#that one line is the reason for my demise | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

em1e · 1 year

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万次郎 // GIVEN THE CHOICE ⠀ ༝ ༝ bonten!mikey ⠀ ༝ ༝ 8.4k words ⠀ ⚠︎ big brother!draken, mentions of violence, character death, manga spoilers, pregnancy, angst, suggestive?, implied fem!reader but no pronouns. ⠀ — you've always liked mikey growing up. how do you tell him years down the line that you've had his kid?

there’s not much to say about being the younger sibling to draken.

even less about his delinquent friends he seemed to follow around like a puppy.

but you could say a lot about his friend mikey. self-proclaimed leader at the age of eleven, you watched from the sidelines as he became the true leader of his silly group toman, saw how it’d develop to something more as you grow older.

and as the years pass, you become more acquainted with those same people he’s always around - namely one baji keisuke, who made it very apparent from the start he wanted to be your friend because ‘only cool guys have a weak best friend’ and apparently no one else in toman was weak.

days turn to weeks turn to years with you in their shadow, but you’ve never seemed to mind.

you enjoy your view from the sidelines.

“you can’t tell anyone.” you warn baji with a finger pointed in his direction, eyes narrowed as if that could somehow make your threat more lethal.

he holds his hands up in mock-defense, taking a step away with his shoulders slouched, “you have my word.”

you look away from him, arms crossing over your chest as you answer.

“sorry?” he tilts his head, leaning forward, “didn’t quite catch that.”

you feel yourself flush, hiding your face to mumble the reply, “mikey.”

there’s a beat of silence for all of five seconds before he starts laughing.

“you have a crush on mikey? of all people?”

you shove him away from you when he leans against you for support, yet still manage to press your hand against his mouth because he’s so fucking loud, “quiet down,” you hiss out, “they’re supposed to be ‘round the corner, will you shut up?!”

“just think it’s funny how you ‘nd your brother have a thing for each of the sano siblings-”

“quiet!”

draken and mikey stumble upon you with a fist full of baji’s hair, the other hand pressed firmly against his mouth while he has his own shoving at your face to keep you away.

and that’s just how most days go - when they aren’t terrorizing the city, they’re bothering you for one reason or another.

until it isn’t.

until kazutora gets released from juvie and baji leaves you in the dust and then dies after. . . it’s a lot to take in, especially for someone so young - so close to someone who suddenly drops it on you that they want nothing to do with you, and then you hear during the aftermath from your brother that he was begging for you to forgive him, for you to take care of mikey, too, because someone has to.

until draken finds you curled in on yourself sobbing because even to the end, baji put other people above himself and it’s so fucking unfair that that’s how he meets his demise.

you stay in your room for a week without moving. it takes draken practically dragging you out of the space to get you into the world again, mikey at his side with a frown.

and maybe it’s from the mutual trauma of losing someone so close to you (despite it being a thousand times worse for mikey, since he was actively there at the scene), but you and mikey grow closer after baji’s death.

you make sure one another eats, that you’ve done your assignments on time, that you’re getting enough sleep, that you’re taking care of yourselves.

it stays like that for a while, you tucked behind mikey and draken like a secret, something no one else can touch or bother with emma at your side.

and then she dies, too.

her death was the breaking point for them, you think.

unexpected and quick and cruel that mikey had to watch her pass, the tensions eating away at them and bursting at the seams from the announcement of her death. when draken came back home with busted knuckles and tear-stained cheeks, it broke you because your big brother was supposed to be the strong one. a piece of you chipped away when he crumbled in your embrace, sobs wrecking through his body while you held him close.

the funeral isn’t any better, tensions still high, and draken steps away at the end when you move to talk to mikey.

you promise to check in on him when you can, pull him into a hug while offering your condolences, and when you separate he doesn’t look at you as he says his thanks.

when you make your way to draken, you will yourself to glance back at mikey and . . . he looks so small, standing beside his grandpa. unfocused on the people that come up, shake his hand with frowns, then leave. as if feeling your stare on him, he looks up to meet your gaze, and with such a small glance, you can see how heavily everything’s weighed down on him. how cruel the world has been to him, and how it remains unrelenting of punches.

he looks away before you do, and draken pulling you close to him by the shoulder to keep you from walking into someone draws your attention away from mikey.

weeks turn to months, passing without a hitch, and you do your best to check in on mikey when you can. some days you visit and his grandpa answers the door, turning you away because mikey’s out and he doesn’t know where he is - most days your texts and calls go unanswered.

ken later informs you toman’s disbanded and he isn’t sure what to do with himself. despite your best efforts, getting in contact with mikey becomes harder and harder, until it becomes an impossible feat altogether.

years pass with no contact - with everyone lives moving forward, with your brother owning his own bike shop and inupi coming to work with him, and you getting an insane job offer for your dream position. it’s crazy amazing for someone your age to see an opportunity like this, and you’re elated beyond belief by the proposition, except . . . it’s on the other side of japan.

you’d have to leave everything you’ve ever known for the chance of a lifetime, and it’s your brother who encourages you to take it.

“who knows if something like this could happen again,” he says with a smile, ruffling your hair in a way that big brothers do, “you’ll always have a home here to come to if things don’t pan out.”

you see everyone you can in the weeks before you leave, even manage to pin down mitsuya for coffee before he leaves for another exciting runway event in italy (you tease how you wish you’d be going there instead - he offers an invite once you’re settled in your new apartment).

the only person you couldn’t pinpoint a location for was . . . mikey.

despite your many calls to the old number you have stored in your phone, searching for him at his old childhood home, even asking draken and the other friends from his old gang - no one knew. you amaze yourself with your own detective skills, though, by some miracle able to find an address - you applaud yourself as you step to the door, double checking the apartment number matches what you have written down before you knock.

there’s a moment where you stand dumbly waiting for someone to open the door, and you think for a second maybe you have the wrong apartment, or maybe he’s not home, or -

there’s a click of the lock sounding, the door creaking open just enough for you to see the darkness inside.

you brighten when mikey peeks his head around the door, leaning against the frame and just . . . staring, expression unreadable.

“hi . . .” you breath out, “’ve been lookin’ for you.”

“that spells trouble.” he says without missing a beat, looking down both ends of the hall before he pushes the door open further. an invitation to enter, one you take gratefully.

“for who?” you can’t help but tease, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room as you spin to face him closing the door, “me? or you?”

“depends on how this goes.” he shrugs, leaning against the door with his arms crossed over his chest.

you don't take his words as the threat they are, smile still as bright as when he first pulled open the door, “how have you been? it’s been a while.”

“‘ve been better,” he looks away from you, “definitely been worse.”

“wellll, “ you spin on your heel to get a look at his apartment, reaching for the wall where the lightswitch sits and flipping them on, “what have you been up to? s’nice apartment, even better with the lights on.” you chastise lightly, making yourself at home somewhere you surely could never consider it to be.

when you turn back to face him, he’s already behind you, hand on your wrist, still touching the switch.

“what do you want, (y/n)?” he asks. your gaze softens on him, now able to take in the light bags under his eyes, the way his frame is smaller than you remember.

“to talk,” you answer gingerly, reaching forward to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, “to see you and know you’re not dead in a ditch in roppongi.”

“you can clearly see i’m not, s’there more?, ” the words leave his lips bitterly, contrasting how his eyes flutter closed, how he leans into your touch.

“‘m moving pretty far,” you add after a moment of silence, “otherside of japan. just wanted to see you’re okay before i leave.” your thumb rubs gentle circles into his cheek, head tilting when his eyes snap open at the admission.

“what for?” he pries, and the way he asks reminds you of when you were kids; when he’d beg and beg and beg to play with the toy you were already playing with if only for the fact that you were playing with it, how he’d whine and pout until you relented because you couldn’t stand the idea of him being upset with you.

“a job,” you’re completely transparent as you answer, “‘the opportunity of a lifetime’. it felt . . . i dunno, wrong? to not share the good news with you-mph?”

you're silenced by him suddenly pulling you to him, lips pressed to your own with his hands cupping your cheeks, and truth be told it’s everything fourteen-year-old you dreamed of and more. everything you ever wanted in life kissing you in his apartment before you go miles and miles away to start a completely different dream and it hurts.

but you don’t have it in you to push him away, not when he presses you against the wall to deepen the kiss, or when he pulls your clothes off of you with a desperation that leaves you whining and begging, or when he guides you to his bedroom and continues his affection that holds the passion and emotion that’d been buried under fifteen years of dirt. he brings out each skeleton from the closet with every thrust until the both of you are spent, laying naked in each other’s embrace until you fall asleep.

it’s surprising, almost, to wake up the next morning alone in a bed that isn’t yours.

there’s no sign of mikey when you look around the apartment, the only tell of him even staying in the form of a stack of cash with a note in his familiar handwriting left on the kitchen counter.

hope this helps you get started in the new city. - mikey

a number sits in a smaller font under the note, in even smaller writing it says for emergencies, use this number.

it feels weird, taking the money with no way to show your appreciation, so you rip a small corner from the paper and write your thanks out, the promise of visiting him soon when you’re back in town added with a heart at the end of your note.

two days later, and you’re driving to a new city with your entire life packed in suitcases and boxes - a moving truck scheduled to deliver your belongings a day after you get to your apartment.

almost two months pass, and you find you’re settling well; everyone at the company adores you, and the building your apartment’s in sits across from a nice ramen shop that you like to go to every tuesday night after you get paid.

you come down with a stomach bug, one you can’t seem to shake, and after a week of calling out and forcing yourself to work despite being exhausted and crabby and ill, you go to the doctor.

imagine your surprise when he tells you you’re fucking pregnant.

two months, in fact, proven with the sonogram he sets you up with, and you’re calling your brother in hysterics in your car when the appointment is over.

“pregnant?” he repeats over the phone, after taking the first five minutes of the call just trying to calm you down, “by who?”

you’re chewing your lip raw as you answer, “mikey . . .”

there’s a beat of silence, before you’re whispering out, “‘m scared, ken. i-i’m miles from home and-and i just started this job and i don’t even know if i can take care of a baby on my own-”

“you’re gonna keep it?” he asks, tone genuine.

“i . . . yeah, i think so - i-i mean, i want to . . . is that stupid? is that a stupid want for me to have?” your lip wobbles waiting for his answer.

“no, but . . . s’lot of work, (y/n). if it’s something you do want, you know i’ll support you in any way i can, you just gotta tell me how to help.”

“i wan’a come home.” you settle, and the way the words leave your lips remind you of a child, begging a parent for something so small when this is anything but.

“we can do that,” draken promises, “i’ll get a flight and help you pack or get inupi to ride with me. we’ll figure it all out, don’t stress.”

you sniffle, wiping at your face hastily, “kay . . . okay. thank you ken.”

“f’course,” you can hear the smile in his voice over the phone, “s’what big brother’s are for.”

and the next few weeks are filled with moving your life back home, with the help of draken and inupi. the people at your job are nothing but happy at the news for you, despite being sad to see you go - they wish you the best in life, though, and even offer another position to apply if you ever decide to come back to the area. it’s sweet, really.

you move into draken’s house and have a healthy baby boy that looks so much like mikey, you think it might kill you. you name him shin.

he makes you promise to not try to seek out mikey one night, after you’d rocked shin to sleep and put him down in his crib.

“no one knows what he’s been up to,” he argues quietly when your brows furrow at the demand, “and frankly, the few ties i still have with gangs make me worried from what little things they tell me.”

“but those could just be rumors,” you frown, “he deserves to know he has a kid.”

“it’s dangerous, (y/n).” draken settles with the finality of a parent telling their kid they can’t have another cookie, “‘m serious. don’t try to contact him.”

despite the weight the conversation holds, you can’t help but stick your tongue out at him childishly. something he returns, only to narrowly dodge the stuffed animal you throw his way in opposition.

and though the warnings loom in the air, you can’t help but try to let mikey know - calling the number he left countless times, trying to use your rusty detective skills that aided you in finding him almost a year ago, just trying to make him aware that you had his son.

you don’t seek child support, or demand otherworldly things that a parent could only dream of (a rocking chair that massages your back and automatically rocks? you drool at the thought), you just feel it’s something he deserves to know. something he should be given a choice to be a part of.

except he’s known since you moved back.

it was a difficult task, keeping tabs on you when you were so far away, but he knew from the day you settled into draken’s home by word of mouth from koko. it must’ve been a punishment for koko, to check in on all of their friend’s from their pasts, to make sure their lives are going how they want them to and make sure everyone is happy.

mikey couldn’t stomach the photos koko would offer, waving them away and requesting the verbal update instead, and when your son is born, he’s only informed that there’s no father on the birth certificate. your attempts to contact him died in vein, the number he gave you belonging to an old throw away phone he got rid of a week after he left it with you. he didn’t think you’d ever need it.

three years pass, and koko would be damned to say the kid doesn't look like a photocopy of mikey. wild blond hair, all bright eyed and sweet.

you work at a diner now, usually leave shin with draken and inupi for your nightshift and ken takes him home when he’s done at the garage.

it’s cute, the way they interact with him - they let him get in the way of their work, careful so he doesn’t get hurt, but allow his curiosity and grubby hands grab hold of tools and bolts and pieces they need.

you're not overly fond of letting shin have his way with whatever he can pinch between his fingers, since usually whatever he does find ends up in his mouth like a chew toy, but ken and inupi tease you for being too overprotective.

you still live with ken, despite insisting the need to get out of his hair, but he promises it’s okay to take your time since he adores his nephew and doesn’t mind helping, and inupi’s became a good friend by proxy.

it’s rare for you and your brother to argue, especially in front of shin, and truly you’re not sure what sparked the conversation in the first place - all you know is you’re upset.

“inupi, tell my brother it’s unfair for mikey to not know he has a kid.”

“inui, tell my sibling if mikey wanted to be involved, he would be. simple as that.”

“we don’t even know if he knows,” you groan out, leaving inupi to hold up his hands defensively.

“i have no argument in this.” is all he offers.

“but you have some insight, “ you counter, kneeling down when shin tugs on your pants, “you know the story-”

“i’m just sayin’ you’ve tried for three years-” draken starts.

“four.”

“-four years, “ he continues, “and you’ve gotten nothing. i don’t see a need for you to continue if you’ve come up empty handed for so long.”

“because, ken-”

shin’s lip wobbles for a second before he bursts into tears, gripping the front of your shirt until you’re shushing him and pulling you towards him in a hug, “shhh, baby, it’s okay. what’s wrong?”

he continues to cry despite you rocking him, and it takes draken pulling him out of your arms while tickling his sides to make him stop.

“prob’ly didn’t like the arguing.” inupi comments, dodging a wrench you throw his way with a glare.

“we’ll talk about this later,” you sigh out, standing on your toes to squeeze shin’s cheeks, “i love, love, love you.” you emphasize each ‘love’ with a kiss to his chubby cheeks, happy to hear his crying replaced with giggles and incoherent toddler babble.

your shift at work isn’t anything special - you have some regulars that come in at the odd hours of night, and by the end of your shift, you’re the last to leave; finishing out some paperwork the managers can’t be bothered to do despite getting paid far less than them to do it.

you fish your keys from your bag, unlock your car, ready to begin the short drive home but . . . your car won’t start.

of course it doesn’t. it’s an older model, one you were supposed to take to the scrap yard for a slightly newer model last month but couldn’t because shin unexpectedly got sick and you had to fork out some cash to make sure he got better.

you sigh, pop the hood of the vehicle as if maybe some of your brother’s knowledge of mechanics could somehow transfer to you, and call the aforementioned male.

it rings. . . and rings . . and rings. no answer.

you try again.

nothing.

you kick at the front bumper in frustration, running a hand over your face in search of another contact. surely inupi is awake at two in the morning, right?

the call rings out, and you’re really worried it’s going straight to voicemail for a second, but he picks up on seemingly the last buzz, “hello?” he sounds groggy, like you did just wake him up. you don’t have time to dwell on the thought when a group of guys appear from the sidewalk, spotting and attempting to talk to you in one breath.

“car won’t start?” one asks, nudging his friend as they make their way closer to you, “we can help.”

you turn away from them, “hey inui, can you come get me from work? ken didn’t answer and my car won’t start.”

“hey.” the guys are much closer now, one stepping around to the front of the car while the other two stand off to your right, vying for your attention.

“yeah f’course. there other people around you?” there’s some shuffling from inupi’s end, like he’s getting out of bed.

“yeah. um, how long till you can be here?”

“ten? minutes maybe.” you swallow at the answer.

“great, i’ll see you in five.”

you pull the phone from your ear slightly, turning back to face the two guys to your right, “i don’t need any help, i have a friend on the way-”

there’s only a moment between you dismissing their assistance before the guy who was at the front of your car is shoving at your shoulder and pinning you to the side of your car, one hand pressed firmly to your mouth while the other squeezes your wrist until your phone falls from your hand and kicks it away.

you shove a hand at his face, trying to reach into your bag for your taser or pocket knife or a really sharp pencil when the guy moves his hand from your mouth to your throat, squeezing hard enough you’re sure it’ll bruise, while tearing your bag from your shoulder and throwing it to sit with your phone.

the smell of alcohol comes off of him in waves when he grins, leaning down to get a good look at you, “we can ‘elp ya,” he offers, “but not for free.”

your nails bite into the skin of his wrist, the need to breath overtaking every other sense desperately while you continue to kick and claw at him.

his grip only relents at the sound of a motorcycle idling in the parking lot, but the pressure of his hand still keeps you in place by the throat, head turning to address who could see fit to interrupt this ‘exchange’. the man on the bike adjusts the mask on his face, tucks his long platinum hair to the side, seeming to ignore the eyes on him.

“diner’s closed,” one of the other guys says, stepping towards the stranger, “and we’re kinda busy here ourselves-”

he doesn’t get the chance to really say what they’re doing when the guy steps off the bike and just swings.

his fist meets the guy's cheek with a harsh thwack while mumbling, “shouldn’t touch shit that doesn’t belong to you.”

the guy holding you up releases his grip completely, leaving you to drop to the ground when your legs buckle under your weight, frozen and left only watching as the two remaining men are taken down easily by your potential savior.

when the three stay unmoving on the ground, he crouches in front of you, adjusting the mask on his face once again while taking in your shaken form.

“you okay?” you don’t trust your voice, so you only nod, “is someone on the way to get you? or d’ya need a ride?”

you nod again, “i-inui’s coming.” you manage to whisper out, unable to catch the way his eyes widen slightly as he stands to his full height.

he begins to walk away, back to his motorcycle that’s still running, but his steps hesitate when you call out, “is that you, koko?”

he doesn’t turn to face you, doesn’t address if you’re correct in your assumption, “don’t worry ‘bout all this,” he says instead, “i’ll take care of it.”

and then he’s climbing onto his bike, pulling out of the parking lot less than a minute before inupi’s pulling into it.

you’re still on the ground when he rushes towards you to see if you’re okay, stepping over the unconscious bodies with little regard. you recount what happened, which inupi dismisses since he remained on the phone until he pulled into the parking lot.

“do . . . was it really koko?” he asks, helping you up from the cement and gathering the items that spilled from your bag, offering your now cracked phone to you with a frown.

“i’m not sure . . . i never really knew him like you did, “ you reach into your car to grab the important belongings and shove them in your bag, “it didn’t look like him but . . . it sounded like him. was his eyes, i think.”

inupi looks away at this, “so what do you wanna do? ‘bout these guys?”

you swallow, keeping your stare away from the three on the floor, “he said he'd take care of it and i don’t . . . i just wanna go home.”

“okay,” inui’s hand finds it place at the small of your back, guiding you gently to his bike and helping you on, “i’ll take you home.”

when inupi walks you through the foyer, draken’s in front of you the second the door falls shut.

you can see his worry in the crease of his brow, from the way he grabs your shoulders to give you a once-over and frowning at the way your neck seems to be irritated beyond belief, “are you okay? i-i had to put shin back to bed because he woke up ‘nd i didn’t have my phone on me but when tried calling back but you didn’t answer.”

“‘m okay . . .” you assure, peeling yourself away from him, “gonna go shower . . um, inui can tell you what happened.”

your voice is so small as you speak, ken can only nod and watch you disappear into the hall before he turns to inui, who delves into the story based on what he heard over the phone and what you told him when he arrived.

you scrub your skin raw in the shower, until it almost stings from how harsh you rub. you slip out of the bathroom quietly after, sneak your way into shin’s nursery and sit by his bed for just a second to decompress, rubbing the boys back softly while he sleeps.

the peace is disrupted by ken peeking his head around the door, “c’mon, we gotta talk ‘bout it.”

you almost pout, childlike, “do we have to?”

the look he gives you offers no leeway to argue, so you sigh and press a kiss to shin’s hair before standing, deciding now isn’t the time to start an argument.

inupi’s gone when you come out to the living room, tucking your legs under yourself as you sit on the couch with ken beside you.

you feel like a child they way you explain what happened, unable to look at him as you speak. ken visibly stiffens at the mention of the potential koko coming to your aid, interrupting you mid story to remind you, “you know it doesn’t matter that he helped you, right. you’re not gonna go out lookin’ for him or mikey or whoever else.”

you frown at his words, opening your mouth to argue but he shakes his head before you can, “no, (y/n), ‘m serious. it’s too dangerous.”

you look down, defeated, but nod your head, “okay . . . fine.”

and really, you had full intention to abide by the warning. but . . . your boss called you the next day, said something about the diner being closed for the next few days because of something you couldn’t be bothered to remember and that you’d still be paid for the lost hours.

the details don’t matter, really. you drop shin off with draken as usual, avoid mentioning the fact that you have the day off, and leave with the intent to use the next free hours just . . . looking. for koko or mikey or anyone who might know anything about either of them.

it’s stupid, you think, to search and pry so openly, bouncing from bars and clubs asking anyone who’ll listen, but within three hours, you’ve gathered the following;

mikey runs some big name gang. baton? batten? something.

he has some executives that help run his gang, some of which own a few of the clubs in the shiftier parts of the city – haitani’s? you think they’re called?

the haitani’s are close to koko, who’s close to mikey, and really that’s the only thing you need.

so you continue going from club to club, under the impression that apparently the haitani’s frequent their own clubs just about every night. you hear about a nicer club towards the edge of the city, one they favor to the other’s since the liquor is stronger and the girls are prettier – but these are all things you’ve heard from other people, so who knows how true it really is.

when you make it to the club, you wonder if your sundress is something considered to be ‘underdressed’. surely the juice stain on the front isn’t working in your favor as the bouncer gives you a once-over.

“yer lookin’ for who, now?” he asks, one brow raised with his arms crossed over his chest.

if you had any sense in you, you’d probably be scared of the way he eyes you down, but growing up around idiots who don’t know when to stop messing around has really ruined your fight or flight response.

“the haitani brothers..” you reply, mocking the way he crosses his arms over his chest, “i heard they sometimes come by here, i thought maybe-”

“you thought, huh?” his eyes rake over your form, and your arms shift protectively around yourself instead of mocking him, “well i think you should get outta here ‘fore you get hurt.”

“i just need to know if they’re here-”

he turns away from you with a hand pressed to the earpiece sitting in his ear, looking into the building before he turns to face you again with a squinted glare, “you sure they’re the right one? yeah. yeah. right. i’ll send ‘em up.”

he gestures towards the inside of the building, nodding his head, “straight ahead, up the stairs.”

with those instructions, you head towards the back of the club and find a set of stairs, separated by a velvet rope with another bouncer standing in front of it. as if expecting your arrival, he unhooks the rope from its place and steps aside, gesturing for you to follow the stairs up.

at the top of the stairs sits a closed door and when you push it open, peeking around it to get a look inside, you see a nice couch with two guys perched on them - one with a girl who you can assume is from the club sitting in his lap, while the other sips from the drink in his hand, eyeing you the second you’re past the threshold.

the one with the girl in his lap openly squeezes her ass, grinning at you when you look away quickly. he leans forward, whispering something in her ear, and she stands with a pout, practically glaring at you as she leaves.

the door clicks shut behind her, and you’re left in awkward silence with the thrum of music playing under your feet.

after a moment, the one with a drink in hand tilts his head at you, “what’s a pretty thing like you doin’, askin’ for us by name?”

“‘m lookin’ for koko . . .” you voice is smaller than you remember, making you almost cringe in on yourself at the way they eat it up.

“why’re ya lookin’ for our koko?”

“w-we’re friends.” you stutter out, “i just. . . need to talk to him.”

“where’d all that confidence go?” the one who had the girl in his lap tsks as he stands, “we heard you over his comms, you were practically demanding to talk to us - now you’re a stuttering lil’ mess. what happened between now and then?”

he stops in front of you, head tilted as he looms over you, “maybe you should get to know us first. ‘m ran, that’s rindou. thought we knew ‘bout all the nice things koko keeps hidden away.”

though he isn’t speaking to you for the last part, his eyes don’t leave you while they rake over your face, over your body. he reaches to cup your cheek, almost pouting at the way you flinch away from the contact with a frown.

“i’m just lookin’ for koko.” you settle with, leaning away from him.

ran actually does pout at this, bottom lip jutted out. “you’re tellin’ me we can’t have some fun before he gets here?”

“that’s exactly what they’re sayin’, actually.” someone says from behind you, and you jump when you’re being pulled away from ran by your upper arm. a glance behind you reveals the man you’ve been waiting for - koko, with his hair pulled neatly to the side and a scowl on his face.

ran grins at the sight of him, clapping his hands as if he wasn’t just making you uncomfortable. rindou just clicks his tongue.

“s’a shame you got here so quick. thought we’d have some time to get to know ‘em.”

“as if you’d try.” koko accuses, fingers digging into your skin, “you know he’d be pissed if you did anything.”

“who said anything ‘bout trying anything. just wanna know who’s got our dear boss so worked up all the time.”

instead of giving him the satisfaction of a reply, koko fully faces you with his eyes narrowing to further slits, “you must be crazy to come here, even crazier to ask around for us in the first place.”

“i need to see mikey,” you frown, “was the only way i could think of since it was you that showed up the other day, right?”

you can see the way he clenches his jaw, muscles tight, “doesn’t matter. do you know how dangerous it was for you to ask around for us? mikey isn’t someone you can just see anyways-”

“why can’t they?” rindou, seemingly the only sensible guy in the room, questions, “they wanna talk to ‘im, he’d only be one call away.”

“you know why.” koko snaps, heavy weight of his glare moving from you to the male, “we can’t just-”

ran’s phone rings from his pocket, effectively silencing koko mid sentence, and when he pulls it out, he waves it in front of koko with a sharp-toothed grin, “speak of the devil.”

you open your mouth to ask, maybe even demand the phone from ran as he answers, but a sharp squeeze to your arm from koko leaves you quiet - a silent warning heard loud and clear.

don’t say a word.

ran’s eyes rake over your form as he answers, licking his lips like you could be his next meal, “yeah? he just got here. no, i would never! i’m offended you think i would,” whatever mikey’s saying has him grinning like a schoolgirl, gaze moving from you to koko, “if ya wanted to talk to him, why didn’t you call him. yeah, whatever, whatever, fine.”

he offers the phone to koko, who grimaces at the device.

“wants to talk to you.” ran elaborates, as if the implication wasn’t clear enough.

koko snatches the phone from him with a glare, letting go of your arm to turn away from the two of you, “hello?”

you can barely make out the sound of someone on the other line, lip pulled between your teeth when you see how koko’s face pinches in distaste for whatever mikey could be saying.

“are you sure that’s a good idea. no, that's not what i'm saying at all - okay, fine. yeah, i’ll take ‘em there. sure. bye.”

he hangs up with a scowl, tossing ran back his phone as he turns to reface you, “come on, we’re gonna go somewhere.”

“to mikey?” you ask, hope leaking off your tongue.

he doesn’t reply, opening the door and gesturing for you to exit the room when you don’t immediately begin moving.

you offer a small wave goodbye to ran and rindou, despite the fact that there was no pleasure in meeting them in the first place, and you miss the glare koko sends them once you’re walking down the steps. koko leads you out of the club, guiding you by the upper arm through the sea of people until you’re stepping into the cool night air outside.

though you’re no longer in the middle of the thrum of people, koko’s grasp on your arm doesn’t leave until he’s stopping in front of a sleek black car. a cadillac, maybe? mercedes? you’ve never been good with vehicles.

he opens the door for you, though, and you have enough sense to mumble a small thanks as you climb in.

when he enters through the driver’s door, he pauses for a minute, letting the silence wash over the two of you while gripping the steering wheel.

“it really is stupid of you to come around here, ” he says finally, still looking straight ahead while you move to carefully pull your seatbelt on, “i shouldn’t even take you to him, you know. i should just take you home.”

“you don’t have room to talk about stupid decisions,” you snap in time with the click of the buckle, “inupi and i have mourned the loss of people we care about who are still alive and well, that’s not fair.”

you see the way his jaw clenches, knuckles turning white from how hard he holds the steering wheel.

“we made sacrifices for you-”

“i made sacrifices too,” you frown, thinking about the lost opportunities to raise your son, “and i just want five minutes of talking to mikey. is that too much to ask?”

“you have other people to look out for instead, “ koko clicks his tongue, grip relenting as he looks over to you, “just remember that you asked for this.”

the weight of his words settle heavy in the air as he puts the car in reverse and pulls out of the parking lot.

the car ride is silent aside from the soft music that plays from the radio, turned to low volume. koko doesn’t move to break the silence, and you don’t have it in you to disrupt the tension that builds, anxiety creeping under your skin until it pops into goosebumps on the surface when he pulls in front of a large apartment building.

“you’re gonna go to the top floor,” koko explains, not looking over at you, “he should already be there.”

“should?” you parrot, nerves catching up with you.

“if not already then soon.” he clicks the button to unlock the doors for you, and your breath stutters at the sound, fingers dancing around the door handle.

“okay . . . thank you, koko. it’s . . . it is good to see you again. inupi would be happy to know you’re okay.”

you don’t stay long enough to hear the way he inhales sharply, don’t see the way he tenses from the words. koko doesn’t wait for you to enter the building before he drives off, and you don’t look back as you push open the doors.

the lobby is cold, you note dully, and it must be the reason your hairs stand on end when you find your way to the elevators. you wrap your arms around yourself after stepping inside of them, pressing the button to the top floor and willing your heart to not beat out of your chest.

you realize just how much money mikey must have when the doors open to a penthouse - the entire floor being taken up as the apartment. you slowly step inside, sliding off your shoes by elevator and peek around inside the open area, spotting a living room, kitchen, and dining room all in the space. there’s a hall that cuts off towards the right of the room and you wonder if that’s where the bedroom(s?) and bathroom are.

it feels wrong, almost, being here alone. though the room is definitely well furnished (the couch itself looks like it costs more than your broken down car), it feels . . . devoid of life. like maybe it’s only a place for rest - not a home. there’s no comfort of connection anywhere in the building, no vulnerability in personal property. you make your way further into the living room, eyeing the art hanging on the wall as if it could mean something to you.

“i really thought he’d take you home.” you jump at the sound of a voice, whirling around to face whoever could be speaking.

your mouth dries at the sight.

mikey, but surely not your mikey, with his hair cropped short and paler than anything you remember, with bags under his eyes and frame thinner than what could be considered healthy, steps into view from the hall, hands in the pockets of his jeans.

words die on your lips when he stops beside you, leaning back as if really taking in the painting you were eyeballing, head tilting, “heard you wanted to talk to me. must’ve been important if you went through all that trouble just to find me.”

you don’t know what possesses you to take the first swing, to hit at his shoulder and his chest with tears welling in your eyes, but you do.

and by some miracle, he lets you. it probably helps your hits are weak, with no intention to really harm - only needing an outlet for the emotions you’d been harboring for four fucking years.

“why didn’t you call me,” you whisper when you’re finished with your barrage of hits, letting him guide you to the couch and sit you down on it, placing himself on the other end, “i-i wrote to you, i texted, i called, i looked for four years, mikey, and i got nothing in return. do you even know what for?”

when you look at him, his gaze is set straight ahead to the wall across from the two of you, to the flatscreen tv that’s been off since you’d arrived - and who knows how long before that.

“i’ve been busy.” he offers instead of answering, stare unwavering despite the way you frown and sigh out your disappointments.

"too busy to respond? to even acknowledge my existence? what kind of fucking answer is that!?" you’re heated all over again by his lack of concession, at the way his eyes don’t leave the screen of the tv until you’re standing up from the couch with your arms out beside you, then tucking them into yourself and turning away from him, “koko was right, he should’ve just taken me home-”

“why’d you come?” he asks instead, gaze finally moving from the tv to you.

the question makes you pause, dig your nails into your arms as if that could somehow ground you.

“i . . . we have a son.” you say finally, not turning to face him as the words leave your lips.

you’re met with a beat of silence before he says, “i know.”

i know. i know. i know, i know i know i know.

he knew.

“you know?” you repeat, turning to face him, suddenly quieter than before.

“that you had a son,” he clarifies, face unreadable as he continues, “wasn’t sure if he was mine.”

“how?” you press, legs buckling under your weight and leaving you to fall back down to the couch.

“we . . . i’ve had koko do check-ins on everyone, every now and then,” he looks away at the admittance, “to make sure their lives are going well. did you know mitsuya’s a designer now? hakkai’s even modeled a few of his designs, and chifuyu and kazutora own a pet shop together, too” he’s deflecting, you can tell from the way he keeps his stare even and away from your own.

“i do know,” you snap, “because they visit when they can. they want to see their nephew when they’re able to come by.”

the way you bite your words out should sting, should hurt in a way he can’t place, but they don’t. he’s done this to himself, he knows, he’s just reaping what he’s sown.

“why’d you leave?” you whisper out, “w-why’d you just disappear? why didn’t you respond to me? why did it take me getting hurt for you guys to make yourself known?”

he opens his mouth to reply, to say anything, but he doesn’t have an answer that will satisfy you. he knows that, and that is enough reason for him to keep his mouth shut.

“have you seen him?” you’re still whispering, appalled he couldn’t assume your son was his - as if you didn’t pick the name shin for him. mikey shakes his head and it has you pulling out your phone with shaking hands, shoving it in his face until the lock screen photo of you, your son, and draken glare brightly back at him.

his gaze moves from you to your phone, eyes scanning over the photo before they flit over to your face.

“i didn’t know he was ours.” he defends, looking away, and you push the phone further into his face so he can’t escape it.

“i’m telling you now that he is. “ you’re leaning into his space now, emphasize the need to look at the photo with another shake, and when he looks at you, really looks at you, his eyes trail from your own to your lips, to the bruises that marr your neck from the night prior.

he tips your chin up to get a better look at them, setting you with a look when you offer some resistance, “did those guys do this to you?” you nod, “they won’t touch you again. no one will.”

you frown at the implication, pushing his hand away with the hand not holding your phone, and he grabs that hand by the wrist when he spots the bruises decorating the skin there, taking it in with a still expression.

“i can take care of you guys,” he settles, “make sure you never need or want anything. you won’t have to work at that shitty diner anymore. our kid would have anything he could ever desire.”

his hand comes up to cup your cheek, wipes the stray tear that falls from your eyes, and against your better judgment, you lean into his touch.

“i’m not asking that of you,” you explain, closing your eyes and willing any other tears that want to fall away, “you don’t even know his name.” you remind him, opening your eyes and standing when your phone starts to ring. you wipe at your face hastily, looking at the caller id, and only get a glance of the name ken before mikey’s pulling you down into his lap.

you make a noise of disagreement, phone falling from your grasp to the couch beside the two of you from the sudden movement.

“tell me his name.” he says, one hand still holding your wrist while the other keeps you in place by the hip.

he practically demands it, eyes boring into your own as they search for the answer.

“shin,” you reply after a moment, pulling your lip between your teeth, “i named him shin.”

the hand at your hip grips it tighter, fingers digging into the flesh until it almost hurts.

“after?”

“shinichiro, yeah.” you don't know if it’s really necessary to clarify, but you don’t have a second to think about it when he suddenly surges forward, capturing your lips with his own.

you falter for only a second before you’re returning the kiss with fervor, the hand not being held by mikey gripping the front of his shirt to pull him closer.

“i will take care of you guys,” he promises when he pulls away from your lips to press his own to your chin, trailing down to your jaw and settling at the junction of your throat, peppering kisses at the free expanse of skin until it’s decorated pretty with hickies.

his fingers dance under the hem of your dress, pulling you flush against him until your senses are full of nothing but, “can give ‘nother, you guys’ll have everything you could ever want.” he continues, the hand moving under your dress skimming across the tops of your thighs and pressing against your stomach.

you whine, quiet and high in the back of your throat that leaves him grinding against you, hand moving from your stomach to your bare hip to guide you. he’s saying so many things, whispering so many assurances in your ear, and for a second, it’s too much.

too overstimulating and happening too fast, but the way he holds you is so familiar, so comforting and warm and god you’ve missed him so fucking much. your phone buzzes to your right from the couch, and you pull away for a second to see it light up, see your brother’s contact pop up in that short amount of time before he’s forcing your attention back to him with a pinch to your hip, fingers pressing into your cheeks to turn your head back towards him.

“eyes on me,” he demands, “keep your eyes on me.”

#salmon rowe #mikey sano x reader #sano mikey x reader #mikey x reader #sano x reader #mikey sano #sano mikey #manjiro x reader #manjiro sano x reader #sano manjiro x reader #x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader

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wood-white-writer · 8 months

Text

"Didn't mean to make your heart Blue" || [6/...]

— OPLA!Buggy x F!Reader

“On sunny days I go out walking, I end up on a tree-lined street. I look up at the gaps of sunlight. I miss you more than anything."

— Mitski, "Francis Forever"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live action) x F!Reader

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends. The crew arrives at the Baratie, and several things go down in a matter of hours. Decisions are made, both stupid and not so stupid. Old and new faces come back into your life, and unable to deal with the events in Orange Town, you handle it in the worst best way possible: through the bottle.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, alcoholic indulgence on a catastrophic scale (drink responsibly ppl), blackouts, morally grey reader, violence, mentions of everyone (marine, fish people, pirates, etc.) having a past beef with Reader/"Cross-Hairs", Buggy POV in the end,

A/N: So, since this chapter was delayed, I think it compensates due to the fact that it is approximately 7k words long. The chapter jumps a little between the events of the Baratie, but there's a reason for that: the reason being that the Reader is shitfaced for most of the time during this chapter. Also, shout out to @ay0nha for putting up with my rambles during this period, really appreciate it XD

It hurts. Everything hurts. That’s the first thing he feels.

His feet, his back, his torso, but especially his head. It’s like a hamster is running on a wheel inside the bones in his skull, squeaking, chirping, driving him insane from the inside.

The wheel is pounding, and pounding until all he wants is to chuck that fucking hamster into–

“Hey, he’s waking up!”

Shanks? Why is he in his head? Fuck, he takes it back. The hamster can stay, rent-free, for as long as it fucking wants to, as long as it isn’t fucking Shanks—

“Buggy?”

On second thoughts, that voice doesn’t strike any sense of irritation with him. In fact, he finds it comforting, like the morning sun shining atop the ship deck. He doesn’t mind listening to that.

“Buggy?”

His eyes open, and he thinks he's seeing the sun for the first time. The sun and the moon, in fact, at the same time. Golden, blinding, warm, and cold, but he wants to watch them until his vision turns white and all sense of sight abandons him.

It’ll suck to be blind, but damn, what a hell of a way to go.

The more he stares, however, the more everything else falls back into place. He realizes it’s not suns he’s staring at, but two sharp eyes and a concerned face that makes him feel just as warm.

He’s in a bed, he finally discovers. There’s a pillow under his head, a fresh sheet up until his midsection which strangely smells of vinegar, inside a room he just now remembers is the Oro Jackson’s de-facto ‘infirmary’ which really is just an old storage space that was refurnished when they first got the ship.

There’s something wrapped around his head, tight but not too tight that it’s squeezing. It’s been done by precise and sturdy hands; a professional, someone who knows what they’re doing.

He blinks once, then twice, and everything around him finally settles. Including everyone perched around the bed.

“Ah, Buggy, my lad!” It’s hard not to recognize the booming voice of his captain, who proceeds to lean over him with his hands pressed around his biceps until the massive mustache trickles his chin. “Thought you were a goner for a moment!”

He kind of wishes he was one because the strength of Gol D. Roger is not to be underestimated. His ribs squeeze and it's hard to breathe, but out of respect for his captain, all that leaves his throat is a guttural groan that he hopes conveys the message clearly enough.

Gol D. promptly removes himself from his poor apprentice with his hands raised, and when he steps back, Shanks takes his place next to the bed. “Gods, Buggy! What were you thinking? You could’ve been killed! Rayleigh said you were lucky it was just a concussion!”

That’s when it dawns on him. Riiight, there was a scuttle. Some asshole pirates trying to ambush them, they picked the wrong fucking targets. Some … guy was flying over him? Did that happen, or was it just a fever dream?

He remembers kicking someone in the balls, and then … and then …

Lightning. Making its way for him as the darkness embraced his vision. A line of gold, straight as a sword, narrowing in on him.

Did it catch him before the darkness did?

He hopes so.

“Lay off me, will ‘ya!” he shouts at his friend, trying to get up. However, the fucking hamster wheel in his head keeps spinning until he settles back down against the pillow. “I was doing good!”

“Yeah, until you weren’t!” Shanks disputes and grabs his fellow apprentice by the collar of his sleeve. “I told you to fucking move, but it’s like you spaced out! She had to carry you all the way back here with your head all bleeding!”

Carry him?

He glances at you, finally. You’re sitting there, hunched slightly over the bed with those eyes looking at him, and he’s thinking you fucking carried him? It’s not that he’s ashamed, not at all, but if anything, he was always hoping the roles were switched.

He’d be the one carrying you. With your strength, he imagined it would be quite the weight to uphold, but he would do it. For you, he would move the seas if he could, Devil Fruit or not.

“Buggy, are you alright?”

You’re the one talking this time. Not the captain, nor Shanks, just you. The lighting is here, and he feels his skin prick. It’s electric. Cold. Warm. All and nothing combined. He could listen to it – feel it – for hours, days, maybe even years without ever growing weary of it.

He puts on his best brave face and scoffs, forcing his arms to cross themselves despite the surge of aches that rush through his body doing so. “Of course I’m alright! I’m Buggy! I bounce back, always!”

“Still,” your hands fall on top of his, and he feels his body freeze. “I was worried.”

“’Worried’?” Shanks cackles and gestures to you with his thumb over his shoulder. “You should’ve seen the damage she left behind. The entire place was smithereens, I tell you, Buggy! She knocked over those assholes like frickin’ chessboard pieces!”

“What did I always tell you?” Gol D. slams a hand on top of your shoulder, knocking you slightly forward. “She’s got eyes sharp enough to cut through steel, and pirates too, apparently.”

You laugh awkwardly. “I didn’t cut through them, really. I just … knocked them a little over.”

Shanks cackles. “Don’t be humble. You should’ve seen the guy who knocked you out. I swear, none of his bones were where they were supposed to be. He won’t be walking, or doing much of anything, ever again.”

Buggy can imagine it, but also not. He looks at you now, and he sees his concerned friend with those kind eyes that contain both the sun and the moon. He’s always known you’re strong – the strongest person he knows of save for his captain, but not unkind. Not cruel. Not sadistic.

Yet, if what Shanks just said carries any weight, it confirms what he’s always known.

You’re a beast, and beasts only follow their prime instincts. They don’t allow others to harm what or who they consider theirs.

And it means that you consider him yours.

Maybe in a different way than he’d prefer, maybe in a way that’s different from the kind he harbors towards you, but it still confirms he’s yours.

He will never want to find himself on the opposite side of that. Of you. Never you.

When he looks at you again, looks down at where your hand is pressed on top of his, he takes it in his own.

“I’m fine,” he finally says, his lip tugging in what is supposed to be a smile. “Remind me not to get on your bad side, though.”

You chuckle softly, and he smiles. Fuck, how can he not? He remembers it all so clearly. The way your dimples are shaped, the length of your hair, the soft tint of your lips.

“You? Never.” You finally say. “Never you”

---

You reflect on how it's weird that some things change whereas others don't.

Flowers prosper and bloom and die. The sun ascends, stays up for a few hours, then descends back into the horizon.

Friendships grow strong, stay strong, then they aren't.

Some things change, some don't.

Baratie being among the latter.

It's bright enough inside to momentarily blind you, just like it was a little over ten years ago. Save for new faces with the employees and some design choices, the overall place has stayed the same.

There are people there of prestigious backgrounds - both pirate and not - and you think of how receptive the restaurant must've been to make both parts come together without any regular scuttles.

A neutral ground for all to come and enjoy the feast. Well, that is the principle, but not everyone abides by it.

It’s been a while since you last visited the establishment, and last time, you were banned for life.

Frankly, you don’t recall much of the events; too drunk on rum at the time.

What you do remember is that it involved a few broken bottles of Baratie’s finest wine, some mashed-up furniture, and cutlery, a rival captain who wouldn’t take a “fucking get lost” for a “no”, and it ended with you standing surrounded by a bunch of broken bodies of your own making.

Needless to say, Zeff was pissed.

More than pissed, actually. He was fuming.

He probably still is.He has a thing for grudges if he’s still alive.

Maybe … Just maybe the old man’s chewed off something more than his leg and kicked the bucket? That’d be a sight to see considering he only has one remaining foot.

"My name is Sanji. What can I get for you?"

The waiter - Sanji - is fine, not going to lie. A good fighter, too, if his little display seconds ago is a testament to that. A bit too young for your preference, with a nose too small, and hair too bright and blonde. Not quite blue colorful enough.

All in all, not a bad look at all. Just for the aesthetics, though. A solid 7/10, you conclude.

"One of everything, please!" Luffy requests enthusiastically.

For whatever reason, Sanji does not seem to share your general affinity for the restaurant. That’s odd. Most people who work here tend to boast about their occupation in the famed restaurant.

Though, if you have to make a guess, Zeff is likely a contributing factor behind that disdain. He’s tough on people, even tougher if he likes someone.

As discontented as Sanji seems, however, it does not keep him from trying to withhold his flirtatious demeanor with Nami. A Casanova, it looks like. Funny.

"Waiter, can I get a beer and something for my friends?" Zoro asks, fed up with the one-sided dalliance going on between your shipmate and the waiter.

"Two beers!” Usopp promptly adds. “though, I usually have three."

"And one milk!" Luffy chimes in.

"Three beers and a milk," Sanji notes. His eyes land on you, and that signature smile falls to his lips. "And for the ladies?"

You’re already here, you think to yourself. Why not make the most of it? For nostalgia’s sake.

"A bottle of Baratie's Finest," you request, your chin resting in your palm. "Not the kind you keep for customers, though. Pick one from Zeff's private stash, if you can afford to smuggle it past his bushy nose?"

"A classy beverage for a classy lady, I see." A mischievous glimmer shines in his eyes and smile. "Although that stash is off-limits, what kind of a man would I be if I refused a lady her desired beverage?”

You tilt your head a fraction to the side. "I'm sure he won't mind. At his age, he needs to watch his liver."

"That is true,"

Quite frankly, everything else evades your attention the second the waiter arrives with your order. Sanji brings you your meals, and your pricey bottle of Baratie's Finest, and it’s the Red Apple edition.

Perfect.

You eat, and eat, and drink, and then drink some more, not even stopping to concern yourself with the price tag.

The food at the Baratie's has not been in decline when it comes to quality above all else. It's delicious, and not a lot of places have earned that kind of claim in your life.

The food is good, but the drinks are ethereal.

One glass turns into two, and two promptly becomes three. So forth, and so forth. Anything to dull the tightness lodged in your chest.

A tightness that has not left you alone in the past couple of weeks.

You've developed a pretty good tolerance over the years, and after several more units, you begin to feel the tickle on the edge of your hands. Baratie’s Finest indeed.

After five, the feeling settles on the tip of your spine.

After seven, you start to wonder what went wrong. It's a dangerous area to indulge in, especially if liquor is involved, but you don’t stop.

What went wrong?

What did you do wrong?

In another life, you would've traveled the world with them, doing nothing but drinking, fighting, exploring together.

Instead, you’re here, drinking with a crew yet still feeling like the loneliest asshole in the world. It’s not your crew.

You lose a smidgen of focus, and in the grand specter of things, focus is something you could do well with less off.

You can afford to think less, feel less, and know less. Life has been full of ups and downs, and quite frankly, you've grown weary of it all.

Fuck, maybe Luffy’s onto something? Maybe you are sad?

… Nah.

Once Zoro orders another beer, you go as far as to share your bottle with him. His face scrunches at the taste and he coughs several times, but he admits that it’s good.

As you sit there on the edge of the couch, sipping your beverage and tasting your food, Sanji arrives to collect the bill. You know Luffy doesn’t have a berry to his name yet, and so you wonder how long it'll take before Zeff notices.

More specifically, how long it’ll take him before he realizes he's missing something from his private collection?

“Who the hell is Monkey D. Luffy?!”

Speak of the Chief… and he shall appear.

This time, you do not interfere when Luffy attempts to bargain for his lack of cash. You simply sit back and observe.

As much as Luffy tries, he does not have the words or mind suited for this kind of business yet. It’s Capitalism at its finest.

“You eat, you pay!”

Thoughts and dreams can only get you so far in life, but at the Baratie, it’s coin.

When Zeff grabs Luffy by the front of his shirt, the chief's eyes turn to you, and holy hell, is he furious.

“And what in the blazing hell are you doing here?!"

“Zeff,” You greet him and raise your beverage his way, a tilted smirk on your face. "It’s been too long."

"Not long enough! I thought I told you to get fucking lost last time? The damages you did cost a fortune!"

“In my defense, it was the other guys that started it.”

He gives you such a dirty look that his jaws clench. “Don’t give a shit. Why are you here?”

You twirl the bottle around in your hand. "Just enjoying the ambiance, as always. I was in the area, and so how could I pass up the chance to try your scrumptious meals again? Or drinks, for that matter?"

On cue, you raise your - or rather his - bottle closer up to him.

It’s stupid, the rational part of your brain argues. One does not fuck around with the Chief of the Baratie, but among the few joys you have left in life, this remains one of them.

His eyes narrow in on the bottle and there he is.In the blink of an eye, he snaps it out of your hand with such fast precision that you're almost caught off-guard.

Zeff narrows in on the mostly empty flask like it's personally insulted him and his entire lineage. “Where did you get this?"

"It was on the menu."

"It sure as shit was not! How could you—" He freezes like a thought suddenly dawned on him, and if a man can become purple from anything other than oxygen deprivation, Zeff's current mood is the closest thing to it. "Sanji. Why that snot-nosed, little—! ... When I get my damn hands on him."

It seems that whatever vendetta Zeff has towards his employee, it outweighs the one he has for you tenfold, which says something. Without another word, he yanks Luffy by the scruff and all but drags him with him to the kitchen.

Ordinarily, you would’ve intervened on behalf of your captain, but with Zeff now preoccupied, it’s your chance to rob the bar of a few more beverages.

And in your dictionary, “a few” is the equivalent of “a shitton”.

"Wow," Usopp murmurs with a low whistle. "That guy really hates your guts."

"What are you talking about? I’m his favorite customer." You raise what remains in your glass to them. “Anyone want another one?”

"I do," Nami relents.

Zoro laughs, probably for the first time since you’ve met him. "Now you're talking."

Maybe, just maybe, you’re beginning to like these people.

With a couple more drinks, maybe you’ll be able to tell.

———

“You know, I kind— I kinda assumed you were an asshole when we first met?”

Usopp’s struggling to stand on his feet, legs bent slightly forward as he makes a half-assed attempt at ordering another drink. You can’t tell if the bartender is electively ignoring him or not, and truth be told, you don't blame the guy if the former applies.

Between the two of you, you’re more adept when it comes to dealing with liquor. Sure, your lips are a little looser now and the bright lights are starting to hurt your eyes, but all in all, you’re not even half as drunk as you want to be.

Seriously, fuck me sometimes. You just had to go all out when you were younger. Days and nights spent pouring bottle after bottle left your liver hardened rather than weakened.

Now, because of the high tolerance you stupidly developed, it's come here to bite you in the ass and keep you from getting wrecked.

“Oh?” Your sarcasm couldn't be any more discernible than it is now as you eye your crew mate. “What made you reach that conclusion?”

Usopp twirls around, horribly off-balanced, and slaps a hand over your shoulder.

A little too personal for your liking, but you let it slide for now.

“I mean, for starters, you—,” he hiccups. “You always have that look about you. Like someone just pissed in your ale.”

You give him an unimpressed but vaguely piqued once-over. “Descriptive. Go on,”

“And soso— And so I and the guys are wondering if you’re like that because some clown broke your heart or—,” he hiccups again. “Or some— something? Did he piss in your ale?”

You shrug his hand off at once. You don’t want to think about him, now least of all. "No.”

Not even a second later, his arm his back over your shoulder and he leans closer. It's probably meant as a comforting gesture, but given how absolutely wasted he looks, you perceive it with a grain of salt.

"Y-You can tell the great Capt— I mean, the Great Usopp, alright? We've all been there before, I—I'm ssssure. I mean, Zoro doesn't strike me as much of a ladies' man, but he's probably got stories, too."

The bartender finally stops by and leaves a beer bottle in front of you on the table, completely ignoring your companion, and disappears to make his next rounds.

You take the flask and flick the cork off with your thumb. "Well, if you really want to help, —"

You turn around so that your back hits the bar counter, twirl Ussop around with the guidance of your hand and shove him lightly towards where Nami and Zoro are sitting. "— Talk to the others first about their heartbreaks."

If he wants to object, he's too drunk to for it. Instead, he recollects his limited stance and all but wobbles over to the corner where your other companions are seated.

He’s their problem now, but it’ll be an interesting display.

You recline against the bar counter to chug your beverage in peace when a voice suddenly speaks up from next to you.

“I thought you were retired.”

With how loud the music is, it might have slipped your notice completely. Then again, the owner of said voice has always had that thing about him.

He could whisper, and the entire room would’ve heard.

You glance up at your side, and you’re halfway tempted to smile when you see who it is.

“It’s been a while, Hawk-Eyes.”

Everything from the feather on his hat to the cross around his neck and the pointy way his beard is trimmed has stayed the same. Not a scar, a bruise, or blemish to spot on him.

In ten years, he looks to have aged only one. Some people are fortunate in terms of youth, and you would definitely consider Dracule Mihawk one of them.

“Cross-Hairs.” He inclines his head to you, a silent courtesy reserved only for those whose company he tolerates. “I believed you abandoned your life behind the mast years ago.”

You take another generous gulp from your bottle before you respond. "So did I, but life finds a way, doesn't it?"

"Indeed." He peeks over his shoulder to where your companions are seated, his countenance less than impressed. Then again, that's just his face by default, so hard to tell with him. "And last we met, you were a Captain."

"Last time we met, you almost cut my right arm off." For emphasis, you pull back your sleeve to show off the straight scar that separates your upper arm from the rest. It's faded, old, and never noticeable unless you decide to wear anything short-sleeved, but it's there all the same.

He doesn't apologize. Of course, he wouldn't. Instead, he raises his sparse glass of wine to you. "Nothing personal."

You raise your bottle to him in turn. "Of course not,"

Clink!

You drink your respective beverages in companionable silence. However, even with your halfway inebriated state of mind, you can't help but think of the reasons for his presence.

You have your suspicions, and you're not shy about voicing them.

"This isn't your usual scenery." You say. “What makes one of the great Warlords of the Sea seek out a place such as this? Business or pleasure?"

"Business," he answers curtly, as though he'd prefer to do anything but. "I'm looking for a captain."

“It’s not Shanks, I take it?”

“No, it’s not. It’s a captain by the name of Luffy.”

It doesn't surprise you. It should, but it doesn’t.

The lengths the vice-admiral is willing to go to retrieve his grandson, which apparently includes hiring a Warlord to do so, doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. Unbreakable willpower is a family trait, after all, if you've learned anything from Luffy.

It wouldn’t suffice with a gun; he had to send the entire fucking arsenal.

Still, at least it’s Mihawk of all people. It shouldn’t be a source of relief, but had it been anyone else, be it Kuro or Axe-hand or Bu-...

Your fingers subconsciously dig into the fragile, empty bottle you’re holding.

The point is, had it been anyone else, you would've intervened. You have intervened, several times by now, but not tonight.

Tonight, you're here to drink and forget, then drink some more. You don’t have the sobriety to worry about much of anything anymore.

"Garp must truly be at his wit's end if he employs you for his endeavors." Once you retrieve the bottle at your disposal, you pluck off the cap and swirl it lazily in your hand. The lights from the bar dance around the transparently brown rim, like a shooting star with no exit and no entrance to the rest of the universe. Forever stuck. "Seems excessive to send you of all people after something so seemingly simple."

"From what I've heard, this particular quarry is something of a wildcard."

"If you’re here, I’m sure of it."

Mihawk tilts his chin up, eyeing you curiously in your peripheral vision. "Are you saying that you're acquainted with this Luffy?"

"I'm saying no such thing. It's just mere speculations on my part." Another fistful of alcohol travels down your esophagus. "You're only employed when it's truly serious, and the vice-admiral is known for only getting involved in those kinds of matters. It adds up, is all I’m saying."

“I hardly consider it dire. It's more a means of killing some time on my part." He does not take his eyes off of you, and even in your current state, you can tell that something is brewing beneath those sharp eyes. "However, if said captain has you in his arsenal, then I feel like some investigation is warranted. After all, the Captain of the Cross-Haired pirates is not particularly known for her tendency to submit to others."

You quirk an eyebrow at him and circle your finger around the bottle rim, pondering on the subject yet not biting at the metaphorical carrot he dangles in front of you. "Technically, it’s just like you said: I'm retired, and the Cross-Haired pirates are no more. I’d think most people are aware of that.”

"The Marines believe otherwise,” he counters calmly. “The Cross-haired pirates may be disbanded, but their captain’s bounty remains on the posters. The vice-admiral was quite adamant that, while he wants the boy alive, he’d prefer it if you weren’t."

“I see.” The vice-admiral should learn to take a fucking number. “Tell me, have you elected a means of execution, or is it the dealer's choice?"

"I recall he mentioned something along the lines of wanting your head on a spike."

"Crude."

"I agree."

"Then," you raise your glass. "Am I to have my last drink here tonight?"

He shakes his head. "No, I'm here for the boy and nothing else."

You'd expect him to be forward with his line of questions; demand you just give Luffy up and be done with it, not side-stepping the subject like he's doing now.

If he suspects something, he'll sniff it out like a bloodhound until he gets what he's searching for, regardless of how many cards or people fall around him. You’ve not exactly been subtle about your affiliations with his quarry, something you’ll berate yourself for come morning, but it all depends on how this plays out now.

"I won’t give you the answer you seek. You’ll have to do that on your own.”

You're not friends, but you're not necessarily foes either.

For as long as you’ve known the swordsman, Mihawk's only ever had a beef with Shanks for reasons undisclosed even to you. Even after you parted ways with your red-haired crew mate, Mihawk never seemed to have anything personal against you despite the rather brutal nature of your previous encounter.

If anything, there's a certain level of respect veiled between you, one former pirate to another semi-former one, and it’s something you hope he'll honor just this once.

To your relief, he decides to not push the matter, but the interest lingers in his eyes.

It's not easy to notice, but you make it a habit to take note of limited details. "The boy must be something special to have earned your loyalty like this, Cross-Hairs."

"I suppose you'll have to find out for yourself."

"Perhaps so," he concedes.

You chug the rest of your drink in one go, put the empty bottle on the tabletop in the space between you, and push yourself off the counter. "For what it's worth, I wish you good fortune with your endeavor. However, I’ll warn you; if anything happens to the kid, I'll get involved.”

“Duly noted.” Once again, he dips his head to you. "And Cross-Hairs,"

"Hmmm?"

You glance at him from over your shoulder, but his gaze is fixated on something else this time. Something on the other side of the bar, to the borders of the waters. If he sees anything, you can't tell what it is, and he doesn’t share.

Not explicitly.

"There is unrest brewing in the seas," he finally reveals, casually as if he's discussing the current state of the weather. "I'd suggest you keep your feet dry for now, at your convenience."

You don't know what he speaks of, but whatever it is, you'll follow. He is not a man who prides himself on his capacity to proclaim falsehood. If he tells you that the sun is green, you'll believe it, and you make it a habit not to believe in a lot of people.

That applies to this warning too.

"I'll see you around, Hawk-Eyes."

You need another drink.

———

You slip in and out of consciousness a couple of times throughout the night, never coming to the same places twice, with a belly full of rum, beer, and whatever else with enough alcoholic percentage to knock out a horse.

At one point, you're in the restaurant munching on some bread rolls.

At another, you're puking your guts out in the bathroom stalls.

At the third, you're chugging even more liquor straight out of the bottle while a bunch of people cheer you on.

The circle goes on and on and on until it spins out of control like a zoetrope. Faces flash in front of you, one after the other, never the same two times in a row.

It's alright, you tell yourself, as long as you forget.

You forget about blue eyes, blue hair, and red noses.

You forget about Gol D. Roger and the time you spent on his crew.

You forget it all, if only for a few hours.

Next time you come to, you're still miraculously standing on your feet. You’re currently in the kitchen on the Merry, and currently listening to Nami telling a ridiculous story about how Zoro challenged Dracule Mihawk to a duel.

What a funny story.

In fact, it’s so funny and so outlandish that you can't help but snort. Since when has Nami been the kind of person to tell jokes?

Maybe Usopp's tendencies have rubbed off on the standoffish young woman, or maybe she's smoked something along with her drinks?

Fuck, you have to ask her where she got the stuff.

It takes a few moments of awkward silence until you realize that no one is joking, Nami least of all. The room is still, and as if all alcoholic content has left your blood, it dawns on you last of all.

Oh hell no.

You slowly turn to Zoro with a deadpan look in your eyes, and despite the urgency, you ask him as calmly as you can, "You challenged Dracule Mihawk to a duel?"

He bobs his head and continues polishing his swords. "Which he accepted,"

You blink, and blink, hoping that this is just a fragment your beer-and-bottle-drenched brain has conjured to fuck with you, but Zoro remains where he is and so is everyone and everything else.

Fuuuuuuuck…

You thought he was one of the smart ones, too. His sense of navigation doesn't work for shit and if anyone can get lost on their way to the lavatory, it's him. Still, you withheld some semblance of hope that he would exhibit the same kind of recklessness as his captain.

Turns out, it has all been for naught.

You rub your temples hard enough to sting. With a nasty headache developing, you decide to pop the question. "Cremation or burial at sea?"

"... What?"

"Pick one or the other, I'll see to it that arrangements can be made."

"I'm not going to die.”

"You are a fly to him." Nami grimaces. "Something to be swatted and forgotten,"

"Not if I win." Zoro is steadfast and determined, like every new pirate on their first voyage.

It’s a look you remember well. In a way, the young swordsman kind of reminds you of Mihawk himself, and if there's one thing you can link to both, it's that annoying stubbornness that never yields. Even when the odds are against them.

"You're not going to win," Nami tries.

Zoro remains infuriatingly unconvinced. "You don't know that."

"You won't." This situation, to your chagrin, sobers you up enough that you can't blame the liquor on your next actions or words.

You take a step towards him, and with an iron fist, grab him by the front of his shirt and force him to face you. He's unamused. “I think I liked you better when you were drunk,” he murmurs.

"I want you to get this, really get this.” You snarl. “Once you go against Mihawk, and there's no coming back for most. He's not known as the World's Greatest Swordsman for no reason, and as good as you are, take it from me. He'll end you."

He inclines his head to the side with deep-rooted skepticism. "Sounds like you really know the guy,"

"It doesn't matter whether I know him or not."

"Everywhere we go, we make enemies, and for some reason, they've already got a grudge against you, Captain Cross-Hairs."

With one hand clenched against your offending wrist, he starts to list off his other hand. "Since you know just about every asshole we come across, you might as well tell me about Mihawk's preferred method of execution. Will he chop me in half, or is he excessive like the damn clown and goes all the way with splitting someone into pieces?"

You feel your nails begin to pierce through the fabric of his shirt, inches away from leaving open gaps. You're not their guardian or their mentor. You're not the one supposed to keep the crew at ease or lead them towards certain victories.

That's the captain's role, and you're not it. Not on this ship, with this crew.

Your only purpose here is to keep them from killing themselves on their first voyage, but if they're so determined to do it themselves despite the warnings you provide, then it's not on you.

Pulling him a few inches closer to you, you look him straight in the eyes, and that's when you see it. The aforementioned stubbornness that follows each and every young pirate you've come across in your life. The notion that they're invulnerable; unkillable.

Nothing can hope to end them.

You remember what it was like, that feeling, and it almost breaks you to see it in front of you like this.

You know aggression won’t do it for him, so you try an approach you haven’t tried in years. Bargaining.

“What will it take for you to pull back from this?”

“He’s coming for Luffy. I’m his first mate, it’s my duty to protect the captain.”

To protect the Captain…

That's how you know that there's no convincing the young swordsman to stand down, not this time.

He's persistent, exceedingly so, and if there's one thing you've learned during this voyage with these people it's that hell hath no fury like a straw hat pirate determined.

This is not on you, yet it doesn't make it any easier to let go of him. But you do.

Taking a deep breath, you uncurl your fingers and let him step back.

"Fine."

You need another drink.

Glancing over your shoulder, you meet Luffy’s concerned gaze. “This is your call, captain.”

You don’t need to be here for this. You’ve done your part, and now it’s his turn to do his.

You give Zoro a pat on his back, just one. It's not meant for comfort, it's not an act of sympathy either.

It's just a pat, like the kind you give your friend when they're about to gamble away all their savings over a game of cards. It’s the “fuck around and find out, but do it yourself”-kind of gesture.

Heaving a sigh, you sidestep him and let your fingers fall off his shoulders. "It's been fun, Zoro."

And the worst part about this all is that you mean it, truly. It has been fun to sail with them, share a few beers, and joke at the expense of others. Your time on this ship has been fun.

Like old times.

You won't go as far as to call Zoro a friend, you never do, but it's close enough that you'll probably miss him in the long run.

Zoro looks at you, his countenance indecipherable. "Say that to me again when I win this fight,"

"I can't." Because you won't.

---

The water forces its way into his lungs at such speed that it feels like he's swallowed buckets by the time they finally come up for air. He harks and coughs and tries to get as much of it out, but he doesn’t feel any lighter.

Get it? Lighter, because he’s just a head now and— alright, forget it.

For once, he's happy his head is disjointed from the rest of his body because if it wasn't, he'd probably sink to the bottom of the ocean from the fluid in his belly alone.

The taste of salt and sand stays like a sour afterthought on his tongue, and as much as he tries to spit it out, he can't be rid of all the grains. "Fuck! Give me a warning next time, will ya?! Kinda vulnerable to seawater and all that!"

Whatever fish-guy has him strapped to their back this time does not dignify his complaints with a verbal response. Instead, all he hears is a couple of snickers, like their humor is fuelled at his expense.

Assholes, the lot of them.

It takes some time for the tangy scent to abandon his nostrils, but once it does, it's immediately replaced by the fine scent of something divine. Something delicious.

It smells of food. Actual fucking human food. Not whatever Arlong and his litter gorge on, which he personally believes to be carcasses of dead sea animals they happen to catch on the shores of their island.

It's honest-to-god cooked, seasoned, edible food.

Buggy can feel his mouth water, and for once, he cannot blame it on seawater.

They're finally at Baratie.

The finest restaurant in all the East Blue, renowned for its excellent taste and unrivaled quality. Only the richest of the rich get to dine here, and while he's not exactly flowing with berries at the moment, he’s famished.

“Hey, Lips!" he yells out as loud as he can through the shitty bag. "How about you order me some hot dogs once we get a seat? A clown's gotta eat!"

The only sort of response he gets is an elbow to the bag, which incidentally clashes right into his nose. "FUCK!"

"Shut up!"

There's scuttling to be heard, doors opening, and a shitton of gasps echo from all around him. They have an audience, he deduces, and not a particularly receptive one at that.

Arlong makes a spectacle, something about "serve" and yish and yash about dinner and last meals as they get a seat.

Fuck, what he would give for a meal.

For the first time in what feels like forever, he feels solid ground settle under his neck. Though it's a pleasant reprieve from being thrown back and forth like a yarn ball caught in a cat’s game, he won’t consider it much of an upgrade. He's fucking hungry, damnit!

"Who are you, old man?" Arlong speaks, and Buggy hears uneven steps approach them.

An unfamiliar voice answers. "My name's Zeff, and I own this place."

Right, the Chief. Maybe he can ask him for some crumbs since his captors aren’t exactly on the generous side.

"Well, I'm Arlong, and I own the East Blue."

"No one owns the sea. Not even a fish man."

Ooooh, burn! Suck on that, shitface!

"Listen up!” Arlong exclaims when the chief’s negotiation tactics fail to appease him. “I'm looking for a pirate in a straw hat! Goes by the name of Luffy!"

The saw-nosed motherfucker truly has to be even more extravagant than himself, Buggy admits to himself with no short amount of begrudging compliance. Fishface even goes as far as to threaten the poor diners with having them for dinner instead, by the sounds of it.

Buggy can appreciate the message it conveys; he’s used it himself, but he refuses to find any common ground with his captor, so he buries the sentiment ten feet down into wherever the hell his body is.

He listens as the diners lose their appetite, all the while Arlong begins to gorge on whatever he has on his plate. For a while, all he can make out is the sound of meat being torn off something and the occasional cry from one of the diners in the distance.

Even from miles and miles away, Buggy can feel his stomach twist painfully due to the lack of food in it. Oh, it’s hell on earth to smell everything you want yet being unable to even grasp it. And here his captors are, toying with him, torturing him with it.

Seriously, fuck them.

He’s about to demand to get something to chew on when Arlong’s other henchman — Kuroobi or some shit like that — beats him to it. "Hey, boss, I'm feeling for a bottle right about now."

Arlong laughs. "Don’t have to tell me. Take what you please. I don’t think that one will mind sharing one of hers.”

“And get one for me too while you’re at it,” Lips supplies.

The henchman cackles and gets up to his feet to retrieve what he’s looking for, but not before lightly kicking the bag that is Buggy’s current prison cell in the side.

“HEY!”

“Sorry.” He apologizes unapologetically.

Buggy grinds his teeth together and tries to think of something — anything — to keep his mind off his ever-rising hunger. When he gets his body back, he'll take some bottles and shove them right up these fuckers a—

CRASH!

Buggy hears the sound of something breaking from the opposite side of where the fish man just headed. Countless gasps ring through the restaurant’s interior, bouncing on the walls, and he hears the henchman’s painful wails from a distance away.

He’d laugh - he does laugh, because it seems like someone didn’t want to share their precious drinks and decided that full-on attacking one of the fish people was the appropriate kind of response.

It’s impressive, he thinks. Very much so. Oh, he’d pay to see that again, and he’ll have to give that person a fucking kiss, just for making his day a little bit better.

It’s a shame he can’t see the—

"Fucking get lost."

Buggy feels his head freeze in the bag.

He recognizes that voice. The morning sun shone atop the ship deck. Warm. Cold. All of them at once.

He's finally found you.

---

Taglist: @kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat , @angeli-fucking-cat, @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

#buggy the clown #buggy x reader #buggy one piece #buggy the clown x reader #one piece live action #one piece x reader #buggy x you #one piece #buggy the clown fanfiction #buggy x female reader #DMTMYHB #didn’t mean to make your heart blue

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atzfilm · 7 months

Text

— 『 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋; 𝐨𝐭8 』 [4] (M)

— 𝚠𝚘𝚗 • 𝚍𝚎𝚛 • 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕, adjective. having someone who serves as a pillar in your life, who offers a sturdy place to lean in times of trouble. somebody you find yourself thinking about constantly and are completely infatuated with.

❝humans were such strange creatures. wretched in their mere existence. none of the eight were ever truly interested in them until they found you. they just find it strange that despite their status and rank, you'd rather spend time with your lover. that isn't much of a problem, though. one they can fix with ease.❞

〘ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ, ᴍʏᴛʜ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ꜰᴀᴇʀɪᴇꜱ〙(m.list)

— pairing: ot8 x reader, mxm; mingi x reader (this chapter); 9.6k

— note: this is a yandere fic. sensitive topics such as manipulation, gaslighting, murder, and other topics involved with the genre. please heed the warnings and read this work of fiction while keeping this in mind. also note: these chapters are very much introductory of each character & their roles, so smut is further down the line ♡.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: murder references, manipulation, blood, dark magic, kidnapping, emotional turmoil, injuries, smut referenced

Chapter 4:

"Do you think she's fairing well?" Wooyoung steps over a pile of debris, slipping closer to him. "The others are taking care of her?"

"What is with you and this woman?" Yeosang glances at him. Wooyoung's fingers are outstretched, his hand slipping into his with ease. The latter says nothing to deter his touch, knowing it's something that calms him. "Do you desire her?"

"Yes," Wooyoung shrugs. "But that's not the only reason. She's simple but different. She can't fall for my tricks because I can't manipulate her mind. Everything she says to me is genuine. I can't help but want her to want me. Is that wrong?"

"She is a human, nothing she says is genuine. Have you forgotten what we are?" Yeosang pulls Wooyoung closer as he steps over a fallen trunk. It's not too old – it may be no more than a few days since its demise. He places his palm against the trunk, whispering a spell before turning back to him. "Unseelie aren't kind to humans. And she will find out that you were the one who killed her lover, Woo. I doubt she'll take that well."

"I'm not going to tell her that," Wooyoung waves him off. "Besides, the male was so boring. She'll be much more entertained by our spark."

Yeosang holds up a hand, stopping him from speaking. Leaves crunch in the distance, Yeosang whispering a spell unto his free hand and pulling Wooyoung closer. He holds his breath, watching as the faeries appear in the small meadow. The spell he has cast only lasts for a few minutes or so. He can only hope that neither of them linger. The Seelie stay close to each other, rapid words exchanged.

"The human is resistant to faeries? How can that be?"

Neither of them speak, but Yeosang can feel how Wooyoung's shoulder tenses at the words.

"Yeonjun told us. He tried to penetrate her mind but she did not blink. Not one human on this Earth could stop him from entering their mind. She is the sole being."

"Then did he take her?"

"Not yet, not until he catches them off guard. Tonight he set the example, though. I doubt the Unseelie will be able to fight back after that mess. Bodies are everywhere."

Wooyoung’s eyes widen. He presses his hand against his mouth, closing his eyes to control his anger. His body trembles beneath the low light. Hongjoong instructed them that it was a brief mission, no bloodshed. But would he have guessed that the Seelie would cause their own to be deceased? Yeosang's hand grabs the side of Wooyoung's face, forcing him to look. Yeosang merely shakes his head, mouthing words.

Do not lose yourself.

Wooyoung nods slowly, taking slow breaths. They've missed a bit of the conversation.

"He will get her? That is his goal?"

"His goal is to hurt Hongjoong. Nothing else matters besides that. The human is just another body is his way."

They disappear from sight. Just as they do, the Unseelie bodies shimmer, appearing back in focus of onlookers. Wooyoung falls to the grass, fingers digging into the dirt. "They plan to kill my sunlight. My solaris. They will rid of her and we aren't there to see what they've done. We have to go back. We have to –"

"We aren't done, Wooyoung," Yeosang shakes his head. "Just a few more days. Hold on for a few more days."

"They've killed faeries, Yeosang. What if they killed one of our spark? What if Yunho–"

"You know they haven’t. Don't let yourself fall down that hole. We already have enough unstable mates, I don't need another one to fall apart right in front of me. Don't delude yourself like this," Yeosang ignores his words, sighing. "You would have felt it, Wooyoung. We are bonded. We would have felt the tear."

Wooyoung takes a long breath, "You're right. I need to calm down."

There's a pause as he stares. For a moment, he thinks that they should go back. For his peace of mind. Instead, he moves forward, hand reaching back. Without a moment's pause Wooyoung’s fingers slip into his, letting Yeosang guide him through.

—

Seonghwa wipes the floor. The stench is always overpowering. Each time a Seelie dies they leave behind such a putrid smell. A bit funny, considering how pure they are meant to be. He reaches for the knife you dropped, pausing. The look you gave them. It was like it was not you at all. He has grown used to the annoyance you've shown them, the fear when their words turned sharp. But not that kind of fear, terror. The glazed look. As if you didn't know who you are, what you were doing. It eerily reminded him of how Yunho loses himself sometimes. Seonghwa picks up the weapon, whispering. It cleanses itself at his words, harshly throwing itself back into its spot. Hopefully for good.

Jongho helped you off the floor, nearly carrying you to the room because you were so out of it. Hongjoong stared as you stepped out of the room, an unreadable expression on his face. There was nothing to be done then. Nothing they could speak about when you couldn't even think clearly. But Seonghwa just didn't like the look on his mate's face. Didn't like the slight gleam in his eye. In that moment, looking back now, he wonders if asking Hongjoong what he was thinking would change anything that’s soon to come.

He stands, flicking his hand to let the cleaning supplies pick up the rest. He sits at his table, eyeing the book he was reading once before. Seonghwa considered that you weren't a human. But he pushed those thoughts away. Assumed that he was thinking too far ahead. But now, seeing how you killed a Seelie? A human, killing a Seelie without any help? There's no possible way you're just a human.

He just has to figure out what you are exactly.

"You've been locked in here for hours."

Seonghwa barely gives Mingi a glance as he enters with hands tucked in his pockets, knowing the Unseelie would only try to calm him down. Or get angry with him, it depends on the day. "Hiding from us won't make our minds calm."

"I'm trying to figure out what's going on. Having you all speaking over each other in confusion and anger will only taint my thoughts."

"You used to find comfort in the chaos. It looks like you avoid it now. And continuously buy those toys of yours."

"You didn't have a problem with my figurines before," Seonghwa frowns.

"And I still don't now. I just can’t help but wonder why we can't be that safe place for you instead of plastic."

Seonghwa looks up from his book, finally meeting the eyes of his mate. Dried blood coats his face and clothing, white splatters burned into the fabric. He can see how his body trembles, bottom lip pulled back between his teeth. His chest tightens at the sight. Mingi lets their combined emotions affect him often. No matter how much they all insisted that he let them deal with it on their own.

Seonghwa closes his book. "You're upset."

"I want us, all of us, to be okay. But it seems like danger follows us no matter which path we take."

He sighs. "If you want us to get rid of her we will."

"I don't want that, hyung."

"Then what? What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to talk to us. Tell us how you're feeling. Stop hiding in the laboratory or library or the forest. At least try to let us in. Do you know how long it took me to calm Yunho down? I don't even think I have, he just stressed himself out to the point of exhaustion. I'm –" Mingi runs his bloodstained fingers through his hair. "I'm stuck. And I'm tired of pretending I'm okay with it all. I listen to Hongjoong's words even though I question them. I guard what you all want me to guard. I kill who you want me to kill. But I just can't stand around and accept it anymore. How long must I pretend to believe that everything is okay?"

Seonghwa watches Mingi's facade break, his rambling continuing on and on. He cannot believe he didn't notice how much it affected him. Sure, he was thoroughly involved with you, but that's no excuse to not see when one of his mates is falling into themselves. He covers his face with his hands, not bothering to wipe the blood off.

"Yunho is so lost, Seonghwa. I've seen him gone, but not like this. Not this much."

"I can talk to him," Seonghwa says softly. "You can be there too. And any of the others. Would you like that from me?"

“Yes,” Mingi murmurs. There seems to be something else in his voice. Mingi isn’t one to hide his feelings, so it comes as a shock that this is even a conversation at all. So Seonghwa continues to dig.

“And I’ll figure out how to persuade Hongjoong to take a more careful route. How about that?”

Relief seeps into Mingi’s face, nodding slowly. “I would like that.”

“Everything will be fine, Mingi. We just have to take it all one step at a time,” Seonghwa says softly. “If you’re ever bothered, I’m here. We all are.”

Mingi continues to nod, thinking. “And the human? What if we have to kill her?”

Seonghwa looks at him, unable to answer that question. Despite it being mere months since knowing of your existence, he can’t justify killing you now. Not when he is so involved with you, along with the others. Mingi seems to know the answer without Seonghwa saying anything at all. So he sits beside him, watching his mate continue to flip through the endless amount of research he has done.

After a couple of minutes, Seonghwa closes his research. Mingi watches him curiously, a box appearing on the table instead. A bit cheeky, Seonghwa places several smaller boxes of toys in front of him. Mingi picks up one, a photo of an assortment of plastic flowers branded to the side.

"I planned on gifting these to you all after I build them, but I think it'll be more fun to build together with you, don't you think?"

Mingi looks at him. He never really shares his hobby with anyone else in the spark, maybe San once in a while. Him opening up and allowing Mingi to intercept his time only makes his heart swell with glee. Mingi nods, sitting down at the table.

"It'll be fun," Seonghwa grins, slipping next to him.

—

The silence is draining.

You sit in the middle of the bed, knees tucked against your chest, head sitting on top. Mind utterly blank as you’re desperately trying to figure out why, how. What strength do you have to just murder a Seelie without help from one of the others?

You can remember the looks on their faces when they entered. Blood stinging your eyes, knife barely held between your fingers. The indiscernible face of the Seelie beneath the weapon. It didn’t look like one at all, not even a creature. Just a pile of parts. You try pushing those thoughts away, even if the image is burned in your mind each time you blink.

“Do you take us for fools?”

You barely give him any indication that you heard him at all.

“Now you pretend not to hear my words?”

“I’ve done nothing to you at all so I’m not sure why you’re even speaking to me,” you admit, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. His arms against his chest seem to cement themselves in place at your words. Him being furious with you is on the absolute bottom of your list. You haven’t even properly introduced yourself and he’s already pegged you for someone he can walk over. You’ve already been through it with Mingi. You’d rather not deal with it again.

“Your presence is threatening our position.”

“If you let me go none of this would have even happened. How is it my fault?” You frown.

San scoffs. “What a nuisance.”

“Look,” you finally turn your head, meeting the eyes of the angry Unseelie. “You can hate me all you want, but I didn’t choose to be here. Go and get pissed off with someone else for all I care, but not me. I’d rather be at home than dealing with all of you.”

“You would be home by now, but it is unsafe. I could care less, frankly. But the others do.”

“Better than dealing with a room full of strange people,” you murmur.

“It is crawling with faeries, human. If you even step near it, you will be killed. Leaving our premises might as well be a death sentence. But fine, go ahead. I doubt you won't last more than a minute outside of our borders," he turns around, giving you his back.

You don't dare test his harsh words. There's no way to prove that he's exaggerating or not, so you just settle it for yourself that it must be true. You can't help the thoughts that linger; Is Soobin okay? Would they attack him if he decided to show up at your house one day? Has he entered town at all? Have your parents tried to contact you? Why hasn't anyone noticed you're gone? There's no reason to ask San because he would just give half truths. Something you're very much used to.

You hold your fingers against your temple, humming softly. It's not enough that you're staying here. You'll only be ridiculed by one of them. Frankly, you miss Wooyoung being around. At least he was a comfort in between the angst. And what was his name… Jongho? Though your interaction was brief, he was kind to you. Calmed you down in the slightest bit. His words of comfort as he led you to this room helped.

"Do you know what you did to that thing? Why I'm standing here now? Do you even realize what it takes to take down a Seelie, human?"

"No, I don't. And my name is y/n, not human."

San stares at you. You weren't afraid of him since you've met him, but there is something in that look. Something that makes you tense. You truly doubt he would kill you at mere words. But he could kill you if he wanted to. That thought is enough for you to drop your attitude, at least for now.

"Taking down a Seelie requires strength unlike humans. Majik, unwavering strength. Mental fortitude. You have to know how to kill one, our flesh isn't as soft as a human's. We haven't been killed by one in centuries. So can you see why we're cautious of you?"

"I do," you sigh. "I do, but I don't even know how I did it? It's… there's nothing there. Nothing. When I try to think of it it's like it didn't even happen. I just remember entering the room, then Seonghwa came in and opened the door. And I had a knife in my hand. That's it."

"Why did you say what you said?" San asks.

"Say what?"

"You held the knife in your hand, you looked at Jongho. Then you said you didn't mean to. You looked terrified despite the situation. As if you didn't just kill one of the deadliest beings on this planet."

"I don't know."

"You have to know."

"San, I don't know."

Just as San steps forward your bedroom door opens. Expecting someone else, maybe Wooyoung, Mingi stands there. His eyes flick between yours and San, narrowing slightly. He nudges to the door as he looks at him. San's arms drop from his chest. He seems a bit hesitant. Mingi gestures toward the door again.

"I don't want you to be alone here with her," San murmurs.

"She won't hurt me."

It's as if you're not there at all. San continues to resist, until Mingi rests his hand on his arm. It's enough for San to nod slowly. He squeezes his arm, leaving the room. Mingi shuts the door behind him as he leaves, turning to you.

"Sleep."

"Sleep?" You repeat, and he nods.

"Sleep. We have a long day tomorrow. Yeosang and Wooyoung won't be back for days. But when they do come back, they'll have news. And we'll need to be prepared for that."

"I don't understand."

"Human," Mingi says sharply. "I get it, you're incompetent and unintelligent. But you do understand the language I'm speaking, no? You haven't the slightest idea what you have done? Did San not explain the danger to you? You killed Beomgyu, y/n."

Another name that continues to mean nothing to you. Mingi's frustration grows.

"He is a high Seelie. One of the most powerful faeries on this Earth. And you killed him. Now sleep. We must prepare you for what is to come."

He leaves.

—

You stare at your hands. A few cuts are slowly healing, scabs covering the wounds. None of them have mentioned the night. Not even San, as angry as he seems to be watching you roam around their home. Hongjoong hasn't been seen by you either. Very likely locked in that laboratory of his, experiments continuing. Mingi and perhaps Jongho, are the only two who've either greeted you or joined you in rooms. Yunho, despite how worried you are, hasn't showed up since that night. Mentioning it to Mingi wasn't the greatest idea – the painful look in his eyes made you switch the subject immediately – but you just want to know if he's okay. You saw that Seelie drag him away and there was little you could do. You ran, and he could have been killed. The least you can offer is an apology. Guilt ridden, you look up from your hands.

Mingi holds out the wooden sword to you for the nth time today. With great exhaustion, you take it from his hands. He scoffs. "You will be given a break if you knock it from my hands, human. It shouldn't be this difficult."

You hold back your frustration. "My leg is still messed up. You're taller and faster than me. How could I –"

"Use your size as an advantage. I've told you this endlessly."

"You haven't given me an opening!" Your voice rises, dropping when you see the quirk of his brow. "I just need an opening," you murmur.

"Fighting a Seelie who's trained since birth to kill won't allow for an opening. You have to defend and attack. Each time I raise my sword you freeze. You will die if none of us are around."

"I survived before."

"And you have yet to understand why or how it happened. You're at a loss just like the rest of us. Don't be foolish. Fight, because your life will depend on it."

You step back from him, planting your feet into the grass. Mingi holds no weapons in his hands. Just as you still forward Mingi flicks his fingers. Your body hits the ground again, and this time you don't bother trying to get up, groaning. "You're an ass, by the way. Didn't you all say those powers don't work on me? How can you just throw me to the ground?"

"Our influence does not work on your mind, y/n. But we can still move you. You just have to learn how to resist just like your mind has. Once you master that, we can move to true combat."

"I don't know why you can't mess with my mind!"

"Another reason why you have to stop using your pity as an excuse and help yourself. Stand and try again," he holds out his hand.

"She will be dead from exhaustion before she has even learned it," the snarky tone is one you wish you'd never hear again. Mingi stands up straighter, hands moving behind his back. He bows only slightly at the newcomer. "We have to move quickly. It is only a matter of time until one of them decides to penetrate our majik. Do you not agree?"

"I do," Mingi says simply. "But I thought you were with Yunho today."

"Jongho is tending to his care now. I've come to watch you train. By the looks of it, it only seems like torture."

You slowly lift yourself from the ground, dusting off your clothing. Mingi does not bother helping you up and neither does Hongjoong. Your legs shake as you stand, turning to Hongjoong. He rests against a fallen tree. Arms crossed, same mischievous twinkle in his eye. His gaze roams over your body, stopping when he sees the disgusted look on your face.

"What a weak, little thing. Too bad we can't just get rid of you." His fingers pull back his hair. The exhaustion riddled on his face does not move past you. All of them seem tired and drained from what's been happening. Yourself as well, body aching and limbs throbbing from your brief encounter with the Seelie you've killed. Killed.

You'd never in your life peg yourself as a murderer. And yet here you are. Gathered around many of them, yourself included. At this point you have no right to judge.

"I've already said what I needed to to you," you murmur, turning back to Mingi. "Again." You step forward and he lifts his hand again. This time you fall forward, his arm stopping you from hitting the ground head first. You push it away, straightening yourself. "Fuck this."

"You have to train–"

"I can barely walk straight and all we're going now is creating more and more bruises. What are we achieving? How have I gained anything in the past few hours?"

Mingi's brow twitches. "You haven't tried."

"I don't know if you remember but, I am a human. I can't just learn to be as strong as you by being battered over and over. I won't suddenly be able to fight against you."

Your frustration grows as you look at Mingi, a blank gaze watching you back. It's like he can't even hear what you're saying, no matter how you phrase it. Hongjoong clears his throat, distracting you.

"She's right, you know. I want you to train her. Not mangle her up to the point of her being unrecognizable." He glances at you. "y/n, do you not remember the night at all? Not a sliver of memory? It would make this all easier if you did."

"No, I don't," you say firmly. "If I did, I wouldn't let myself be thrown to the ground over and over again."

Hongjoong shrugs, "Then that settles it all, no? Mingi, change. We will be dining together shortly. Human, you do the same. Seonghwa will see you after this."

"What for –"

Hongjoong disappears from existence entirely, leaving Mingi and you alone. He steps around you, grabbing the wooden swords scattered about on the ground and placing it back in its holder. Just as he goes to leave, he turns back. "You don't seem to understand the situation we are under because of you. I've advocated for your death but everyone wants to keep you around because of your resistance to us. I hope sometime soon you find yourself useful, or I'll be the one to end your life."

There is no chance for you to twist his words, nothing that would make you believe anything other than what he's said to you. He speaks firmly and straight to the point. Very unlikely the rest of the Unseelie you've met. There's no room for interpretation. You nod, and he leaves you alone in the training field.

Ignoring the throbbing in your legs, you make your way back to the house. Despite how open it is, it’s only a facade - you’re not sure if you’ll ever be able to leave. And now, knowing how much danger you’re in, you doubt you even want to.

Jongho appears through a doorway, holding a book in his hand. His gaze meets yours, flicking over you. “Are you okay?” He glances down at your leg. “Not much time has passed since you were all mangled.”

You snort, “As good as I can be.”

He joins you promptly, the two of you walking down the hall. It’s funny - his presence feels more welcoming than the others. Softer eyes, smaller smile. Nervous maybe, but still. You’d describe it as comforting.

“What are you reading?” You ask. He looks down at the book.

“San gave this to me. It’s about faeries from human tales. It’s quite interesting. Tinkling bells is my favorite,” he adds, “Ever heard of her? Apparently she’s really famous.”

“Tinker bell?” You correct, and he sighs.

“Right, Tinker bell.”

“Yes I have,” you grin, and he nods. “Why’d he give that to you? He seems like he hates humans, doesn’t seem like the type to want to learn about us. From what I’ve seen,” you add. “He avoids me every chance he gets.”

“San is…” Jongho pauses for a moment. “He protects us fiercely, yes. He hates you now because he thinks you’re a threat. But once Seonghwa figures out why you’re the way you are, things will change. It’s silly, you're slowly falling into our hearts, so he will protect you as he protects us sooner rather than later. And he enjoys human entertainment a lot. I'm sure once he gets over himself you two would get along well.” His words are easily said.

Falling into their hearts?

“You care for me? Some of you do?” you stop walking. Jongho freezes, grip on his book tightening.

“I’ve said too much,” he says quickly. “They will be angry with me,” he sighs, looking down the hall. Seemingly making the decision on his own, he turns back to you. “Yes we do care for you, y/n. Why do you think we fiercely protect you? It is not only because we’re curious about your nature. We’ve known you for a while now. Even if all of us haven’t really officially met you. We are bonded. Our care lives within us all. Mostly Wooyoung’s fault,” he scowls. “He’s stuck on you.”

“That is the spark thing Yunho mentioned to me, right? It's like a pack.”

Jongho nods, “Yes. Once we’ve chosen to be in our spark, we are glued to each other. If one of us is hurt we all know, if one of us feels strongly about something, we all feel it. So that’s why it’s so easy for us to find your presence in our lives… normal? Ordinary? I’m not really great at human words.”

“No no,” you wave off his last sentence. “You speaking to me like this is enough. And you’re very eloquent, Jongho. No need to doubt.”

His lip quirks slightly. “I can see why they’ve grown fond of you. But yes, that’s why. Ah, but more importantly,” he digs into his pocket. A rock appears in his hand, similar to one Yunho gave you at the masquerade. “Yunho asked me to place a spell on this. To monitor your health, nothing more.” He says quickly. “I cannot lie.”

“...Thanks,” you take it, staring down at the surface. “Is Yunho okay?”

He bites his lip, “He’s recovering. But it’s best if you stay away until he’s fully himself. That’s what he asked us to do. I’m sorry I can’t say anything more.”

“You’ve said what you’ve needed to, Jongho. Thank you. I’ll see you at dinner?”

He bows slightly, walking past you and out of sight. You hold the rock tightly, making your way back to your room.

—

Seonghwa doesn't come to lead you to his lab for a few weeks and that you're grateful for. Rarely have you gotten the chance to be alone. Dinner that night was uncomfortable to say the least. Silence mostly. Three seats empty. Jongho gave you small smiles and it was enough to help you get through it. But still - the future of you dealing with them watching you with caution is not one you’re yearning for.

The door to your room swings open, almost cracking against the wall. Before you can even turn to see who it is, your breath is knocked out of you. You hit the floor, well almost, he holds you up with his hand before you land. Wooyoung almost squeezes the life out of you as he holds you close, body trembling.

“You’re okay,” He whispers into your shoulder. You grip his sleeve to pull him off, and he leans back, eyes flicking over your face. “You’re okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. You can let me go,” you tug on him again and this time he does, helping you off the floor. Your body throbs at how he threw himself at you, bruises from whatever happened with that Seelie that night throbbing. “I see that you’re back.”

He grins, “Of course! I’ll always come back for you. I had to see Hongjoong first to report,” he rolls his eyes. “He told me to stay away from you since we don’t know what you are, but how could I leave my solaris alone?” he tilts his head, taking a small step toward you. Without thinking, you move back.

He frowns, “Solaris?”

“I’d rather be left alone, Wooyoung.”

He scoffs, brows furrowed. “What do you mean? Ah, is it because of what happened a few weeks ago? You don't need to worry, I know you won’t hurt me.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” you murmur.

“What are you saying? Don’t you know that I won’t hurt you?” It’s different from when you first met him. The snide grin, the teasing gaze. All replaced with seriousness, perhaps a bit of worry.

Are you sure of that? You know what they are, what they may or may not have done. None of them have even told you how they feed, how they hunt for their next meal. You could tell whenever they eat in front of you. The reluctance to take bites, the side glances they gave one another. You can fairly easily presume that it’s through horrid means. You’ve seen enough blood splattered around to be sure of that, at least. But will they hurt you?

Will he hurt you?

The silence must have been filling up the room too long, Wooyoung’s face dropping as he waits for your response. Would saying no be lying? It seems like each time you do lie he immediately knows. So, despite the hopeful look in his gaze, you tell him the truth.

“I don’t know that,” you whisper.

His body physically deflates, hands clenching and unclenching at your words. “You’re not lying.” It’s a statement, not a question. He closes his eyes for a moment, a breath escaping him. “I won’t hurt you, solaris. I won’t. Just as I trust that you won’t hurt me.”

His words ring as true as he means them to be, but yet… you can’t bring yourself to believe them. No matter how much you know that Unseelie cannot lie. “Okay,” you say.

“Why are you treating my words as if I’m lying?”

“Unseelie are sly.”

His eyes narrow. “I’m not lying about never hurting you, y/n. That’s not something I’d skirt around. I. Won’t. Hurt. You.”

“You say that,” you start, glancing at the open doorway. It would be silly of you to believe that you’re truly alone. All of these men you’ve met so far eavesdrop on every conversation in their home. “You say that, but if Hongjoong or Seonghwa told you to hurt me you would do it. Even if you don’t want to.”

“They wouldn’t ask–“

“But you don’t know that for sure, do you? You believe it now, but tomorrow, they could change their mind about me. What if San didn’t like my presence around here anymore? What if Yunho told you my time was up? Would you defy their words and save me? Would you?”

He stares at his hands, saying nothing.

"What if I hurt one of you like I did to that Seelie? Would you just stand by?"

"Don't say idiotic things."

"Then stop lying to yourself, Wooyoung. You do not care for me like them and you never will. Stop trying to force yourself to like me because I'm different. I don't like you, okay? I don't. So stop prying, and stop making yourself believe that there is something here when there's not."

Wooyoung stands up, shaking his head, "How could you lie?"

"For fucks sake–"

Wooyoung steps closer to you, your body sinking further into the seat. He places his hands on either side of your shoulders, eyes darkening. "You lie so easily. Why? Why do you do it?" His fingers slowly tighten. It's not enough to bruise you or hurt you, but it feels uncomfortable. If seconds continue to pass, he could just as easily break a bone.

"Let me go."

"You think we are mad? You think I am mad for caring about you? Do you have any sense yourself?"

"Let go, Wooyoung. You'll bruise her if you continue."

You look over, Mingi leaning against the doorframe. His expression is still as always, though now it rests on Wooyoung's grip. He seems to push through his thoughts, hands gone from your body. You stand up and move farther away. Closer to the entrance of the balcony. Wooyoung stares down at his hands, body trembling.

"Sorry," his tone is tight, looking up. "I got carried away."

“Hongjoong told you to stay away.”

He glances away, “I know.”

“And yet here you stand.”

Wooyoung looks at him, “Mingi –”

“Go. Before you make this worse for yourself. I won’t ask again.”

Wooyoung’s shoulders fall. He turns to see your expression but you’ve already given him your back, leaving to stand on the porch. Whatever commotion is happening behind you you’d rather avoid. Your heart hurts too much. He isn’t lying, you care for him. And you hate that you do. They’re Unseelie, beings that took you from your home because of curiosity. How could you care for them? How could you miss Wooyoung? The cool breeze hits your cheek as you slide open the door, sitting on the small stool resting against the wall. The night is clearer now that he’s back. You hate even more how the solid rock of worry in your chest is subdued since you’ve seen him. He was so close to hurting you, barely seconds away.

So why the Hell do you want to tell him it’s okay?

“He lets his emotions get the best of him,” the deep voice of Mingi fills the silence. He leans against the doorway, staring out into the night. “That’s why Hongjoong told him to stay away for a while. Though I doubt it would help that much, his excitement to see you would have only grown.”

“He cares too much about someone he doesn’t know,” you say.

“That I agree with,” Mingi nods, humming. “But you should be saying the same to yourself.”

“I don’t.”

“Human, we are Unseelie. We’ve witnessed your kind lying for centuries. I can read that expression of yours with ease,” he glances down at you. “I’m not hovering around you to pass the time. Since Yunho cannot do it right now, I’m here to watch you. Just say my name and I’ll be here. Though it is my fault right now that I didn’t come when I heard about Wooyoung and Yeosang walking around.” He rubs his face, “What a headache.”

“Thanks,” you say, looking back at the landscape. The moon is hiding tonight. “He didn’t want to listen to me.”

“Because he’s delusional,” he snickers. “Not wrong entirely, but trying to force the answer from you is very… silly. You’re welcome.”

He says nothing else and neither do you. The fear of him being around has subdued, whether it be from him getting used to your presence or not, you’re grateful. Walking on your toes is exhausting enough as it is. From the first training session to now, the two of you have grown closer. Laughs exchanged, quieter moments. None uncomfortable. Enough so that you would consider him a friend, along with Jongho. Despite this, you can't help but let your thoughts wander. It's been so long since you've seen people you actually know. One in particular that you hate you cannot get out of your head. You already have things to deal with on your own.

“You look like you have a lot on your mind,” he starts, closing the door behind him. He rests on the chair adjacent to yours, sitting down slowly. Ah, so he plans on staying around for a while. “Letting that weight continue will only break you in the end.”

You shrug, “It’s nothing.”

“If it was nothing you wouldn’t look so uncomfortable right now. It’s fine, I’d rather not push,” MIngi says. “But I know from experience that keeping it to yourself is not good. I may not be as comforting as Yunho or Jongho, but I’m a good listener.”

Is he? His kindness doesn’t feel fake. Still, you’re wary of his motives. After a couple more minutes of saying nothing, you push past your fear.

"I don't want to hurt anymore," you stare at your hands, watching as they tremble beneath your gaze. "I'm so tired of hurting so much, I'm tired of caring so much. He left me. He promised he wouldn't and he did. He left me, Mingi. He…" Your fists curled into themselves. "And the more I think about it the more pathetic I sound. I've been through that moment over and over again, trying to figure out what I've done, what I didn't see. But I was faithful to him, I did everything for us. I wasn't selfish. I loved him with everything that I have. And he still left me alone. Just like everyone else does. And I can't even ask him why he did it because he just left. He's gone."

A slow breath drags from between your lips. "And here I am, talking to an Unseelie about it. You probably think I'm pathetic or –"

"You keep using that word," Mingi narrows his eyes, thinking. "Pathetic. Like it's pathetic to feel emotions strongly. You know that you're allowed to feel, right?" He leans over, covering your outstretched hands with his. He’s warm. "I can't calm down your heart or tell you it will be okay, because I am just an Unseelie. We don't give empty promises. But what I can say is that you're not pathetic. His absence hurts. And you're allowed to be hurt. But you are not pathetic, y/n. Do you understand?"

There is some hesitance. Slowly, he reaches out, hand hovering over your cheek. He places it, flattening it against your skin. You warily lean into his palm. "You are not pathetic, okay?"

Eyes closed, you nod. "... Okay."

"You don't believe your words," Mingi frowns.

"Saying it and believing it are two different things."

“I told you to not lie when I can tell,” he says sharply. There’s no malice in it, frustration perhaps. But not anger. He pulls his hand away from you, standing. “Get some sleep. We’ll start again tomorrow.”

He leaves you alone on the porch. You tuck your knees close, the breeze chilly against your skin. You don’t realize it yourself, but that brief moment with him turned things for you. For some very strange reason, your thoughts no longer rested on your ex. Instead, they lingered on them. On everything that's happened since you've arrived.

They lingered on Mingi.

—

Seonghwa still hasn’t taken you back into his lab. You sit in the living room on a loveseat, eyes glued to the rest of the Unseelie. Most are here except Yunho and Seonghwa, speaking to each other about various things. San and Yeosang entwined on the seat across from you. His arm wrapped around the waist of Yeosang, words soft and quick. Almost too intimate for you to look at longer than a couple of seconds. Jongho flipping through pages of another book he has, likely given to him by San. Mingi beside him, eating an apple as he stares at nothing.

And then there’s the last two.

The feeling is subtle, at first. Hongjoong and Wooyoung laugh together. Hands roaming along each other's arms, legs entangled as they show each other the potions they have created. Annoyed glances filled with fondness. It is something that you've lost since Soobin left. Affection, especially around others, was never something he quite enjoyed. Sure, holding hands or embracing for a moment. But never this – effortless care. Whether it be from embarrassment of townsfolk noticing the two of you, or uncomfort. But watching them as an outsider just makes the feeling rise, chest throbbing. Ah, now you understand the feeling.

Envy.

"Hold this," You jump. Mingi touches your own hand with his fingers, dragging yours open to place a gray stone on your palm. "It will help that heart of yours."

Your hand closes around it, brows furrowed. "Is there something wrong?"

"You tell me. I could hear it from across the room. Thumping away."

“Thanks.”

He merely nods.

“y/n,” Jongho calls from the other side of the room. Pauses in conversation stop for a moment as he walks over, book held out to you. You take it from his hands, glancing over the words. You quickly recognize it as the Giving Tree, a novel read to you when you were a child. Jongho looked furious as he stood above you, frown only deepening. “It can’t just be a stump at the end.”

“Isn't it devastating?” San says from his spot. “I knew it'd bother you.”

Jongho turns to look at San, a scowl crossing his lips. “I wanted an entertaining tale. You gave me a book about a selfish human child.”

San shrugs, “Maybe it would finally let you let me borrow some of your things –”

“Absolutely not,” Jongho sighs. “You see what he does? He's just a nuisance.”

“Well it's one of my favorite stories,” you say, flipping through the pages. “Unconditional love with a price; hoping that it's returned but it never really is.”

“A silly story,” Mingi murmurs, but he takes the book from your hand, humming as he walks away, Jongho following close behind him. You could hear his low voice grumbling something about his book being taken away. Your eyes look over to Yeosang and San. This time, San stares at you. There isn't exactly any anger in it now, but an emotion you can't pin. It's unlike anything you've ever seen from him.

“They always bicker,” Wooyoung says, glancing back. “Don't worry too much about it solaris, a little fight won't hurt them.”

Well you aren't exactly worried about it. You don't bother responding to him, sinking yourself deeper into the couch.

“y/n.”

His smooth voice speaks through the air. Avoiding his gaze would only cause his irritation to grow, so you look at him. He holds a knife in his hand, peeling off the skin of an apple. He looks at you as he does so, taking a small bite.

“You're allowed to go.”

Everyone in the room looks at Hongjoong. The expressions range from shocked to confused. Hongjoong ignores them entirely, taking another bite. “After Yeosang and Wooyoung completed their assignment, the threat was subdued. Of course, you could have left weeks ago. All of us just needed to be sure it was safe. We put a spell around your home. No Seelie would be able to enter. No faerie can visit you aside from us. I thought you'd like to know that you can leave at any time. We would need you from time to time, but now, there's no immediate threat. And even if there were, you'd be able to take care of it better now.”

Yeosang leans up from his spot, “Hyung–”

Hongjoong holds up his hand. “Any further discussion can be done privately. y/n, leave when you'd like. None of us will stop you. And if they try,” he looks at Wooyoung as he says his next words. “They will be dealt with.”

“This isn't a joke?” You ask, slowly standing from your spot. The thought of finally being in your own home, your own place – you didn't realize how much you've missed it until this very moment. Hongjoong nods, and you would hug him if he weren't Hongjoong. Instead, you leave the room promptly. They all watch you go, presumably to your room to grab your things.

Wooyoung shakes his head, “Hongjoong, our mission wasn't successful. We did nothing to deter the Seelies. They'll come for her when they see we're not around.”

“You think I don't know that?” Hongjoong frowns, chewing slowly. “Seonghwa hasn't made any progress and Yunho cannot do experiments right now. We have no use for her other than entertainment. And wouldn't you rather our home be free of humans? Or has she hooked herself so deeply into your body you can't live without?”

“I want her,” Wooyoung whispers. “Why would you send her away?”

“She doesn't love you,” Hongjoong snorts. “It'll be a pity if you continue to delude yourself.”

“A bit harsh, hyung,” Yeosang says, moving out of Sans embrace. “If you spoke to us prior he might have been able to prepare and take the news well. Instead–”

“You know my thoughts. She was never going to stay forever. You all know this.” He passes his half eaten apple to Wooyoung, stepping around him. “I must inform Seonghwa. Discuss amongst yourselves, but it is done. She will be gone.” He waves, tucking his hand in his pockets.

Yeosang wastes no time in moving close to his partner. He can see his body begin to crumble, irises trembling at the news. His arms wrap about his mates, whispering quiet words to him.

“She's leaving, Yeo,” Wooyoung grips his shirt.

“She's leaving me again.”

—

You shove your clothing into your bag, quickly trying to pack up enough. Hoping that Hongjoong doesn't change hid mind about this. All you've known for a few months now is this mansion, this home that is and never will be yours. Being free, cord snapped, feels so … exhilarating. Never have you felt so much enjoyment to go back to that silly little down and the old bookstore. Resting on your hard mattress – ecstacy.

The bitter feeling burns your throat. Leaving them behind after knowing them for a while. Your heart hurts, to say the least. Though you kept your eyes on Hongjoong’s face as he told you the news, it wasn't only to digest it. It was to keep yourself steady, keep your thoughts solid. If your gaze ever wavered, looked over at one of the others – you would have thought twice. And if you let these thoughts stay for a while longer, you would have stayed. And that realization is enough for you to run out of here without looking back. No goodbyes. No greetings. Nothing that would make your feelings pause.

No one is in the hallways as you walk through, bag tucked beneath your arm. You step outside, rain splattering against your cheeks. As if the forest is mourning your departure. You hold your jacket above your head as you walk down the path. The feelings are too much for you to try and decipher right now.

You were in a loving relationship that ended and Soobin disappeared, leaving just a note behind. Whatever feeling that's dwelling within you right now is not what you think. You're just heartbroken, and lonely. And they're here.

It's nothing more than that.

The rain spills over the sides of the jacket, splashing against your skin. You flinch as it enters your eyes, strands of your hair sticking to your face. Just a few more steps, a few more and you'll be out of here. You won't have to see them again. You'd be free of faeries. You'd finally let go of these strange feelings.

"Won't you let me take you home?" A shimmering cloud rises from the darkness. Wooyoung conjures up in front of you, arms crossed against his chest. You stop on the path, a sigh escaping your lips.

"The bus is fine."

"Waiting for it in the downpour? What if it's late?"

You maneuver around him, frowning, "Then I'll walk."

"You live ten kilometers from our home." His footsteps follow close behind you. "And it would be safer to be with us."

"I need to get in a workout, anyway."

“You can wait a while.”

“Wooyoung,” you step over a pile of rocks. “Hongjoong told me I can go. Stop trying to stop me from leaving. This is my choice.”

“I'm not trying to stop you, solaris. I know this is your decision. But I can't help but wonder. Is it because of that estranged boyfriend of yours?" He asks, appearing in front of you again. "Is that why you're hesitant to stay over longer? Worried you're committing adultery?"

"He left me," you say through your teeth. "He has no hold over me. And I wouldn't be committing adultery since we were never married."

"Then why are you afraid of your emotions?" He tilts his head, pouting. "You care and yet you run. Everyday you spend with us you pretend to not care for us. Is that just something humans do? Run from the emotions they feel?"

"I don't have time for this Wooyoung."

Wooyoung steps closer, your foot stumbling over the saturated grass. He catches you with ease, arm hooking around your torso, pulling you close to his chest. His face is barely a breath away from you. Just as you're about to tell him you're fine, his grip tightens.

"How long will we have to wait?" His tone is soft. "For your shame of loving Unseelies to fade away?"

"I don't –"

He hums, shaking his head, "Ah ah. Don't you remember? I can't lie." He leans forward, lips hovering just over yours. "I hope we can stop playing pretend one day, my pretty solaris. I hope you can see how easily we shine together. Because I am very much drowning in my affection for you and desperately clawing for a reprieve that only your confession can grant. It is a bit pathetic," He steadies you, face pulling away from yours. The warmth of your body consumes you from his touch. If he notices it he does not mention it. He bows.

"You better catch your bus or else I'll truly have to keep you to myself," his lip lifts, gesturing in front of you. He dissipates into the night, your hurried steps running out the forest and onto the bus. There are very few others on it as it drives off, your eyes flicking out the window. For a moment you think you see the shimmer of gold between the trees.

“I told her you would come for her. And now that she’s gone, we’re delayed on our experimentation.”

“I said I couldn’t do anything right now without Yunho,” Seonghwa explains simply, flipping through his pages. “I’ve told you this countlessly but you chose not to listen. And you decided to let her go, not I.”

“The humans were noticing her disappearance along with her old mate,” Hongjoong pauses. “It would have brought us great exhaustion if they continued questioning what happened. I had to let her go for now.”

“Then there’s that, are we done with this conversation?” Seonghwa glances up from his research, looking across to Hongjoong. He sits on the seat that you used to occupy whenever you entered the laboratory, fingers dragging along the armrest. Somehow the action annoyed him, brow furrowing. “Hongjoong?”

“We haven’t seen you join us for dinners.”

“I’ve been occupied.”

“Occupied enough to not show your face?” He tilts his head. “I’m sure she desired your presence as well, but you’ve hidden yourself in here. What could be the reason why?”

He’s prying. Seonghwa sees it, knows he’s itching for him to tell the truth. Having a back and forth with him is the last thing he wants right now, head throbbing at the thought. So he sighs, shaking his head. "My mind isn’t itself. I want her so desperately, it's making me unreasonable, makes me want to be by her side," Seonghwa grips the desk, thinking. "This is a new sensation for me."

"This is what happens when you've rejected every advance I've given you your whole life," Hongjoong sings, hanging on the edge of the seat. "And now all you want to do is feel her around your cock because you barely fuck anyone."

The familiar warmth coats his cheeks, looking away from Hongjoong. "How vulgar. No wonder the others don't speak to you about these things."

"Is it not true?" His brow raises. "I saw as you watched her hold the knife in her hand. Her soft, human fingers wrapped around it so tightly. The way she looked for help, her lips," Hongjoong sighs, falling back into the cushions. "If I were her partner, I'd never move close to faerie territory. Why risk someone so delectable? Because of a silly dream of yours? Quite stupid."

"You're too horny to think straight. And you're only enchanted with her because she does not fall for our usual ploys. And now even more since she isn't as human as we once thought."

“I am only interested in power, Seonghwa. And she is the epitome of that. And…” he scoffs, "Me? Horny?" In the typical Hongjoong fashion, he picks at only one portion of the conversation. "You're the one clenching the table in the middle of a woe is me moment. You can barely stand straight," Hongjoong's eyes flick to his slacks. "Better take care of that. And besides, she will enjoy us."

"Saying it does not make it true. Our hands are tainted. Hongjoong. Once she finds out that we have ruined her life with her partner, she will despise us. We are tainted. Do you not see it? All of your sweet nothings, soft words to her will not work. None of it will work. There not passes a day where she does not mention him."

"But she desires us, no?"

"She does," he admits. "But she yearns for him much more. I fear there will never come a day where she does not. It is like… it feels like she is one of us. Once we choose a mate, we will never move on from it."

"She's a human."

"As far as we know, yes. But Hongjoong–"

"That means there's a chance that we will change her mind," Hongjoong murmurs. "We can change her."

"Is it wise? Shouldn't we just… leave her?"

It's as if Hongjoong does not hear at all what Seonghwa is saying, brows scrunched in thought. He looks at his mate, swallowing. "We can change it Seonghwa. She will never move on from him unless he comes back and tells her he doesn’t want her,” Hongjoong murmurs, eyes flicking across the patterns in the rug. “And he was killed before we could force him to do it.”

“There’s no going back,” Seonghwa concures.

“I agree, there’s not. But we can do something so her mourning period ends quicker.”

“And that is?”

A strange look crosses his face. "I need Mingi."

His eyes widen slightly, “Hongjoong, we shouldn’t.” Just as Seonghwa raises his hand and begins to whisper, Hongjoong dissipates in an instant, leaving the eldest alone. Seonghwa lets go of the table, pacing back and forth. He can handle this. You're just a human, nothing more. He can handle this inane desire on his own. He can handle what Mingi is going to do. Even if his own thoughts seemingly cry out to run to you, to take you as his own. He can push past that. He grabs his research, flipping through.

Seonghwa stared at the book in his hands, his eyes wide with disbelief. He had read it over and over again, but he couldn't believe what he was seeing. There, in black and white, was the answer to the question that had been haunting him for months.

He had always known that you were different from other humans since the first moment he caught your eye. You had never been truly afraid of him, even when he had first revealed his true nature to you. You had never been seduced by his beauty or his power. You had always seen him for who he was, a faerie, and you had accepted him anyway.

But now he knew why you were different. You were immune because you were not a faerie nor human at all. He had never met another being like you before. He didn't know if there were others like you out there. He didn't know if you were the only one. He didn't even know that these creatures existed. He assumed it was just folklore.

He ripped out the page, pinning it to his board. The word stands out, bold and underlined.

#fic: wonderwall #ateez x reader #ot8 x reader #mingi x reader #hongjoong x reader #san x reader #jongho x reader #wooyoung x reader #ref:#seonghwa x reader #yeosang x reader #yunho x reader #erm.... there will probably be a delay in the upcoming chapters... christmas time is upon us fdksdfkl

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silverskye13 · 1 month

Note

The Shakespeare line "you egg? (He stabs him)" Is totally Hels towards Wels lol

Lin you're hilarious lol

"What. Are you doing?" Welsknight asked, trying not to sound as confused as he was.

Helsknight glanced up from the book he was reading to regard him with obvious disdain. "That question doesn't deserve an answer."

"Okay fine." Welsknight rolled his eyes. "Why are you here, on Hermitcraft, reading a book."

"Because Shakespeare was made to be read in the sun, and on the stage," Helsknight sniffed. "I'm not putting on a one-man-performance, and there's no sun in hels."

"So you're here."

"No, I'm on the moon."

"You don't have to be so touchy," Wels scowled. He took a breath, and decided to try his best to be civil. "I like Shakespeare."

Helsknight dropped his gaze back down to his book, "Congratulations."

"He's a classic." Welsknight continued steadfastly. "Which play are you reading?"

"Don't you have something better to do?"

"Obviously not."

"Get thee gone, go mind your own damn business." Helsknight closed his book again, keeping his thumb on the page he had last been reading, and smacked Wels none-too-gently on the leg with it. "Out, damned spot."

"You're reading Macbeth?" Welsknight smirked. "Of course you're reading Macbeth."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"It's just very on brand." Welsknight laughed. "You wouldn't read any comedy. You've got no sense of humor."

Helsknight let out a long breath, trying valiantly to maintain hold of his dwindling patience. He reopened his book and glared down at the pages, doing his best to stubbornly ignore Wels. Welsknight watched him. Admittedly, if he were a Shakespearian character, his fatal flaw would be his inability to let sleeping dogs lie, no matter how wise it was to walk away and let Helsknight read. He wasn't hurting anyone, and Welsknight didn't particularly feel like getting into a fight.

But how many chances did he get to really annoy his evil half?

"So, how far in the play are you?" Welsknight asked, earning himself a long half-groan, half-growl from his other half. "Have they killed Duncan yet?"

"Spoilers."

"You just quoted Lady Macbeth's nervous breakdown at me. You've read Duncan's death before."

"Maybe I've just heard the quote somewhere."

"Out, damned spot," Welsknight mused. "Past that then. From the damnéd spot to the candle, perchance?"

"Excuse me?"

"Fair Lady Macbeth's demise!" Welsknight proclaimed, reveling in the chagrined expression Helsknight shot him. "Out, out, brief candle? Why, life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more!"

"It is a tale told by an idiot," Helsknight glared, "full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

"I'm going to pretend you were just finishing the stanza, and that wasn't an insult."

"It was an insult."

"You're probably not even reading Macbeth," Welsknight smiled, ignoring the jab. "One of the other great monologues maybe."

"Don't you dare--"

"Fie, fie! Unknit that threat’ning unkind brow," Welsknight exclaimed, eyebrows raised, his barely contained grin undercutting his attempt at a dramatic gasp. "And dart not scornful glances from those eyes to wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor. It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads, confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds, and in no sense is meet or amiable."

"Would you shut up?"

"Come, come, you froward and unable worm! My mind hath been as big as yours, my heart as great, my reason haply more, to bandy word for word and frown for frown."

"Wels I swear--"

"Not taming any shrews, then?" Welsknight continued, undaunted. "Probably not. You're probably reading something violent and full of itself. That matches you best."

Helsknight got to his feet, his hand on his sword hilt, his book forgotten in the grass. Welsknight took a few steps back, giving himself a little distance to work with in case Hels decided to lunge at him. He smiled and bowed low. "I do protest, I never injured thee but love thee better than thou canst devise, till thou shalt know the reason of my love! And so, good Capulet, which name I tender as dearly as mine own, be satisfied."

Helsknight's fist tightened on his sword hilt. "I have had just about enough of you."

"No no, you've got the verse all wrong," Welsknight tutted in mock dismay. "The next line belongs to Mercurio, saying: O calm, dishonorable, vile submission! Alla stoccato carries it away."

Welsknight drew his sword with a theatrical flourish and declared, "Helsknight, you ratcatcher! Will you walk?"

Helsknight narrowed his eyes. "What wouldst though have of me?"

"Good king of cats! Nothing but one of your nine lives, that I mean to make bold withal, and, as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher by the ears? Make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out."

Welsknight expected Helsknight to draw his sword then, and respond in kind as Tybalt had. Instead, Helsknight simply stood there, studying him contemplatively. A few seconds passed, and then a full minute, and Welsknight lowered his sword, pointing the tip towards the grass.

"What's the matter Hels?" Welsknight smirked. "Too much of a brute to memorize Romeo and Juliet?"

Helsknight raised an unamused eyebrow. "What, you egg?"

Welsknight blinked, incredulously. He had enough time to place the line in Macbeth, and enough time again to remember when in the story the stupid line took place. And then he didn't think much of anything, because Helsknight had stabbed him.

"Rude." Welsknight managed.

"Young fry of treachery," Helsknight finished the line. Then he bent to pick up his book, and Welsknight respawned with Helsknight's parting words ringing in his head. "If you must know, it was Sonnet 73."

Welsknight sat up in his castle, shuddering off the last ghost of his respawn. He rolled his eyes at the unpleasantness, and then, because he was curious, padded over to his shelf to grab his book of Shakespeare's sonnets from his collection of books.

[Sonnet 73]

That time of year thou mayst in me behold

When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang

Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,

Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou see'st the twilight of such day

As after sunset fadeth in the west,

Which by and by black night doth take away,

Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.

In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire

That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,

As the death-bed whereon it must expire,

Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.

This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,

To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

Welsknight read the poem again, an eyebrow raised. "All that drama, and he's not even reading a play."

Welsknight rolled his eyes. "Whatever Hels."

He shelved the book.

#the barking writer #helsknight #welsknight #not tagging as The Fic because theyre too tolerant of each kther for it to be the fic universe #hi this is the showcase of my favorite monologues from the bard can you tell #barring the taming of the shrew monologue #that one just seemed like it would fit there

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sssammich · 8 months

Text

day 2: romance

you can also read the fic on ao3

the rest of sctober prompts: crepe AU: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 day 19: hazy, day 22: art, day 24: enchanted, day 30: magic

Now, here's the thing. Lena is a reasonable woman. She's a woman of many, many means and has more money that even God knows what to do with. So she doesn't expect much, save, perhaps, for some respect and authenticity.

But even that seems like asking for a lot tonight. Especially when she peers over her wine glass over at her date in front of her—a man who sounded perfect on paper (which, in retrospect, was probably where this slow demise of a date began): great job, good looks, decent upbringing—and knows there's clearly been a miscommunication of sorts.

His nervous energy, she can understand. His overcompensation, even more so. Yet that manifests in rude manners as he interrupts her, arrogance in not-so-subtly considering her position as a CEO, and his tired misogyny in his expectations of what his paying for dinner truly affords him.

So she waits for him to finish talking, as he's monopolized the last ten minutes talking about some financial tech start-up for fish or something or the other. He FINALLY glances at her, flashes what she can only assume is his most winning smile. Which is the only thing she was waiting for, frankly, before she scoots her chair back and subtly waves at a server who already seems to have her coat at the ready.

"Whoa-wait, where are you going? They’ve barely served us the apps."

She smiles down at him, though her eyes are sharp and narrowed. "Riveting as you may think it is to listen to you, I'm going home and having a very lovely evening with my vibrator. I believe I'll have a much more fulfilling time with it than with you."

His jaw drops slightly, sputtering out sorry excuses for words, his face going through a roller coaster journey of expressions—a considerable improvement from the smarmy smile he'd been presenting her since she first saw him. She can even see how his cheeks and ears redden at her comment, could have possibly considered it cute if he was even an ounce less of who he was. The look on his face is almost worth the stress of what little of this dinner has already cost her sanity and time. She turns to the server beside her just as he helps her shrug on her coat, his face the poster of professional decorum, except for the slight twitch from the corner of his lips that betrays him slightly.

And just because she can, Lena rummages through her clutch and pulls out a few hundred dollar bills, where she throws a couple on the table and rolls one to insert in the server’s breast pocket.

She leaves without a single glance back despite feeling all eyes on her.

When she exits out of the restaurant, her driver is already waiting for her at the front. She takes a deep breath and exhales before walking up to him and dismissing him for the night, telling him that she’ll find her way back just fine. She walks away with a final greeting and heads towards the direction of the park.

Lena reaches the edge of the park where she finds a slew of food trucks lining the curb. Most of them have some customers in line waiting except for the bright yellow one parked at the very end. Typically, Lena would hesitate approaching a food truck without customers as that is surely cause for concern. Yet the name ‘Love is Crepe’ seems to call to her, perhaps fitting of the night she’d just endured.

She stands just to the side of the awning with a gaze towards the menu, determining if she should treat herself to both sweet and savory crepes. She decides she deserves to indulge herself.

Yet when she walks up to the front counter, she realizes there’s a handwritten sign that notes:

SOLD OUT

THANKS AND SORRY :(

-crepe mgmt

She can’t help the amused smile on her face even if she finds herself disappointed in not getting any crepes, after all. She’s just about to turn around when she jumps at the sound of someone yelping in surprise behind her.

“Oh!”

She turns around and stops in her tracks when she finds the most attractive woman she’s ever laid eyes on carrying three different bags of food from what appears to be the other food trucks. It takes her a second to process that she should speak, yet her eyes can’t help but glance at the blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, the sharp jaw, the perfect curved lips, and the blue of the woman’s eyes behind black rimmed glasses. Her gaze dips to the womans’ biceps, the t-shirt sleeves folded up to her shoulders, straining slightly under the weight of the bags she’s carrying.

Lena clears her throat. “I—I thought you were open, but I see you’d sold out of everything.”

Despite being the one to have been caught surprised, it’s the blonde woman who’s standing stock still in front of her, surprise slapped on her face. “You’re Lena Luthor.”

This time, it’s her turn to be shocked. “Oh, um, yes.”

The woman shakes her head and quickly drops the bags on one of the tables parked right in front of the truck. “Oh my golly, I’m so sorry, that’s—well that was very impolite of me. I’ve just–I’m a big fan. I, wait-no. I mean, I am. I totally am, but like, you’re you, I mean—hang on. Um, wait.” The woman then puts her hands on her waist, and positions her body so she’s properly facing Lena before taking a deep breath. “You want crepes?”

Lena’s brows furrow in amused confusion even as she slowly nods. Something about the way this woman stumbles through her words and her movements has Lena endeared, and so she responds, a slow smile already forming on her lips. “Yes, but I see you’re sold out.”

“Oh, right. I am, but I—” the woman pauses and puts a finger up, a frenetic energy about her, before rushing to the back of the truck. Lena hears rummaging and movement, until the woman pops her head out of the front window, crumpling the piece of paper notice as she slides the window to the side. “I can—I can make you one crepe. Like a malnourished crepe because it won’t have as many strawberries or Nutella, but I can make it. Do you still want it?”

She’s poised to decline, not wanting to interrupt this woman’s night, but the expectant and almost eager way the woman is staring down at her from the window, hopeful and anticipating, has Lena nodding her head before she can even gather her wits about her.

The woman is overjoyed, so Lena believes she’d given the right answer. Something warm buzzes inside of Lena when she witnesses the woman’s bright smile before she disappears from the window.

Lena takes a seat right by where the woman’s food is, a small frown forming when she realizes she’s more than likely interrupted this woman’s dinner. Yet, the woman seems more than happy to work in her truck, so with hesitant resignation, Lena just waits.

Before long, the woman comes out and personally puts her plate right in front of her with a set of plastic utensils wrapped in a napkin. “You didn’t have to do that,” she comments, even as her mouth salivates at the smell of the dish in front of her.

“It was no trouble at all.” Then the woman’s eyes widened. “Oh, unless you wanted it to go. Oh man, I didn’t even ask. Did you—”

But Lena just shakes her head. “Here’s fine.”

The woman beams at her, and Lena briefly wonders how it feels for people in this woman's life to constantly be on the receiving end of such a bright and warm smile. Lena’s frown forms as she watches as the woman then takes her bag of food off the table.

“Won’t you join me? Since I so rudely interrupted your dinner.”

“But you’re Lena Luthor.”

She smiles at that. “And you are?”

The woman’s mouth opens, shock evident on her face, before it transforms into a smile. “Kara. You can call me Kara.”

“Well, Kara. Won’t you join me?”

There’s the smile again as Kara wordlessly nods, and sits herself directly across from Lena. She waits until Kara empties out all of the food from her takeout bags, the spread fully taking over the table they’re sitting on. Kara nudges the containers her way, prompting Lena to quirk a brow.

“Please help yourself.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

She responds with a smile in kind and digs into her crepe, enjoying the flavors of her sweet crepe. “This is really quite delicious,” she offers, meaning every word.

Kara shyly ducks her head even as she smiles proudly. “Thanks! It was slow going for a while, but my friend Nia mentioned that I should put myself in the videos so they could connect with me and not just the crepes. So I guess they’ve been able to see that I really care about the food I make and the videos have been going viral.”

Lena tilts her head in observation, thinks to herself, I don’t think it’s just the crepes they’re looking at.

Suddenly, Kara’s mouth drops and her cheeks redden. Belatedly, and much to Lena’s horror, she realizes that she’s said her thoughts out loud. This time, it’s her turn to cover her face. “Oh god, I’m sorry. That was—”

“Thank you, Lena.”

“You dropped the Luthor.”

“I realized I’d said it twice already, I feel like I’ve hit my quota of full naming you for the day.”

She laughs at that, though a sense of self-deprecation leaks out despite her best attempts. “Thank you for not shunning me away even knowing who I am.”

A crinkle of concern appears between Kara’s brows and Lena wonders, not for the last time that evening, how it feels to see that regularly.

“The only Lena Luthor I know is the one who has tirelessly made the Children’s Hospital the best one in the country so my niece Esme can get the care that she needs. So, I’d say you’re the last person I’d shun away.”

Kara’s stares at her intently, gratitude written all over her face.

“I’m glad to hear that,” is all Lena says, not wanting to overstep by asking more questions. She and Kara are basically strangers, and she wouldn’t want to make her uncomfortable.

“Besides, who shuns away pretty ladies?” Kara says with a shrug before popping an entire potsticker in her mouth. The two of them sport identical rosy cheeks when Lena catches up to Kara’s words just as Kara seems to realize exactly what she’d said.

“Well, thank you, Kara.”

Kara tilts her head and smiles, making a show of swallowing the potsticker that Lena giggles at, and shifting her glasses back up on her face. “Anytime, Lena.”

She can’t help but compare the woman in front of her to the man who’d attempted to wine and dine her earlier tonight. How their eyes shared the same shade of blue, yet Lena thinks she’d happily lose herself in staring at Kara as she listens to the other woman talk about food.

She does just that when they spend the rest of their time in companionable conversation, Kara urging her to try the dishes that litter their table. Before long, the first hour rolls into one, then two, until she glances up and finds that the other food trucks are beginning to break down for the night.

“Oh, I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time,” she says when she wraps her coat tightly around her. “You now have to stay longer to clean up.”

But Kara waves her off just as she finishes cleaning. “No! Please! You’re the one all dressed up tonight. I hope I wasn’t keeping you from anything.”

“God, no. If anything you were saving me.”

Lena thinks she notices Kara standing up a bit taller. “Bad date?”

“Terrible. Perhaps romance is simply not in the cards for me.”

“I don’t believe that,” Kara says, with a shake of her head. “You’re too amazing to not find someone who’ll appreciate you for who you are, Lena Luthor.”

“Careful, you’ve exceeded your full naming quota.”

“Forgive me just this once?” Kara bows her head slightly, a teasing smile on her face.

“Only if you take this.” Lena then proceeds to take out a couple hundred dollar bills and tries to offer it to Kara. But Kara covers her hand and closes it for her, the bills clutched in her fist. She is now fully aware of the warmth of Kara’s hand on top of hers, the softness of it on her skin. Now that she knows this, she’s not sure she can go back to not knowing. To not knowing who Kara is, really.

“Absolutely not! Tonight’s on me. Plus, that was not a true trademark Love is Crepe crepe, okay? I can totally do better. No, I will totally do better!”

“Is that so?”

“Yes! Why don’t you come back tomorrow, and I’ll prove it to you.”

Lena’s heart flutters at the idea of seeing Kara again. “I suppose I can settle for that.”

“Good, it’s settled. So see you tomorrow?”

“See you then.”

She doesn’t linger for too much longer, hailing a cab and staring out the window until a waving Kara disappears from view.

When she gets home, Lena opens her phone and calls her best friend.

“Oh, Sam. I think I’m in love.”

“The date went well?” Sam asks incredulously from the other end of the line.

“Oh god, no. The date was a disaster, I never wanna see that guy ever again.”

Sam laughs. “Okay, then if not him, who? Start from the top, babe. What’s his name?”

Lena closes her eyes, images of Kara’s beauty filling her mind. Of their dinner together, of the meandering and rich conversation they had tonight. Of the way Kara laughed with her whole body, and smiled with her whole face.

“Well,” she begins, unable to wipe the large excited smile on her own face. “Her name is Kara.”

#supercorptober 2023 #supercorp #supercorp fanfiction #thanks for reading and commenting

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stagefoureddiediaz · 4 months

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Fun little fact about breaking points/ key moments that are either the end of Bucks relationships or the moment something happens that sets their demise in motion - Buck wears dark green

Abby leaves - dark green plaid shirt

Buck moves into Maddies after he has accepted his break up with Abby (technically this is a bit later as he has moved into Chims and this is him being kicked out of Chims, but it all plays into the same concept!) and the uses of plaid here is also a bit of a nod to that airport costume in my opinion.

Ali breaks up with him

Buck tells taylor he kissed Lucy

Buck ends things with Taylor

I've included this because it felt like a break up of an aspect of Buck and Eddies relationship at this moment - as well as the moment when Buck was being delusional about Natalia and her seeing him. its also the scene where we get the line about not dating people you meet on the job - which feels like foreshadowing for the Buck and Natalia relationship

And now we have this still - I thought it was a green toned black shirt - and it might very well still be, I won't know for sure until we see the scene play out, -but now I'm looking at it on my proper computer screen and not my phone screen at 4am, its looking much more dark green to me and therefore potentially fits into the Buck relationship costume colour way - black with a dark green top layer.

So if this does in fact turn out to be dark green - it either means one of three things - this is connected to a Buck/Natalia break up in some way, or we're going to see some drama and divorce era 2.0 for Buck and Eddies relationship, or this is a scene where we see Buck and Eddie grow closer together.

I tend more towards it being a Buck/Natalia break up related scene which actually doesn't preclude it from also pushing Buck and Eddie closer together! The reason I say that the dark green could be a sign of them growing closer is becuase aside from all the outfits above, there are only two other instances of Buck wearing a dark green - the olive green jumper he wears in 3x11 - the This is Eddies house I'm not really a guest scene,

and then the following episode when they take Chris skateboarding.

both scenes that establish Bucks place in the Diaz boy's life and as part of hte Buckley Diaz family!!

#I am so back in my costume and colour theory era!!!#I am living my best life!#kym costume things #Kym colour theory #911 spoilers #Buck and his relationships- break ups!#911 costumes #911 abc #911 colour theory #Buck in dark green #eddie diaz #buddie #evan 'buck' buckley #the buckley diaz family

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macabresymphonies · 22 days

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Episode 16 thoughts:

I like Ink5soul a lot, but my guess is a lot of it is me imposing headcanons about how I think they are vs how they actually are (they have like 5 lines of dialogue 3 of it in person so not much to write home about)

The Madame E talk was cringy, but it was very realistically "stan twitter influencer" cringy talk it gets a pass

Not much to write about implications other than Ink5soul takes inspirations for tattoos from corpses, I assume is the same as using Smirk's bulding plans or instructions from Leitners in TMA

Another incident where you can't draw a clear line on "what entity from TMA this could be", which to me is just further proof that they changed or are fractured in some way.

Ink5oul specifically seems to thrive on insecurity/dysmorphia, I do not think they were the reason for the demise of the guy from "Marked", I think this was different "entity" interfering, notably one that caused the girl from "Well Run" to drown, some type of "The Deep"

I'm slowly warming up to the fact TMAGP is more about creating scenes and little windows into the world, as oppsoed to TMA where it were short stories through and through.

MORE FOOD, this is ridiculous at this point and cannot be overlooked, specifically we had Alice switching tea for coffee, if it's not a plot point, at least it's 100% a theme

I asssumed Lena wanted Lady M in the office, but I see Gwen went rouge and Lena was pissed she endangered the OIRA

More specifically she stressed "you introduced her to your colleagues!" which implies she cares for them like, not dying, makes me reconsider her character a bit cause I assumed she would be more pissed at an external endangering her or "the office" as in her job

Gwen is very much in to find out after fucking around, cause what's next might be worse than Bonzo

#the magnus protocol #tmagp #tmagp spoilers #tmagp theory #ink5oul #gwen bouchard #lena kelley #alice dyer #tmagp ep 16

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niiine · 1 year

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𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅𝐈𝐒𝐇

Character(s). Xiao, Lumine

Synopsis. Xiao's voice lines and how selfish he is when it comes to you.

Fluff & comfort

Gn! reader, but if I missed any fem pronounds, PLEASE FORGIVE ME. But I'm careful this time, i promise.

Mutual pining because whyy not. Xiao is a Tsundere (OOC a bit. I'm sorry) and reader's numb ehe.

Lumine is friends with the reader but kinda OOC (?)

Rushed ending ;‹

NOT PROOF READ. Pleas excuse grammar, spellings, my life, and other mistakes

Xiao is such a baby girl. I love this man sm please make him real. Here's Scaramouche's/Wanderer's version (another baby girl). Once Kazuha's home, I'll do his as well💖

SELFISH

"Didn't I told you to call me as soon as you see yourself in danger?"

XIAO's voice is rasped. Worried, and yet full of authority as he reprimanded you. His golden orbs, a piece of sun that decided to embodied heaven, scrutinizing your figure— searching for any injury but hoping that there's none.

"Lumine told me that you're on a commission, don't wanna disturb you, Xiao."

The yaksha sighed at your argument, clearly not amused at the shallow reason you've Come up with.

"Commission or none, you will call my name. Do you understand that, (y/n)?"

You nodded, aware that the topic is not up for discussion.

In your mind, it's nothing for Xiao but protecting Liyue and its people. And the thought it self did more damage than the Hilichurl you've encountered earlier.

But what can you do? You're just one of so many that needed the man that is currently bringing you to the safety of your home. You're so self-centered to think that he will drop anything just to come and save you, and yet—

"Xiao?"

You heard a soft hum in response, a cue for you to continue,

"If I call out your name in the most unpredicted time, when your hands are full and the situation cannot be abandoned, will you st—"

"I will be there."

—He just let you be selfish.

REMINDERS

"I told you, I'll bring them home. I promise" Lumine's voice is clearly tainted with annoyance, although her words bring out a soft chuckle out of your lips.

It's just a night out. Catching out with each other's story while strolling the ever busy streets of Liyue, But Xiao can't leave you alone with the knowledge that your endeavor with Lumine will be at the break of night.

"Knowing you, there will be a high possibility that you will be called to an emergency, if such happen, call out my name." he muttered, particularly to your friend,but his eyes falls on you at the last four words.

"Yes, yes. I will. Besides, Lumine promised that she'll stay the night at home so you don't have to worry that much" You gave him a small, reassuring smile, but please don't expect that it did the job.

"Alright. Then make sure you call m—"

"Xiao I swear if you don't leave us alone I'll take (y/n) to Mondstadt tonight" You do not, Xiao neither, but Lumine does know that the Yaksha— he can deny it all as much as he wants—can't stand a day without seeing you for a day, so;

The traveler's outburst is enough to keep the man away from your tail for a little while.

Although it doesn't suffice for him not to wait for your arrival at the roof of your home once his duty is settled for the night.

NIGHTMARES

"Xiao"

Not even seconds passed when the owner of the name you have uttered appeared in front of you, weapon gripped tightly around his fingers, ready to take down anything that caused you harm

But much to his surprise, and relief, there's no sign of any danger around the area. Just you laying on your bed (NO. THIS IS SFW.) with tears adorning your porcelain face.

"What happened?" He questioned, feet scurrying to your comfort, his gentle digits kissing away the remnants of grief from your cheeks.

"I—I... You... I dreamt of you... dying" your words almost inaudible from hiccups, and the man before you loath the sight before him.

He hates the fact that he'd rather burn the land of geo himself, than see you in such state, but somehow, the thought of you mourning his demise is comforting, addicting even.

"I'm here, I'm fine...look" He took your hand in his, cupping his face with the warmth of your palms.

He leaned on your touch, and you caressed his face, thumbs moving across the places it could reach. Taking in everything, anything, that will prove that he's here. That he will always be here.

"Stay"

It's selfish of you to take the precious time of him that could've been used to cleanse Liyue.

"Sleep, i'll be here"

It's selfish of him to oblige and put you before the land he swore to protect.

The moon peeks a little, illuminating a space in the room but barely reaches the feet of your bed— as if afraid to expose what two pair of eyes are scared to admit.

DREAMS

You woke up with a sight to behold.

Your friend, whom you called at midnight, now deep in his sleep beneath the windowsill, moonlight dancing just above his emerald head.

How come a being, whose hands are tainted by rivers of blood, can look so divine?

You take in everything, carving the image in the back of your head. Xiao looks so beautiful. His legs were crossed as well as his arms, his head leaning on the wall behind him.

You moved closer, adoring the red eyeliner that decorates his eyelids, adoring his lips that's tightly close, adoring how he heaved his chest at every peaceful breathe he takes.

He's breathing. He's alive. Your nightmare is but a disgusting imagery of your worst fear, nothing more.

Your fingers find its way upwards, hoping to brush a strand of hair that falls between his eyes, although the action was forgotten when a hand grab your arms;

"Don't just crept up on me like that. What if I hurt you?" the Adeptus scolded you, his hands now checking if he had caused you any bruise.

"I can't help it. You look so beautiful while asleep"

Xiao's glad that the moonlight is not enough for you to notice the kiss of pink on his cheeks, and that you're still out of the vicinity to hear his heartbeat.

"You think I sleep? Since when did you became so disrespectful to the ways of the adepti, mortal?"

He tried to masked his rampaging emotions with fake annoyance, but the moment he hears laughter came out of your perfect lips, Xiao achingly hoped, yearned that he's not an adeptus.

INNOCENCE

"What?"

"I said, once there's enough snow, we can ingest it."

The man before you squints his eyes, confused and a little bit irritated at how much you're trying not to laugh.

"Is there anything you find amusing at my words, (y/n)" He tried his best to look intimidating, and on normal occasions, it would be a piece of cake considering how edgy he looks already. But sometimes—like this one, he's just too cute to be feared.

A bunch of snow began to accumulate at the top of his, some drops at his nose and he crinkles it in the most adorable way to remove the snow.

And in addition to that, he just said that he eats snow.

The protector of Liyue, a yaksha, a respectful adeptus— waits for the snow to be thick enough so he can eat it.

"None..hahaha none, it's just that..." you snorts, obviously having too much fun "i imagine you munching on snow hahaha"

"But we can really eat it. Look at this." he proceeds to crouch over and take a decent amount of white fluff in his hands, you watching his every move with amusement.

He put some on his mouth, and a ghost of fun played on his face.

"Wha— Wow you really did! How does it taste?" the las enthusiastically motion for you to open up your lips so he can put the remaining snow in his hands.

You swear there's a bit of smug expression resting on his face when he saw how giddy you get at the taste of the snow.

KARMIC DEBT

It's not new to him. The clenching of his chest, darkening thoughts, walking in the thin line of insanity and life. It is part of his life, it is part of him.

On this days, Xiao know better than to socialize with any living being. No one is safe once he tainted them with his karma—his curse, his punishment.

And it's alright. He's used to it. Caging the bloodlust insides, gambling with the headaches that brings out painful pasts. He conquers it all, push it deep enough just so he could continue his duty until it devours him again, and again, and again.

He will deal with it alone.

But there are times when it's so vigorous, times when he especially needs to stay away from anyone—and every time that it happens, like now, all he can think of is you.

So he seeks your presence. Ignoring the fact that he may cause you harm.

How selfish, really. But when darkness eats away at him, there's only you who can ease his burden.

And you take him with open arms. Like the winds caging his body, your soft embrace lull him to rest.

"Those memories... So dark" he murmured, curling up against your touch, his head on you chest and your arms around him. Protecting him against the enemies he can't fight alone.

"I know... I know Xiao. But I'm here, alright? I'll never leave you"

The movement of your fingers on his back take away the pain that plague his body, soothing both his physical form and his mind.

"So promise me, promise me that you'll always be here with me as well."

How selfish, really. But when he nods his head softly before falling asleep at your hums, his head at the crook of your neck and you cradle his lean figure, you don't really care.

GREEN

"It's one of Liyue's grandest festival!"

"I know that. I just simply see no point in watching humans litter the seas" he crossed his arms and looks at you uninterestedly.

"Well, the lights are pretty." "And? Please, (y/n). Stop being annoying"

You're taken aback by his words. Hurt at how he responded at your invitation. And archons, Xiao wants to take everything he said the moment he saw looks at your eyes.

"Fine, I just thought we could have fun with the others..." "But I understand"

Your voice sound dejected as you walked out of the inn, like a kicked puppy that yearns for attention. But he can't help it. He's been so close with you these past months, and he can't let you get any closer. He needs to protect you, even to himself.

Besides, there's no chance that you will ever reciprocate his feelings, right?

Yet regardless of how dedicated he is to stay away from you, he still finds himself scanning the crowd for a glimpse of you.

And he did. Of course he does, he always do. To spot you in the midst of people is like looking at the back of his hands. But this time, instead of the usual butterflies, his stomach drops.

There's a pang in his chest as he watches you talk so happy with someone. If he had accepted your invitation, would it be him you're talking to like that right now?

Probably not. He's not fun to be with, so your smiles will probably be missing if he's the one with you.

Ah, there's a pang in his chest at the memory if you leaving due to his choice of words.

He wants to snatch you away from the one you're talking with. He wants you take you somewhere far, somewhere they it's only him you'll see. He wants you to look at him, just like every time. Just him.

He didn't know what this feeling is. He only knows that despite sounding so selfish—turning you away and then thinking of snatching you back— he didn't care.

APOLOGIES

"(Y/N) until when are you gonna ignore him?" Lumine whispers into your ears, noticing how uneasy you are the last few days. His amber eyes flowing with concern.

"I told you, I don't wanna annoy him. I know I'm a bit much sometimes and I just don't want to bother him so much" your response earned a sigh from the traveller. "Xiao is just confused. You should talk to him, really"

She patted your back before waving you goodbye, thinking just how stupid the two of you for not being honest with your feelings.

Left at the comfort of your home, and with no things to do, your mind wanders back to the man in question.

You never thought of confessing because you don't wanna lose him as your friend, and yet here you are—watching him slip from away from you.

"(Y/N)" a tender voice halt your train if thoughts, gaining your attention. Turning around, your eyes met with golden ones.

You probably stared for too long because shit, you missed those eyes.

"Xiao... What are you doing here?"

There's a tug in his heart. So he's not welcome here anymore?

"I... want to talk to you" his eyes now darting anywhere but yours. Fingers fidgeting with his mask voice somewhat bashful.

"I'm listening" you murmured, gesturing at the space beside you for him to occupy, which he did.

"I talked to Lumine," he started. Trying his best to meet your (e/c) orbs "And she said that..."

"She said that?"

"Never mind what she said," He heaved a sigh to regain his composure, and you hummed in return. Whatever it is, you can get it out of Lumine herself, later.

"But I want to apologize... For what I've said. I didn't mean it"

His head's hung low. Afraid to look at you and see any negative emotions from you. What if you can't forgive him? What if you won't accept him again?

"Xiao" he looked up at your call. He missed your voice uttering his name.

"What if I told you that I love you, what would you do?" It's stupid of you to say such things, but you realized that you may lose him, in one way or another, so might as well be honest.

And you are ready to whatever his answer will be. Whatever. But not his silence. Not the way he opens and closes his lips, as if forcing the none existent words to come.

A soft chuckle left your lips. Kind of taking his loss for words as a rejection. "There's no need to say anything. I understand that this things are no—"

"No!"

You look at him, confirming if you've heard correctly. Things are happening so fast yet so slow for you that coherent thoughts never came.

"You're... You're important to me. But I'm not human, (y/n),"

His eyes averted your gaze again. As if scared that the fact will drive you away. When be received no response, the adeptus continues.

"I can't fathom human emotions. I don't understand them," — "but I know that I want you to be always with me"

Your heart skipped a beat at his confessions, albeit unclear and messy, it's soft and gentle. You reached out towards his face, and he jumped at your actions, clearly on edge at the conversation you're having.

You laughed at his actions, of which he returns with a lenient scowl.

"Nothing's funny, mortal"

"You want this Mortal. Adeptus Xiao"

He sighed, and said nothing to refute your words. Warmth begins to envelope your heart as everything sink in.

Xiao loves you

You took his arms in yours, just like what you always do. And he offer nothing against it. Loving the sensation of your skin on his as you put his palms at your cheeks.

"You don't have to understand those feelings, Xiao" closing your eyes when he hummed

"You just have to be honest with them" he rubbed your cheeks with his thumb, leaning in to leave a kiss on your forehead.

It's selfish how he wants to put you first above anything despite his duty. It's selfish how you want to entrance him throughout your punny lifetime, fully aware that you'll outlive him some day;

But just like what you've said, it's just honesty at its peak.

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minimoxha · 1 year

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When will my life begin? (Tangled, Pt.2)

Summary: After his wife and daughter died he thought he lost everything. However, you for some reason, you’d didn’t disappear. So, Miguel locked you up. He had to find some way to protect you so you couldn’t be taken from him like Gabriella. What better way to do that then keep you in his dimension where he could get to you in case of anything

Warnings Low key bad parenting, Mother knows best lyrics, Cussing if you squint. Maybe bad Spanish, things I grew up listening to.

W/c

Series Masterlist

Even the way he spoke was cool.

Hobbie stood with a certain vibe to him that screamed confidence. As if he wasn’t afraid of anything and Was ready to do anything. More than that, he’d been outside. He was a teenager that had gotten to live through everything that she had been dreaming of all her life. And he looked so cool while doing it.

“Have you ever been to a party? Have you ever ridden a bike? What about the mall? Have you ever been there” She asked, intrigued and unknowingly stepping close to the boy who seemed to loose color every time he moved.

“Yes? That’s pretty common. Look, I need to get big boss man it’s an emergency.” He sighed, getting ready to leave the door. If he left, she’d loose her lady chance to see the world her last chance to get out and make a life thats fun for herself. She needed to see the fireworks.

“Hobbie have you ever seen the fireworks? The ones behind the big spider-man building?” She grabbed hobbies hand in which he reacted by pulling away, not to cause anger but to show uncomfort. He gave a nod before leaning on the counter next to him, disinterested. To him? The fireworks were a thing that happened every year, much to his demise. “Can you take me to them? I have never seen them up close. Please?”

Hobbie looked at the girl as if she was a random piece of goo on the ground. She couldn’t just go to the city and see them herself? Why did she need him? “They are there, go see them. Why do you need me?” Hobbie said, accent thick as ever while crossing his arms. The girl took notice of his wrist that was littered with bangles and bracelets. He truly was an interesting person, not line one she’s seen on her tv or laptop that’s for sure. He was special— He was different.

“My dad- your boss- he won’t let me out. I want to see the fireworks more than anything! Please, you have to take me to them I’ll do anything!” Y/n begged, grabbing onto his arm yet again to which hobie raised an eyebrow in wonder. If she was that hungry to go see stupid fireworks then how much more hasn’t she seen? “Will you take me?”

“I don’t have to take you anywhere, i don’t listen to orders. Though, I could take you to them just because I won’t follow miguel’s orders to leave you alone.” Hobbie thought for a second. This would make Miguel mad which he didn’t usually want to invoke but he didn’t mind seeing how red the man got when he lost his shit. Part of him also felt bad that she had been cooped up in this house for years without actually experiencing a life.

“I’ll take you then.”

The girl felt a smile rise on her face, bigger than she’s ever imagined. This could finally be the chance she has to get out and explore the world. Although, she couldn’t help but second guess herself as Hobie walked to the window before opening it for her.

“Are you coming?”

A/n: My work is kind of improving from my long ass year break from writing so bare with me. There will be more just let me know if you want to be tagged!! <3

Taglist:

@fairycorequeen @onyxstarhigh06

#fanfic #xreader #minimoxha #black!reader #hobie brown x reader #spider man 2099 #across the spiderverse #spider man into the spider verse #astv x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x daughter! reader #anime #fanfiction #tangled #repunzel

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fushitism · 1 month

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i feel like ur opinion on who chara dreemurr was as a person is entirely hinged on how you interpret these lines

my favorite thing about undertale is how interpretative everything is. it’s why i believe the fandom’s thrived so much

there aren’t any confirmation for a lot of things, only hints.

and chara is a character (heh) that defies easy categorization because of this

one minute they're getting halos drawn over their head, the next they're public enemy number one.

are they good? bad? gray?

we get so hung up on the morality aspect of chara that we forget the most important thing of all, they were a person.

a person— child.

a child that hasn’t had the years to work through it or even atone for the hurt they caused.

a child that did not know love before they fell to the underground.

a child, raised in darkness, suddenly thrust into sunshine. it's blinding, overwhelming.

foreign.

after poisoning asgore, their only reaction was to laugh. now, you can depict this in any way you like, but to me, it was an honest mistake. and chara's laughter was more of a nervous reaction. they probably couldn't fully grasp the gravity of their actions. this wasn’t an instance of them maliciously reveling in asgore’s suffering. i simply cannot see it that way no matter how hard i try

the dreemurrs were unlike any of the humans they knew. they genuinely loved and cared for chara who just… didn't know how to react or cope with it in a way most would consider "appropriate"

and actually! when you’re up against snowdrake’s mom:

chara expects frisk to laugh, just like they did when their dad got poisoned. it's horrible to look at. it's terrifying. but all they can do to cope is laugh

they FULLY expected frisk to do so too, but frisk just.. Doesn’t.

chara was a human that found a family where they least expected it. they weren’t devoid of any good. they weren't so despondent.

they had hope in their eyes.

they were determined to liberate monsters

and having alrdy been hailed as the "hope" of monsterkind by their family n being the completionist (love this trait abt them btw) that they were:

they were going to see this through. push all the limits. use all means. they will have power.

this is where things get muddy.

chara is a creature of reason. their decision to poison themselves and die, allowing asriel to absorb their soul, was, in their view, the most optimal and effective choice. there was no future left for chara on the surface anyways. there was also no straightforward method to obtain a human soul. each realization logically led to the next until everything seamlessly aligned.

their plan kicked off and started going their way. they intentionally carried their own lifeless body and headed to their village, fully anticipating the reactions they'd provoke. they had hoped to show asriel just how horrible humans are. they had hoped that by doing this, asriel would understand. the reason why humans must all be eradicated.

but to their utter shock, asriel resisted; he never fought back.

emotion foiled their plan, resulting in their own demise and that of their beloved brother. their sacrifice was for naught, the prospect of making peace between the two races has been tossed aside, irretrievably diminished.

asriel was right. chara wasn't exactly the greatest person. however, him acknowledging they weren't does not necessarily imply them to be a fervent force of evil (and i also think he meant it as in, he LITERALLY used to believe chara was the SINGLE greatest person, but eh, technicalities)

they were a flawed person, who died as such. they've made an abundance of bad choices in how they handled their trauma but that doesn't exempt them from redemption. especially not in a game that focuses on mercy and unconditional kindness and forgiveness and and and

and you know what? pacifist is their redemption. they don't rlly do anything that explicit in this route but. the silly narrations. the encouraging words frisk hears during asriel's boss fight. how frisk was able to save asriel and call out to him. i like to believe it was all chara. they've seen you prove that humans can be good too and with that..... they became a tool to free monsters, just as they had always intended :-]

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wood-white-writer · 8 months

Text

"Didn't mean to make your heart Blue" || [4/...]

- OPLA!Buggy x F!Reader

"I think my brain is rotting in places, I think my heart is ready to die, I think my body's falling in pieces, I think my blood is passing me by."

— Mitski, "Brand New City"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live action) x F!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5 | Part 6

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends. Years have passed since you last saw Buggy following the dispute that you thought ended your friendship. When you finally reunite with the blue-haired menace you once considered your closest friend, it’s under less than “friendly” circumstances.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, LA!Verse, Buggy is a lonely asshole, "Cross-Hairs"/reader is a lonely asshole too, flashbacks, semi-canon divergence, Reader is strong AF, a mixture of both the Reader's and Buggy's POVs, angst

A/N: This chapter is a little shorter than usual with only 2.2k words... Sorry.

Taglist:@kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

You’re like a savage beast when you’re fighting, Buggy admits to himself in awe as he watches you tear through your opponents one by one with substantially more strength than anyone thought your body capable of.

But Buggy's not just anybody. He's always known that your body is of a special sort, an Iron Maiden encompassed by skin, flesh, veins, arteries, and ligaments; capable of bringing ruin to anyone and anything if only you have reason enough. Chains can't hold you, nor can any power on this earth.

He relishes in it.

You have your sword and your pistol both disposable at the belt on your hip, but you seem to have no interest in wielding them for the battle. No, your body is a weapon on its own; a blade cutting through people like grass straws on a narrow field.

It’s during times like these — when he gets to watch your strength from the front rows — that he wonders whether you’ve eaten a Devil Fruit of your own at some point, but that can't be. He’s seen you swim.

You, him, and Shanks had been simply traveling through the town where the Oro Jackson was docked, minding your own business when a group of rival pirates suddenly ambushed you. Thinking they easily could kidnap the apprentices of the famous Gol D. Roger and demand ransom, the shidiots would quickly come to realize that they made a mistake.

A very costly one at that. One they will be sure not to repeat.

Whereas he and Shanks stand partnered together against a few of the rival group, you are holding your own quite well from the other side of the fight. He swears he saw one of the men flying over him at some point, though it might’ve just been a trick of the adrenaline.

Kicking one of the larger pirates straight in the balls with his lower body severed from the rest, he turns his upper body to catch a glimpse of you in case you need help.

What he sees instead is a flash of the sun reflecting in your eyes as you pounce at your prey, casting a yellow line in the air that reminds him of lightning about to strike the ground. Everything around him seems to cease mid-motion save for you. There is no fighting going on, no shouting, no Shanks telling him to take cover from an incoming blow.

All he sees is you, and all he hears is his own voice telling him: "Gods, you’re fucking marvelous."

The last thing he hears is Shanks shouting his name before the world begins to darken around him, and the last thing he sees is lightning making its way toward him, destroying everything in its path to get to him.

He wonders drowsily if it's going to strike him too.

———

The fight that ensues reminds you of the battles you partook in during your years as Captain. The chaos in it all. The carnage. The general inability to think properly as you fight. Of course, your opponents back then lacked Buggy's uncanny ability to split up into multiple parts while still alive, but it doesn't stop you.

Nothing on this earth can.

Blades are thrown, skin is cut, and by the time you get close enough to reach him, a number of props have scattered to pieces in the midst of your warfare. It seems like an endless battle trying to defeat him, just get him to fucking stay still.

Just as you reach for Buggy's chest with your nails reached out to claw at his vest, his midsection separates and all you're left with is air. Just empty air.

He cackles as he puts himself back a few good feet from where you're standing. "C'mon! Put your back into it! It's like you're not even tryin—!"

In a flash, your face is hairsbreadths away from his, and it feels like everything around him stops.

At that moment, he realizes that the golden color of the sun has not left your eyes. Only to find that, upon closer inspection, it's not the color of the sun that he's met with.

It's thunder, and it strikes hard.

Before he has the chance to blink, the next thing he knows is the feeling of a boulder being pushed against his stomach. Not a sound leaves his throat save for a guttural groan, and he finds himself on the ground before he knows it with stars adorning the edges of his vision.

Gods, he thinks while in a state of both pain and exhausted satisfaction, your face a blurred canvas in his eyes. You’re so fucking marvelous.

By the time Nami and Zoro debut to join the battle, you have already pinned Buggy to the ground with your legs planted firmly on each side of his hips, and a bruising grip around his neck as you press your forearm down onto it. Not enough to cut his flow of oxygen, but enough so that he doesn't have the capacity to move unless he splits.

His face, the very same face you used to paint when you were younger, looks up at you with nothing short of manic glee. He doesn't even divide himself up to get free this time. It's almost like merely connecting to him, even during an act of violence such as this, is enough to keep him entertained. Happy, you dare think.

You find those sea-blue eyes looking up at you, and before you try and strike the finishing blow, you hesitate. You fuckinghesitate, because when it all comes down to it, you can't find it in yourself to kill him.

The legendary Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates, the executioner of a thousand marines and other pirates, can't kill something this time.

You can't kill him. You can't kill those ocean-blue eyes, even when your body yearns to see through with what you promised. You always stick to your promises, but for the first time in forever, you don't. You can't.

Not him.

Never him.

Meanwhile, Buggy can't help examining you like you're the most fascinating creature he's ever laid his eyes on, because you are. Even after all this time, he's still as drawn to the fire in your eyes that as he was all those years ago. It's a feeling he can never hope to extinguish.

Nor does he want to.

Being the jester that he is, however, he takes the moment to his advantage. This one, vulnerable moment. It's not out of pettiness, but survival. Nothing personal.

He separates his femur and exploits the momentum to knock you off him. He can tell you're surprised as you position yourself on your knees and hands, yet it only takes you a ghost of a moment to recover.

The fire is back in your eyes, a thousand times brighter this time, and the fight continues.

Now, neither of you holds back, and he becomes first-hand acquainted with just how ruthless truly you can be. When there is nothing keeping you down.

Truth be told, it excites him. Very much so.

He has the Bounty Hunter and the Tangerine-haired girl hot on his tail, but he hardly provides them a medium of his attention. You're the only thing he can't take his eyes off.

"NAMI! THE CRATES!"

And that's where the entire play gradually comes to an end. Maybe it's what pisses him off the most?

You stalk after his separated body parts like a hunter after a flock of deer, throwing them into the crates as the rest of your companions follow suit. Whereas Nami and Zoro are strategic with their actions, complementing each other, you're acting on pure, unadulterated wrath.

You do not have Luffy's stretchy capabilities, Zoro's precision, or Nami's diligence.

What you have is something far, far deadlier.

It's twenty years of pent-up heartache.

Catching pieces of him is much easier than catching all of him.

This is what it's come to, with you and him fighting; with you and him having different goals. It's not the future you envisioned for yourself at all. In fact, it's the exact opposite. If you knew then what you know now, you would've ...

Once, it was you and him together against the rest of the world. Now, it's you against him, against the rest of the world.

You can feel your eyes threaten to sting as you catch his femur and throw it in an open box that promptly shuts, but like with everything else, you push it down. You push it until all that remains is the vague ache.

It doesn't matter, you tell yourself. This is what it will stay like.

In the end, all of his body parts save for his head, hands, and feet are spared from the confinement of the containers, and when he melds them together to a pathetically small version of his usual self, you can't help but address the irony of the situation.

"What have you done to me?!" Buggy cries.

Luffy grins as he caresses his beloved hat, having suffered the most injuries. "Cut you down to size."

Buggy looks as small as you felt that day. Helpless. Pathetic. Reduced to almost nothing.

Still, it's not a moment that brings you any happiness. Not any victory, or satisfaction. You don't even have the urge to gloat.

All it brings you, as you tower over him from the side, is nothingness.

You're tempted to kick him, and you almost do. You take a step closer to him, a river of anger rushing through your veins. With nowhere else to go, it circles.

"The One Piece will never be yours!" Buggy yells and flaps his hands, too focused on Luffy to notice you calmly stalking toward him from the dark. "You're just a sad, lonely little boy, wearing another man's hat!"

It’s Shanks’s hat, you want to scream. Our friend’s hat. Don’t you remember?

Luffy's words don't register with you as you kneel in front of the shortened clown, nor do Nami's questions or Zoro's inquisitive eyes. It all tunes out into the background as you raise your hand slowly to Buggy, and you think about how easy it will be. It will be so easy to end it now. He's weak, he's practically defenseless. There's nothing to stop you now.

Buggy simply stares when he notices you, his mouth slightly parted in what you can only perceive as surprise and ... disbelief? You take one final look at his face, the same face you used to paint long ago, and you briefly wonder how many layers of white, red, and blue separate this one from the touches you applied years ago.

Is there still some residue left? Any fingerprint? Does anything from you still linger with him, or did he try to scrub your touches off his face the same way he tried to scrub you from his life altogether?

Buggy is completely still as your outstretched fingers close in on him, and he thinks that this is it. Now's the moment when you will make good on your threats, where you'll finally kill him. Truth be told, it's a less-than-satisfactory way to go, but surprisingly enough, it doesn't bother him half as much as he expected it would.

Maybe it's because, after all this time, it's still you until the end? You and him, like it was always meant to be.

He closes his eyes with a sigh and finds that the edge of his lip tilts a little up. "Go for it," he says, awaiting the moment when your calloused fingers grip him. He can anticipate your nails clawing at his scalp, tearing the skin of his cranium, digging until there is nothing left to tear at.

Devil Fruit or not, you're the only one he'll let end him like this.

Except, you don't.

All he feels are your fingertips gently grazing the sides of his cheek, so uncharacteristically soft against his thin stubbles that he could've mistaken it for air brushing his face.

The same hands he knows capable of such great feats of violence and brutality, the same ones who had just fought against him with enough strength to match a beast, are touching him like he's made of glass.

He snaps his eyes open, and when he meets your gaze, he's surprised to find them ... empty. Hollow.

The sun is gone, and so is the thunder. Now, there are only clouds in his view.

"Goodbye, Buggy." Your voice is so tranquil that he strains to hear it, and before he gets to, you stand up again and turn your back to him. "He's all yours, Luffy."

No, no! He tries to walk up to you, but his shortened sature won't let him. Don't look away, not yet! Look at me! If only to keep your fucking promise! Just fucking pleas—Please just look at me again!

"GUM-GUM—!"

"No, no, no!" Buggy, for the first time in his life, begs as the kid stretches his arms backward. Not like this. Not yet. He tries to search for you, only to discover that you've already left the circus tent. "Wait, wait, wait! Just wait!"

"— BAZOOKA!"

#buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #one piece live action #buggy one piece #buggy x reader #one piece x reader #buggy the clown fanfiction #one piece #one piece buggy

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whorergal · 1 year

Text

SURPRISED?

summary: you're ghostface instead of ethan…

warnings: descriptions of blood & murder. overall really gory. language (cussing).

pairings: ethan landry x fem!reader, platonic sam carpenter x fem!reader, enemies quinn bailey x fem!reader

authors note: ethan and quinn aren't related in this one btw!! i really liked this idea so here's me trying my best to write it to the best of my ability 😭 also anika lives bc she's my pookie <3

——————————————————————————————

You sat in Quinn's room, making sure to stay clear from the windows she had purposely left open. Messages from Ethan and your friends in general went crazy as they wondered where you were and why you weren't answering. You rolled your eyes, understanding their worry but seeing as you were the cause behind their constant paranoia, you found it annoying to be bothered.

Quinn had left her room, saying she needed to not act suspicious. Her hookup would be making his grand reveal in a couple of minutes where you would be hiding in the closet, hoping to not be forced to witness something that would physically make you ill.

Noises outside the room got louder as you heard everyone laughing. It brought a smile to your face until you forced yourself to drop it.

Yes, you loved your friends. You had known Tara, Chad, Mindy and Sam your whole life—how could you not grow to love them? But, then again, you weren't planning their demise half the time you spent with them until last year when you grew vengeful.

Ethan was just an fortunate bonus you collected once moving to New York that happened to please Quinn, her being the mastermind and all. She liked the idea of getting someone like him to trust you just like how her brother Richie did with Sam.

Although, you did end up falling for Ethan and not just for the act. It was never in your head to make him love you just to hurt him in the end until Quinn meddled into your life and found out about you two. Then, the thought of your reveal and how he would react never left your mind. For some reason, it never crossed your thoughts that you would eventually have to face him seeing as you were too in love with him to kill him.

Your phone screen lit up, a picture of Ethan you took when he was studying popped up. You sighed, making sure to keep your voice low as you answered. "Hey, E."

"Y/N/N, where are you? I thought you said you'd be coming over tonight?" Ethan's worried voice caused your heart to swell. God, you hated lying to him.

"Yeah, I know but I'm still stuck in class," you lied very effortlessly. "My teacher offered to give us extra time to prepare for our next exam so I decided to stay. I might be around in an hour or two."

"Why didn't you tell me? I would've stayed with you," he immediately told you. "I hate knowing you're alone."

"E, I'm fine. I'm in a class full of thirty other people plus my professor," you reassured him, staring into the ceiling.

"Doesn't matter, Y/N/N. What if Ghostface attacks you on your way over? Or what if he's there at—"

"Hey, hey," you interrupted his rambling. "Look, I've done this once before, he'll have to try a lot harder then sneak attacking me while I'm in an Econ class."

"Y/N, I'm being serious," Ethan said sternly.

"So am I," you countered with a breathless chuckle. "How about this? I'll call you when I'm on my way over and we can facetime so you can make sure I'm okay."

The line was quiet until you heard a soft, "okay."

"I love you, E," you told him sadly, hoping he couldn't tell as you continued. "Please be safe. If anything happens, don't play the hero, okay? I can't lose you."

You were saying that mostly for yourself. You'd be the one behind the mask and if he did get in the way, you'd be forced to do something you didn't want to do. You had managed to steer Quinn clear from him until tonight and the last thing you wanted to do was cause him any ounce of pain.

"I should be telling you that," he told you with a smile, you could hear it through his voice. "I'll try not to, alright. Just…I love you. If anything does happen tonight and I can't say it again, just know that I really love you, Y/N."

"Don't say that, E," you interrupted. Your heart felt like it was stuck in your throat. "I won't let anything happen to you."

"You can't control it, Y/N/N," he let out weakly. "But I'm sure nothing's gonna happen, okay? So just worry about your exam and call me later. I love you."

"I love you too, E," you mumbled sadly.

"Get a room!" you heard Mindy yell in the background.

"Minds, stop. It's cute," Sam defended you two.

"Bye, E." You laughed; you couldn't help it.

You hung up the phone, staring down at his contact picture for a second longer. For some reason, that one conversation alone had you rethinking your choices. Would it be so bad to back out of the plan now? Quinn and her dad can take care of the rest—you only had to do with those two college nerds deaths and another guy who you'd seen bothering Ethan on campus, but that was it. The rest was Wayne, which was only the bodega and Sam's therapist.

The thought of even having to possibly kill Sam, especially Sam, because of how close you were with her made you sick to your stomach. So, why were you still apart of a plan that ensured her death along with your friends?

Your second thoughts were interrupted by the swift open of Quinn's door. The redhead came barging in, wearing her pink silk nightgown that barely reached her thighs.

"Nice conversation with your boyfriend," she told you with a certain distaste in her tone.

"Had to make sure I didn't sound suspicious," you defended yourself, getting up from the floor but staying in the corner of the room. You were lying.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "How long are you going to string him along? He's going to hate you when he finds out what you've done…that's if he survives that long."

"He stays out of our plan, remember?"

"Where's the fun in that?" she whined, walking over to mess with your black robe. "He takes you away from me all the time."

You shoved her away. "I told you, Quinn; you and your dad don't touch him. That was our only agreement."

"Yeah, it was when you realized you loved him," she had to point out. "He's turning you against us. Before you met him, you were excited to get revenge just like us."

"No, he's not but is it bad for me to not want to see the one person I actually care about harmed? It's not my fault that the only person you cared about was murdered."

"Just because you're apart of this plan doesn't mean I won't kill you," Quinn threatened as your words fell loosely from your mouth. You just couldn't stand when she badmouthed Ethan in front of you.

"Oh, shut up," you replied annoyedly. "Your dad won't even let you get behind the mask."

Quinn got quiet because it was true until she spoke, having to have the final word. "Fine, you got kills but do you really think Ethan would date a murderer? What're going to do when we complete act three? You think he's going to want to be with you after you helped kill his friends?"

"Fuck off," you snapped, letting her words get under your skin which you shouldn't have.

Quinn was going to continue bothering you but her phone went off. Her current boyfriend of the month was on his way up, forcing you to put the mask over your head and hide inside the closet.

Surprisingly, she didn't do much with him. You were sure she wouldn't pass up the opportunity to make you watch her but it seemed she was excited to get on with the plan. It only made up of occasional frisky touching, some things that were still counted as sexual activities that did make you look away but nothing too extravagant.

He ended up leaving to her connected bathroom to take a shower, saying how he felt dirty. Quinn then started to call her dad, basically filling him in and then she turned to you, gesturing for you to make your grand appearance as she saw Danny standing by his window just like planned.

Your boots helped make you seem taller as you stalked toward her very slowly. Her back was facing you as she rambled on the call about something. Your hand gripped your knife as the thought of actually killing her surfaced in your head. No, you couldn't do that.

Noises coming from across the window caught your attention as you looked up, seeing Danny pointing at you while yelling words you couldn't hear. You tilted your head at him, walking away inside the bathroom.

Killing her boyfriend wasn't too hard as you caught him off guard but the scene had become gory. You'd taken your pent up anger on the poor guy, his blood covering the entire room that you didn't notice until you backed away from where he laid lifelessly in the tub, naked.

You grimaced at yourself and what you had done.

Walking back into the room, you decided to start the act earlier than Quinn wanted, knowing it would piss her off. You rose your knife and planted it straight into the mattress, startling her as she let out an authentic gasp.

She began to scream, making sure to keep it leveled so it didn't sound too suspicious to everyone outside her room. She needed them to believe she was having sex so they wouldn't interrupt before she could get in her costume, which was just covering her entire body with fake blood and a few slashes from your knife to make it even more realistic.

You pulled her up, wrapping your arm around her neck just as you saw Danny take a picture. Then you tossed her to the floor where she crawled to the fake blood and splattered it all over herself and her room.

A couple more seconds, she continued to scream until she stopped and you heard the group outside running toward the door until the silence made them halt.

"Showtime," Quinn whispered proudly.

It made you sick to your stomach.

You held her up, taking a second to let her collect herself before you threw the door open and charged her body at them. Quinn fell on Anika, taking her and Mindy down as the girl screamed at Quinn's "dead" body.

Then, everyone scattered. You saw Chad pull Ethan and Tara toward the direction of the door and you decided to let them go on the account it would mean Ethan was safe. You headed straight toward Mindy, slashing her in the arm, knowing it would be enough to make her weak as blood always made her squeamish to the point she would pass out at times.

Your goal was to get Mindy. That was the plan Quinn had created for you to do but you couldn't. The rush of it all hit you once you saw her hunch over to hold her wound, trying not to vomit at the sight of the blood.

Anika was about to attack you for what you had done to her girlfriend but you got smacked in the face but a large object, sending you flying against the TV. When you peered through your mask, you saw Ethan's familiar light blue shirt and his curly hair, reaching down to help Mindy and Anika. Fuck, you thought. You should've known.

"Come on," he urged them both up.

You collected yourself quickly, slicing him in the arm and throwing him and Mindy against the table. The sound of his wince caused your heart to break but at least he wasn't in your way anymore.

Turning, you gripped Anika and pulled her up by the throat, which wasn't that hard at how light she was to carry. You slammed her against the wall and drove the knife in her gut. She let out a scream that actually made you sad. You could feel yourself losing grip on your knife. Thankfully, you were hit in the head again, causing you to fall to the floor and drop Anika.

Sam dropped the knife dispenser and went reaching for Anika as she carried her inside Quinn's bedroom. Ethan and Mindy were following closely behind. You got up and slammed against the door, causing Sam and Ethan to push against you even harder.

You stopped, remembering the second entrance to Quinn's room. You ran around and almost got through until you saw Ethan immediately run to slam the door in your face. Without thinking, you slipped through the crack and swung your knife around which sliced his skin again, making him even more annoyed, putting full force in his last push. You fell back just as you heard Sam and Mindy put a dresser against it so you couldn't enter.

Would it be so bad to let them go? You were about to give up until you looked behind at where Quinn was playing dead and she gave you a head gesture, as if telling you to get through that door and do something.

You started to kick it, slam your body against it, and slowly but surely the door started to crack. You could finally see in and you saw that they were trying to leave through the window on a ladder, thanks to Danny. You rolled your eyes, growing psychically exhausted but you continued to push against the door, the dresser beginning to shake.

Purposely, you didn't use your strength. You wanted them to survive. Poor Anika made you see that once you saw the gutted look on her face. You weren't close with her but she was a nice girl and she deserved to live. So did Sam and Mindy. Especially so did Ethan.

Sam went first, you caught sight of her hair just as she made it through. Then, Ethan of course had to make sure one of the girls went before him. Mindy gave Anika a kiss, thinking it'd be their last as she shakily made it on the ladder and got through. You continued to slam against the door as you watched Ethan pick Anika up from the bed, walking her toward the window where he helped her get on the ladder and kept it stable for her.

She took awhile to get through that you unfortunately made it inside just as Ethan was barely exiting the window. You stalked toward it slowly because you knew you weren't going to let him die.

"Ethan, you have to hurry!" Sam and Mindy screamed.

He turned around and the scared look on his face could've been enough to kill you. You slammed your knife on the window sill and grabbed the ladder.

They all were expecting some foul play on your end, encouraging him to be quicker but you didn't. Instead, you held the ladder down and stabilized it for him. Sam watched in shock. She was the only one who noticed your action that had been completely out of character.

Ethan made it inside Danny's apartment a second after and they all looked at you. You tilted your head at them, pulling your knife out. Then, you were gone. You didn't even wait for Quinn because you needed to get out of that costume and in Ethan's arms as quick as possible.

#ethan landry #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x you #jack champion #scream imagine #scream vi imagine

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rottenpumpkin13 · 1 month

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oooooo now you’re making me want to read the scenario you described (Rufus trying to tell Sephiroth he owns him and making him snap.) that sounds absolutely delicious

I tried my best!

• The air in the boardroom that evening is heavy enough to prompt Lazard to loosen his tie before it suffocates him. The board of directors—along with Sephiroth, Lazard, and Tseng—convened urgently following the sudden demise of President Shinra and the takeover of Rufus.

• Sephiroth has his reasons for despising Rufus as it is, and is not at all happy about having to take orders from him from now on.

• Rufus on the other hand is entirely motivated by ambition and a restless desire to assert his authority over everyone—but especially his late father's bastard.

• He proposes a ruthless course of action detrimental to SOLDIERs interests, so rash that it's clear to Lazard and Sephiroth what he's trying to do. Sephiroth can't keep quiet and unbothered this time. He is bothered, and he is angry for so many reasons.

• Sephiroth vehemently opposes Rufus's gross proposal. By the way his voice—usually leveled and collected—now rang angrily throughout the room, the other directors could sense the situation was bound to escalate quickly. Rufus was not one to be reprimanded by someone he deemed inferior to him.

• Sephiroth's determination to put Rufus in his place is fueled by the knowledge that Rufus was the reason why Glenn is dead. He refuses to let him harm his other friends.

• Rufus knows that Sephiroth knows. And it's his reason why he keeps quiet when Sephiroth is finished, letting the SOLDER's words sit in the air, untouched and uncured for by the rest of the room, who are waiting nervously to hear Rufus' response.

• Rufus, in turn, will come to wish he had kept quiet.

• "I own Shinra now, and by extension, I own you. Unlike Glenn, who met his fate due to disobedience, you will learn to toe the line or suffer the consequences." Rufus hums. "Much like Glenn."

• Sephiroth is enraged. He had the fire burning inside him all these years, but Rufus drenched it in gasoline. He unleashes an ugly floor of rage that tears at his throat, where no scream will come out.

• Sephiroth launches himself across the the table, hands gripping closed around Rufus's throat, cutting off his words and his breath in one swift move he had been waiting years to make.

• Chaos erupts in the room as attempts to pry Sephiroth from the president prove futile against the strength of the SOLDIER. Lazard is quick to call for reinforcements, summoning Genesis and Angeal to intervene before tragedy strikes and Sephiroth does something he'll regret.

• The aftermath for Rufus isn't pretty. Sephiroth nearly crushed his wind pipe completely and left wounds that made it impossible to talk or much less breath without aid. The doctors say he'll be fine, but each labored breath serves as a reminder of how Sephiroth is now a danger.

• And so Rufus issues an order to Hojo, commanding him to take whatever measures he can to restrain Sephiroth and make sure he never has the power to come after him ever again.

• Hojo knows his glorious experiment, and is aware that Sephiroth won't agree to restraints or control so easily—if at all. As much of an inconvenience as it is, he admires that the boy has boundaries. It's interesting. All the more opportunity to bypass them without him knowing.

• So Hojo administered sedatives under the guise of medical treatment, telling him the pills and injections are for his anxiety and stress only.

• Sephiroth doesn't regret the attack, but he is frightened by his own strength. He figures the treatment for his anxiety will help him.

• The sedatives render Sephiroth a hollow shell of his former self.

• Sephiroth's existence becomes a haze of medicated numbness, the essence of who he once was stripped from him and leaving a zombie in its place. The days blur together from him, and he has no other desire other than completing his tasks and obligations before crawling into bed.

• Genesis and Angeal refuse to let this continue. They need to find something, anything, that will pull Sephiroth out of this haze. So they turn to the topic of his origins—more specifically, his mother "Jenova"

• This leads them back to Banora, where they raid Hollander's old lab in search of any bit of information.

• There they find a photograph of a woman matching the exact description of Sephiroth's mother. Except this woman is wearing a lab coat with the name " Dr. Lucrecia Crescent"

• They're confused, and are left with more questions than they had to begin with. But this has to be Sephiroth's deceased mother. He deserves to know about this—whatever this is.

• So they present the photograph to Sephiroth, who is numb at first, until it slowly starts to come back to him. His mother, who he had thought he'd never see again. Except....

• The shock and endless questions pounding at his skull are enough to make Sephiroth gain enough consciousness to confront Hojo. He goes to him, demanding answers , demanding the truth, shoving the photographic proof in his father's face.

• Hojo makes no effort to hide anything. He reveals everything, every ugly detail that Sephiroth had always feared about himself, his existence, his humanity and subsequent lack thereof.

• The revelation of Sephiroth's true lineage plunges him into a depression punctuated by the effects of the drugs on his weak mind. But it doesn't stop him from being angry. If anything, this propels him to take action.

• Damned be Shinra, damned be Rufus and Hojo, and the lies and the very city that had become his gilded cage for so many years. He burns it all to the ground.

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephiroth #final fantasy vii #ffvii crisis core #genesis rhapsodos #ff7 crisis core #angeal hewley #professor hojo #rufus shinra

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deepouterspacecandy · 1 month

Text

Spared

I intended to write a short drabble about Abby being immune to Cordyceps, but alas, it morphed into approximately 5k words right before my very eyes. How does this happen? Anyway. I appreciate your presence, taking the time to read these fragments of my mind. Thank you for being here. I hope you enjoy. This is a darker, more angsty, gore-filled journey and, as always, it’s intended for 18+ audiences only. Violence and sexual themes.

A man on a mission, Dr. Jerry Anderson devoted himself to eradicating the plague that wreaked havoc on the world.

Developing a vaccine against Cordyceps consumed his life.

In their quest for answers, people would come from all corners of the globe, hoping to be included in his trial. Despite undergoing countless procedures and surgeries in a desperate pursuit of a cure, most patients tragically succumbed to the treatments themselves or to their initial infections. As the years passed and resources became scarce, his experiments progressively lost their footing.

Mere weeks before his untimely demise, Dr. Anderson conducted his last trial on a patient. The experiment unfolded in a way he never anticipated.

After receiving the injection, the patient, without previous exposure to the virus, experienced a perplexing mutation, developing far more than immunity to the perils of infection.

She possessed the ability to communicate with it and maneuver through it, like a ghost.

----------------------------------------

“You wanted to see me.”

Isaac extends his arm, signaling for you to have a seat at his desk. He swirls a decanter filled with a rich, dark liquid before pouring it between two sturdy glasses.

With a jarring crack against the maple surface, Isaac sets one glass before you.

“I don’t drink,” you say.

As you bring the potion to your nose, the pungent smell of the liquor assaults your senses, and you search for a compliment to give out of courtesy. Hoping to dissuade him from making further gestures of rapport, you decide against it.

“Is this an issue I need to be aware of?” he asks. “I have no patience for drunks.”

Leaning back in his chair, he peers at you intently over his glass.

“No, sir.”

Given the stories you’ve heard about his inebriated escapades, it’s quite ironic to hear such a statement from him.

You feel the uncomfortable burn of his glare, a demand for you to elaborate. Clearing your throat, you offer him a hesitant explanation.

“I prefer to keep my head straight. It’s important in my line of work,” you say.

Unimpressed by your reasoning, he leans forward and flicks your glass, producing a sharp sound that resonates through your chest.

“Do you smell smoke?” he asks.

“No,” you say. “But I’d really rather not—”

Silencing you with a raised hand, he swiftly cuts you off.

“Good. I don’t recall setting a fire. Have a drink,” he orders. “We have matters of discretion to discuss.”

As usual, his matters of discretion connect you to his hidden mercenary, a soldier you have treated multiple times throughout the years unbeknownst to your comrades. She’s Isaac’s most lethal weapon, a secret you wish you didn’t have to protect. What he is doing with her feels cruel, using her impenetrable body for brutal warfare and then leaving her isolated with her injuries, all while she waits for the next assignment.

It takes weeks for the roiling feeling in your gut to subside after meeting with her.

“When do you plan on ending this?” you ask.

Maybe the booze is taking effect, emboldening you beyond your usual self. It’s impossible to bite your tongue, the torment of watching this unfold gnawing at you.

“Excuse me?” he drawls.

“Sir, she’s alone out there. It’s not right,” you say, reluctantly downing the last remnants of the glass before pushing it across the desk. “There are factors you need to consider. Mental decline, her physical limitations. If you’d consider bringing her in, she’d make a promising squad leader.”

Trying to reason with him about her basic human needs will be futile, so as with every other matter, it’s more effective to approach the situation from a tactical standpoint. His perception of human beings as living entities is questionable as is.

“Do not underestimate her faculties,” Isaac says. “She’s built differently. This is the purpose she serves to keep her people safe, and she does it willingly.”

“I hear what you’re saying, but sir, if you’d just give me a minute.”

“Do I need to find someone else to handle this case?” he asks.

It’s a loaded question, a double barrel to your temple. The act of assigning someone else to handle her case doesn’t entitle you to be included in the mission rotation again.

Only you hold the key to the secret of her existence, and it will die with you.

“When do I ship out?” you ask.

“Tonight,” he mutters.

He turns his back to you, and you can hear the faint sound of liquid pouring into his glass. When he dismisses you by consuming it alone, you see yourself out.

----------------------------------------

The journey to the prison is a tumultuous one.

The absence of infected is a relief, but the spray-painted rattle snakes garnishing the buildings and the maze of explosives on the roadways dangle ominously in your face. With Bear, your devoted canine companion, you make it as far as the gas station before a spike strip shreds the front tires of your Humvee. The sunken road, slicked by rain and oil, causes the vehicle to lose traction completely, sliding sideways into the long-abandoned propane tank sitting at the edge of the freeway.

Warmth spills through your eyebrows, prompting you to reach up and touch your forehead to locate the source. Your fingers, stained bright red, begin to tremble as you observe Bear—his ears flattened with every dark hair along his spine raised in alarm.

It’s a matter of seconds before a pair of violent hands tear you from the vehicle and toss you into the dirt, jarring rock granules forcing your eyes shut. You blink them away until all you see is a mangled police visor staring down at you, its surface speckled with dried blood, a menacing baton swinging an inch from your nose. Though the mask muffles the voice behind it, there’s a barbed, frigid edge to his tone.

Bear lunges out of the cab, seizing the enemy by his throat and forcing him to the ground. It grants you enough time to scramble to your feet, only to be met with the disturbing view of an infected hoard stumbling toward you from the hillside, chains dragging behind some of them.

Your vision becomes increasingly blurry as nausea ferments in your stomach, twisting you inside out. You pilfer the rifle off your attacker, as a group of his mates emerge from the shadows. You lean against the Humvee, examining the firearm before chambering the only bullet attached to the limp body at your boots.

“Fuck ‘em up,” you command.

Bear is a missile, darting through the rubble, his target set everywhere at once. Next to Isaac’s best kept secret, your dog is a diabolical killing machine.

“Shoot that fucking dog!”

Your eyes narrow in on the enemy poised to strike Bear, and you steady your aim. The roar of your scream lingers in your ears as you fire the only round you’ve got. An aggressive swarm of infected are moving toward the chaos in a cluster of rot and tangled limbs and you’re frozen. A horrific slaughter, surpassing any level of violence you’ve encountered, breaks out in a flash.

The infected shred your attackers apart, ribbons of flesh and shattered bone coating the pavement. The moment you call out for Bear, the sudden noise turns a dozen vacant, pustule eyes on you.

With no weapons at your disposal, you frantically scramble onto the roof of the Humvee, scanning the surroundings for an escape route. A sea of infected pool together like a rancid colony of ants.

Some say that the pain from a Clicker attack is unlike anything else. Perhaps it’s their blind, frenzied hunger that makes them so vicious.

You’re on the brink of discovering it firsthand when the decaying corpse, with its outstretched arms and gnarled fingers, halts mid-motion.

The infected stop in their tracks one by one, haunted marionettes with abruptly yanked strings. Save for the sound of your own blood pumping in your ears, the silence becomes deafening. Their bodies writhe in an eerie synchronicity as you try not to breathe.

In rare form, you squeeze your eyes shut to escape the fear. The sudden weight of a hand on your shoulder causes you to swing violently in its direction, your fist caught by a solid, calloused palm. Your piercing scream permeates the silence before you instinctively clamp your hands over your mouth.

Despite your shock, the lifeless figures remain unaffected, and you squint to make sense of it.

“I don’t understand,” you say.

Through tangled locks of greasy hair, celestial blue eyes stare expectantly. Her intense gaze rakes over you, a familiar pearl-white streak marring only one iris. It’s been a while, but her angular face is a sight you remember well.

“They can’t hurt me?” you ask.

“They can,” she explains, reaching up to examine the gash on your forehead. “But they won’t.”

“Bear,” you blurt.

Using her thumb and forefinger, she turns your chin until you spot your dog at the edge of the hoard. You can feel his confusion as his tail wags anxiously, ready for your next command. The simple act of turning your head sends a tsunami of vertigo crashing over you.

Out of nowhere, your mind becomes a jumbled mess, making it a challenge to string coherent thoughts together. She senses your trepidation, and her hands immediately find your hips, offering stability as you falter.

“I’m dizzy. I need to get down,” you stammer.

Her grip tightens and you try to focus on the sharp sting of her fingertips digging into your skin. The world tilts, the infected shuffling and groaning as they slowly snap out of their trance.

“Breathe,” she says. “Stay with me.”

Darkness cloaks your vision before you can summon the energy to respond.

----------------------------------------

As you blink awake, the biting cold hits you first. The source of the unwelcome breeze draws your attention, as the chilly gusts sneak into the room through a slit in the concrete. It’s meant to be a window, but it falls miserably short of the mark.

You’ve spent countless nights inside this prison, mending the wounds of Isaac’s soldier in the dim, flickering light. It’s the first time you’ve landed yourself in her bed.

The blanket, enveloping you like a cocoon, is unpleasantly musty, and you peel it away. Rising from the rigid steel slab, the room spins, deterring you from getting on your feet. Your body feels heavy and sore, a relentless ache pulsating behind your eyes. You give it another shot and stumble to your feet, using the walls as a crutch until you regain your balance.

Bear sleeps peacefully at the foot of the bed, his gentle snores filling the room. It’s intriguing how he finds more peace in the prison than in his own home, but he certainly deserves some rest.

The clank of iron plates echoes down the corridor, and you follow the sound. Your bare feet recoil against the chilly ground, and you’re left pondering when exactly you misplaced your boots. The hiss of heavy breathing and the occasional strenuous grunt accompanies your journey from one cell to the next, guiding you down the hallway toward the sound.

You peek around the corner and wild blonde hair appears in your line of sight.

Chances are, she already senses your presence, but you give a gentle warning that you’re approaching just in case.

“How long have I been out?” you ask.

Performing dips on a rusted bench, she maintains her focus, her back turned to you. Muscles flex and bulge with each repetition and you notice she’s adopted fresh scars across her ravaged back since your previous visit. Without a word, she powers through her reps and smoothly transitions into her next set.

It took several visits before she would give you anything more than a frosty response. Despite the feeling of regression, it’s possible she just needs time to adjust.

“I noticed you grabbed my bag,” you say, idly fidgeting with your hands as you linger in the doorway. “Thank you for that—for all of it, really. I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you.”

Her body stiffens into a plank, losing momentum in her push-ups. Beads of sweat roll down her face and drip to the ground, her solid body trembling. She takes a deep breath before releasing it in a huff, continuing her routine without pause.

“Have you eaten? I packed some spices I think you’ll like.”

With a frustrated growl, she shakes her head, trying to dispel the irritation. Your instincts tell you to leave her alone to finish her workout, but for some odd reason, you find yourself unable to hold back the torrent of words.

“I thought it’d be cool to start a garden here. Herbs are nice to cook with, you know? Some for healing, too. There’s a decent spot in the yard for it.”

“What’s next—rose bushes?” she mutters.

“Roses can be great for tinctures,” you explain. “It’s a learning curve, but you get great sunlight for them.”

She props herself up on her elbows mid-push-up and lets out a choppy breath. When she raises her eyes to meet yours, anger fills them to the brim, and the hostility is scalding.

“I want Isaac to stop sending you.”

The pain of the unexpected dagger is far more intense than you could have ever imagined. You often wish that Isaac hadn’t implicated you in his secret, but you’ve grown to care for this wounded soul.

“You might as well take me out back, then,” you chuckle humourlessly. “Because that’s a death sentence.”

“Give me five minutes,” she sneers. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Look, I didn’t ask for this,” you say, a kernel of truth wrapped up in a rather emotional reaction to her painful barb. “I’m his soldier, too.”

Springing up from the ground, she snatches her shirt off a nearby chair and pushes past you. Before she slips the tattered garment over her head, you catch a glimpse of a deep, jagged laceration at the base of her neck.

While you make a mental note of it, you ultimately decide against bringing it up.

Rather than hounding her when she clearly wants to be alone, you decide to hunt for that old claw bathtub, desperate for a soak and maybe a good cry.

----------------------------------------

This tomb scatters beauty, but you easily find its seeds.

The copper tub catches the flickering candlelight, and the gleam is otherworldly against the lonely shadows. The moment you step into the hot water, you can feel your skin buzzing with gentle licks of heat and your tired muscles begin to surrender to the relaxation it brings.

You can recall the day she dragged this old bathtub into the prison, the legs of it squeaking across the concrete floor as if the claws belonged to a corporeal animal. Showers alone proved ineffective in hastening her healing process and cleansing her wounds and, surprisingly, despite her initial uncertainty, she took your advice.

The candles differ from the ones you previously left behind, so you assume she still makes use of the hollow luxury when the mood strikes.

Submerging your head, you study the muffled sounds brought about by the density of the water. Everything is disparate beneath the surface, the low-pitched hoots of an owl muted and distant.

“I made food.”

“Jesus Christ!” you choke, body thrashing and creating a chaotic spray of water in every direction.

Your actions soak the woman standing beside the tub and, when she averts her gaze, droplets of water slip from her dirt-slicked lashes.

“Knocking helps!” you say, bracing your arms on the copper ridges.

“Count the doors in here—I’ll wait!”

Her sarcastic wit catches you off guard, and you feel your cheeks sting as confused gaiety tugs at them.

“What’s that face for?” she snaps.

It’s difficult to discern whether she’s asking a genuine question or if she’s in a defensive stance, so you wager it’s a blend of both.

“You’re funny,” you say. “When you’re not being a jerk.”

This time, when her eyes meet yours, the fury dissipates. There’s something soft and temperate where you’ve only ever witnessed the bane of unforgiving steel.

The pads of her fingers are a deep pink hue, and it dawns on you that the porcelain bowl must be extremely hot. You gesture to the side table disguised as a wooden stump and she sets the dish down.

“Can I have a look at that?” you ask, reaching for her hands.

The tub and clever positioning shroud your naked body, but the rest is all about her and her sudden ardent manners. With her face turned away, she offers you her palms first.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” she says.

While inspecting the burn and its surrounding wounds, you notice her shoulders dropping.

“You can sit, if you want,” you say.

Upon surveying the area, you’re aware that the number of chairs matches the number of doors, prompting an apologetic chuckle. A tiny smile teases her mouth as she crouches at your side instead.

“You need to run this under cold water, okay? And I should dress these cuts, so they don’t get infected.”

“What about you?” she asks. “I tried to clean it out, but it’s ugly.”

She moves to touch the gash on your forehead, and her quick movements startle you. When you flinch, her hand lingers in the air until she decides to rework her pace, taking a more languid approach.

“It’s been forever since someone called me ugly,” you jest.

“Missed opportunity,” she mumbles, biting her bottom lip to keep her grin at bay.

“You haven’t polished off that honey I brought yet, right?”

Her expression resembles a guilt-ridden thief caught in the act, and you struggle to suppress a burst of laughter.

“I should’ve known better. Maybe you need a hive instead of a garden,” you say.

She snorts at your suggestion before grabbing the cloth hanging on the tub and dunking it into the water. Instinctively, her weathered hands shape the fabric to dab gently at your injury. The surface is bruise-tender and the pain throbs outward in torturous sparks. She cups your jaw with her other hand to keep you from squirming.

“What if I’m allergic to bee stings? Because that’s a death sentence,” she mimics.

“I’ll try not to throw you in then,” you say. “No promises.”

A wide, earnest grin spreads across her tough features, and you forget how to breathe for a spell. She’s filthy and in desperate need of a hairbrush, but she’s still prettier than anyone you’ve met.

“What’s your name?” you ask.

Isaac never refers to her as anything other than his mercenary, and every time you had considered asking her in the past, your better judgement advised against it. Her preference for anonymity is clear, but you have so many unanswered questions.

In a smooth motion, she glides the cool cloth across the bridge of your nose.

“Do you really want to know?” she asks.

Seeking a moment of connection, you grasp her wrist, pausing her ministrations. Her gaze meets yours with a sense of urgency and she doesn’t break eye contact.

Water trickles from your hands, twirling along her wrist and cascading down her forearm. She fights to keep her eyes open, a raspy hum building at the back of her throat until goosebumps skate across your skin.

“I really want to know,” you say.

Her nod is slow and deliberate, contemplating the price she will have to pay for her decision.

“Once you see me,” she warns, and it’s uncertain whether she’s cautioning you or herself. “There’s no going back.”

“I can live with that,” you whisper.

Just when it looks like she’s ready to share, her body tenses up and you can almost touch the impenetrable barrier rising between you.

“Your stew is getting cold,” she says. “I’ll grab you a towel.”

----------------------------------------

Away from the stadium lights, midnight is a mesmerizing weave of glistening diamonds spilled across an indigo sky. The sight of the Milky Way reminds you of her. That blemish etched along her iris—a celestial river carving through blue canvas.

You curl up on a bedroll in the tall grass and listen to the melodious ensemble of crickets and frogs, yearning for extra time in the countryside. There’s a sense of security here, with no sign of danger for miles. The tall and formidable walls back home do little to drown out the blood-curdling cries of the infected. Their presence is always looming, close enough to unsettle you, but never close enough to harm. It’s enough to disrupt your sleep, their ruined faces bleeding into your nightmares.

The once spirited and untamed landscape of home now only grows the carefully cultivated visions that Isaac orchestrates, depriving both his plants and his people of freedom.

Prior to Isaac recruiting you for his mission, you contemplated abandoning your ties to the WLF. You didn’t want to spend another moment on this planet living in a perpetual state of war, never knowing when you’d catch a stray arrow.

The peaceful ambiance of birdsong in the early morning tempers the harsh world for you. It’s a reminder that amidst famine and devastation, there must be more.

“You’re not sleeping inside tonight?”

Bear’s collar jingles, bringing you a sense of comfort as the dog keenly explores the prison yard before heading back indoors to nap. Your pup instantly feels at ease with the mysterious woman from the middle of nowhere, and you have no trouble comprehending why.

“I am,” you say. “I just wanted to see the stars first.”

“You don’t see much of that where you’re from?” she asks.

When you pat the ground, she sits cross-legged next to you like an old friend.

“Not really. It’s too bright in the city,” you explain. “I’m going to need to stitch that up—don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

While shooting you a disapproving look, she absentmindedly traces the cut near her collarbone before leaning back on her rugged arms. She tilts her head to study the cloudless sky, and it draws your attention to the neat braid resting at the nape of her neck.

A fresh and woody scent emanates from her, with a subtle hint of pine carried to you by the wind.

“I’ve always wondered why there are no infected here,” you say. “You keep them away when I’m around, don’t you?”

You know it’s her, the one responsible for it all, but you’re still in the dark about her methods. The extent of its impact on her remains elusive to you, but you’ve witnessed her increasing exhaustion. Her strength and abilities set her apart, but they also have the power to decimate her reserves.

“They’re closer than you think,” she says.

“If I get up right now and walk out those gates, am I in danger?” you ask.

“Yes,” she says, a look of agony flashing across her features. “But not for the reasons you think. I can’t—it’s people I can’t control.”

“I wasn’t imagining things, then?”

Her teeth grind in apprehension, as she plucks blades of grass from the ground to build a small mound above the laces of her leather boots. You let the gears turn, patiently waiting for her to come to her own conclusions. The struggle lies in wanting her to confide in you, wanting to divide the burdens that shackle her.

“I’m here,” you say. “Whenever you’re ready to talk.”

“What if I can’t?”

“I’ll still listen,” you say.

When she turns her head to face you, fragile threads of trust blur her stern demeanour, a courageous step taken in silence. She lumbers from the ground until she finds her feet.

“Where are you going?” you chuckle lightly. “You need rest.”

Brushing the dirt off her pants, she makes her way to the perimeter fence, beckoning you to follow.

Left untended, the field beyond it is a forgotten acreage of towering weeds, sun-stretched wildflowers wilting beneath the somber moon. The ringing chorus of quick, guttural frog croaks fades as a Runner emerges clumsily from the treeline.

Your heart skips as her rough fingers intertwine with your own, a bolt of sweet lightning cleaving through your chest. You can feel the strength in her grip as she guides your joined hands to the chain-link. She squeezes, pressing the tips of your fingers around the galvanized wire.

You’re left bewildered, staring at her, before she gestures towards the field with a subtle tilt of her chin. The writhing, infected body creeps nearer and your heart pounds. With every graceless step the creature makes, nervous vibrations fuse between your ribs. It stumbles, festering limbs lunging forward, and it takes every ounce of self control to keep from screaming.

The warm body at your side inches closer to ease your erratic breathing. Her composure is remarkable, as if she has performed this action countless times, a mastery of the dead—a striking juxtaposition to your tight, hard swallow resonating through the lonesome field.

Behind the disease-ridden shell, the faint traces of a woman’s features start to emerge as the battered body reaches the other side of the fence. The infected woman is so close to you that you can see the intricate network of veins in her eyes, and the red, inflamed rims of her eyelids where her eyelashes once were. Every muscle in your body freezes, not daring to twitch or even let out a breath.

The septic woman pushes her forehead to the fence, head tilting at an unnatural angle, seeming to study every detail of your face. The putrid odour hits your nostrils with such force that it’s impossible not to recoil. As terror grips you, it spreads like wildfire.

“How?” you rasp, your voice so faint, it’s barely a whisper. “Why isn’t she attacking me—doesn’t she want to?”

“It’s all she wants.”

Your attention falls to the soldier whom Isaac has bound you to restore, and you notice she is rapidly losing strength, her skin growing paler as the life force ebbs away.

“Okay, that’s enough. Make it stop,” you order, panic rising as her nose trickles a thin stream of red. “You know what? Fuck it!”

Without hesitation, you reach for the knife holstered on her thigh, sliding the sharp blade through the fence, until the spindly body collapses to meld with the soil.

----------------------------------------

Your hands move with care as you suture the wound above her collarbone, the heat of her breath fanning your face. Positioned behind her is a mural she painted, featuring a serene beach and a shipwrecked boat nestled against the coastline. Decorated with kelp and dappled with rust, the sailboat’s intricate detailing is striking.

“I’ve never been to the beach,” you say.

Her blue eyes, wide with curiosity, lock onto yours, and a huff of quiet laughter escapes her parted lips.

“What’s so funny?” you ask.

“I’ve never been, either,” she admits.

You take a step back to observe her, noticing the lines etched on her face that tell stories of resilience. There is a captivating depth that makes you long to delve further.

“Well, you had me fooled,” you say, reaching for the scissors on the surgical tray. “You’re a talented painter—I’m sorry I hadn’t noticed sooner.”

With a dismissive shrug, she makes it seem like transforming a gloomy prison into a magnificent cathedral of art is a piece of cake. Her artwork is so impressive that you would never guess she has spent little time at the beach.

“Nah, it wasn’t here last time,” she says, adjusting her stance and widening the space between her thighs to provide you with more room to work. “I thought I’d try something new. We’ll see if it sticks.”

You lean in closer, gently tending to the cuts and scrapes that have gathered along her shoulders and neck. Her skin, adorned with freckles, is a beautiful mosaic of its own. Some strands of her braid have unraveled, perhaps because of a lack of practice, but the untidiness complements her.

“I’ve always wanted to learn to braid hair,” you say, pondering for a moment if, for her, it’s a self-taught skill or something guided by someone more experienced. Her mother maybe. “It suits you.”

Her nose wrinkles skeptically as she lifts her hand from her lap, her fingers carefully tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?” she asks.

Given the antics outside, it’s a valid question. You can’t think of a scenario that sent chills down your spine quite like that one. But with her by your side, you felt an unspoken sense of protection. She nudges you with her knee, her eyes narrowing in anticipation of a response.

“I think I am,” you confess, pulling the steel cart to the other side of her brawny frame to better access the supplies you need.

“And yet, you stay,” she asserts. “I guess you don’t have much of a choice.”

“I always have a choice.”

While you meticulously inspect her newest scars, cleansing the wounds that besiege them, she takes hold of your hand, motioning for you to stop.

“Abigail,” she says, worrying her bottom lip. “My name—if you still want it.”

In an instant, your inquisitiveness peaks, keen to uncover both her origin and the path that led her to this place. All in good time, you suppose.

“Abigail,” you say, appreciating how smoothly it rolls off your tongue. “That’s a really pretty name.”

You watch in awe as a blush creeps up her cheeks, giving her a rosy glow.

“Thanks,” she murmurs. “It doesn’t feel like it belongs to me anymore.”

“Maybe we can change that,” you whisper.

#abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby x you #tlou abby

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