my son."

S/n closed his eyes as well and the two shared an unspoken bonding moment over the snowy tarantula who just looked up at them. You smiled down at the two you held most dear and felt your heart swell with love and emotion.

Your son was the first to break the silence.

"Do you think we could keep her?" he asked as he gently pulled away from his father. "She could be our mascot!"

"Ah-ha, I don't think so, sweetie," you said firmly. "I'm sure she would be a lot happier on the surface where she has room to find food and make a home." "Awwww," s/o whined in disappointment, "when is she going back then?"

"Probably the sooner the better." Chrollo added, backing you up before s/n had a chance to ask him as well.

"Can I show her to the others before she goes back outside?"

Chrollo chuckled, "I don't see why not. Just be sure to carry her gently and don't shake her. You don't want to hurt her before we let her back outside."

"Okay!" s/n said with excitement. He carefully picked up the plastic container and walked with precise hurried steps out of the room, eager to show his uncles that he hadn't been afraid of just nothing.

As soon as s/n was out of ear shot you turned to your husband who was now standing beside you.

"I'm not going to lie, had that thing snuck up on me while I was reading I probably would have screamed, too," you admitted with light laughter sounding in your words. Chrollo smiled and wrapped his arms around your waist bringing the two of you close.

"How did something like that even get in here? The airducts, maybe?"

"It's possible," Chrollo agreed, "I'll ask Shalnark to run a check on the ventilation system just in case."

You stood on your tip toes and kissed his nose, "I'd appreciate that. Also, you might want to ask Shal and Fei how the hell they missed such a big spider when they came in here to check for intruders."

"When s/n jumped up and ran out of here screaming it probably startled her and she hid among all the stuffed toys," your husband made a gesture with his head to your son's mass collection. You looked down and realized that, even though the spider had been huge, she could have easily hid between some of the bigger plushies blocking her from view.

"Good point," you chuckled, "Okay, one more question, 'Who's taking the spider top side?'"

"Once s/n is done showing the others I'll take them all top side to let her go," your husband volunteered, "we won't go far just to release her."

"He's getting better at recovering from scares like this," you observed. "But still... I worry about him..."

"Of course you worry about him," Chrollo said softly, bringing his head down to now touch his marked forehead to yours, "you're his mother. I suspect you will worry for him one way or another for the rest of your life."

"And what about you? Don't you worry about our son?" you asked in the same softness Chrollo was expressing.

"Of course I do, y/n, he's my son. But, seeing how the two of us are, and what we survived to get here, I feel s/n is going to -" "AAAHHHH!!! WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!?" Phinks screamed, "WAS THAT IN YOUR ROOM!?!?! NO!! I DO NOT WANT A CLOSER LOOK!"

Chrollo threw back his head and let out a genuine laugh. A laugh that made you smile and laugh along with him.

"Hey! I can hear you two! Shut the hell up!" Phinks yelled, his voice cracking in embarrassment.

His words made the two of you laugh even harder for several minutes.

By the time you two had settled down and caught your breath there were tears in your eyes from laughing so hard. Chrollo looked down at you with a smile still on his face and gave you a long, warm, soft kiss right on the lips. It gave the moment an almost surreal feel to it.

He was the first to break away from the kiss. Your husband chuckled as he swept some hair behind you ear with his finger tips. "As I was saying, I think our son is going to be just fine."

155 notes · View notes

angstyaches · 4 years

Note

okay so here is my request: charlie doesn't go to school and shayne is worried so he goes to check up on charlie and see why he missed school just to find him in bed with a really bad stomach bug? cue shayne going out of his way a little to comfort charlie through rounds and rounds of puking and stomach cramps?

Thank you anon, this was such a fun prompt. I hope you enjoy it, and it’s not too rambly. I had no idea how to finish it off, but one can imagine the sick goes on all night and into the next day. Maybe there’ll be a part 2 if I don’t get any new ideas.

Charlie was dreaming about tiny boats being tossed out on the water, bobbing in and out of his view as he gazed out from the dark. He was dreaming about rocks that were more like daggers, jutting into the flesh of his legs and his hands as tears dropped from his face. His heart felt as empty, as hollow, as that cave, and he couldn’t see anything past this moment, as though his future just didn’t exist. Just like he shouldn’t have –

“Charlie?”

His eyes flicked open to find his room in the Mulberry house in semi-darkness, sensing a figure by his side. He rolled onto his side, wondering how he was able to move while the demon, Charlie Two, was also up and about, until his vision focused a bit and he realised this was no demon.

“Hey,” Charlie mumbled. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, you weren’t at school.” Shayne frowned and sat at the edge of the bed, next to Charlie’s legs. “So I thought I’d check that you hadn’t gone full demon, murdered your parents, and burned my childhood home to the ground.”

“That’s weirdly specific.” Charlie’s stomach bubbled with what felt like hot lava, burning the back of his throat too. He groaned, wrapping his arms around his belly and burying his face in his pillow. “How – how’d you get in?”

“You unlocked the back door for me, with your telekinesis. Didn’t you?” Shayne frowned, glancing between Charlie’s hands clutching his gut and his face contorting in pain. “You know what? Never mind. Jesus, you look like hell.”

Stomach churning rather noisily, Charlie mumbled a laugh. “Didn’t have time to make myself look cute for you.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely what I meant.”

“Shayne, were you…Worried about me?” Charlie waited, eyes shut, hand over his gut, for Shayne to make a sarcastic or defensive remark.

“Yes?” Shayne said quietly. “Where are your parents? When are they coming back?”

“Sunday.” Charlie’s face contorted with pain. His insides felt like they’d been thrown in a bag and beaten against a wall before being shoved back into him. “They’re on a work kind of thing. Shayne, my – my stomach is killing me.”

As though to make that particular point clear, his belly let out a long, wet-sounding grumble. Charlie jumped a little in surprise when he felt the back of Shayne’s hand glide across his stomach through the sheet.

“It’s definitely not your biggest fan right now.” Shayne frowned. “What’d you do? Pick up a bug or something?”

Charlie gave a sigh, Shayne’s light touches sending cool shivers down through his aching tummy. He had to stifle a yawn. “Yeah, I guess. Hey, that feels really nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You know…” Charlie peered out over the sheet, hoping that and the dim light would disguise how red his face felt. “Bet you’re tired too, after being at school all day, and worrying about me so much.”

Shayne rolled his eyes slightly. “And? If I was?”

Charlie wriggled forward slightly, freeing up a little more space between his back and the wall. He shut his eyes as Shayne climbed into bed with him, scooping him gently by the waist and dragging his fingertips up under Charlie’s pyjama top. Charlie didn’t stay awake long enough to hear Shayne asking if he was comfortable.

---

He woke with a gasp this time, pulled from that phantom cave by a sharp wrenching sensation in his abdomen. It was like an anchor had been dropped down his throat and immediately yanked up again. He shot forward in bed, feeling nausea crawl up his oesophagus, clamping his hands over his mouth.

“Here – go ahead, it’s okay.”

Charlie let liquid vomit gush from his mouth as his belly cramped and heaved. It drew out the most guttural sound and made his eyes water. He almost fell back with the force of it, but someone was holding him up, pushing gently on his back with one hand, holding the big mixing bowl under his chin with the other.

He grabbed his mouth again as he hiccupped, pain shooting from his belly into his chest. Shayne rubbed Charlie’s back, eliciting another, but not so violent, stream of vomit to crash into the mixing bowl. Stars flashed across Charlie’s eyes, making the entire room spin. He pawed at the mattress as he lay himself back down.

Shayne reached over to put the bowl on the nightstand. He put his free hand gently on Charlie’s belly so that he wouldn’t accidentally press on it. Once he began settling back down next to him, Charlie kept Shayne’s hand pinned to his stomach and rolled onto his side.

“It hurts, Shayne,” Charlie groaned. “I hate this.”

“I know, I know.” Shayne’s voice was shaking. He could feel Charlie’s stomach gurgling away beneath his palm. Heat was pulsing out of him, but Shayne didn’t know the first thing about fixing that besides throwing back the sheets, which he’d already done. “Charlie, are you sure you can’t get your parents to come back early?”

“I’ll be fine. They –” Charlie whimpered as a roll of nausea made his insides whirl. “They’re looking at prop–”

Shayne made a grab for the bowl and held it to the edge of the bed as Charlie puked again, still lying on his side this time and almost toppling off the mattress. His whole body was racked with the force of the convulsions, and he was letting out pained little whines in between gags.

“Properties?” Shayne breathed, not entirely sure he wanted to press poor Charlie in his current state, but unable to stop himself either.

“Mmhmm,” Charlie mumbled, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his pyjama top and slumping back against Shayne.

“You moving away again?”

Charlie looked up into his friend’s brown eyes, hollow and deep in the early evening darkness of the room. Part of him was relieved to see a hint of sadness there, which was a horrible thought to have. Charlie closed his own eyes as tears welled up, though he wasn’t sure if it was the possibility of having to leave, or the twisting, writhing pain in his stomach that had caused them.

“I don’t – I don’t know…”

He reached for the bowl again, pulling it and Shayne’s hand closer to his face.

“Sorry,” Shayne muttered. “Take your time.”

Charlie winced as what felt like the last scrap of his stomach lining tore its way up his throat. A deep choking sound accompanied the final retch, like every droplet of moisture had evaporated from inside him and he was now a rattling bag of dry things.

“I’ll get you some water, okay?” Shayne climbed down towards the end of the bed, walked towards the door, and turned around again. “I mean, unless there’s something – is there something else I should be doing? If I give you food or medicine, you’ll just throw it up, right? You’ll probably throw the water up again, too. Fuck, how do I know when to call an ambulance?”

Charlie sighed weakly against his pillow as Shayne’s silhouette moved back and forth. “Shayne, you’re panicking.”

“What?” Shayne abruptly stopped pacing the room. “No. No, I’m not. Just – don’t die or anything, alright? I’ll be back in a minute.”

Charlie’s head swam as he waited in the dark. Shayne was so quiet downstairs that he almost imagined he was alone in the house. Alone in a dark cave. Alone in a world where he didn’t belong –

You’re not alone, he remembered. We’re not alone.

Charlie opened his eyes to see Shayne kneeling by the bed with a glass of water. He pushed himself up on his elbow slightly as the glass was tilted against his lips, wetting his tongue and cutting through some of the stale taste of vomit.

“Maybe that’s enough for –?” Shayne started to say, but Charlie kept sipping until his belly glugged in protest. The water felt like it hit boiling point the moment it got inside him, but he was so thirsty, he couldn’t make himself stop. Shayne had to pry the glass away, leaving it on the nightstand next to Vincent the teddy bear.

Charlie swallowed, feeling the water slosh against his diaphragm. He slowly sat further forward to find that Shayne already had the bowl in place for him. He’d washed it out when he’d gone downstairs, it seemed. Charlie breathed deeply a couple of times, holding his belly, but nothing escaped up his throat like he’d expected. His stomach groaned as it fought against itself, and Charlie finally let out a sigh from between pursed lips.

“I think I’m good, for – for now.” He lay back down, relieved but not yet fully trusting himself not to puke again. His eyelids fluttered as he watched Shayne put the bowl away again, still kneeling on the floor as he rested his head on the edge of the mattress.

“You have to go,” Charlie whimpered, eyes darting briefly towards the window that he’d once seen smashed in by a giant creature with bat’s wings. A creature he’d seen so many times again, in his nightmares. He felt his eyes start to tear up. “I don’t want you to get – to get in trouble, or hurt again –”

“Charlie, shut up,” Shayne spoke gently over him. “Just tell me what you need. Tell me what to do. Please. I – I have no idea what I’m doing, I’m –”

“Shayne,” Charlie said gently, though his voice felt slightly detached from his thoughts. “Shut up.”

Shayne looked down at the floor for a few seconds before getting up and climbing back onto the bed. Neither of them knew how to bring up the subject of Charlie’s parents buying a new house again, and as he fell into a shallow sleep for the twelfth - and not the last - time that day, Charlie wondered if Shayne was holding him just a bit tighter for it.

#prompt #request #my ocs #swallow the world #charlie #shayne #sick charlie #emeto #emetophilia #tw emeto #tw vomiting #sickfic #stomach bug #stomach ache #vomiting #angst

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phantomphangphucker · 4 years

Text

Ectober Day 24: House - Sinner Are We Chap.3: The Home Of Broken Parts

Orrin sent a lot of time thinking and that could be both good and bad for those around him. One thing was for sure, even he knows the Gray-Phantom home was strange.

Orrin watches his father’s back as he walks away, out the hall doors. They had gotten into another minor brawl, not that that was uncommon in this family. Arguably it was a favourite past time for all of them. Not that his lummox of a brother was all that refined or skilled at it.

Speaking of that fool, Orrin steps back slightly to easily avoid a blast from him; spotting him glaring bloody murder at him. Orrin rolls his eyes, “are you really going to try that”.

Russet scowls at him and stalks over, “you’re supposed to stay out of the way”.

“I don’t listen to you”. Orrin sidesteps to avoid his brother’s claws, turning to follow Russet landing in a crouch, “I'm the alpha here. You’re just a little boy that prefers to hide in your room”.

Orrin rolls his eyes, easily bending out of the way of a lunge, “you tell yourself that”, sighing and stepping next to him, putting his hand to Russet’s chest, and promptly blasting him into the back wall, “and I’m more of the wanderlust type”. Turning and watching Russet pull himself out of the wall rubble, with the wall immediately repairing itself, and sighs.

Russet scowls and aggressively tosses off the little bits, snarling and clearly baring as much fang as he possibly can, “fuck you, Ori”, and stalks off with a huff. Orrin does catch the slight glance back with a hint of worry on his face though.

Orrin smirking, “fuck you too, Rusty”, quiet enough that one of the living absolutely wouldn’t have heard him. He gets it, Russet was a blowhard that felt he deserved to be the king of the roost; who just got upstaged by someone he thought didn’t give a damn. Shaking his head and turning to look up at Dove, who’s floating upside down and fiddling with the white lace frill of her baby blue dress. Crossing his arms loosely, he has a feeling she didn’t notice the animosity between her brothers. Sure they didn’t hate each other but neither would lose sleep over the other's demise; and neither have damn if the other was at home at the time or not.

But Dove... she was something strange and unfamiliar to him. Yes, he had understood from a young age and his many travels, that their family dynamic was all kinds of unusual. That most of the living and dead were far kinder and gentler than the rest of his family. Or him for that matter. That was perfectly fine with him. And other people and families were protective and supportive in a way his wasn’t, from what he had observed anyway. That’s not to say his wasn’t, his father was probably the most protective being on the planet in all honesty. His brother would have gotten himself destroyed by now otherwise. Not that Russet ever seemed to appreciate it, and not that father gave a shit if his actions were appreciated or not.

Father was quite content to protect them, destructive methods or not. While mother was much more of the ‘protect your damn self’ type. She was very big on them being as capable as possible from day one, and he knew more methods of torture than he really knew what to do with. Mother was a fighter, father was more of a scarer. Encouraging him and his brother to be more creative and dramatic about pretty well everything. Mother always gave him that weird fond look that used to make Russet gag when father was being over-dramatic.

The only dramatic bone Russet had in his body was overblowing his own power and throwing fits like an entitled brat. He also couldn’t build a weapon to save his half-life. But he had tank throwing down to an art and a knack for blowing shit up. While Orrin himself was more dramatic in the confident sense and always being the ‘beau of the ball’ in any room. He knew he could come off as quite snobbish, but he was better than the vast majority of people. And if someone had a problem with that then he’s got no problem force-feeding them an ecto-light or tripping them down a well. See he had creativity, panache; Russet was just a brute. A brute that was more mediocre strength-wise. Which was just a bit sad in his opinion. Sad in a pathetic way, not in a ‘he feels bad for him’ way. Russet has been a real bastard growing up after all. Russet never blooming into power was just him getting his comupins.

Moving his hands to motion Dove to float down to him, her sitting on his forearm. The problem he can already see with her is that she just felt gentle. And kind. Not powerful, or sneaky, or dramatic, or aggressive. She felt like the opposite in fact; which was odd in this household. Yes, she was young, newly born/formed, but even him and Russet had a feeling of danger to them from day one. Russet’s first word had been to scream ‘DIE!’ while incinerating his food according to mother. And he had always been a teeth-barer who liked fire and anything that went boom way too much. Orrin had been blown up more than a few times in his youth because of that bastard. Didn’t help that mother encouraged them both to play with weapons, bombs included. And their father had literal fire for hair and a tendency to set anything around his feet on fire. If he was somewhere recently you would know it, because there’d be foot-shaped scorch marks.

As for himself? Father said his first word, or phrase really, had been to tell Russet to ‘fuck off’ before shoving Russet over via a foot to the face. Father had apparently laughed so hard he tipped the chair over. And while the larger world viewed Russet as the ‘demon child’ all the servants of the Keep gave that title to Orrin. Mother had a collection of photos of all the times he’s scared the crap out of someone simply by being somewhere they didn’t expect. He hardly thinks it’s his fault that curling up in cupboards, cabinets, and other assorted small areas, was comfortable. It was certainly a plus that seeing that look of abject terror and shock flash over someone’s face was rather enjoyable. So what if he may have given one of the mortal servants a heart attack or two. Their fault for being weak.

Shaking his head slightly and floating off to Dove’s room, her staying tucked in his arm and grabbing his frock coat; his parents might be all over that skintight bodysuit style, but he could do without it. At least that one ghost had been nice enough to explain the best use of glamour to him. And by ‘nice’ he means suddenly very agreeable under threat of some very creative knife play. So now he could accentuate the vertically half black, half white t-shirt/shorts bodysuit he was born with. The frock coat, top hat, and cane were his general go to. Never underestimate the usefulness of a cane for knocking out people's feet or snagging some ghosts tail. The white gloves and thigh-high black heels he was also born with worked quite well he thinks. Having a leaner body than mother certainly helped. And it was very amusing that the borderline-stiletto heels confused father. As was the absolute chaos his ocean blue eyes caused. Since apparently father had neglected to tell mother that she knew him as a human. She had blown half the Keep to smithereens over that; which brother had giddily helped with.

Walking into Dove’s room and eyeing the pink-tinted white walls and plushies all around. The Keep had formed her a very different room than the rest of the family. It was incredibly foreign to him... and incredibly interesting. It said a lot though, watching her float off and scrunch up the down-feather comforter over her mouth. A teddy-bear -which is apparently something children normally had- falling off the bed, only being stopped from hitting the ground via Dove’s telekinesis; her floating it over to her and patting its head.

Him walking over, “why did you do that. It’s not like it can get hurt or even care”, and Gray-Phantom’s didn’t care if something outside of their family got hurt in the slightest. She predictably just hums at him, changing to her ghost-form seemingly purely to coil her ghostly tail around the plushie. Orrin’s not sure she’s ever actually spoken.

Shaking his head and sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her. Dove was the sweetest little thing he had ever seen. Wavy soft gray hair nearly twice her small body’s length and eyes the colour of pure amber. Pale skin so easily burned by the sun, while he and his brother were of a darker tone. She touched everything like it was the most breakable thing in the world, she was a gentle soul, and looked at everything like it was made of sparkles.

Their parents would destroy her. A Gray-Phantom wasn’t soft, gentle, or breakable; and that’s all Orrin could see in Dove.

Even her ghost forms outfit felt that way, it was reminiscent of a spandex ballerina, all white with little sparkling black stars dangling off the rim of the skirt and long flowing arm-sleeves; little black shoes and black spandex over her fingers topping it off. Father liked the stars, not that he said that, but if it weren’t for her being black and white like the rest of the family then their parents would likely have questioned if she really was theirs.

With him it wasn’t even a question if they were his parents. And Russet had their father’s bulk plus the more angular appearance to his military-esque jumpsuit. At this point people probably though the white machine guns he carries strapped around his hips were actually attached to him. Same with the military cap he wore over his shaggy black hair. Orrin gets a bit of a kick out of himself being the only one to get father’s fire hair. Even if his flames were a dark red. Which yes, was absolutely blamed on mother. Father had teased her for weeks about probably having red hair when she finally keeled over.

Sighing at the sound of an explosion. Russet was probably picking fights. Or just aimlessly blowing shit up like a rabid mutt. Russet absolutely had mother's tendency to hold grudges and overreact to the slightest slight. Dove looking up to the ceiling and tilting her head, like she didn’t understand the sound. At least she had their parents’ seeming fearlessness. Nothing seemed to startle or scare her. Even him and Russet had the sense to be somewhat cautious of new things that clearly had the potential of danger. Not that Russet would admit to that, or possibly even knew he actually did that. Dove was gentle and soft, never cautious.

Orrin seriously wonders how breakable she is, how strong she is. Mother and the FrightKnight already didn’t know what to do with her. She wouldn’t swing a sword hard enough to even give a piece of paper a paper cut. Her dainty fingers had a lot of promise for putting things together, for intricacy. But the little pistol she had put together at mothers prompting had fired flower petals somehow. Which yes, he had gotten her to use to fill Russet’s bed with flower petals. He was pissed. And in typical fashion tried to blow the both of them up. Which Dove had just stood there and took, giggled slightly even. Before pouting over there being ash on her dress. Mother teased father over her having his dodging skills. Which was fair, father’s dodging was practically non-existent even to this day. Though he could see that mother was actually just slightly concerned. The only ghosts -or halfas for that matter- that could get away without ever dodging were ones like father. And their parents' way of teaching dodging or fighting was just to get hit and shit kicked till you learned better.

Little Dove couldn’t handle that, he’s sure of that. She was good and kind and sweet. Which was strange and he was curious to see what would become of that. He also just didn’t want to see that sullied and stripped away. He didn’t want to see her become their mother. He was aware of what his parents used to be. Heroes. Which was also strange. But enough ghosts and even mortals had told of it or pointed out footage that it was undeniable. So he can’t help but wonder if Dove was a return to that. That the good that was destroyed in them rebuilt itself in her. It would explain a lot. And honestly? Orrin was well aware that their parents were not remotely good people. Evil and villainous really. Russet was just as bad, and Orrin himself was hardly better. He was more immoral and vaguely bad, rather than downright evil. Which was perfectly fine with him and the family. Dove seemed to be trotting right into the innocent sweetheart do-gooder territory though, and a family like this was bound to crush that into dust. The fact that their parents were once the good guys wouldn’t help. They knew the tricks and ways, and they knew how to break a ‘good guy’ and teach them anarchy at the very least, downright world-destroying merciless villainy at worst.

So what was he to do? He could stand back and watch things play out; he’s not too fond of that option. And a Gray-Phantom, a prince, doesn’t do things they don’t want to. And he wasn’t lying when he referred to himself as one of wanderlust, he could arguably take her away from here. Sure father could sense where any ghost, or half-ghost, was, but Orrin had made himself exceptionally skilled at glamours. If he didn’t want to be found, then he wasn’t going to be. It wouldn’t take much to get a small space amongst the living, sixteen or not he could seem older if he wanted; he could look as old as father if he wanted, older even. Age-morphing was an incredibly enjoyable power to have. Of course if he went that route then they would really be on their own, not that that was an issue to him or even out of the ordinary. And living arrangements wise it would be quite the downgrade. The living didn’t have partially nice living arrangements. Houses getting blown up or suffering some other form of destruction didn’t particularly encourage the living to build them well or fancy. Dove might mind that, or she might not care at all.

And living with mortals posed its own inherent issues, they weren’t ‘one of them’ and the living could be quite perceptive to that. If you acted like them then you could generally be fine, but he could only fake it so much and couldn’t really relate. Dove wouldn’t even know to fake it or hide her halfa status. Which if they did get found out that could be a problem, not to mention a blow to his ego. Both the living and dead weren’t entirely fond of the Gray-Phantom’s. Which he finds logical, they were dangerous threats who ruled through fear and destruction. If the mortals and ghosts could destroy or dethrone them, then they probably would; and likely without hesitation. And even if they could only destroy or harm Dove, they’d see that as a blow to the high royal family; which it would be. Sure, no ghost would with him around. Making an example of those troll giants served its purpose fabulously. Mortals, however, where much more willing to sacrifice their life for the supposed good of others. Martyrdom and self-sacrifice was quite romanticised by the living after all. Ghosts valued power, mortals valued community. Ah the differences between the strong and the weak.

But what really interests him with this idea was what will become of Dove and society should she make it to adulthood with her pure heart intact. What kind of change could that bring about. Would the living flock to her as some sort of symbol of hope. As the good princess that could reform the king and queen. Or perhaps usurp them. Would the dead see her as a chance for the Ghost Realm to flourish without all the constant destruction or ‘living’ in fear. Or would the two realms tear her to shreds in repentance for her lineage.

Regardless of his ponderings, if he wants to see this through he’ll need some sort of name. After all, him and his brother had their own titles. The Shadow Prince and The Poisoned Thorn Prince. Looking her over, watching her play with the legs of the plush animal, shimmer glittering in her wide amber eyes and smiling faintly. He finds himself breaking out into a grin.

The Golden Princess.

That would work splendidly.

#ectober #ectober2020 #ectober 2020 #danny phantom #phandom #dan phantom #valerie gray #dark grat #dan/Valerie #Villain! Valerie #implied/referenced murder #worldbuilding #fan fic #phan phic #my writing #have a fic suck my dick #phantomphangphucker #alternate tue

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bangtan-gal · 5 years

Text

Torn Soul

Lee Minho x Fem!Reader

Gang!au powers!au post!apocalypse!au

A/N: the reader is in a psych ward—she doesn’t actually have any mental illnesses, but if that will still make you uncomfortable, I suggest not reading. But honestly if you’ve read the other fics in this series, you’ll probably be able to take it so yeah

Word count: 14.8k

Warnings: swearing, angst, graphic depictions of blood, abuse, mentions of past abuse, detailed sex scenes, fluff, unedited

You woke up with a shout, cold sweat clinging to you. The sheets were tossed on the floor and now the bitter air was burning into you. There was no clock in your room and you didn’t have a phone, but it didn’t matter what time it was: you weren’t going back to sleep. Images seemed to flicker across the walls around you, phantoms of nightmares creeping through the shadows.

A click sounded through the room as the lamp on your bedside flickered to life. Of course, it didn’t help. If anything, it enhanced the creepiness of your windowless, cement-walled room. Orange was cast over the gray and it created even worse illusions. You sighed, pulling your knees to your chest and letting your chin fall on top of your knees.

“They’re just nightmares. Only nightmares, what you see in the real world are illusions.” That’s what they constantly told you, that what you saw in the real world was fake. At first, you believed them, but that’s because at first they were only nightmares.

The tiger that stood on top of a mountain, roaring. The blonde boy with his white and gold embroidered mask. Snow blizzards, lightning storms, ghosts, and knives flying around plagued you every night. They shouldn’t have been real, but they were. You wouldn’t have ever believed it if you had never woken up that day, giant claw marks torn into your stomach. Random injuries continued to appear whenever you woke up; fingertips blue with frostbite, an unexplainable bite in your calf, a burn mark on your bedroom floor and a hole in the roof.

That was your first and biggest mistake: telling someone about it. You were stupid to think that anyone would believe you, especially when you yourself barely believed it. Your parents, who had always looked for an excuse to get rid of you, happily took the opportunity to send you to the psychiatric hospital and leave you there.

You looked over your body, checking for any mysterious wounds and then around the room for any damage. This was the third room you’ve lived in the five months you’d been here. The first one had been normal, with a window, drawing desk, and it’s own bathroom. The second didn’t have the desk or the bathroom, but it had the window. After that room had been destroyed by a wind storm—the same one that you’d seen in your dream that night—they sent you to a room with no glass.

There was for once, nothing. A sigh of relief escaped you as you relaxed into the bed, glad for just one night of peace. It was hard to explain to the doctors and nurses what happened every time you woke up with mysterious wounds. You couldn’t tell them the truth, they would just continue to brand you as crazy.

“Y/N.”

You jumped so hard, your head smashed against the wall behind you. A groan unconsciously escaped you. You pressed your fingers to the back of your head, pulling them back to see specks of blood dotting your skin.

You should’ve expected it, there was no way that you would have a peaceful night for once in your life, but it still scared you. Something or someone—you weren’t exactly sure—stood by your door. Correction: it hovered. It’s eyes were purple and there was no specific figure to it, but it seemed to be human. The creature didn’t move, it just sat by the door, watching you.

It’s mouth opened and you almost threw up.

Blood dripped from its mouth and fangs that weren’t attached to anything sat in its mouth.

“It’s Y/N, right?” The voice was familiar, but it was deep and raspy, an inhuman curl in its sound. You sat there silently, trying to place the voice to a person but you couldn’t.

“Yes…” you whispered, pressing yourself further back against the wall.

The creature made a sound that sounded like a sigh.

“I apologize for the appearance. I can’t always pick and choose what I possess,” it muttered, “but I’m here to talk about your ability.”

You couldn’t reply.

“Possess?” You squeaked out eventually.

If the creature was capable of facial expressions, it didn’t look very impressed.

“Look, I don’t have much time, I’m hundreds of miles away so the conne—”

It stopped talking to let out a hissing noise.

“—you’re in the V district, right? In a psych ward?”

You nodded wearily, unsure of where this was going exactly. The ghost—you decided it was a ghost—flickered for a few seconds and a few garbled sentences fell from its gruesome mouth. Then with a flash of light, it disappeared. You sat there, heart racing as you stared at the spot it had been. Blood sat in droplets around the floor where it had been.

That voice, that voice… it had been from your dreams. You were sure of it, the tone and accent were the same as one of the boys you’d briefly seen in your sleep. Were… were they actually real or was that just an after effect of one of your nightmares?

The overhead lights in your room and you sat up straight, eyes darting from the blood on the floor to the metal door. A face appeared in it: your doctor. Her red hair was in a bun and her glasses rested low on her nose. The door creaked open, an armed man standing beside her. She smiled at you as the guard surveyed the room, his eyes landing on the blood spots. He nudged her, nodding at it. When her gaze returned to yours, her face was full of disappointment. The gesture was completely comical of course, considering that the lady didn’t genuinely care about you.

As usual, you were dragged out of the room as a cleaning team was sent in. You didn’t fight this time, your mind focused on the conversation you’d had with the ghost boy. He’d asked where you were, which made you wonder if those boys from your dreams were coming for you. If they were, was that a good thing or a bad thing? You wanted to get out of this hellhole desperately, but who knew if they were on their way to rescue you? They could be coming to painfully slaughter you and leave your guts splattered all along the depressing cement walls of your room.

At least if that happened, you wouldn’t have to explain why there was blood everywhere.

“Y/N.” The doctor snapped her fingers in front of your face. You blinked and then sighed as you begrudgingly met her inquisitive stare. “I see you banged your head up.”

She unconsciously touched the same spot on her head as if injuries were contagious. You stared at her, keeping your face blank. You’d learned that remaining expressionless and talking as little as possible got you out of these rather quickly. She was your fifth doctor and she seemed more determined than the rest to “cure” you.

“Of course, there’s not much blood coming from that wound,” she muttered aloud, “so where did that blood on the floor come from?”

You shrugged and rolled your eyes.

A mandatory check was conducted on you. The doctor was baffled when she found no other wounds on you. She checked three times just to make sure and you had never seen anyone look so distraught. It was hard to tell what was going through her mind, but it probably wasn’t anything good.

“Are you sure you don’t know where the blood came from?” She asked slowly.

You smiled.

“Want the truth?”

She nodded.

“It was a ghost,” you deadpanned, leaning back in your seat. “He said that him and his pals are coming to save me from this hell. Nine of them actually. You won’t even know I’m gone until it’s too late.”

The lady obviously didn’t believe you as she raised an eyebrow and took notes. The notes were probably somewhere along the lines of ‘the psychopath thinks that nine ghosts are going to come and break her out. How cute.’ With that, she nodded at two guards, and they grabbed you, dragging you away. You let them willingly, your bare feet stumbling against the cold tile.

But then you stopped. A tiny little boy drifted along the hallway and his light blue eyes locked with yours. A shiver raced down your spine and you didn’t want to go in that direction, but they were forcing you to. He approached, clutching a teddy bear in his arms. One of the guards shouted at you and then you fell to your knees.

“Y/N,” he mumbled, standing right in front of you, “I’m almost there. Tonight. Be ready.”

The ghost disappeared and you stared at the spot in disbelief. Then a smile started to curl at your lips and you started laughing. You made eye contact with one of the guards and your laughs only grew louder.

“You”—you giggled—“you all are so screwed.”

Neither of them seemed impressed by your threat as they furiously dragged you the rest of the way. They threw you in your room, the frigid ground scraping against your elbows. You didn’t care as you sat up, grinning at the tiny window in your door. Unless you were actually crazy, your ass was getting saved tonight.

The rest of the day passed quietly, a sloppy lunch getting tossed into your room. You chose not to eat it, staring at the mush in disgust. You kept yourself busy as you scratched words into the walls. You continued writing until the lights flickered off and guards shouted throughout the halls for everyone to get to bed. A smile was bright on your face as you stared at the little message you’d left on your wall.

‘Lol bye fuckers!’

It was impossible for you to fall asleep that night. You tried multiple times, but your heart was trying to escape your chest and your mind was racing. This was the moment where it really proved whether you were a psycho or not. Shadows danced along the side of the walls and guards paced back and forth in the hallway.

You weren’t sure how you expected the boy to show up. Maybe he would blow up your room and march in through a hole in the wall. Or he would go guns blazing through the facility until he found you. What you didn’t expect was a boy appearing in your room. Silver and black specks floated around him and his eyes glowed silver in the dark room.

“Y/N?” You couldn’t reply, your mouth flopping open and close.

“We need to hurry,” he rushed out as he ran towards your bed. You nodded in understanding, slipping out of bed. His fingers wrapped around your hand and he wrapped his other arm around your torso. His mouth was close to your ear and shivers raced through your body as his breath ruffled your hair.

“This is gonna feel weird,” he warned briefly.

And then everything around you twisted and turned. You became everything and nothing; you were everywhere and nowhere all at the same time. A million different voices came for you, some loud and others soft. It felt like you were underwater, floating through murky water. The only thing you were sure of was the warm body pressed tight against you and the nervous, hushed breaths coming from the person.

When you blinked, everything changed. You stood in a different room, with wooden walls and red carpet. A plush queen bed was pressed against one wall and there was a window, with curtains framing it. It smelled of old cigarettes and laundry detergent.

“Are you okay?” You jumped, having forgotten that the boy was still there. You nodded, stepping away from him only for the room to spin. He caught you before you fell and carried you to the bed, setting you down.

“What was that?” You asked as he sat down on the bed. The boy titled his head at you, silver eyes glinting.

“That depends,” he murmured, leaning towards you, “what can you tell me?”

“Lee Minho, twenty years old. Abilities are teleportation and possession.”

You covered your mouth, eyes widening. It came from nowhere. Did you somehow manage to pick all that up from just your dreams? You didn’t remember any names or anything that specific being mentioned once.

“Correct.” Satisfaction spread over Minho’s face. He leaned back, watching you. You stared at him, hoping that maybe he would offer some explanation. He didn’t.

“Where are we?” You asked.

“A hotel.”

“And… you teleported us here?”

Minho paced across the floor and nodded. He kept brushing his hair out of his face, only for it to fall back into his eyes. He was lean with a tiny waist. His black hair contrasted his pale skin.

“Stay here and don’t answer the door,” he instructed, his hand landing on the handle. “I’m going to go get you some clothes… you can’t be seen in those or somebody might call people we don’t want to have a run-in with.”

Minho left before you could answer. Once the door was shut, you sank deeper into the bed, letting your eyes close. You let out a loud sigh and pulled the covers up to your chin. It was 2 AM and exhaustion was starting to pull at you. You tried to fight the sleep, but it claimed you quickly.

Your eyes opened to an empty parking lot. You sat up, looking around at your settings. A burnt down building sat at the head of the lot and debris was scattered throughout the place. Three boys stood in a circle, talking amongst themselves. They motioned with their hands and they looked to be arguing.

They all wore masks and hoods. They dressed in elaborate, expensive clothes and skin-tight gloves clung to their hands. You recognized one immediately, with blonde hair and the white and gold mask. He seemed to be the only one not talking, as his gaze was focused on something on the horizon.

Nothing was happening, which was odd. Whenever you had these dreams, someone was going full-on Avengers on someone. You weren’t complaining, of course, maybe this meant no injuries for once.

Curiosity got the best of you as you stood up and crept towards the boys. They didn’t notice you as usual. The two continued to argue between themselves while the blonde kept looking around for something.

Finally, the blonde spoke up.

“You two need to stop arguing, it is not going to get us anywhere,” he huffed, “Minho’s gone right now, so we can’t rely on him to keep people out of the way. Seungmin, maybe try putting some wind barrier up or something. Most people will leave that alone.”

“Chan… it’s really not that big of a de—”

“Don’t tell me what’s a big deal and what’s not!” The blonde snapped, “I’m doing this to keep us all safe and all you people do is drag your feet.”—he turned to the other one—“tell Woojin to find Minho, I want him back here as soon as possible.”

The two stood in silence while the other one hurried away. Chan let out a sigh before turning to Seungmin.

“Why was it that Minho went off again?” “A girl. He thought he found another one.”

Someone smacked your shoulder, hard. You woke up groggily, pain flaring through your left temple. Minho hovered over you and once he saw that you were awake, he threw a pile of clothes at you.

“Hurry and get dressed, we gotta go,” he explained. You sat up, glancing at the clock and whining when you saw that it was just barely five AM.

“But it’s so early,” you muttered, sliding out of the warm bed reluctantly.

“They’re here and unless you wanna go back to that hell hole, you better hurry,” Minho snapped. The boy turned his back to you as he threw off his shirt and pulled on a new one. You looked away with a blush and searched through the clothes he got you. There weren’t many options, but you grabbed a sweatshirt and shorts. You changed swiftly, not caring if he was staring. You hadn’t had any privacy for the past five months, always aware of the cameras in the corners of the room whenever you were alone.

Minho grabbed your hospital gown and stuffed it under the mattress. His hand wrapped around yours and he pulled you out of the hotel door. The two of you ran down the hallway and out the door. Your eyes strayed over the parking lot to where two cop cars and a white van sat with cops and nurses wandering about. You quickly saw the red hair and white coat. Your fingers curled and tightened around his hand, your pulse starting to race. She was here, looking for you: threatening your freedom.

“Why is she here?” You whispered, more to yourself than to Minho.

“She’s crazy,” he replied, stopping in front of a pickup. He quickly unlocked the car and motioned for you to go around. You listened, sliding into the passenger’s seat, your gaze still focused on the crowd of people. “Her job is to find people like you and experiment on them.”

You opened your mouth but found that you had no reply to that odd statement. Your mind replayed your dream, reminding you of what the brunette had said. “He thought he found another one.” What did that mean? Were you that one?

“Is this your car?” You queried as Minho rapidly pulled the truck out. The boy shook his head, keeping his gaze focused on the road ahead of him. He pulled out of the parking lot on two wheels and his foot flattened on the gas pedal, aiming for the highway.

“Stole it from the desk clerk,” he stated, “and I know you have questions, but I can’t answer those right now. Help me look for anybody that could be tailing us or any cops. We don’t need to run into anyone right now.”

You pursed your lips but accepted it. You looked at the rearview mirror and saw that there was only an empty road behind you. Minho’s gaze swept from side to side, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. The truck was going at least fifteen over the speed limit and the last thing you needed was to get a speeding ticket in a stolen car with a runaway psych patient.

“Slow down,” you demanded. For a second, nothing happened and he didn’t let up. Then he let out a slow breath and as he did, the car started to gradually slow down. You sighed, your head falling back against the headrest. “Are you sure you can’t answer my questions now?”

The black-haired boy glanced at you and then back at the road.

“I can, but I don’t know how much I can really answer. I honestly think some of the people I know would be better at explaining,” he murmured, “but ask away.”

“What exactly do you mean by ‘people like me’?” You went for the one that confused you the most. He sighed and rolled his neck.

“People like you and me,” he said, “people with abilities.”

You went silent.

Minho glanced at you.

“Did she ever experiment on you?”

You shook your head.

“That probably means she hadn’t figured out what your abilities were yet or maybe she wasn’t entirely sure if you had any,” he muttered, relief spilling out through his voice. “The only reason I could find you was because I started sensing you. It doesn’t make sense, considering how far away you are from where I originally am from, but I could. My possession ability gives me the chance to look for specific people. That’s where I sensed your abilities.”

You shifted in your seat, staring at him.

“My dreams.” “What?” “I… I’ve always had these kinds of nightmares, that’s where I first saw you and the others,” you mumbled, “for a while, they were just nightmares… but then I started waking up with unexplained injuries and started having weird occurrences in my life. I think, I mean I’m not sure, but I think maybe I was actually there but you guys just couldn’t see me.”

Minho stared at you for a second, completely ignorant to the fact he was driving. The way his silver eyes burned into you sent nerves racing through your body. Finally, he looked away, focusing on the road in front of him. He bit his lip and his eyes were clouded over as his thoughts drifted elsewhere.

You drove along in silence for another hour. You kept your gaze on the window, watching the street signs blur past and looking for any familiar landmarks. You had no idea where you were or where you were going. This was a part of District V that you didn’t recognize.

“Where are we going?” You asked softly, staring at the large cottonwood trees that hung over the road.

“District 9,” Minho murmured, “we can keep you safe there until we know exactly who you are.”

You stiffened. “And the doctor lady?” “She won’t stop until she finds you, but she won’t be able to.”

“Shit.”

You looked up and saw what Minho was worried about. You were nearing the border and cop cars lined the street. Fear raced through you; this was it, this was where you got caught and sent back to hell. Minho’s hands tightened on the steering wheel and his gaze grew steely. The car pulled to a stop beside one of the policeman. Minho rolled down the window.

“Lovely day, isn’t it?” The man said with a smile. “Can I see your IDs?”

You watched in confusion as Minho shuddered and his whole body seemed to shut down. Suddenly the policeman stiffened up and was blinking. His eyes turned silver and then he turned around and pressed a button in the manning station. The toll lifted.

Minho sprung back to life and gunned it out of there. You looked over your shoulder, eyes wide as nobody chased after you. You leaned back in your seat, trying to catch your breath. When you looked over at Minho you saw that his eyes were drooping and his body was slumping.

“Minho?”

He groaned and slowly started to pull the truck over.

“What’s wrong?”

“Shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered, his head falling back against the seat. His eyes were starting to flutter closed. “Don’t have enough energy and shit for th…”

He trailed off, his eyes closing completely. You sat there, your jaw on the floor. Had he just passed out? Slowly you unbuckled yourself and then did the same for the boy. You struggled for several minutes to get him out of the driver's seat and into the passenger’s seat. You had no idea where you were going, but you still started the car back up again and started down the road towards the Heart of District 9.

⧪⧪⧬⧪⧪

It was two hours later when you started to see lights and buildings. Skyscrapers and apartment buildings disappeared into the clouds. As you drove into the city, you watched as people milled about. It was noisy and crowded.

You glanced over at Minho and sighed when you found him still asleep. You carefully pulled the car into a parking lot and then slid out of the car. Your bladder was begging to be relieved. You hurried into the convenience store. Country music played on the overhead and the desk clerk didn’t pay you any attention as you shuffled into the bathroom.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, shocked by the gaunt look in your face. A sigh fell from your lips and you left the bathroom warily. Hunger gnawed at you as you made your way through the store, rows of snacks staring at you. You had no money so you left quickly, making a beeline for the truck.

Minho was gone.

Panic set in as you looked through the truck and then scanned the parking lot. Where was he? Did people take random sleeping dudes from cars here?

A hand wrapped around your wrist and you were roughly pulled against someone. You looked up, meeting Minho’s furious gaze. A baseball cap was pulled down over his hair and the only reason you were certain it was him was because of the cat-like eyes that glittered under the brim. Warmth raced across your skin when you realized just how close the two of you were standing. His lips were inches from yours and up close you could a tiny amount of freckles that dotted his skin.

“Where the hell were you?” He growled, his grip on your wrist tightening.

You blinked.

“Where was I? You were the one who randomly disappeared from the car!” You retorted, trying to pull back from him. He was stronger than you and it didn’t help that he looked ready to beat your ass any second.

“I woke up to find you gone! I didn’t know what happened—you could’ve run off or someone could’ve taken you! You could’ve been dead Y/N and you’re mad at me for running off in a hurry to find you?” Minho’s voice grew louder as he went. The few people that walked by looked over in alarm but nobody interfered. Minho pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. “Y/N, I can protect myself, you can’t.”

You couldn’t stop the snort of indignation.

“You fucking passed out for two hours after using one of your abilities for a solid two seconds!” You snapped back. “You think you’re anymore protected right now?”

He grew silent, his eyes studying your face. Then he smirked and pushed you away, shaking his head. You tried to stay mad but somehow your focus went to how good he looked with the sun beaming off his skin. You pinched yourself and turned away, walking back towards the truck.

“How far away are we?” You asked once the two of you were back on the road.

“Not far.”

That was the only thing you said for the rest of the ride. Thirty minutes later, he pulled up in front of a huge building. You were in a city, full of people and buildings all in a row. No one paid you any attention as you stepped into the building. You were blasted by AC and greeted by stairs.

As you trailed behind Minho, all you could think about was how you’d never seen so many stairs in your life. You’d climbed up seven flights of stairs so far and from the looks of it, there were plenty more to come. How many stairs could one building need? Did these boys really like exercise or something? “Can’t you just invest in an elevator?” You gasped once you’d finally reached another set of doors. Relief swept through you when he opened them to reveal an expensive-looking home.

“I normally just teleport up them,” he pointed out, “but right now I’m running low on fuel.”

It was quiet as you followed Minho deeper into the home. Exhaustion was starting to wear you down and the couch that you stood by looked rather welcoming. You sat on the arm of the couch, slouching down and letting your eyes close.

“Minho!” You jumped and stood back up, fidgeting nervously behind Minho. A white-haired boy approached, eyes widening when he spotted you. You watched as the two made eye contact and seemed to have a silent conversation. After a few tense moments, a tentative smile broke out on his face.

“We’re having a meeting,” he murmured, “I’m sure Chan will be glad that you’re back.”

Minho nodded and reached behind him to make sure you were following. As you followed him through the living room and down a glass hallway, you committed everything to memory. The layout was much different than any homes you’d ever seen in District V. It was nicer too; more modern and clean.

You stepped into a room after the two boys and looked around. Two of the walls were glass and the other two were a shiny gray. A long table sat in the middle of the room and seven boys sat around it. As you looked around at all of them, you found yourself recognizing them from your dreams. Chan sat at the head of the table, blonde hair curly and swept to the side. They were all staring at you, but something in his gaze was different.

He looked like a skeptical predator and you were the unworthy prey.

“Minho,” he murmured, not taking his eyes off you, “who is this?” “Y/N,” you replied, raising your eyebrow. “You’re Chan, right?”

The two of you stared at each other, sizing one another up.

His eyes momentarily darted to Minho and then back to you.

“Yeah…” he grumbled, “do you know why you’re here?”

“Minho says I have abilities.”

A soft murmur ran through the boys. Chan leaned forward on his elbows, his skepticism turning to intrigue. You steeled yourself, forcing yourself not to buckle under all the attention. Minho stepped closer to you and you were surprised by the small calm that washed over you.

“And what, exactly, are these abilities?” The blonde demanded. You grew silent at that question and bit your lip.

“I’m not sure yet Chan,” Minho butt in, “I think she can wander in her dreams and has like… an information well or something.”

The sentence made no sense to you, but it seemed to make a little bit of sense to the others because there were nods all around.

“Well, I suppose we could have Changbin and Woojin check it out… but the two of you look tired,” Chan murmured, “get some rest and then we’ll talk about this.”

⧪⧪⧬⧪⧪

You lay on the couch, your hands folded over your stomach as Woojin, Minho, Chan, and Changbin all hovered over you. It felt odd as they all stared at you like you were some unsolvable math problem. Finally, Woojin knelt down next to your head, his lavender eyes sweeping over your face.

“This might feel weird,” he warned. Your eyes fluttered close and you felt Woojin’s fingers press against your temple. There was a zing that ran through you, but other than that, nothing else happened.

You tried to stay as still as possible and stay focused on the task at hand, but your mind started to wander. You started to think about your supposed abilities—could you really wander in your dreams? How did you do it?

It felt like you blinked and then you woke up in a different place. You were still laying on a couch, but everything around you had changed. The boys were missing and you were surrounded by an overcast field of dead grass. You sat up, watching as images fluttered by like ripples of light. One of the images floated dangerously close to you and you reached out to touch it.

You did more than touch it. Suddenly, the image was swimming around you. You were staring out a window, watching as rain poured down on two people arguing outside. Your instinct told you that these were your parents and a fabricated sadness fell over you. This wasn’t your memory; these weren’t your parents. Without your consent, your gaze shifted to focus on the blurry reflection in the. A young boy’s face appeared, black hair falling over his eyebrows, overshadowing familiar lavender-colored eyes.

This was Woojin’s memory.

You reeled back, feeling like you were intruding on something. A mix of panic and confusion started to fill you: what was happening? Was this what Woojin meant to do? Something told you it wasn’t; whatever was happening right now was your own doing.

It almost felt like you were standing in a swimming pool full of panic. Your eyes widened as a storm started to brew above you and the grass withered away, turning into black piles of ash. The fear seemed to go into overload and it caused your own heart to start thundering. You covered your ears, begging for it to stop and go away. Your eyes pinched shut and you bit your lip.

The air around you warmed up and the wind disappeared. When you opened your eyes, you found yourself back on the couch in the apartment. Woojin no longer knelt next to you, but instead he was sprawled on the ground several feet from you. His eyes swam with fear and his breathing was sporadic. The other three’s gazes we’re switching between you and the blue-haired boy. Finally, Chan clapped his hands together and let out a loud sigh.

“Come on, let's go take a breather,” he murmured, holding out a hand to Woojin. The boy took it and the two left. Changbin looked at Minho and the two seemed to have a silent conversation.

After that, it was just you and the teleporter.

“What happened?” Your voice was shakier than you would’ve liked. Minho sat down beside you.

“As you know, Woojin’s ability allows him to enter and read minds. At first, everything seemed fine and then he just stiffened up… and then he jumped away from you and started freaking out. He kept mumbling something about how you were in,” Minho explained. His voice became softer and had a calming effect on you. His hand landed on your wrist awkwardly and his eyes strayed to the place, a debate obvious in his stare.

You cleared your throat.

“I-er-I think I was in Woojin’s mind,” you whispered, “I don’t know how I did it and I’m really fucking sorry if I hurt him. It-it just happened, I really don’t k—“

“Y/N, it’s fine. Woojin isn’t injured, he’s just shocked. Don’t blame yourself,” he said, his hand dropping to yours this time. His fingers were warm between yours and it caused your face to heat up.

Minho stood up, your hand slipping from his grasp. Changbin came back, his dark eyes watching the two of you carefully. He gave you the creeps, with his death stare and the weird aura that floated around him.

“Chan said that we’ll see what happens tonight, but we’ve seemed to come to a conclusion on her abilities. We just want to be certain,” he stated, sitting down on the coffee table. “But now Chan wants to talk to you, while you’ve been gone, we’ve been in some desperate need of your ability.”

Minho nodded and sent a quick glance back at you before leaving. Changbin turned to watch him leave and once the silver-eyed boy was out of sight, he turned back to you. He brushed his black hair from his face, showing off a scar that ran through his eyebrow. His lips turned into a frown.

You expected him to say something, but instead, the boy just perched on the table. It felt like you were having some weird staring contest as the boy refused to look away from you. You looked away and sat up, running a hand through your hair.

“So what’s the conclusion?” “You want to know?”

You narrowed your eyes and turned to him. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s my ability, isn’t it?” Changbin shrugged.

“Minho explained to us how you could randomly sprout information about him the second you met him. Chan and Woojin believe that it may be a side-ability to a bigger one. They… think that you can mock abilities,” Changbin said. He raised his eyebrows at you and tilted his head. “I told you one of my abilities… what’s my other one?”

You wanted to laugh in his face, but you couldn’t because the information rushed you so fast.

“Telekinesis,” you replied smoothly.

He nodded. “What are Chan’s?”

“Gravitation and Phasing.”

A satisfied smile curled onto his lips and it was rather disconcerting. For some reason, you could imagine this boy smiling while stabbing you. You couldn’t remember anything about him from your dreams, so you weren’t sure where you were getting this persona from. Maybe it was just your paranoia.

You hoped it was paranoia.

His eyes roved over you, curiosity burning in their depths. You could see the questions brimming. Then he let out a sigh and leaned away.

“You’re welcome to do whatever, we won’t be retrying until tonight,” he said. Changbin stood up and bid you goodbye and then disappeared to where the others had gone.

You sat in silence, looking around. You didn’t feel like you belong among the polished surfaces and clean carpets. This was the world for the rich and powerful. It was the opposite of what you had grown up in.

You spent the rest of the day wandering around the place and trying to relax. Stress was coursing through you, making your thoughts race and your skin tingle. There were a million things going on that were causing it. You were no longer in District V and now you were living with some notorious gang. Apparently, you had “abilities” and these boys would go to any means to discover what they were.

Night approached too quickly. After eating a bowl of cereal by yourself in their extremely clean kitchen, Minho came to fetch you. It didn’t help that he also seemed to be nervous, with his fingers constantly tapping against his thigh. Nothing was even happening to him.

“Y/N,” Changbin greeted you as you stepped into the room. A large queen bed with a blood-red bedspread was pressed against the wall. The walls themselves were a deep brown and the dark atmosphere wasn’t helping with your nerves. “Just go to bed for right now, that’s really all you have to do.”

“And then you’re gonna step into my dreams?” You asked as he slid from the room. The boy nodded and then glanced at Minho.

“It won’t hurt, I swear. Most people don’t even notice I’m there… although, it might be different for you. Just… try not to do whatever you did last time,” he murmured. Part of you knew that you shouldn’t have been hurt by what he said, but a pang ran through you at his words.

“Ok ok,” Minho spoke up, “let’s not stress her out now. Just sleep and do whatever you do. Let’s get you comfortable.”

He steered you towards the bed, his arm firm around your shoulders. You sat down nervously on the bed, watching as the boy shuffled away to search through the dresser across the room. Minho pulled out a pair of boxers and a t-shirt and brought them over to you.

“Are these yours?” You asked, unable to meet his gaze.

“This is my room,” he pointed out and then he turned around. You changed quickly, muttering an ‘okay’ when you were ready for him to turn around. It felt weird to be sitting in someone else’s closing, especially his.

The articles smelled of him and you hated to admit that it calmed you down slightly. You slid into the bed and turned away from him, praying he wouldn’t see the red that was burning up your face. The lights turned off and your heart started to race as you heard his footsteps approach the bed.

“Are you sleeping here?” You whispered into the dark.

He didn’t reply for a moment.

“Would you rather I didn’t?”

You didn’t give yourself time to think before you answered.

“No, I’d rather you stay… please,” you mumbled. The bed dipped as and the sheets were pulled down for a second. Your heart should’ve been racing but as you took deep breaths, it slowed down to a steady beat. Minho stayed a good distance away, but warmth crept through the few inches between you.

And sleep claimed you quickly.

⧪⧪⧬⧪⧪

You woke up the next morning peacefully. There hadn’t been any dreams last night and it was the best sleep you’d gotten in a while. Minho was still dead asleep beside you, his mouth parted and his breathing was light. His arm was now lazily slung over your waist and his nose was just inches from your cheeks.

You sat up, staring at him for a second. His eyelashes were long enough to fall along the top of his cheekbones. His lips were a deep pink and they looked soft. Your mind ran on its own track as you ran your thumb over his bottom lip. The boy stirred under your touch and you jumped away.

The silver would never not shock you, especially watching them brighten as his eyelids fluttered open. He was still for a few seconds and after blinking a couple times, he looked up at you. A groan fell from his lips as he sat up and rapidly rubbed his eyes. The side of his face he’d been lying on was dusted red.

“Sleep well?” His voice was raspy. He licked his lips and squinted his eyes at the wall in front of him.

“Yeah. What about you?”

He laughed. “You’re really cuddly once you’re asleep. I have never been more terrified of being suffocated in my life.”

You stared at him, your mouth falling open. A grin split over Minho’s face and although he’d smiled before, there was something so different in his face, that it had you smiling just as brightly. It disappeared when his gaze dropped to your lips and sat focused there, his eyes glazing over.

The door burst open and Chan marched in.

“We have bad news,” he announced, his expression grim, “Doctor Lynn doesn’t plan to let Y/N get away that easily.”

You didn’t have time to throw on any different clothes as the two of you followed Chan to the meeting room. A TV flickered on the glass wall, paused on an image that had horror burning up through your system. It was your picture with the caption ‘Unstable Psych Patient on the Loose, Contact Police if Seen!’

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Minho muttered, stepping closer to you. You stared at it, your eyes widening.

“How do you know it’s her?” You asked, looking around.

“She did the same thing to me,” Changbin replied. He wasn’t looking at you as he stared at the screen, almost like he was reliving a bad memory. “The things that woman did to me were awful. The only reason I’m free and alive today is because of Chan.”

Despite the gratuitous statement, there was no gratitude in his voice. His voice sounded broken, dead. Your gaze moved from him and back to your own picture and you thought of the red-haired doctor. Was she really out for you? “I’ve already sent Woojin, Hyunjin, and Jisung out. She knows that we’re in District 9 for sure and I’m hoping they’ll keep her away from the Deep City,” Chan explained, eyes filled with worry as he glanced at you. “Unfortunately, we can’t stop everything just because some bitch is out on the hunt. The rest of you need to get to your stations and continue your jobs.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a frown spread over Minho’s face. His eyebrows furrowed and his hand swayed until it brushed against yours. You entangled your own fingers with his and squeezed tightly.

“One of us needs to stay with Y/N, it’s not safe,” Minho mentioned, “and I’ve already finished my part.”

Chan didn’t look happy but he obliged.

After everyone had filed out, you and Minho sat alone in the living room. Your mind kept fluttering back to that almost kiss in his bed. Your body was burning with pent up energy. You bit your lip.

“Minho?”

“Yeah?” He was barely paying attention as he paced back and forth in the kitchen. His thoughts were elsewhere, focused on the problems at hand. You frowned and glanced down at your lap.

“Are you… are you—” you cut yourself off and then shook your head. “Nevermind.”

The boy stopped his pacing and made his way over to you. His eyes were full of concern as he leaned over the counter. You looked away and cleared your throat. He opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by alarms blaring through the house. You stiffened and Minho raced away, cursing loudly. You slid from the chair and followed after him, watching as he turned on the TV. It wasn’t a basic stream, instead, the stairwell popped into view.

“Oh fuck!” He hissed, staring at the several guards dressed in all black racing up the stairs. You recognized those outfits.

“The psych ward,” you whispered, coming to stand beside him. “They’ve found us.”

Minho didn’t reply as he hurried towards the phone and quickly dialed it. Even from your place, you could hear the white noise crackle through the phone. He cussed again and then grabbed your hand. There was no warning as the same feeling as before washed over you; everything disappeared and new images raced past you. But when you came out of it you found yourself only two feet away.

A groan left the boy and he staggered against you. You caught him, struggling to keep him upright. His eyes were no longer silver, but a dark gray. You patted him and dragged him over to the couch, letting him collapse.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, running your hands over him in search of some form of injuries.

“No, the job Chan had me do… it completely drained me,” he grumbled and sat up. “We’re gonna have to use the back entrance, come on.”

Minho didn’t sound good at all and you doubted he had enough energy to keep going, but you didn’t stop him. He led the way up the stairs and then into a bedroom. He yanked open the window and slid out first and then helped you through. You made the mistake of looking down and nearly threw up. You weren’t sure how high up you were exactly, but it was super fucking high. The ladder didn’t look steady either.

“Hey,” you mumbled, staring down the ladder, “if we both die or something… I just wanna say that I really like you.”

You looked up and met his shocked stare.

Then he blushed and looked away.

“Uh… I really like you too,” he replied. You smiled and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and then started down the ladder. He followed you and the two of you struggled down in silence. The metal creaked beneath your shoes and the wind battered you. Your palms grew sweaty and your grip tightened as you continued down.

You came to another landing and the two of you paused and looked up. Nobody was following you. For once, you were actually thankful for the millions of stairs this building had. The guards were probably in better shape, but it would still take them a while. Minho jumped onto the landing behind you, his face flushed white. Worry raced through you when you saw just how dim his eyes looked.

“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?” You whispered.

He wasn’t able to answer your question. Something whizzed past the two of you and hit him. He crumbled against you and you struggled to keep upright against his weight. Your eyes drifted down his body and your eyes widened when you saw a needle sticking out of his waist. You plucked it out quickly and tossed it away, but the damage had already been done. His eyes were starting to close and he mumbled something and then passed out against you.

A helicopter that you had somehow missed slowly hovered down. Your gaze met the red-haired doctor’s and rage swept through you. The helicopter was level with you and the door opened, two guards staring at you with blank expressions. Tears started to prick the corners of your eyes; you were so fucking screwed. Minho was hurt and it was all your fault. They were after you, not him.

“Y/N,” he rasped. You glanced at him, shocked to find him still alive. “Run, I’ll be fine.”

“I can’t just leave you,” you said, shaking your head.

You weren’t sure what happened next, it was like you blacked out, but you somehow saw everything that happened. You just couldn’t stop it. Your eyes blinked open to find yourself in a dirty bathroom, sitting on the counter. When you slid off the counter, you stumbled. Your legs felt like jelly and your head was pounding.

You opened the door and slid out of the bathroom, finding yourself in an empty gas station. The open sign was turned off and the parking lot was empty. Your gaze dropped to your hands and then you bit your lip, realizing exactly what happened. Minho.

You spent several minutes crying on the floor in the chips aisle, head buried into your knees. He’d sacrificed himself for you and the two of you had only known one another for a couple days. After a while, you forced yourself to stand up and wiped your tears away. Minho saved your life several times and now you needed to repay him and crying in a gas station wouldn’t help.

You grabbed a water bottle, draining it in a few seconds flat. The air was cold when you stepped outside. It was annoying, not knowing the place because you didn’t recognize any buildings or street signs. Either way, you started walking down the street, keeping your head down whenever a car zoomed past.

You were left alone for several miles down the street, but eventually a car rolled to a stop beside you. The window rolled down and a boy around your age grinned at you. His eyes ran along your body and he licked his lips. You grimaced.

“Need a ride somewhere doll?” You almost said no and then you smirked. The car smelled of smoke as you leaned in through the window, smiling at him. His eyes glittered and his smile gave you the creeps, but you forced yourself to stay in character.

“Uhm, actually I do,” you murmured. The door unlocked and you opened the door and stood outside it for a second. You balled your fists and then slid into the car. His eyes darted to the unclosed door and to you as you just stared at him. Then you smiled again and prayed that he had a soft face. You’d never punched anyone in your life, but the satisfying crunch that came when your fist connected with his nose sounded good. Your knuckles stung and you hissed, but kept moving.

You left him on the side of the road, trying not to smile at the blood that dripped from his nose. Then you slid into the driver’s seat and raced off. In truth, you had no idea what you were doing or where you were going, but how easy is it to hide a butt-ton of guards. Eventually, you started seeing vaguely familiar things. You zoomed down the main street of the city, keeping an eye out for anybody dressed in black or suspicious helicopters.

Nerves started to roil in your stomach because you didn’t really know what you were doing. What were you supposed to look for? You didn’t know how to contact Chan or anyone else and they wouldn’t be back the house for the rest of the day.

You were on your own.

⧪⧪⧬⧪⧪

Days passed and soon the car ran out of gas and you still had no luck in finding any sign of the psychos or Minho. You walked along the edge of the street, dirt sticking to your shoes and everywhere else. You were tired and lost and hopeless. You were forcing yourself not to cry, having cried so many times in the past days.

As you walked past an abandoned house, you froze. Your eyes zeroed in on the silver van that sat in the driveway. You’d seen that van plenty of times. It was the one the came to pick you up from your house and took you to the psych ward. You’d seen hundreds of them parked outside from your window.

“Minho,” you whispered.

You ran towards the side of the house, taking extra care to pay attention to the area around you. There was nobody in sight. A window was broken on the first floor and you poked your head in. Once again there was no one. It felt too easy to be just waltzing in there, but you had to take your chances.

Glass crunched under your shoes as you jumped onto the floor. That was when you saw the two guards. They leaned against the wall in the kitchen, talking and not even sparing you a glance. You scooted away from them and pressed yourself against the wall, out of view. You forced your breath to stay even and looked around. Minho had to be here. The place was so random and out of the way, that it made perfect sense for him to be here.

You moved towards a closed-door, figuring the best way to find him was to start opening as many doors as possible. It was just a coat closet. You opened the one next to it and found a tiny bedroom. You looked around and then slowly snuck from the room. The third door you opened lead to a staircase going down. Your stomach tightened and you stepped down. The stair creaked loudly and you stiffened.

“Did you hear that?” One of the guards muttered.

“It’s probably that idiot rocking his chair again.”

“Should we tell him to stop?” “He’s sedated off his ass, where is he gonna go?” The second one retorted. You stared into the dim room at the bottom of the stairs and made your way down as carefully as possible. It was dark and dusty, but as your eyes adjusted, you saw the silhouette of someone sitting in a chair.

“Please don’t be some creepy old lady like in horror movies,” you mumbled.

It wasn’t.

It was Minho.

You rushed to him, a sigh of relief leaving you. He was completely out of it, mouth slightly hanging open and head leaned back. His breathing was shallow and he didn’t look very good. You looked up, stiffening when you heard footsteps stomp along. You had to get out of here.

“We think you can mock abilities.”

Minho had teleported with you twice. You’d experienced his ability twice and if you really could mock abilities, what was to stop you from getting out of there? You wrapped your hands around his and closed your eyes, trying to remember the sensation you’d felt before. You imagined that you were back in the city. When you opened your eyes, you were still in the dusty basement.

“I can do this,” you muttered and then forced more confidence into your voice, “I can do this.”

You remembered the smell of the city and the feel of the air around you. You remembered people storming past you and cars rushing by. Your hands tightened against Minho’s, forcing the world around you to disappear. Then you felt it, a pulling in your gut. It snapped and then the familiar sensations flooded you like a river. You were everywhere and nowhere; everything and nothing.

When you opened your eyes, you were in the middle of the Deep City. Your head pounded and your vision swam. You crumpled to your knees, gasping. Minho’s hand was still tightly clutched in yours. Everything was blurry, but you forced yourself to focus as you looked around. You recognized the Miroh building and you struggled to your feet, pulling Minho up with you.

You fell again.

“Shit,” you whispered. You felt like you were going to throw up.

A pair of shoes stepped in front of you. Arms wrapped around you and scooped you up. Seungmin’s face came into view. He looked worried, but there was a smile on his face nonetheless. Black spots fizzled in your vision.

When you came to, you woke up in Minho’s bed. He lay beside you, bandages wrapped around his biceps and face pale. Woojin sat in a chair several feet away, reading through a magazine.

“He’s going to be okay,” he hummed without looking up, “considering you were worried?”

“Yeah.” Your voice cracked as you stared down at him. You wished that you had gotten there sooner.

“You can’t blame yourself, Y/N. From the looks of it, you did some amazing things,” he sighed. Woojin stood up and made his way towards you. His eyes worriedly ran over Minho before darting to you. “Of course, you’ll still need to tell us what happened.”

You slid out of bed and paused beside Minho. Woojin waited for you at the door. A shaky sigh escaped you as you ran your thumb over a cut on his cheek. Then you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Woojin didn’t say anything as the two of you walked back to the meeting room. The seven other boys sat around the table, all of them seeming to have various injuries of their own.

You sat down and cleared your throat, fingers drumming against your thigh. You took a few deep breaths before you started to recount what happened. They all listened intently, not asking any questions, and you finished the story, even more nervous than before.

“It doesn’t make sense,” you piped up, “I mean… I didn’t even have any altercations with them.”

“That’s because they’ve set their eyes past you and to us,” Changbin sighed, “they talked to somebody who knows something. All of us who ambushed. It was a stupid move to leave Minho that unattended, but maybe they were confident that they wouldn’t need to guard him.”

For a second he was silent, chewing on his lip.

He stared at Chan.

“I think I know who it is.”

Chan nodded. “I believe I do too, although the question is if we really want to do with him right now.”

Then he groaned and rubbed his eyes.

“But we need to,” he mumbled to himself. Then he looked around. “Normally this is something I’d have Minho do… Woojin, can you go?”

He didn’t seem too thrilled with whatever he had to do. You fiddled with the edges of your sweater, debating what to do. You wanted to help, well actually, you wanted to punch whoever snitched and then toss them into a meat grinder. Minho was hurt because of them; all these boys were in trouble and injured because of it.

“I want to come as well,” the words tumbled out. Heads snapped in your direction, confusion evident in their eyes. You looked at Chan. “Please—this is my fight as much as it is yours. If anything, it’s more of my fight than yours but still... “

Chan looked ready to object, but Woojin interjected.

“Well then, let’s go get ready and then we’ll go.”

You walked back to Minho’s room and found him awake. He was lying there, staring at the ceiling and as you approached, you saw that his eyes were red. Your heart lurched and you swiftly walked over to the bed. Minho jumped when you came into view and then he smiled at you. You grabbed his head and knelt down beside him.

“Are you okay?” You whispered.

“I’m alive,” he croaked and then coughed. You wanted to know what they did to him, but you figured now wasn’t a good time. Minho’s gaze was sad as he watched you. His hand reached up and tipped your chin up, bringing you closer until you were inches apart. “This is really random, but I kind of want to kiss you.”

You nodded and let your eyes flutter closed. His lips were cold and chapped when they pressed against yours, but you didn’t mind. You pressed closer, hands gripping into the sheets beside him. His hand moved from your face to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. He shifted and tugged you forwards so you spilled on top of him. You pulled back with a gasp, nervously laughing and unable to meet his stare.

“I have… I have to go,” you muttered, remembering Woojin. It was hard to focus as Minho’s thumbs massaged circles into your hips and with his face really close to yours. “I’m—”

You found that you didn’t want to tell Minho what you were doing.

“Chan wants to talk to me about my abilities.” You cringed as the lie came out. You didn’t want Minho to worry, but lying to him didn’t feel right. His eyes searched your face and you had a feeling he knew. “I’ll be back, I-I promise.”

A sigh filled the air between you, but he nodded. He pressed one last quick kiss to your lips. You slid from the bed and then grabbed a pile of clothes off the wardrobe and disappeared into the bathroom. Your gaze met your reflection’s after you’d pulled your new clothes on. Your hands curled into fists, nails biting crescents into your palm and you steeled your nerves.

⧪⧪⧬⧪⧪

The sun set several hours before you arrived at the place. Woojin hadn’t given you any hint of where you were going or what type of person this guy was. It was a club that you pulled into. LED lights flashed through the windows and when you opened the door you were attacked by the smell of alcohol and tobacco. Your nose wrinkled and you glanced over at Woojin in disbelief.

“Believe me, I don’t how this guy became our problem,” he huffed, slamming the door shut. “Just stay close to me… people here are weird.”

The bouncer didn’t spare you a single glance as you walked into the building. Immediately your senses went overload trying to pay attention to everything that was happening. The lights were changing color rapidly, people were shouting, and sparkly strippers swung on even shinier poles. Waitresses wandered about, smiles out and chests out.

“Sora!” Woojin called as the two of you pushed past groups of drunken idiots. A girl dressed in green lingerie with blue hair and blue-colored skin turned to him. She smiled, not in a welcoming way, but the same way a predator would when an unknowing prey walks into their house. As she approached, you realized that her skin wasn’t actually blue, the high points of her skin just had blue highlight on them.

“New girl?” She asked, her eyes darting towards you. You frowned at her, feeling uncomfortable under her scrutinizing gaze. “You never have a girl with you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t act like I’m a customer. We need to talk to Rio.”

Sora huffed.

“Kim Woojin!”

Another girl approached. She was dressed in a fiery red, tight skinned dress and just like Sora, the high points of her body and face were tinted a sparkly orange. Her green eyes sparkled under the lights and her smile was even more unnerving than the first girl’s. She didn’t spare you a single glance as she kept her stare leveled on Woojin.

“Here to see Rio?” She sounded like she was making fun of him.

Woojin gritted his teeth. “Yes, Vienna.”

She laughed, flapping her hand and then motioning for him to follow. You went to follow him, but a hand on your shoulder stopped you. Sora held tight to you and when you met her gaze, it only tightened. Your eyebrows furrowed and a grimace spread over your face.

“Please let go,” you murmured, trying to pull away.

“Rio only allows certain guests to see him,” she stated, “and you don’t seem to be one of them.”

It was like a natural reaction, an instinct that was buried deep inside. You grabbed her wrist and twisted it until she let go. The two of you stood nearly chest to chest and you sneered. She tried to pull back, but this time you were the one in control.

“Oh believe me,” you snapped, “I am one of them.”

You let go of her wrist and pushed her away. You chased after Woojin and Vienna, sending the same vicious glare Vienna’s way when she sent you a look of disdain. The three of you stepped into a room. It smelled awful and a man sat with his back to you. When he turned around at Vienna’s call, he wasn’t a good sight. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin pale, and a patchy beard was growing along his chin and neck.

“You Miroh bitches never leave people alone, do you?”

The room grew cold and the smell of alcohol and body odor was overpowered by the smell of something dead. Figures started to dance in the dark corners of the room and pairs of eyes and sharp teeth flashed. Ice crept through you and it felt like you were back in the psych ward, your mind playing tricks on you as you sat in the dark room for hours on end.

Rio stiffened at it and he muttered an apology. The creatures retreated and the cold lessened, but it was still there. Woojin walked around the couch until he stood in front of the disgusting man. You walked towards the back of the couch and your nose wrinkled as the stench grew stronger. The man’s blue eyes darted from you to Woojin and you saw a deep fear racing through his face.

“Who the hell did you tell?” Woojin asked. He didn’t move, his expression didn’t change, and the dead didn’t even shift. Yet Rio still flinched away, fingers drumming against his knees.

“Some lady,” he squeaked out, “red hair. Claimed she was working for the greater good or something.”

Woojin raised an eyebrow.

“And what did you tell her?”

Rio’s eyes cast downwards and he mumbled something. Woojin snorted and then backed up until he could lean against the wall behind him. He crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the alcoholic in front of him. Rio paused for a second before looking back up at Woojin.

“She promised she’d get rid of you guys and I wouldn’t have to deal with you psychopaths anymore. You think I care how she does it? As long as you’re out of my hair, I couldn’t give two shits!” It felt like something snapped inside you. The whole statement peeved you off. Minho was hurt because this guy snitched. All nine of them were in danger because of her. She wouldn’t have known about their abilities or where they were stationed if he hadn’t said anything.

Your body moved without your mind’s command. Your elbow rammed into the side of his head and warm satisfaction ran through you as he crumpled. He let out a cry, grasping his head where you’d hit him. You leaned over the back of the couch, forcing him to meet your stare.

“You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to act like that while you fucking sit in here, drinking your life away, not doing anything but ruin others life. You’ve put these boys lives in danger because of your stupid mouth. They can’t really be that fucking bad can they? You used to live in a dump you pig and then they helped you out, even though they didn’t have to! The reason you’re so successful is because of them and this is how you repay them?” You snarled. Rio tried to look away from you, but you weren’t done yet. Your fingers digged into his hair and you pulled, snapping his neck back so he had no choice but to look at you.

“They’ve all been under extreme stress and they’ve been hurt because of your dumbass actions! If anything, you owe them, but you repay them by ratting their lives out to some random ass woman you don’t even know? A woman who hasn’t done a single thing for you? Minho could’ve fucking died because of your actions! He’s hurt and he doesn’t deserve it because he went out of his way to save my ass—a random girl he’d never met. He’s been nothing but nice and caring and you try to brush him under the rug like he’s not human?”—You didn’t even realize you were solely focused on Minho, you were seething and your mind was racing too fast for your mouth to keep up—“he doesn’t deserve it, you swine! You owe them your wealth and your life, and yet, you’d just let them die?”

You bared your teeth at him.

“Some piece of disgusting scum you are.”

You let go of his hair and shoved his head forward. He cradled his head, sobbing loudly and muttering apologies under his breath. Woojin stared at you with no readable expressions. You couldn’t tell if he was surprised or impressed. His eyes darted from you to Rio and then he frowned.

“What was her plan, Rio?” He asked. The other man was silent for a moment, still sobbing. You fought the urge to give him a real beating and tell him to man up. Woojin probably didn’t want your help again.

“I don’t really know,” he whispered, “she just said she was going to find you guys and separate you. Sh-she said that all her guards weren’t here yet and once they were all there, that there was no winning for you. I… I don’t really know, please, I swear. Don’t hurt me again.”

His pale blue eyes darted to you, not Woojin, and you realized that he wasn’t scared of Woojin anymore. You shifted uncomfortably, looking away and staring at the shadows that rolled along the sides of the room. Woojin cursed under his breath.

“We gotta go,” he murmured to and then marched towards Rio. His fingers pressed against the man’s temple and Rio collapsed. The two of you left quickly, racing across the parking lot to the car.

The car was silent for the first several minutes, both of you still struggling to catch your breath. You were suddenly really tired and you leaned your head against the window, watching as headlights zoomed by. Finally Woojin let out a soft sigh and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him glance at you.

“You really like Minho, huh?” He hummed. You looked away from the window to stare at him. His eyes looked black in the dark atmosphere. Your mind kept skipping back to the ghosts he’d summoned and how much it had reminded you of the occasional hallucinations you used to have.

“What do you mean by that?” You grumbled, scoffing afterwards.

“The majority of your speech was about him,” he pointed out, “I mean… at the end, you managed to wrap it up with us, but your main worry really seemed to be Minho.” Woojin paused as if trying to think of what to say next.

“The two times you really used your ability was because of him. You managed to teleport with someone else and go pretty far for the first time. You read Rio’s mind back there. Both times were motivated by him,” he commented, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. He pulled into the garage and turned off the car. The two of you stared at one another.

“Yeah… so?” He smiled. “Just make sure he knows that Y/N.”

Woojin got out first, heading towards the door. You slid out of the car a few moments later. The walk up the stairs didn’t seem as long as usual. Your mind was wandering, lost in emotions that you couldn’t even explain to yourself.

When you stepped into the house, you were greeted by Changbin and Chan. The two sat in the living room, playing a game of cards. Both of their expressions were grim and you figured that Woojin must’ve already told them what you found out. You didn’t stay to talk and instead made your way to your room.

Minho was coming out of the bathroom as you entered. Most of his bandages were off and a lot of his cuts were already healed. He stood in only sweatpants, wet hair falling into his eyes. He spotted you and smiled and you found yourself smiling back. His eyes were back to their regular color and there was a healthy pink tint in his skin. You didn’t question how he’d managed to heal so fast and ran towards him. You threw your arms over his shoulders and kissed him deeply.

He was surprised for a moment, but then his arms snaked around your waist and he kissed you back. You smiled against his lips and then pulled back, staring up at him. Minho stared back at you, cheeks pinker than before.

“I love you,” you blurted out. His eyes widened and so did yours.

He pouted.

“I wanted to say it first,” he mumbled and pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips. Then he pulled back and wrinkled his nose. “You smell.”

You laughed. “Thanks. I should probably go shower.”

⧪⧪⧬⧪⧪

The two of you had laid quietly in bed for an hour. You had just stared at Minho, just barely able to see him in the dark room. But it didn’t seem to matter how dark it was because his eyes were still bright.

It was an hour of purely nothing but cuddles and soft breathing. Then it changed quickly when Minho pressed a soft kiss to your jawline. When you hummed, it only egged him on and his mouth continued along your jaw and down your neck. He shifted over top of you, knee slotted between your thighs, and mouth desperately marking up your shoulder and collarbone. Whimpers were falling from you and you were grinding against his leg, eyes pinched shut. His hands ran down your sides and then stopped at the hem of your shirt.

“Are you sure this is a good time?” He gasped. You groaned, tangling your fingers in his hair and looking at him.

“Is it ever a good time in this life?” It was a vague sentence, but it was all he needed. Your shirt flew over your head and his warm mouth fell on your breast. You gasped, your back arching into his touch. His fingers were playing with your pants, testing the fabric between him and you. He switched his mouth to your other breast, rolling your nipple under his tongue.

In one fluid movement, he pulled down your pants and panties down. His mouth made a slow trail down your stomach and along your hips. He skipped over your core, kissing and nipping at your thighs. You mewled, spreading your legs further. Minho hummed against your skin and then your clit was sucked into his mouth. You squealed, thighs closing around his head.

It didn’t deter him. His tongue licked several quick stripes up your core, sending electricity bouncing along your skin. He sucked and nipped at your clit, distracting you from the movement of his hand. Two of his fingers entered you swiftly, pushing all the way up to the third knuckle. They curled against your tight hole, pressing right to the g-spot.

“Minho,” you moaned, head falling back against the pillows. “D-don’t stop.”

He added a third finger and his pace picked up. Lewd noises filled the air as your wetness grew. It felt like the room was spinning and too much was happening as he continued to suck on your clit and thrust his fingers in and out of your pussy. You tightened around his digits, squirming on the sheets and letting out nervous gasps as the dam in your stomach broke. Minho lapped at you for a few seconds longer and then pulled back.

“Damn,” he murmured, wiping his mouth.

You panted silently as he crawled back up beside you. He laid down, arms wrapping around your waist. You licked your lips and then frowned.

“Are you done?” You asked, voice weak.

Minho kissed your cheek.

“I don’t want to overwhelm you,” he sighed.

“What about you?”

“I’m fi—”

You grasped his hard-on through his sweatpants. He stopped his sentence, voice catching in his throat. You stroked him softly through the material, pulling a mewl from him. The two of you worked together to wriggle his pants down so you could grasp his cock with nothing between you.

It was mostly quiet as you stroked him, only occasional grunts and whimpers escaping him. You could tell he was trying to be quiet from the close-mouthed gasps that came from him. His hips bucked into your touch and he started to curl up, face burying itself in your neck. You rolled your thumb over the tip and squeezed his length.

“Y/N I-I—”

He cut himself off with a loud yelp.

He panted for several minutes, struggling to regain his senses.

“We need to clean the sheets,” he grumbled. He didn’t move.

“That can wait till tomorrow,” you sighed and then curled into his side. He pulled you close, pressing a kiss to your temple, and then slowly the two of you fell asleep.

⧪⧪⧬⧪⧪

You were woken up late morning by the sunshine spraying across the room. Minho laid on his back, face turned towards you and one arm stretched across your torso. A smile fell on your face as you stared at him, blissfully unaware of how pretty he looked without trying. You wrapped your arm around his bare waist and rested your head on his shoulder. The world had melted away and for once, there was nothing wrong.

“Why the hell are you two sti—”

You shrieked just as Seungmin did. He had thrown the hairbrush that was in his hand and now covered his eyes. You scrambled to pull up the sheets, pink spreading over your face. He kept his hand over his eyes and leaned against the doorway, trying to slow his breathing.

“That is…” he grumbled, starting to back away, “just get showered and come to the meeting room. Chan is trying to form a plan and he needs you two.”

Once he closed the door behind him, you sagged down in the bed, covering your face. Minho had woken up and was now laughing softly at you.

“Don’t worry,” he chuckled, sliding out of bed, “it builds character, he’ll be fine. Now, we should probably shower and hope that Seungmin isn’t screaming at the top of his lungs somewhere.”

He held out a hand and you grasped it, pulling yourself up. You took two quick, separate showers. Your nerves started to rebuild themselves when you realized that now was no time to pretend that everything was perfectly fine. She was still out there, trying to find you and tear you apart.

You completely forgot about Seungmin by the time you sat down in the meeting room, fingers tapping on the arms of the chair. Chan sat at the head of the table, eyes reading over the several papers in front of him. It was silent between the ten of you for several minutes before Chan started to talk.

“So… as I’m sure you all know, Lynn has reinforcements coming. We have no idea when she’s coming, although if I were her, it would make sense to strike soon. So for the next several days, I need everyone on top of it.

“Woojin and Hyunjin are going to do a mental barrier and Y/N…” he trailed off for a second, staring at you. Then he steeled his gaze. “If you could try to help Woojin, that would be great. Minho and I will work on trying to find them. The rest of you will just have to wait for the time to come.”

Chan reached under the table and grabbed a box, placing it on the surface. Minho looked uncomfortable as he stared at the box. The rest of them didn’t seem too pleased to see it either. He opened it and threw several small packets with silver powder in front of all of you.

“I know you guys don’t like it, but these exist for a reason. If you start feeling drained, take one,” he demanded, meeting everyone’s stare, “I don’t need one of you getting dragged off because you suddenly collapsed from exhaustion.”

Everyone took a packet, tucking it into their pockets and exchanging wary glances with the person sitting next to them. You frowned down at yours, wondering what it was. Minho’s hand fell on yours and you looked up at him, tightly smiling when you saw the worried expression on his face.

“It’s a… well, it refuels strength and energy. Using your abilities excessively take a lot out of you, so we have these for special cases,” he explained under his breath. “But only use it if you’re certain you can’t go any further.”

“Everyone know what they’re doing?” Chan asked. He didn’t give anyone time to respond as he stood up and dismissed everyone. You stood up, hurrying towards Woojin. Minho stood with you for a while and then grabbed your hand.

“Be careful please,” he whispered. You nodded and smiled when he kissed you quickly.

You followed Woojin and Hyunjin up to the roof. The two of them were looking around before they finally regrouped with you. It was a windy day and the building was so high up that there were clouds swirling around you.

“What’s a mental barrier?” You asked.

“It’s probably not the right term, but it’s how we describe this weird force field we made once. Hyunjin makes a light forcefield and I kind of… fuse my abilities with it so that I can automatically read whoever walks through it,” he explained, “and I think Chan wants you to try to use my ability so I won’t be the only one.”

You opened and closed your mouth before realizing you had too many questions.

Woojin smiled.

“We’ll just let Hyunjin do his thing and then it’s our turn, alright?”

You and Woojin sat and watched as Hyunjin put all his focus into the forcefield. A full hour passed and by the time it was done, he looked ready to pass out. You wanted to point out that this was when he should take the shady drug Chan gave you all, but when you saw his dead expression, you decided against it. Woojin stood up and walked towards the corner of the building, where if you squinted really hard, you could see a faint purple glimmer. He held out a hand to touch it and you did too, flinching at the cold feeling that rushed through your hand.

“It’s kind of weird, but imagine this thing has a mind,” he murmured, “and then try to read it.”

You closed your eyes, pretending as if the frigid, slimy thing was a human. Your head started to hurt as you tried to read its mind. You grit your teeth, forcing yourself to concentrate. Then the cold feeling disappeared and your stomach did a somersault. When you opened your eyes, you found yourself somewhere completely different.

The floor was soft under your fingers and the room around you was neat. There was a voice murmuring somewhere and you looking around the room, freezing when you saw who stood with their back to you. Red hair fell down her back and she was on the phone, quietly scolding the person.

You cursed internally and started to scoot backwards, pinching your eyes shut and trying to go back. This was just your luck. Your back pressed against a wall and you opened your eyes, realizing you weren’t going anywhere. The doctor started to turn around and she looked around the room and then her cool gaze fell on you. She paused, an amused smile starting to curl at her lips.

“Don, if you’ll excuse me, I have some business to take care of.”

She set the phone down and then stared at you.

“You came in rather quietly,” she purred, leaning against the wall. You stood up, pressing your hands against the drywall behind you. She lifted her shirt up and your eyes bugged out when you saw the pistol strapped to her hip. She pulled it out, the normally quiet click ten times louder as the safety was turned off.

“You’re not going to kill me,” you hissed, “you need me, don’t you?” She laughed and rolled her eyes.

“You? There’s nine boys with extraordinary, trained abilities and you think you’re still important? I only need one of them for experimentation, but I suppose I could keep the other eight as pets,” she mused, tilting her head, “I’d rather put your name on a plaque and call you the first casualty.”

She pointed the gun at you and your heart started to pound loudly in your head. Any thought of trying to teleport out of there left your head and panic started to set in. The bang was louder than you anticipated and you flinched back, holding your hands up as if they would stop the bullet.

The hit never came. Your eyes fluttered open, staring at the milky white sphere that glittered around you. The bullet shell lay discarded on the floor in front of it. The doctor stared at the shield in front of you, curiosity flaring in her green eyes. Only for her to chuckle when it started to flicker and then completely disappear.

“Cute,” she snorted, “real cute.”

“You’re one to talk, considering you only have a gun,” you retorted. The statement sounded stupid after you said it. She snorted.

“You know,” she started, “maybe I should let you live for a while longer. I can let you watch as your friends perish. Once I call my reinforcements, you’ll never see your friends again.”

She hadn’t called the rest of the guards. That was the only thing you picked up from it. You steeled yourself and grabbed the cactus plant on the shelf beside you, throwing it at her. Lynn side-stepped, but you were already moving towards her. You jumped over the desk between you, sliding across the surface, and tackling her to the floor.

The doctor was stronger than you anticipated, easily throwing you off her and re-aiming her weapon at you. A bang ricocheted through the room, but for a moment you were in control of yourself. You appeared behind her, pulling hard on her hair and ramming your knee into her back. She shouted, arching away from you and you kicked her legs out from under her. Her grip on her gun was lost and it skittered across the floor.

You reached for it, but were stopped as she kicked the chair at you.

“You bitch!” She shrieked, “you’ll die knowing your friends will perish because of your failed attempt.”

She got to the gun before you and this time when the trigger was pulled, you had nothing to protect yourself. Pain flared through your shoulder and you gasped, clutching the wound. Blood seeped out around your fingers, staining the gray shirt dark red.

She laughed. “I think I’ll let you bleed to death.”

You barely managed to dodge as she tried to knee your head. Your body was shaking and your vision was starting to swim. Heat was flaring from the wound, sending waves of panic throughout your anatomy.

“Poor you,” she cooed, reaching towards your face.

“Fuck you!” You didn’t realize what you were doing as the temperature in the room dropped. Frost started to curl at the edges of the desk and darkness started to swirl through the space. Shadowy figures crawled up from the ground and corners, groaning and shrieking. The redhead tried to back away from them, but they were coming from all angles.

“Yo-you won’t win,” you gasped out, managing to stand up. You didn’t watch as the creatures amassed around her, dragging her down towards them. You struggled away, the room spinning around you. Somehow you managed to make it out of the house into the cold air. The main road was mere feet away from you, wind cutting at your face as cars raced past.

“Holy shit—”

You collapsed to the ground, wondering if Minho would be able to find you before you were gone. Blood was dripping down your arm and side, staining the dirt you knelt on. You remembered his lips on yours and a small smile crawled across your face.

“Y/N? Y/N!”

Arms wrapped around you.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head and darkness swarmed your vision

I love you.

So, i’ll just leave this open-ended for you to self-interpret

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