#and at this point my shins are broken in half and still get kicked every episode i watch | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

navegandoaciegas · 3 years

Text

1-2-3 Way

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader x Steve Rogers

Warnings: smut, bed sharing, there was only one bed???, loss of virginity, dom/sub undertones, dom!Steve, sub!reader, switch!Bucky, unprotected sex, praise, slight degradation, overstimulation, face fucking, fingering, slight spanking, edging, doggy style, aftercare.

Summary: There’s only one bed and you have to share it with your childhood friends Steve and Bucky.

A/N: Listen… there was only one bed is my favorite cheesy trope, I’m sorry. Thank you for the commission, @maryfloat , I hope you like this!!

It’s so clichè, the way that the receptionist offers you a tight lipped smile and an apology. There must have been an error with the reservation, maybe the server crashed or something, she says, you’ve booked one room, and that room has one bed only. Coincidentally, everyone’s in town at the same time as you, and the only hotel in the area is fully booked.

How unfortunate.

She hands you the keys whilst Bucky hauls your suitcase and his up the stairs, and Steve follows behind him. She eyes them warily and whispers to you, asks if you’re safe and comfortable, and apologises again for the inconvenience.

When Steve, ever the gentleman, proposes they sleep on the floor, you’re almost tempted to accept and thank him. They’re big and strong, and one night on the cold, hard floor won’t kill them.

You hate sharing beds anyways. It gets too warm with more than one body rolling around, and then someone hogs all the blankets, or kicks you in the shins, or elbows you in the ribs, and you can’t catch a break.

Instead you scoff and wave him dismissively. ‘I trust you guys more than I trust myself.’

And you do, really. You’ve known them since those awkward middle school days, where Bucky was chubby and covered in painful acne, and Steve was dangerously skinny and a foot shorter than you. You’ve fallen asleep on their shoulders on long road trips, occasionally napped on their legs in their dorm rooms, fallen asleep on Steve’s hospital bed when he was a frail kid and you and Bucky took turns visiting him.

You trust them, you really do, but still, sharing a tiny bed with them seems more intimate, definitely more wrong, than anything you’ve ever done.

It sends a weird signal down your stomach that your brain can’t quite interpret. You’re not anxious, but as you sit sandwiched between them, you can’t say you’re relaxed either.

Bucky sits to your right, computer perched on his lap, open on the Netflix account he pays for and Steve and you leech off of. He makes the most money with his waitressing job, the old ladies love tipping him for his flirty remarks and bright smiles, so it’s only fair.

Steve munches on a chalky protein bar to your right, a frown on his forehead as he chews with his mouth open and judges Bucky’s recommended section.

“You’re not making me watch another sci-fi, Barnes.”

“And you’re not forcing me through another Studio Ghibli movie, Rogers.”

“C’mon, at least those are relaxing-,”, “and cute,” you quip, intercepting Steve’s snack and taking a bite out of it just to spite him. He side eyes you, pinching your side as hard as he can.

“Oh? I forgot you were the ones paying for the account.”

“This is literal blackmail, holding the damn Netflix over our heads like that.”

“Not sure that blackmail is the word you’re looking for, but go off, bud.”

“Don’t smartmouth me.”

“Or what?”

They bicker like they’ve always done, and you’ve been friends with them long enough to have learnt how to drown out their voices when they fight.

Sometimes your friendship feels like it’s always been, playful, sibling like. They roughhouse you, you make fun of them. It’s familiar, warm, comforting.

No matter how bad school gets, no matter how uncertain your future seems, no matter how many times you get your heart broken, you know that Bucky, Steve and you will always be there to pick yourselves back up.

Some other times the lines get blurred, and it’s scary. But the scarier it gets, the more rewarding it becomes to look for signs, finding them in the smallest of things, like how Steve gets all sulky when you go out on dates, or how Bucky constantly seeks your approval for whatever he does.

You space out as they pick a movie, your mind eerily quiet, your body weirdly warm.

There’s a pit in your stomach that you can’t understand fully. It’s been there a while, ever since your friendship has started to shift, and your stares have been lingering as much as their affectionate touch.

Your eyes travel from Bucky’s black t-shirt to his side profile, tracing the gentle slope of his nose and his pouty lips. Lately, you’ve been looking at him a lot more, catching yourself in the act and shaking yourself out of your thoughts.

What thoughts, you don’t know. Your mind is blank more often than not when you’re set on him. When you’re with them.

You’re doing it again, unconsciously, until Steve elbows you in the side, and you’re rudely snapped out of your reverie.

“You’re too quiet,” he mumbles, eyeing you suspiciously.

“Which is weird since you never shut the fuck up,” quips Bucky, hitting you with his shoulder, effectively bringing you back to reality.

You resist laughing because you’ll never give him the satisfaction, and just swing back at him.

“I’m just tired, ‘s all. My neck hurts a lot, guess we’re getting old, huh.”

Bucky just shrugs and presses play on the movie they’ve chosen. You smile at Steve as convincingly as you can to get him off your case.

He nods at you, not quite sold, but leaves it at that, knowing better than to prod you.

“Want me to give you a massage?” he asks, wiggling his fingers in front of your face.

“Please?” you pout, turning your back to him.

Your thought process was that you can never refuse Steve’s healing hands. You didn’t think it through so much, clearly, as he kneads the knots in your neck and you feel your lower body coming alive, a warmth pooling awkwardly in your belly.

Bucky gives you the most offended, betrayed look you’ve ever seen, frowning and pouting like a petulant child.

“S’ not fair. I want a massage too,” he whines, shimmying his shoulders in your direction, offering you the best puppy eyes he can muster.

Cute, you think. “Gross,” you say, “I’ll give you one if you stop with the face.”

He just sticks his tongue out, wiggling between your legs.

The movie plays in the background, your mind too focused on Steve’s warm hands on your bare skin and Bucky’s back muscles flexing under your touch.

The hot feeling in your chest is back when his eyes move from the screen to yours, a goofy smile on his lips, features relaxed.

You bury your hands in his silky hair, scratching his scalp. He almost moans, butting your palm like a kitten.

He’s so effortlessly sweet that it hurts.

It’s silent in a comfortable way, with the sound effect of the movie lulling you all, except your traitorous brain, in a serene state.

It’s a kids movie, and you’re just giving yourselves a massage like you’ve done hundreds of times before, but something feels different about it, in the way that Steve’s warm breath tickles your neck, or the way that Bucky turns around every few minutes just to smile at you.

At some point your hands stop moving, and your back is flush to Steve’s front as he holds you in his arms, Bucky’s head on your lap as he hugs your thighs to his body, fingers absentmindedly caressing your skin, hiking up your legs, higher and higher-, goosebumps erupting all over you. He stops just before the hem of your shorts, making his way down to your knee, just to do it all over again.

You can no longer deny the fluttering in your core, nor the slick gathering in your panties at the thought of what would happen if he just crept higher.

By the time that the end credits roll around, you're cocooned in their warmth, Bucky asleep on your stomach, your own eyes droopy. You’re drowsy, pliant in Steve’s hold as he adjusts you both comfortably on the pillows.

The last thing you feel, as darkness envelops the room, is his lips on your forehead as he whispers to you good night.

You hate sharing beds, but when you wake up in the middle of the night between them, you think you may not hate it as much as you thought.

Bucky is a messy sleeper, arm swung over your hips, legs sprawled over half the mattress, face buried in the pillow next to yours, back gently rising with every breath he takes.

Steve is more put together. He sleeps on his side, lips parted, one arm under the pillow, the other close to your side, his fingers intertwined with yours.

You don’t know how long you spend staring at the ceiling, heart hammering in your chest, wondering if this shift in your friendship will bring you closer or break you apart in the long run. You don’t want to entertain the chances of them breaking your heart, or you breaking theirs.

Even the possibility of having to choose between one of the two seems absurd to you.

The bed creaks under Bucky’s weight as he turns to you, tightening his hold on your hips. You’re paralized as he nuzzles his nose in the crook of your neck, a breathy whine escaping his lips. All your blood travels to your face when you feel his hard on rub against your legs, his hips uncounsciously rutting on you.

“So soft,” he mumbles, eyes fluttering open.

You’re staring at each other, almost in a daze, and maybe it’s because it’s pitch black outside and you’re in your own little dimension, or maybe it’s the adoration in his bleary eyes, but you don’t turn away when he closes the distance between you.

The kiss you share is soft, lazy, tentative.

You prod his mouth open with yours, tongues swirling together with no rush and no shame. You’d imagined kissing your best friend would feel more awkward than this, and instead his warmth, his taste, his hungry kisses, everything about it seems natural to you, like it’s what you’re supposed to have been doing all this time, a chance you were too scared to take.

You’re so lost in the moment that you barely register the lips on your neck and another set of hands making its way under your t-shirt, settling on your stomach, fingers barely grazing the underside of your boobs.

As soon as his mouth detaches from your own, Steve is pouncing on you, his kiss more rough and demanding than Bucky’s, tongue less hesitant as it explores you, wiping any remnant of sleep out of your mind.

You’re breathless as he invades all your senses, barely wrapping your head around the fact that your shy friend is eating you whole and the flirty, outgoing one is just looking with hunger and rubbing himself on your leg.

Steve breaks away from you, a string of drool connecting you, his eyes dark with desire. He pecks your lips again, smirking at you as he lowers his face, leaving a trail of kisses on your jaw, to the column of your neck, down your collarbones, settling between your tits.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, grasping the hem of your t-shirt, “Can I touch you? I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

You nod fervently, growing needy with each passing second, “Please Steve, just touch me.”

Bucky gets bolder, kissing you with more conviction this time. Your clothes are shedded, his bare skin heated against yours, your hands in his hair.

Steve takes his sweet time making his way downwards, leaving a trail of bruises on your chest, stomach, hips, kneading your ass. He settles between your legs, looking up at you as he closes his mouth on your clothed pussy, sucking through your panties and leaving a wet mark on them.

You’re embarrassingly horny, arousal dripping out of you, nipples stiff as Bucky plays with them. You want him to rip your panties to shreds and take you right there and then, but Steve has other plans, enjoying the way you’re so pliant underneath him.

He grabs you by the hips, turning you around with your face down and your ass up in the air. The string of your underwear is almost swallowed between your puffy folds, stained with your slick.

Steve takes a deep breath before tugging the string up, teasing your swollen clit with the material, raptured by the way you’re so open and ready for them, glistening with desire.

Bucky sits back on the headboard, eyes half lidded, legs spread before your face. You trace the outline of his hard cock through his boxers, mouth watering at the idea of him inside you, filling you up.

Steve doesn’t give you the time to touch him before he’s tugging you upwards by the hair, flush to his chest. His breath tickles your neck as he teases you through your panties.

“Are you gonna be good for me? For us?”

You don’t have to think about it, strings of ‘yes’, ‘please, ‘touch me’, leaving your lips as if having a mind of their own. It would be embarrassing to be this wanton with anyone else, but with them, everything is like it’s meant to be.

“Then be a good girl, okay? Show Bucky how good you can be with that pretty mouth of yours,” he grunts in your ear, pressing his hard on against your ass cheeks, “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

You nod, grind yourself on his cock, so pent up and desperate for release that you rub your legs together just to feel the string of your panties digging in your folds, hoping it would help soothe the ache in your cunt.

“Of course you have, you little slut,” he grunts, pushing your head down on the mattress as Bucky tugs his underwear down.

Yours is ripped by Steve, thrown somewhere in the room, exposing your quivering hole to the cold air. Arching your back, you silently beg for something, anything, which comes in the form of a sting and a loud smack reverberating in the stuffy room.

Steve smacks your pussy again, and again, and again, until the sharp pain in your clit becomes so pleasant that you could come just from that. Bucky wastes no time yanking your head towards his crotch, slapping his heavy cock on your cheek, until your face burns with humiliation and need.

Your hands tremble as you reach for him, hesitating before licking a stripe from the base to the tip, savoring his musky pre cum. You swirl your tongue around the head, teasing his sensitive slit with kitten licks, hands fondling with his balls.

Steve’s thick finger prodding at your entrance makes you gasp, giving Bucky the perfect opportunity to shove your face down his cock until you’re coughing, lungs burning, clawing at his things as he holds you down.

“Calm down, Bucky. Stop bein’ so desperate,” Steve’s voice is muffled in your ears as you struggle for air, feeling light headed.

He plunges a finger inside your pussy, then another, eased by the embarrassing amount of wetness dripping out of you.

Bucky whines something in return, yanking you up. Tears blur your vision as you heave, barely getting enough air in your lungs before he pushes you down again, using your head as a flashlight.

He keeps you still, nose buried in the dark hair of his pelvis, as he stands on his haunches. Grabbing your face with both hands, he starts relentlessly pummelling inside you, fucking your mouth with abandon.

With a broken moan he thrusts all the way down, his balls slapping your chin, fingers clamping around your nose when you start gagging.

“Oh, she likes that. She’s squeezing my fingers,” Steve says, scissoring his fingers between your gummy walls, “Do it again.”

Bucky pinches your nose one more time, depriving you of all air. Dark spots start appearing at the sides of your vision, mind hazy. He lets up before you faint, barely giving you time before he’s stuffing your mouth with his cock once more.

Steve lays down between your legs, face up. From his perspective he can see your glistening pussy, your tits bouncing with the force of Bucky’s thrusts, and his cock disappear between your abused lips. You’re being so good to them that he feels like rewarding you.

His hands guide you to sit down on his face, your moans muffled as he latches onto your swollen clit. He sucks on it until you’re on the edge of your orgasm, walls quivering with the need to release.

He stops just before you can reach your peak, and spanks your clit again.

“You’re not coming on my mouth now.”

Your throat vibrates around Bucky’s cock with moans of pleasure, spurring him on to hold you down longer, chasing his own orgasm with a string of curses.

“She’s gonna faint, idiot,” Steve scolds him, tearing you away from Bucky’s cock, drool dripping down your sore jaw.

“She can handle it,” rasps Bucky, rolling his eyes.

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” you frown, slapping Bucky’s hands away when he reaches for you.

“Brats, both of you,” Steve sighs condescendingly, “Be more gentle. And you,” he warns, pinching your inner thigh, “don’t talk unless it’s to beg for more, ‘kay?”

There’s a pause, an awkward moment when you don’t know where to look, what to do with your hands, waiting for Steve to take control again, like he always does.

“So-” Bucky starts, looking up at Steve for guidance, “What now?”

“You’re both- y’know, it’s your first time actually doing it, right?” he asks after pondering for a second, eyes darting between the two of you.

“Yes,” you both respond, and he hums.

“Then you two should go first, be each other’s first times. It makes more sense. I got her ready, so it shouldn’t hurt.”

The idea of Bucky’s cock inside you makes you a bit anxious, considering how much you struggled taking him in your mouth, jaw still sore from his abuse, but it also fills you with warmth.

You trust them blindly, and you want this, you want him to be the first one inside you for whatever reason.

There’s no need for words between you, a tiny nod and a reassuring smile all you need to settle on the pillows, spreading your legs for Bucky to settle in between.

He’s always so sure of himself, but in the moment he looks like a lost puppy. He pumps himself a few times, and braces his weight on one arm as he lines his cock with your entrance.

He gives you one more kiss, tasting himself on your lips, before pushing past your entrance. The tip is barely in by the time that you screech, the pain sharper than you imagined, and Bucky halts immediately despite looking like he’s about to bust on the spot.

Your pussy feels like it’s burning, and no amount of fingers inside you could have prepared you for the stretch of your walls.

“It’s okay,” Steve whispers in your ear, a hand rubbing your shoulder to comfort you, “You’re doing so good, being such a good girl, you’re so perfect. It will go away before you realize, promise.”

“Okay, okay, I can do this,” you pant, digging your nails in Bucky’s back.

“Let’s switch, it will hurt less if you’re on top,” Steve suggests, and you and Bucky comply.

He lays down on the pillows as you straddle his hips, propping yourself up on his toned abs. Steve kneels at your side, holding you up as you hover over him.

Your heart’s beating out of your chest as you grasp Bucky’s cock, taking a deep breath to steel yourself before inching down on him, whimpering with every centimeter that gets swallowed by your gummy walls.

The stretch feels like it’s splitting you open, and if it weren’t for Steve’s strong arms, you’d collapse and cry on Bucky’s chest.

Steve whispers praises and reassuring words in your ear and kisses your tears away, swirling his fingers around your clit to help you out, and Bucky caresses the sides of your waist, mumbling broken apologies to you, kissing your neck.

Once you finally bottom out, you still and slump on Bucky’s shoulder, burying your nose in his hair, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent.

The pain is throbbing, burning, but it becomes more subtle and bearable the longer Bucky stays inside you.

“Okay, it’s getting better” you wheeze in an attempt to encourage yourself, “But I can’t feel my legs now.”

They break in a fit of laughter, easing the tension in the room.

“Let’s switch again,” Bucky proposes, slightly out of breath with the way that your pussy is squeezing him in a vice, “I can move.”

You nod, clinging to his neck as he lifts you up, careful not to let his cock slip out of you.

“I want to feel you close,” Steve says, slightly out of breath, “Lay her on me.”

They help you lay on his chest, Bucky’s cock still buried inside you, the pain fading away in a dull sting.

You’re sandwiched between their bodies, enveloped by their warmth and affection, coated in your slick and their sweat, and despite the discomfort, you’ve never felt as full of love as now.

Bucky seeks permission with his eyes, then reassurance from Steve, and starts rocking his hips tentatively, biting hard on his lips to keep himself from cumming embarrassingly fast.

His cock drags against your walls, a ring of white cream slowly accumulating around the base.

It’s not painful anymore, slightly uncomfortable at times when he’s accidentally too rough, but the burn is now a simmering heat that grows in your core with every thrust.

Steve sings praises in your ear, “Look how good you’re doin’, taking Bucky’s cock so well, you’re such a good girl,” whilst Bucky rutts needily on you.

He’s sloppy in his movements, and his hips don’t have a rhythm to them. He takes you high, close to a release, just to fuck it up again when he stutters, involountarily edging you over and over again.

“I’m close, I’m so close, I’m gonna cum inside you,” he moans.

In a blur you’re on your stomach. Bucky positions you on your knees and pummels inside you again, thrusting more forcefully as he loses himself in the pleasure.

You whimper between Steve’s tender kisses before Bucky tears you away from him, yanking you flush against his chest.

“I love you, I love you, love you so much, love you,” he keeps mumbling, tightly clutching his arms around your stomach and tits, slamming you hard on him.

At that angle Bucky’s cock pushes against a sensitive spot inside you that makes the coils in your stomach tighter, your clit throbbing and your walls clamping down on him.

Steve, never one to be outdone, sits back on his haunches and manhandles your head down again until you’re faced with his hard, leaking cock.

He’s trimmed more neatly than Bucky, but he’s just as big and intimidating.

He slaps his cock on your lips, smearing his precum on you. You’re a moaning mess, automatically taking him in your mouth, savoring his musk on your tongue.

Your jaw is still sore but you do your best to accommodate Steve, eager to please. You relax your muscles and let Bucky’s thrusts do the work for you, already lightheaded with the lack of air.

They keep stuffing you with their cocks, bouncing you between each other, the lewd sounds of your squelching pussy and the bed creaking filling the room.

Bucky’s fingers teasing your clit, your lungs burning, your vision going spotty, it’s all too much for you.

Just as you think you’re about to reach your peak, you feel Bucky pause and stutter, a choked moan escaping his throat as he comes, stuffing you full of his warm cum. Steve comes at the same time, and you almost choke on his release as he spills his load down your throat.

It feels good, you’re fuller than you’ve ever been, but it’s still not enough to push you over the edge.

You both collapse on Steve, exhausted, cum pouring out of your hole and onto the sheets. You expect him to take you immediately after, instead he snakes a hand between your bodies, finding your sensitive clit, overstimulated with all the touching.

“You did so well, baby, you were so good for Bucky. Now cum on my fingers, cum for us,” he moans, twirling your bud between his fingers.

Pent up as you are, it doesn’t take long for you to finally come, almost blacking out with the intensity of your orgasm, your limbs shaking and quivering between theirs.

When you come down from your high, you’re tired out, your whole body is sore, your hips and legs hurt, and the cum seeping out of your entrance reminds you of the burning pain there, now back with a vengeance.

When morning comes, you’ll have to remind Steve to buy you Plan B.

The exhaustion catches up to you as soon as your head hits the pillow, a loud ring in your ears as you barely register your surroundings, Bucky already asleep by your side in true Bucky fashion while Steve takes care of you both, cleaning you up and tucking you in bed.

He whispers ‘I love you’ and kisses the tip of your nose.

Maybe one day you’ll say it back.

For now, you let yourself rest in their embrace, always the three of you like it’s meant to be.

—

Damn, 4k words of porn. This felt like giving birth or something sksjshj

Please, share and leave a comment if you can 🥰

#bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #stucky x reader #steve x bucky x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you

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havenoffandoms · 3 years

Note

Hey congrats on 900 followers! Would I be able to request the touch starved prompt from your list with the pairing Aiden/Lambert please? Love all your writing!

Hello!! Thanks for requesting this prompt and this pairing! I’ve been on a right Lambden kick recently, so I felt inspired. I hope you like it!

Prompt 13: Touch-Starved

Pairing: Aiden x Lambert

Warnings: None

Prompt List

Lambert was apprehensive about many things concerning Aiden when the two started travelling together. Being stabbed to death in his sleep comes to mind, or having Aiden go all batshit crazy if Lambert dared to beat him at Gwent. Lambert has heard many rumours about Cat witchers in his long life. Cats are batshit crazy. Cats are emotionally volatile. Cats are backstabbing sons of bitches… literally and metaphorically. Cats are bad. Cats are evil, etc, etc. All these rumours circulated in Kaer Morhen long before Lambert even set foot in that ramshackle castle. He was too young to have witnessed the Tournament, but he heard the older witchers talk. Later in his life, when only a handful of wolf witchers were left after the sacking, Eskel gave Lambert a more detailed account of the Tournament.

“The Cats betrayed us, went on a rampage. Killed many wolf witchers in the process. Geralt and I lost many friends that day,” Eskel told him one evening, when the oldest surviving wolf was too far in his cup to notice that he was oversharing. “Radowit’s court mage Astrogarus promised the Cats monopoly on killing monsters within Kaedwen in exchange for attacking the Wolves during the tournament. Turns out Radowit was a backstabbing motherfucker himself. He ordered his soldiers to shoot all of the remaining witchers of both schools in the arena.”

“Lemme guess,” Lambert spoke, his own speech slightly slurred, “pretty boy saved the day?”

Eskel shook his head. “Fled. Mousesack helped him escape the massacre. Poor bastard never forgave himself for abandonin’ our brothers, but what choice did he have?”

Don’t get Lambert wrong. He’s not saying that Aiden is harmless, far from it. The guy’s lethal with his swords, deadly with a pair of daggers, not to mention a stealthy and clever thief. Aiden is mercurial, hot-tempered and a bit feral when he wants to be, and his morals are at best dubious. Whereas wolf witchers had their emotions beaten out of them at a young age, cat witchers feel too much, too strongly. Lambert’s witnessed Aiden flip tables when peasants beat him at Gwent, but he’s also witnessed the Cat shed a tear after bringing the news to a mother that her son did not survive the ghoul attack two villages down the road.

Lambert was apprehensive about many things concerning Aiden when the two started travelling together, but the Cat had never ceased to surprise him. The most unexpected trait Aiden has displayed to date is his insatiable need for physical contact. It’s not like Lambert hates being touched - he’s only human, albeit a mutated one, but still human. He enjoys a hug as much as the next person, especially when said hug comes from one of his brothers (or, dare he say, Vesemir) at the end of a long and difficult year on the Path. Lambert has also never begrudged a bed partner a post-coital cuddle session. Aiden’s need for physical contact is… on a whole different level.

The first time it happened, Lambert almost shoved the Cat off him and sent him packing, until he realised that Aiden was not only hugging him, but clinging onto him. His sharp nails were digging in the soft material of Lambert’s shirt, the fabric creaking in protest under the firm grip. When Lambert looked down, he noticed the pinched eyebrows and tears trailing down Aiden’s face. It wasn’t until a broken sob pushed past the Cat’s lips that Lambert reluctantly returned the embrace, arms wound tightly around Aiden’s trembling body. Aiden eventually settled in the safety of Lambert’s arms, his features softening as he sank back into a peaceful slumber.

Neither mentioned the previous evening’s impromptu cuddling session, but from that moment one, it was like someone had flicked a switch. Aiden came up with every possible fucking excuse to touch Lambert. Their hands would always accidentally graze each other when they packed up camp, or tacked up the horses. Aiden would bump shoulders with him when they were travelling on foot. If they sat next to one another in a tavern, Aiden would press his leg against Lambert’s, and if they were facing each other, a tentative foot would gently nudge Lambert’s shin and linger there. It’s not like Aiden was trying to hide his intentions, either. They rarely paid for two rooms anymore, because even if they did, Aiden would always end up in Lambert’s bed anyway, arms wound around Lambert’s body like a koala clinging to its mother.

Lambert doesn’t hate Aiden’s need for physical proximity, he’s just… confused by it. Aiden rarely takes any lovers to bed, even though he clearly craves physical intimacy. Lambert is more than happy to cuddle with Aiden, especially when they are forced to sleep under the stars and the early autumn frosts begin to settle over the region. It saves them from lighting a campfire, which may attract the wrong kind of attention to them. That’s all that’s ever transpired between the two, though… cuddling. Lambert enjoys the cuddling as much as Aiden does, but for Aiden it seems to be about more than mere enjoyment. The Cat simply refuses to go without physical intimacy which at times can be… alright, it can feel overbearing, but Lambert’s not about to complain, not when most humans turn away from him in disgust and contempt when he tries to chat them up.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Aiden almost develops a form of separation anxiety. He refuses to let Lambert out of his sight, going so far as to follow the man everywhere, and that’s the moment when Lambert snaps.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” he asks, his tone hiding none of the irritation he feels at being tailed by this overgrown tomcat. Aiden stops dead in his tracks, his eyes growing wide at Lambert’s words.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been following me since this morning… I have errands to run and it’s hard to do that when you’re breathing down my neck!”

Lambert instantly regrets his words the minute they leave his mouth. Aiden’s shoulders visibly sag at Lambert’s comment, his content expression melting into something sadder and the sight tugs at the wolf’s heartstrings in all the wrong ways. Aiden averts Lambert’s eyes shyly, the tip of his ears turning a pretty shade of pink as embarrassment washes over him. Lambert heaves a sigh. Way to act like a fucking dick.

“Sorry, Aiden. I… I didn’t mean to sound like an ass, but-”

“It’s alright, I… I knew this moment would come eventually.”

“What are you talking about?” Lambert asks, a confused frown etched on his face. Aiden doesn’t look at him when he replies in a voice far too small to belong to the lethal, cocky witcher Lambert has come to know over the past few months.

“You’re gonna ask me to leave for good. I get it. I… I’ll go back to the room and pack my things.”

As Aiden turns around to leave, Lambert’s hand shoots out and grabs a hold of Aiden’s wrist. Before Lambert’s brain has a chance to catch up, he finds himself pulling Aiden into a nearby alley, away from prying eyes of judgemental humans meandering the stalls of the midweek market. Aiden looks so unsure now, so vulnerable like this, and it makes Lambert want to wrap the Cat up in warm blankets and cuddle him and forget the world for a while. Instead, he settles on pressing Aiden’s back against the wall and draping himself around the Cat witcher as much as he can.

“That’s not what I meant,” Lambert breathes in the air pocket between them as he locks eyes with Aiden, “you’ve just been… especially clingy recently. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Aiden averts his eyes once again, but Lambert is quick to grip the other man’s chin and force Aiden to meet his gaze. Even that simple touch pulls a small hiss from Aiden, whose eyes flutter shut as he relishes in the feeling of Lambert touching him anywhere. Lambert purses his lips, eager for an answer.

“Aiden-”

“Winter is around the corner,” Aiden whispers, his tongue darting out to lick his suddenly dry lips. Lambert’s frown deepens.

“And?”

His question is met with a pointed eye roll from Aiden.

“And… wolves return to their dens for winter, don’t they? I was just… enjoying the last few weeks in your company before you leave and never come back.”

As the final piece of the puzzle slots into place, understanding dawns on Lambert. He pulls away from Aiden and the small whimper the loss of contact triggers does not go unnoticed. Something old and fragile aches in Lambert’s chest as the meaning of Aiden’s words sink in. Aiden isn’t just worried about being separated from Lambert for a few months, but he’s worried that Lambert will never come back.The wolf links his fingers with his Cat’s, squeezing softly as he leans into Aiden’s space and rubs his bearded cheek against Aiden’s jawline. The latter quickly melts under the soft ministrations, the soft content rumble deepening into a continuous purr as Lambert nuzzles the crook of Aiden’s neck.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“Yeah, right,” Aiden snorts in response, “cause you’re so good with feelings and shit.”

“Not everyone’s a sappy sentimental bitch like you are,” Lambert teases gently, earning himself a half-hearted slap up the back of the head. “I don’t have to go back to Kaer Morhen this winter.”

Aiden tenses, his soft purring stopping abruptly as he takes in Lambert’s words. Lambert continues to rub his cheek against Aiden’s jaw, his neck, his cheek… wherever he can reach, the action meant to soothe the brewing storm in Aiden’s mind.

“It’s your home,” Aiden offers weakly, “I don’t want… I… it’s your home.”

“I can send a letter to the old man. Let him know I’m alive. We could find a den somewhere else… an attic somewhere, or an abandoned castle.” Lambert nuzzles the spot right behind Aiden’s ear, earning a pleased hum from the Cat. “Or you could come with me.”

“Sure. Cause that’s gonna end well…”

“That’s settled then. I’m spending winter with you.”

Aiden pushes Lambert away, their eyes meeting once again but this time, Aiden searches for any trace of a lie in Lambert’s amber gaze. He finds none, because Lambert is one hundred percent honest in his offer. He would ditch Vesemir, Geralt and Eskel for a year to spend it with Aiden… and the thought should scare him more than it does, truthfully. He’s only known the Cat for a few months, and yet… well, maybe Lambert was dreading the winter as well. How about that? It’s not like he felt equally anxious about leaving Aiden, it’s just… fuck off.

“You mean that?”

“Mhm. Fair warning… I hate the cold. If I’m spending the winter with you, you’ll have to find a way to keep me warm or I will bite your head off.”

In Aiden’s defence, he does keep Lambert warm all winter long. Their cuddling finally turns into something more, and from the moment Lambert and Aiden cross that fateful line there is no going back. Aiden becomes insatiable, always seeking Lambert’s body in some shape or form, never letting the wolf out of his sight again. Lambert may have been apprehensive about many things concerning Aiden when the two started travelling together, but it turns out that all his worries were for nothing. Turns out Cat witchers are still crazy, and feral, and mercurial… a tad possessive as well, something Lambert doesn’t hate... but they’re also the cuddliest sons of bitches on the Continent.

Lambert can live with that, he thinks.

Request a prompt.

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godofsexdrugsandrocknroll · 3 years

Text

Streaming, Flaxen, Waxen; or Yang and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Jaune: *Storming in* Okay, it was kinda funny when you started hiding my scissors, Yang, but you gotta stop.

Yang: *Who had been eating her lunch, talking with Blake* Okay, what?

Jaune: My razors, Yang. Stop stealing them already.

Yang: *Genuinely baffled* Don’t know what’s crawled up your ass, Jaune, but I haven’t touched your razors. Or your scissors.

Jaune: Oh sure and I just happened to wanna grow my hair out.

*Sure enough Jaune’s blonde hair now reaches past his shoulders in a half up, half down style*

Blake: *Swirling a glass of water, eying Jaune* I think it looks nice.

Jaune: *High pitched* i tHinK iT loOkS nICe.

Yang: Hey, watch it. She’s being serious. It’s a good look--

Jaune: Fine, whatever, but the beard!? C’mon, stop playing games.

*Jaune also has a pale, almost metallic blonde beard that’s gotten pretty long - to the point where he needs a beard comb*

Yang: And I’m telling you *blows a raspberry, covers her mouth*

Jaune: *Opens mouth, closes it* Okay, not gonna lie. That kind of dismissal actually stings, Yang.

Blake: *Smiling behind her glass* Jaune. *Nods to the wall behind him*

Ruby: *Blushing*

Weiss: *Wide eyed*

Jaune: *Gears slowly start working*

Jaune: *Realization dawns, gasp overdramatically* IT WAS YOU TWO!

Yang: *Bursts out laughing*

Blake: *Giggles*

Jaune: *Gazing brokenly into the distance* Betrayed by my own girlfriends. Oh, I can totally understand why every singer ever has written about heartbreak now.

Weiss: *Eyes are still fidgeting, not looking at him directly and her cheeks have pinked* Oh stop. I-it’s just...*awkward pause* well it was Ruby’s idea so she should explain it!

Ruby: *Blushes harder and ignores Yang’s cackling* What!? Weiss you traitor! *Weiss refuses to look at her, clasping her hands* Well, uh, Jaune, i-it’s...ah, I know! How about me, you and Weiss go to the bedroom and I’ll fuck Weiss’ face on your dick while you eat me out!

Weiss: *Immediately goes bright crimson, shrieks* RUBY ROSE!

Blake: *Silently shaking from laughter*

Yang: *Freezes, lurches forward a bit* Oh. Well this is a new kind of pain.

*Weiss is slapping at a squealing Ruby, face burning and trying to get past the taller girls defenses*

Ruby: *Defending herself and peeking at Jaune from between her arms* H-howza ‘bout it!? Ow, Weiss, I’m sorry! Ow!

Jaune: *Crosses arms, gives disappointed stare*

Ruby: ACK! Not that look! OW WEISS, MY EYE! *To Jaune, hand over her eye* I only like that look when it’s cause I couldn’t hold my breath long enough or cause I came before Weiss *mutters* again. *Weiss slaps her on the top of the head* Ow, my soft spot!

Weiss: *Her neck is now red too as she finally, grumpily, crosses her own arms* Your entire head’s a soft spot.

Blake: *Has her face on the table to hide her tearful eyes, her body shaking*

Yang: *Clutches her heart* What happened to my sweet little baby sister who wanted me to braid her hair and brought me cookies and her stuffie when I was sad?

Ruby: *Defeated* Fine. I hope you know just what you were turning down--

Yang: *Crisis intensifies*

Ruby: --but if you have to know, it’s c-cause, well, *quickly* you look super hot with long hair.

Yang: *Distressed* She can shatter my entire world without blinking an eye but that’s what’s got her bashful!?

Jaune: *Blinks* Uh, thanks?

Ruby: *Blushing, looks away bashfully* Really hot. *Nudges Weiss*

Weiss: *Won’t look him in the eye* No matter how you wear it. Right now? You kinda look like a viking and i-it’s...yummy. *Ruby nods agreeing* Ponytail?

Ruby: Somewhere between starving, sexy artist and casual Jaune, which is just as sexy if not more.

Weiss: And g-gods help either one of us if you let it down because I don’t think you understand how good you look with a breeze running through your hair, just l-looking over the horizon.

Ruby: Even if you’re just thinking about what you’re gonna eat later. Trust me. It works. *Eyes glaze over* It’s like someone took hot guy and heroic knight and wrapped them all into one and *whistles and Yang flinches at it*

Weiss: T-the point is it looks good. Very good.

Jaune: *Shocked, very flattered and blushing* Oh. I had no idea. And my beard?

Weiss: *Face wobbles and she squeals, putting her hands over her face*

Ruby: Uh, that’s Weiss for she likes the way it feels. *Carefully puts an arm up, eying her girlfriend cautiously* Especially when you’re going down on her or she parks it right on you.

Weiss: *Screams into her hands, kicks Ruby in the shin and turns away* R-Ruuuubyyyy!!!!!! These things are supposed to be private! B-between lovers!

Yang: *Looking harrowed* Finally someone speaking sense in this broken, twisted world.

Ruby: Please, Yang knows I do stuff. She’s fine.

Yang: *Gapes, swallows* I think I understand how Dad felt when I started dating now.

Ruby: *Shrugs at Jaune* And I kinda love that too. Plus, just...mmmm.

Jaune: *Rubs his neck, looking away* ‘Mmm’?

Weiss: *Muffled* Yes. Beards suit you. Y-you’re handsome no matter what, but the p-pervert’s not wrong to suggest that this new look is very attractive.

Jaune: *Genuinely bashful* Oh. Then I guess it’s not so bad. But why didn’t you just say something-- *Looks at Weiss hiding while Ruby won’t stop cutely fidgeting* --aaannnddd nevermind. Got it.

*They all awkwardly stand there for a few minutes before Jaune nods, looks to Yang*

Jaune: Sorry for accusing you guys, I just figured this had practical joke written all over it.

Yang: *Weakly* N-no problem, Jaune.

Ruby: *Nods in the background* Okay, you got us both all worked up again - OW! My butt! I’m gonna make you kiss it better, Wei-OW-OW-OW! I’m sorry! *Focuses on Jaune, rubbing her recently slapped bottom* Jaune. Bedroom.

Jaune: *Immediately distracted* Well I guess if I’m having that much of an effect *trails off before smirking* but I think I know two girls who are in clear need of spankings. Faces down and asses up, you naughty girls.

Ruby: *Whispers* Oh gods we gave him confidence. *Shivers, salutes* Yes sir! *Scampers off*

Weiss: *Staring wide eyed, blush acting back up and she swallows, speaks quietly* You’re not the boss of me.

Jaune: *Smirks, walking forward* Oh? *Chases after Weiss who shrieks, spins and runs after Ruby, following her with his head held surprisingly high*

Blake: *Breathing heavily, hiccuping while wiping away mirthful tears* Oh my goodness. Those three are something else.

Yang: *Thousand yard stare* I want to die and never see the light of day again.

Blake: Oh please.

Yang: My poor, innocent baby sister! *Trying not to cry as Blake rolls her eyes, grabbing Yang’s arm to lead her outside and away from the house*

#rwby #jaune arc #ruby rose #weiss schnee #war of the roses #jaune x weiss x ruby #jaune x ruby x weiss #bumblebee #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #this is what happens when you let a drunk type #what's crack-a-lackin'

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sicparvismorrigan · 3 years

Text

Big Fun

Sam helps you feel better after you lose your temper.

Uncharted/Sam Drake/Post-U4

Viewpoint: 1st person gender-neutral reader

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: ~2.6k [complete]

Okay, outing myself a little here in the hopes that it’ll be a comfort to at least one other person. This happens…more often than I would like. I’m working on it.

This came about because of a discussion with @writingawaymylife thanks Aerin!

Read on Ao3

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, are you shitting me!”

You finally lose what little patience you had left and punch the wall. Underneath the cheap wallpaper it’s solid concrete and you instantly regret your feral outburst. There’s a millisecond of nothing before the pain comes rushing in, and then you’re bent double, clutching the wrist of your injured hand with the other and groaning.

You try and flex your fingers to check if they’re broken, but you can’t really tell. It’s too late. Your hand is numb within the minute. Shit, that’s really going to hurt in the morning.

You’re clumsy anyway, it’s the way it’s always been and the way it always will be. You know what you need to do, how you need to move, but your body won’t respond how you want it to. You’re always dropping plates and glasses, smashing them to bits. Usually when you’re already running late, and then you have to waste more time by scurrying around looking for a dustpan to get rid of the evidence.

You’re forever bumping into things, stubbing your toes and taking layers of skin off your shoulders and shins when you walk straight into doorframes. When you try and pour things you spill them more often than not. Yet more mess to clean up, yet more time wasted.

Your fingers just won’t work sometimes, often so badly it takes you multiple attempts to tie your shoes. And when it’s cold you’re practically useless. You just give up and tuck the laces into the shoes, feeling them rub through your socks, promising yourself to fix them once you’re back in the warm, everything will work out as long as you don’t trip over your own feet before you get there.

It’s the most frustrating thing in the world. Normally you can shrug it off, you’re used to it by now. But things had been going wrong all day, even without your clumsiness, and matters just came to a head.

You remember exactly what caused you to erupt into expletives and punch the wall. It had already been a frustrating day, work was a pain in the ass, as usual. All of the most awkward customers in the world had decided to descend upon you right before your break. By the time you got home you were in a pretty foul mood. Too wound up to relax, you decided to take a load of laundry downstairs to put in the washer.

You attempted to, anyway. After trying and failing 3 times to pick up the same damn sock from the floor of your room that your fingers just would not grasp, you’d given up and kicked it away under the bed in anger. Oh sure, couldn’t pick it up but you managed to land a furious kick the first time around.

Though you were trying your best to manoeuvre around the doorframe with the pile of clothes you still bumped off it with your shoulder, muttering ouch as the latch scraped your arm. Then you overcompensated by moving too much in the other direction and stubbed your toe on the corner of the door. Instant pain that made you see red.

The pile of clothes in your arms were promptly thrown on the floor in a fit of rage. That was when you punched the wall. And now you’re a sorry state, fingers throbbing and face red, trying not to scream.

Oh shit, you hear Sam moving around in his room down the hall. There’s no way he didn’t hear you. Well, this is embarrassing. There isn’t time to pick everything up and hightail it down the stairs before he catches you, not with your mangled claw out of action.

You hear his door creak open. You slowly turn around and stare guiltily at your roommate as he pokes his head around the doorframe.

“I heard…” He takes in the sight of the pile of laundry scattered on the floor and you holding up your tingling hand, still hopping from foot to foot. “Jeez, again?”

***

Sam is your friend Elena’s brother-in-law, or something like that. You aren’t clear on how exactly they’re related, but you knew her from college, long before she got married. She heard you were looking for a new roommate a few months back, and she got in touch, telling you she knew just the person.

You baulked initially when you got a phone call from her after sparse contact over the last few years. You were actually enjoying living by yourself again, though money was a bit tighter. Your last roommate was pleasant enough at first, however they soon turned out to be a nightmare, it was a relief to get rid of them. But you liked Elena a lot, and you did owe her one or two favours. For some reason she thought you and Sam would hit it off.

And much to your surprise, you did. You were a bit nervous of him to begin with, but Sam turned out to be so laid back he was almost horizontal. The perfect foil to your occasionally manic energy. Living with him was easy, there weren’t any awkward silences. If you were in the same room but didn’t feel like talking, he was fine with it.

Your apartment was pretty basic but he seemed happy there with you. He even made you dinner sometimes when you’d had a tough day and you’d just come in and flop face down on the sofa. Sam would wordlessly stand up and then half an hour later come back through to get you with the same phrase every time. “You gonna eat something, or what?”

Elena had reassured you he probably wouldn’t even be there a lot of the time. He just needed somewhere to touch base every few weeks, she turned out to be correct.

You didn’t even really know what Sam did. He didn’t appear to have a job, he was almost always home during the day and seemed to spend a lot of time on your Playstation (“our Playstation” according to Sam). But he came up with his half of the rent every month and then disappeared again for a few weeks. You didn’t ask, not your business. You’d started to find the house too quiet and empty when he wasn’t there and you were always waiting to hear the keys in the lock and his joking “Honey, I’m home!” whenever he came back.

After moving in it didn’t take him long to pick up on your quirks, or notice that you were more accident-prone than the average person. It had led to the only argument you’d ever had with him.

One time while making dinner you’d dropped a plate and cursed yourself as it cracked in half on the tiled floor. You’d stared daggers at him, daring him to say a word about it. You totally weren’t expecting what he did next.

He’d just looked at you dead in the eyes as he pushed another plate off the counter. Exactly like a cat would.

You blew up at him. “What in the hell did you do that for? Now there’s twice as many sharp bits to clear up!”

“It’s just a plate.” He had shrugged, leaning back on the counter.

“What’s your damn point?”

“That it really doesn’t matter, and that I don’t care that we’ve had to replace pretty much everything in this kitchen since I moved in.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Not everything. You owe me a plate now.”

“You know, maybe we should invest in plastic ones.”

“We are adults Sam! And it’s not good for the environment.”

“And the current… situation is not good for your bank account!”

“Just because you’re used to plastic cutlery.” Kind of a cheap shot, but you’re still mad. You’d gathered he’d done jail time, but you didn’t dare ask what for, or how long. You caught him saying weird things sometimes and eventually realised it was because his concept of time was a little warped. He kept referring to the 90’s like it was only last week, instead of nearly 20 years ago.

Sam just laughed at your plastic cutlery comment, not at all offended. “Yeah, and I like living here so much I’m willing to do that if it means you’ll stop beating yourself up.”

“I’ll think about it.” You grumbled. But you got some plastic cups and plates on your way home from work the next day. Sam was right, it was a lot better, though it made you feel like a kid again.

As you’d gotten more comfortable with Sam you’d given up trying to hide the fact you were a walking health hazard and didn’t stifle your curses anymore.

At first he seemed amused by your clumsiness, he even laughed the first few times you did something stupid. But he quickly realised how upsetting your lack of control over your own limbs was for you, because it happened so damn often. He stopped making fun as soon as he noticed you couldn’t laugh it off with him. It wasn’t a joke to you. From then on he’d been surprisingly nice, he always attempted to make you feel better when it got too much.

***

Even so, right now as you were having a stand-off with him in the hallway, you gritted your teeth and tried to keep your voice even. Stay calm, he’s just concerned. “Yes, again.”

“What did it ever do to you? Y’know, standing there, being all wall-like…stopping our house from collapsing?”

“I lost my temper again. Punched the damn thing.”

He shook his head. “I’ve told you, you’ve got to look after those hands.”

“But they’re so fuc-“ You stop and sigh when he raises an eyebrow. Calm. “Flipping useless. I’m useless.”

“Not true.” Sam steps out of his room and walks in your direction. On the way he kicks a rogue sock back onto the main pile of mess on the floor. “Take that, you scoundrel.”

“I just wish my brain worked normally.”

“Your brain is fine. Your music taste on the other hand.” Sam moved his hand up and down in an ‘ehhhhhh’ motion and shook his head. “No no.”

He’s kidding, of course he is. Damn his sense of humour. But you don’t feel like smiling just yet. It still fucking hurts. “I think I broke something this time.” You really thumped the wall. You wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve actually done damage.

“You want me to check?”

“Please.”

You hold out your hand for him and he carefully wiggles and stretches your fingers one by one, watching your face for any reaction. You wince once he gets to your thumb. Oh, that one hurts the worst.

“No, thumb on the inside? For real?” Sam looked at you in disbelief.

“Apparently so.”

“That’ll learn you. That’s like rule number one of punching anything.”

You sigh. “Anything broken?”

“No, we’re all good. But keep your thumb on the outside next time or you really will break it.”

“Surprisingly, I wasn’t really focusing on technique that much. Oh hey, you should check this one again.” You hold your middle finger aloft.

“Very funny.” But he smirks at you, knowing he’s helping you feel better.

“Come on, you do that one to me all the time.”

“Learning from the best, what can I say? Oh, shit…” Sam’s staring past you.

“What, what’s wrong?” You glance back in the direction he’s looking.

Sam moves to the wall, right where you just punched and looks at you in faux-panic. “I need a medic!”

“Really?” You watch in amazement as he starts to do something to the wall which looks an awful lot like the chest compressions from CPR. Wow, he’s very committed to this bit.

“We’re losing them!”

“Sam, there’s barely a scuff on the wallpaper. I definitely came off worse.”

“I need a crash cart stat!” He yells at nobody in particular.

“Jesus Christ. You’ve been watching too many daytime medical dramas.” You just shake your head, but the corners of your mouth are threatening to twitch upwards.

“Have not…Beeeeeeeeeep! Aw, we lost them. RIP.” He finally steps away from the wall and shrugs. “I tried.”

“You’re such a goofball.” At least you’re smiling now.

“Hey, it worked didn’t it? Frown upside down.” He squeezes your shoulder. “You really did a number on that wall though, huh? I heard it all the way down there. Hell, I felt it. Made the stuff on the shelves rattle.”

“Yeah, I’ve had a bad day. A really bad day. People are assholes.” You glance down at the pile of laundry still littering the floor. “I should pick this up.”

“Do you have to right now?”

“Well, yeah…I was on the way downstairs to wash it.”

“I’m not sure the structural integrity of our house could take it if you had another…incident on the way to the washer. That wall’s concrete but you’re gonna end up going clean through one of the others. Then you’ll lose our security deposit.”

“My security deposit.”

“Right, right, right. That doesn’t mean you can punch holes wherever you like.”

“You could fix it though if I did?”

“Yeah, I guess. Y’know, I’ve never really asked you about it before, but talk me through it, what goes on in your head right before you flip out?”

“I don’t know, I just…see red and it happens before I can stop it.”

“Uh-huh.” He’s nodding. Bizarrely, he doesn’t look too freaked out to you admitting you pretty much go into berserker mode over minor inconveniences. “I know you can’t do anything about having 2 left feet, but you can do something about letting it get to you.”

“What, count to 10 or something?” You ask, mocking. Like you haven’t heard that one before.

“Yeah, seriously.” You get the impression he’s talking from experience. “It works, don’t question it.”

Screw it, he’s being really nice. At least he understands it’s not because you’re an idiot, it’s because your brain isn’t wired like most peoples. And he was right about the plastic plates. “Alright. I’ll try.”

“And you come tell me if this thing pisses you off again, I’ll deal with it.” Sam shakes his fist at the wall. He really is an idiot sometimes. But he does make you laugh. He’s your idiot.

“Gotcha.” You give him a thumbs-up with both hands, wincing again, the movement hurts.

He gives you a sly look. “How about you flex those fingers, and we play a game awhile. Crash Bandicoot maybe?”

“Again? I’ve got loads to do….” You fidget anxiously. you know what he’s up to though. Trying to get you to chill out.

“Just for a little bit. Scared I’ll beat ya?”

“Pffft, not even close, but I’m at a disadvantage this time.” There’s still no way he can win.

“I resent that, I’m getting pretty good.”

“You just mash the buttons.” It’s a fact and he knows it.

“C’mon, c’mon. I gotta at least beat your high score before I have to leave again.”

“Okay, okay, fine. I’m in. Let’s go!” You nod in the direction of the stairs.

“Loser deals with that later on.” He points at the abandoned pile of laundry on the floor.

“Deal, don’t go easy on me.” You step around it and follow him to the sitting room. Even with a crippled hand you’re pretty sure you can thrash him. “Elena and I used to play this in college, wonder if she still has it…”

***

Thank you for reading!

Yeah…I am not just clumsy, I am more like ‘danger to myself and others’ levels of uncoordinated. But I can’t be the only one! Don’t worry, Sam’s got your back ;) Also the title is the song Big Fun from Heathers the Musical because once again it has invaded my life. The whole soundtrack has been on a loop for days now. I LOVE IT. Punch the wall and start a fight!

- Sam Drake and Elena Fisher belong to Naughty Dog/the Uncharted creative team and I (sadly) take no ownership of them.

- This work is not for profit though it belongs to me and I must be credited when copying or reposting elsewhere

- As mentioned before reader is intended to be gender-neutral so please interpret this fic however you like. This is my first x Reader fic published and first g/n reader viewpoint I’ve attempted so I hope I did okay. I myself identify as mostly female so that’s what I normally write because it’s easier for me to connect with. But this was fun.

#uncharted #naughty dog #sam drake #samuel drake #sam drake x reader #uncharted fanfiction #my writing #my fanfiction #no y/n #sam drake x g/n reader #sam drake x you #elena fisher #one shot #big fun #sfw #anger issues #no smut #hopefully just makes you feel a lil bit warm and fuzzy #roommate!sam

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her-world-on-fire · 3 years

Text

"I promise I won’t let you fall.” {Jason Todd x Reader}

MASTERLIST

REQUEST HERE

Word Count: 3, 304

Hi! I just read "it was all yellow" and just got me hooked to ur tumblr! I'm not sure if the requests are open but if their are could u pls do an angst with fluff ending ab Jason × Reader ft. Drivers license? Thanks for the attention ♡♡

Prompts: 20. “i promise i won’t let you fall.” 101. “leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” 118. “you’re the only person i want to wake up to every morning.”

“JASON DON’T,” I stepped forward and he moved to pick up his bag. The tears that had welled in my eyes now began to fall. He had his back toward me. But the crack in his voice told me everything I needed to know. “I’m fine!” He stopped and turned back to me. “You had 3 broken ribs, a collapsed lung and a concussion.”

“It wasn’t you fault.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

“The heat signatures showed that most of the guards are on the 4th floor.” Dick’s voice sounded in my ear. “You need to get in through the south entrance on my signal. The shipment arrives in 30 minutes.” I looked at Jason, he was beginning to get impatient. He hated sitting around, and he was not one to follow direct orders. He paced back and forth on the rooftop. “We can just take them all on.”

“Let’s just wait for the signal. We don’t know what we’re up against.”

“They’re just low level fucking criminals.”

Another few minutes passed. “Fuck it.” Jason leaped from the roof and onto the next building. “Jason!” He ignored Dick’s voice and broke one of the windows. I followed after him. The sound of gunshots immediately alerted everyone inside the building. Glass from the windows crunched under my boots, and the air was heavy with gunpowder. The sound of a loud crack echoed in the warehouse. I followed the trail of bodies. There were six men on the floor, each clinging to life. I could tell by the way their limps were sprawled, they were in a world of pain. I ran down the hallway and the gunshots resumed.

I reached for the first hired gun I saw and went after him. His gun was pointed directly at Jason. I reached up and knocked it out of his hands. He was caught of guard, I slammed my hand against his throat. He choked and I brought his leg down out from under him. He fell with a loud thump and I slammed my fist into his face enuring he would be asleep.

Now a few of the men turned towards me. I took my staff and two men charged towards me. I rushed forward and hit one on the side of his head, he tumbled and I kicked him in his shin. He cried out in pain and fell to the floor. The other lunged for me and I moved out of the way before he could grab me. I looked over at Jason for a second, he was getting overwhelmed. Quickly I took the mans arm and slammed it against my knee earning a loud pop. I lunged to Jason. One of the men had managed to get his arms around him. Another was beating him. I took my staff and slammed it on his arm. In that moment Jason slammed his head back against the man who had been holding him. Then he kicked him as he fell. The man turned towards me angrily as the blood trickled down his arm. He pulled out his gun, I moved under him and slammed his hand into the wall. The gun fell and I kicked it away. His other hand reached form my hair. I kicked him in the crotch and he groaned.

I slammed my fists against his face. I looked around the room, Jason was gone. I ran out of the room and up the stairs. We were on the 4th floor now. “There’s a truck coming in.” I reached Jason and helped him clear the room. “There was C-4 in that truck get out now!”

It all happened in a split second. There was a faint beeping noise. I quickly turned to my left. C-4 was placed on the north wall. Jason was standing right by it. He was too distracted to notice. “Look out!” I ran to him as fast as I could and grabbed his collar. I tossed him outside of the room and took the C-4 and threw it to my right.

The walls began to crumble I tried moving out of the way. I had moved out of the room but the floor was falling underneath me. Jason reached out for me but he was half a second too slow. The last thing I remember was the feeling of falling. Jason’s blood curdling scream filled the room.

I was lucky it wasn’t a lot worse. I didn’t blame him. It had been 3 months and he still couldn’t look at me.“I should’ve waited. I should’ve been paying attention. It should have been me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true! You could’ve died and that would have been on me.” His voice broke. His guilt was eating him alive. If he had just listened, then this would’ve never happened. Dick didn’t let him hear the end of it.

“Let’s just talk about this. Don’t go.” I moved towards him and he stepped back. “I can’t.” The room fell silent. We both looked at each other. My throat was hoarse, I had been trying to get him to stay as soon as he started packing. He didn’t have anything left to say. “I’m sorry.” I rushed forward and embraced him. As gently as he could he put his arms around me. It had been 3 months since he touched me. He was worried he would break me. But I knew this was he way of saying goodbye. “Please.” He pulled back and wiped the tears from my face. His own eyes were bloodshot. He leaned forward and placed a kiss on my forehead.

He pulled away and took his bag and his helmet. He grabbed the door handle and opened the door. He paused before walking out and closing it behind him.

--------------------------------

Jason practically fell of the grid. No one knew where he went. He was smart, he covered his track electronically. He had slowly been withdrawing his inheritance. Transferring what he could into burner accounts. It was meticulously planned. Another month went by and I went back to train.

It was hard being around the team. For a long time they treated me as if I were glass. I was going to break at a moments notice. I could see the pity in their eyes. I turned to training as an outlet. I focused all of my time and energy into. I didn’t want to be left alone with my thoughts. The memories of Jason and the accident flooded my head. I kept as busy as possible.

Dick had informed he knew where he was. He had found that the crime on the south side had dropped by 5 percent. In his first week down there he acted like himself. He never crossed the line but the scenes were far from innocent. He was acting on his emotions and releasing his anger. But after just a week, he was controlled. The scenes were getting harder to identify. He started to blend in.

Jason’s anger was something like I had never seen before. It was destructive and explosive. He was getting better, but after the accident something changed. He was regressing. Whatever had been holding him together had snapped.

As much as I wanted to, I wasn’t going to go after him. He needed space. As I got inside my car I turned on the radio. I didn’t want to go back to the apartment. It was hard being in that space. I was so used to sharing the space with him. I drove, not looking for anything specific.

And I know we weren't perfect but I've never felt this way for no one And I just can't imagine how you could be so okay now that I'm gone Guess you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me 'Cause you said forever, now I drive alone past your street

I sighed, being back at the manor had brought back a lot of feelings. Memories of training. Sneaking around the manor. From the moment we met we were inseparable. At first I was annoyed by his cockiness. But once I took him down during training, he turned it down. Overall he was impressed. That later turned into infatuation. We did everything together.

As I drove through the city all I could think of is all the places we went together. None of them would ever feel the same without him.

And all my friends are tired Of hearing how much I miss you, but I kinda feel sorry for them 'Cause they'll never know you the way that I do, yeah Today I drove through the suburbs And pictured I was driving home to you

I wanted more than anything for it all to be a dream. I wanted to wake up and have everything back to the way it was before. I wouldn’t have let him go inside the building. I would give anything to go back and change it all. I would really be there for Jason.

But I've never felt this way for no one, oh And I just can't imagine how you could be so okay, now that I'm gone I guess you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me 'Cause you said forever, now I drive alone past your street

I found myself driving to our usual place. We stumbled inside after patrol, and talked for hours. I looked inside and pictured us sitting there. We were laughing so loud we were drawing attention to ourselves. If anyone ever had a problem with it Jason would laugh even louder.

If Jason hadn’t left large tips then I’m sure we would have been kicked out. But in his eyes they deserved it. They were hard workers and they were good people. He tried to give back as much as he could because he couldn’t growing up on the streets. He used to go into the back and try and save food from the garbage.He thought about the nice owners who would let him take a few things. Some even offered him some work. He remembered all those faces, and he gave back. That’s the kind of person he was.

Red lights, stop signs I still see your face in the white cars, front yards Can't drive past the places we used to go to 'Cause I still fuckin' love you, babe (ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh) Sidewalks we crossed I still hear your voice in the traffic, we're laughing Over all the noise God, I'm so blue, know we're through But I still fuckin' love you, babe (ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh)

It pained me that it was over but he needed this. He was so angry once he came back. Angry at the joker from taking him from Bruce. Angry at Bruce for letting him get away with it. Angry at the world for letting it happen. For as long as he could remember he needed to fight to survive. It was a long road to even get to where he was now. But he knew that he still had a long way to go. And he couldn’t let anyone else get hurt while he figured it out. He had to start piecing himself back together for his sake, and for everyone around him.

I know we weren't perfect but I've never felt this way for no one And I just can't imagine how you could be so okay, now that I'm gone 'Cause you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me 'Cause you said forever, now I drive alone past your street Yeah, you said forever, now I drive alone past your street

We had problems. We were far from perfect, but I don’t want anything else. I spent the rest of the car ride in silence. I decided to get back to the apartment. I couldn’t hide forever. I needed to start living again. It’s what he wanted.

--------------------------------

I turned the key and the door clicked in response. I heard shuffling on the other side. Immediately I reached for my staff. I opened the door, the lights were still off. I moved quietly, as I tried to search for the source. Quietly I closed the door, and moved through the apartment. I noticed a card on the coffee table. I heard a creek. I turned down the hall. I waited for a moment and I heard the footsteps approaching me. Right when they were about to round the corner, I pushed them against the wall. Holding them in place with my staff.

I looked up and dropped the staff. “Jason?” He looked shocked, more so than I was. “I had to see you.” I bit my lip. I was feeling overwhelmed. He was the last person I expected. I worked hard to put myself back together and now I was going to have to do it all over again.

“Are you coming back?”

I was getting mixed signals. The card on the table gave me the impression he was leaving again. It was like he intended to just drop it off and leave. But he stayed until I got back. He was tense. His arms were crossed over his chest, overall he looked very closed off. He wasn't giving me an answer.

I broke the silence.

"I can't do that again. You can't leave and come back, and except me to be okay.” I swallowed, trying to keep my tears from spilling. “I begged you to stay and you just left. I haven't heard from you and now you're back and I don't know how much more I can hang on." Once again the tears welled up in my eyes. I was reliving the moment he decided to leave all over again. Deep down I know why he left. He needed to learn to forgive himself. He needed time to work on himself. But it was hard knowing that he could leave at a moments notice. Even though it hurt him he still did it.

"I'm sorry. I had to go, I couldn't look at you without blaming myself. It was selfish of me to leave but I understand that now." He moved forward and took a deep breath. "I promise I won't let you fall."

And he meant it.

His own eyes were cloudy with tears. " I tried to convince myself that you were better off without me. But I can't do this without you. That month I spent alone made me realize how empty I was without you. You're the only person I want to wake up to every morning."

"But if you decide that you don't want me-" I didn't let him finish before I pressed my lips against his. He responded immediately. We pulled away and he ran his thumb across my cheek. I wrapped my arms around him. I could feel him loosen up. He had been so tense, it felt as if he could finally breathe again.

"Come on, I have something to show you." He pulled away and stretched out his hand. I took it and he opened the door and led me out. We walked to his bike and he handed me my helmet. He got on his bike and started the engine. I got on and wrapped my arms around him "Ready?"

I nodded and he took off. The sun was just beginning to set. Although Gotham wasn't the safest city, it was mesmerizing. I leaned my head against Jason and watched the streets. The streets that had seemed somber were now vibrant. Jason stopped at the red light and turned back to me. I gave him a smile.

We went on for another 5 minutes. "Okay close your eyes."

I closed my eyes and we stopped soon after. Jason turned off the bike and helped me off. He gently took of my helmet and took my arm. He guided me, and I heard a door open. We had entered some building. "Can I open my eyes now?" I asked, growing more curious at time went on. He laughed at my impatience.

"Yes."

I opened my eyes and looked around. It was the Gotham botanical gardens. "This is beautiful." We walked down the pathway and I took in my surroundings. The bright yellow flowers, the beautiful stream leading to the fountain. As I looked around something stuck out to me. There was a lack of people. There must've been one person who opened the door for Jason and I. But I didn't see anyone. "Where is everyone?" I turned to Jason and he smiled. "I may have rented the space for the night."

"Jason this must be a fortune." It was government property, he had to get approval from the mayor himself. "How?"

"Believe it or not but the mayor actually owed me a favor."

We reached the center of the garden. There was a table that had been set up. Jason pulled my chair out for me. Suddenly a workers had appeared. They set the table and the lights were dimmed. As quickly as they appeared they were gone. The table was filled with our favorites. The drinks were from a cafe just near the apartment. The food was from our usual spot after patrols. There were small delicacies from the pastry shop we frequented to satisfy our sweet tooth. "This is really something, Jason. Thank you."

"I'm keeping my promise. Leaving you was the hardest thing I've ever had to do." I won't ever do it again."

We talked as we finished dinner. It felt like just another day before the accident. After we finished, Jason left a large tip on the table. "I have one more thing to show you."

"Jason you really don't have to do anything else. You've done more than enough." Still, he lead me up the stairs. He opened the door first and let me go up. I walked to the edge of the roof. I looked over the railing. The view was absolutely breath taking. It wasn't like any other rooftop in Gotham. It was quiet up here. The sounds of the city didn't touch this roof.

The wind had picked up, and since the sun had set it was colder than inside. Noticing this Jason put his jacket over my shoulders. He stood behind me and I leaned my head against his shoulder. "I didn't know views like this existed in Gotham."

We just stood admiring the city. Neither of us spoke as we looked at the beautiful sight. We both knew that everything was going to be alright. We were going to come back from everything. This is what it was supposed to feel like.

"Are you ready to go back?" He asked and I nodded. "Just one more thing." I leaned forward and kissed him. This one was soft. He smiled into the kiss. "We've got some catching up to do." He mumbled against my lips. "The night's not over yet."

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ragingbookdragon · 3 years

Text

We Are Better Than Those Who Created Us

Guy Gardner x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1.3K Warnings: Angst

Author's Note: I like the OG Guy Gardner storyline, where he becomes more than what he was destined to be, working with special needs kids and being so good with them. GG is a good man with a heart of gold and this is the hill I'll die on goddammit. Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

It was accident. The car had come out of nowhere, speeding down the rainy street like they were living life in the fast lane. And Guy did the only thing his instincts had screamed at him—protect. He’d threw his arms out, wrapping them around her waist, yanking her back and down towards the ground, effectively out of the way of the car. Her cry of pain had gotten lost in the screeching of tires, but the driver hadn’t stopped, merely kept going down the road and half of Guy wanted to get up and yell his lungs out at them, but the other half was concerned about her.

He bent down. “Babe, are you okay?”

She cradled her left ankle. “I think you landed on my ankle when we fell.”

“What?” Guy’s eyes went wide, and he immediately looked down at her leg, shock coursing through him at how it had already begun to swell. “Oh Christ,” he breathed. “I—oh crap.” He met her gaze. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N).”

She shook her head. “It’s okay…but I don’t think I can stand.” (Y/N) reached out and took his hand. “Can you carry me back to your apartment? I saw you had ACE wraps under the bathroom sink.”

“Yeah,” he replied, voice barely above a whisper and he leaned forward, pitching one arm underneath her legs, left one out, and the other arm wrapped around her back; he lifted her with ease, and she tucked her head underneath his chin, resting her ear to his chest.

“Thank you, Guy,” she murmured over the rain, and he nodded, hurrying towards the apartment that was only another block away.

***

He kicked the door closed and moved to the couch, gently setting her down before he quickly looked around like he wasn’t sure what to do. “Guy,” she said. “The wraps under the sink.”

Guy nodded, snapping from his thoughts. “Right. The wraps.” He motioned to her. “I’ll be right back.” He ran off into the apartment and came back a moment later with an ACE wrap in one hand and a pair of basketball shorts in the other.

“It’ll be easier to wrap your ankle if your pants are loose,” he said and she nodded, unbuttoning her jeans.

(Y/N) started tugging them down and when she shifted her foot, she let out a gasp, tears coming to her eyes as the pain in her ankle shot up her leg.

“Are you okay?” he worried, and she shook her head.

“No, I can’t get my pants off without moving my leg.” (Y/N) looked at him. “You’ll need to cut them off.”

Guy blinked. “What?”

“Guy, my pants are too tight, and it’ll hurt too much to get them off.” She shot him a look that said, ‘get busy’. “Find some scissors and get cutting.”

A flash of green appeared before them and he grabbed the construct scissors, going down to the cuff of her injured leg, though he paused and met her eyes once more. “You sure?”

(Y/N) nodded. “Yeah.”

He shook his head before carefully slicing through the denim, up her shin and thigh, all the way to where the fabric stopped at her waist. With part of her body free, he let the construct fade and gently grabbed the right cuff, slowly pulling it off until she was left in her underwear.

Guy grasped her left calf and lifted carefully as to not nudge her ankle, then he slipped the silky fabric under her leg before doing the same to her right leg. He let (Y/N) pull them up her legs and on, then she relaxed against the couch.

“Thank you.”

He nodded and stood. “Let me get some ice to wrap in it.” Guy was only gone a moment and came back with a plastic bag full of ice. “I’ll wrap the first few times, then set the bag between it and the final few, yeah?”

She bit her lip, knowing it was going to hurt horribly, and lifted her leg, letting him work. Every few moments, she let out a quiet whimper and Guy’s hands would still as his face darkened, and when he finally finished, he gently lowered her leg into his lap, simply staring at it.

(Y/N) was going to ask what was wrong when something dropped from his face onto the wrap. “Guy?” (Y/N) questioned worriedly and reached for hm. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t look at her, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry.”

She was baffled. “What?” trying to shimmy down, she got closer. “Guy, what are you sorry for?”

Finally, he turned his face to her, and her eyes widened when she saw the flood of tears in his green eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

(Y/N) swallowed thickly and rested a hand on the one that was resting on her calf. “Guy, it was an accident. I’m not angry.”

“But I hurt you,” he whispered, then his voice turned downright loathing. ��Like my dad used to do.” Guy reached up and wiped the tears from his eyes. “My old man was getting his belt one night to punish me, and mom tried to stop him.” his jaw went taut. “She grabbed onto him and begged him not to but…he didn’t even look at her when he slung her into the wall and left her there.”

Another tear fell despite how he’d rubbed them away. “She dislocated her shoulder when she hit the wall and fell.” He seemed so angry with himself. “And now I hurt you like my old mad did.” Guy lowered his head. “I…I hurt you, (Y/N).”

She reached up and took his chin, yanking his head up and facing her; he was surprised to see tears in her own eyes as she declared, “Guy Gardner, you are nothing like your father.” His eyes went wide but she continued, “You are an amazing man who has been nothing but good to me. Can you be an ass sometimes? Absolutely. But I have never once, in all the time I’ve been around you, been scared for my safety because of you.”

(Y/N) swallowed, her jaw tightening as she affirmed, “I love you. And I will not sit here and let you believe that you accidentally landing on my ankle after you saved me from being run over by a car, is somehow equivalating you to being the man who abused you day in and day out when you were a boy.”

She stared into his eyes and leaned close. “You are a wonderful man. A wonderful, caring man whose heart is golden.” (Y/N) took his hand with her free on and pressed her lips to his knuckles. “These hands have held me when I have felt broken and worn down and have done nothing but put every piece of me back together better than before.”

Dropping his hand, she shifted and took his face in her hands. “You are not Roland, Guy Gardner. You are more. You are a better man.” (Y/N) gazed at him. “You are mine. And I love you more than you’ll ever know.”

Guy could only gape at the woman in his arms and before he knew what he was doing, he was shifting, avoiding her leg, to press her into the couch, his body resting atop hers as he buried his face in her blouse, arms winding around her waist.

(Y/N) smiled tearfully and threaded her fingers in his short, cropped hair, scratching soothingly as she whispered, “I love you” over and over again as he shook against her. And she didn’t mind the dampness growing in her shirt.

At some point his tears had subsided and he’d gone still against her chest, but she merely smiled and shut her eyes, falling asleep in his arms.

#guy gardner x reader #guy gardner x reader imagines #guy gardner x reader imagine #guy gardner imagines #guy gardner imagine #guy gardner #green lantern x reader #green lantern x reader imagine #green lantern x reader imagines #green lantern imagine #green lantern imagines #green lantern #dc comics #dc imagines #dc imagine #dc

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dameronology · 3 years

Text

an insight into forever {poe dameron x reader}

summary: imagine having a love so deep that is completely unwavering - even in the face of broken promises, unspoken words and unfinished conversations

warnings: ANGST, so much angst, swearing, mentions of death

enjoy :) this hurt to write

- jazz

Poe Dameron had a tendency to not think before he spoke.

It was bad at the best of times - and it only got worst when he was around.

Worst, because you were the love of his life. Worst, because you were the most beautiful human being he’d ever had the pleasure of laying his eyes on. Worst, because he was completely and utterly obsessed you and worst, he’d let you go. He’d done a lot of stupid things - really, really stupid things - but allowing your relationship to reach a better end took the cake. Heck, it baked the cake and threw it into the fucking ceiling fan. Left splatters all up the wall and on the carpet and over his heart. Stained his heart with marks of your relationship, destined to keep him trapped in your unwitting grips until he met his untimely demise, probably in cockpit of an X-Wing (refer back to the really, really stupid things.)

He’d been through a couple break ups but this felt like the be-all-and-end-all. You’d given back his jumpers and jackets and belongings that he’d left in your room, but you still held onto a few tiny pieces of Poe’s heart. It was like a subtle, permanent grip on his brain; he occasionally thought about you but was always painfully aware that he’d let go of the best person in the galaxy. You were a once in the lifetime thing, like winning the lottery or finding gold at the bottom of a rainbow. Both of those were things he’d willingly forfeit in a second if it meant having you back.

So, you probably get the point: Poe was sad, your break-up was bad and you were a little mad (that was a rhyme Finn came up with to summarise the events of your relationship’s bitter demise to anyone who asked). It had been a few months, and you were both finally at the point where you could hang out as a group of five friends with it only being slightly awkward. It had only taken a minor intervention from Rey, Finn and Rose to get you to acknowledge one another again, but it was the first step to being friends. That’s what you’d been before, and if you could just set aside your differences, perhaps you could be there again.

The five of you always made a point to hang out together on a Friday. Your jobs in the Resistance took up every waking second during the week, so it was strictly marked in your calendar as friend time and you would all be there without fail. Usually, you found yourselves in a small cantina in one of the little villages a few miles out from the base on Ajan Kloss. It was the one day a week that things actually felt a little normal; just five young friends and some alcohol, laughing together and having a good time.

There was always something lingering in the air between you and Poe -- stolen glances and sneaky looks, and an atmosphere that paid ode to a million unsaid things and a plethora of unfinished conversations. Arguments that never reached conclusions and hearts that never quite healed; yours nor his. To force it all into a box and slam it shut and to process that hurt with proper closure was holding you back. Clinging onto your shoulders with a mighty grip that prevented you from truly moving on.

‘So, that cute mechanic asked about you today.’ Rose’s voice pulled your attention away from the pilot and back to the painfully Poe-free reality in which you found yourself.

‘He did?’ You blinked in surprise.

‘You did go on a date last week without calling him back.’ She reminded you. ‘He wasn’t bothered. I think he got it - everyone gets a bit busy in this line of work, right?’

Yeah, because that’s why you hadn’t replied to his 27 text messages.

‘I didn’t realise you were even dating again.’ Finn observed, eyes briefly flickering to his best friend. ‘I mean, not that it’s a bad thing, it’s just-’

‘- Finn.’ You cut him off. ‘It’s fine. Poe and I are friends now, right?’

Poe simply looked up, dark eyes shifting from his half-finished drink. He didn’t say anything for a moment, instead giving you a look that emanated the vibe he’d rather swim naked through the seas of Hoth than answer than question. It wasn’t until Finn cleared his throat that he pulled away from your gaze and forced the fakest smile smile known to man, and every other creature that roamed the galaxy.

‘Right.’ Did he normally speak through gritted teeth?

‘So, d’you like this guy?’ Rey asked. ‘He seemed nice when I met him in the air hangar.’

‘He’s...’ you paused. Annoying, whiny, argumentative, has a voice like a foghorn and, most importantly, isn’t Poe Dameron. ‘Fine.’

‘So are you gonna call him back?’ Rose pushed. ‘Because the minute you bring someone new to the table, I can set up ol’ flyboy here with the cute girl from comms who’s been eyeing him up.’

‘I’m okay, but thanks.’ Poe’s fake smile barely faltered, eyes landing on you again. ‘I don’t need a relationship when I have such fulfilling friendships.’

You almost choked on your drink at that. The irony was laying in the fact that you used to love Poe’s little sarcastic jabs and backhanded comments - at least when you’d been sat beside him, laughing into his shoulder and holding his hand under the table. Now, you were in the line of fire and maker knew you’d left your bulletproof vest at home.

Needless to say, his forced smile fell when you gave him a kick on the shin under the table.

‘So..you and Cute Mechanic. Not a thing?’ Finn asked.

‘Definitely not a thing.’ You confirmed.

‘You don’t have to say it on my behalf.’ Poe said. ‘If you like the guy, you can talk about it in front of me.’

‘Don’t flatter yourself.’ You snorted. ‘It’s nothing to do with you. I genuinely don’t like him.’

That was half true: you didn’t like the guy, but it was everything to do with Poe. You could have met the holy grail of men and they still wouldn’t have had a chance in hell. That’s not to say that Poe wasn’t the holy grail, but he was flawed. So you were you. It was those flaws that had lead to your downfall in the first place. Fundamentally, everyone had to have them -- it just so happened that the best parts of you clicked so well and the flawed parts of you clashed so badly. The good times and bad parts were so different that they were like two different ends of a magnet; complete opposites and inevitably polarising.

Rose, sensing the tension between the two of you, suddenly pushed to change the subject. ‘So, did anyone see the General-’

‘- I’m gonna go now.’ You stood up. ‘I’m really tired and I have an early meeting tomorrow.’

All four of them knew that was bullshit. There were no meetings on a Saturday, but they kept schtum. There was a chorus of okay, get some rest! and see you tomorrow, but Poe didn’t say anything. He just kept you in his gaze, watching as you gathered up your things and headed for the door.

The air outside was cold; Ajan Kloss had hot, hot summers and freezing winters. You fumbled to pull your jacket over your shoulders as you stalked away, boots thundering against the muddy path as you headed back for the base. It was only a fifteen minute walk, and it was safe for the most part. Everyone on the planet was either a native villager - all of whom were humble and welcoming - or a fellow Rebel.

You didn’t bother to turn around when you head foot-steps behind you. It was a Friday night, which meant that there was going to be people around.

It was only when somebody grabbed you by the shoulder that you suddenly spun on your heel -- luckily, Poe Dameron managed to catch your fist in time to save it hitting his face. It wasn’t personal. It was natural to get a little trigger happy with the ol’ mitt when a stranger grabbed you in the dark. Only, it wasn’t a stranger. It was your ex-boyfriend, looking as handsome as ever with disheveled hair and a five o’ clock shadow.

‘For fuck’s sake!’ You snapped. ‘What the hell are you doing?!’

‘I came to check you were okay!’ Poe released his grip on your wrist, letting it flop to your side. ‘You only ever stalk out like that when you’re mad.’

‘No thanks to you.’ You shot back. ‘I’m fine. Just go back to the bar.’

‘Short sentences meaning you’re fuming-’

‘- I’m about to be well past that point.’ You cut him off. ‘Go back. Don’t worry about me.’

‘I wanted to talk to you anyways.’ He admitted.

‘About what?’

‘About what you said back there.’ Poe replied. ‘I genuinely meant what I said. I don’t want you to not try things with that new guy because of me.’

‘Poe, I-’

‘- I mean it.’ He continued. ‘I just wanted you to know.’

‘Wanted me to know what?’ You murmured. ‘That I need your permission to date other people?’

‘No, that’s not what I’m saying.’ He frowned at your words. ‘I just...I mean that I wanted you to know that it’s okay if you don’t love me anymore.’

Well if that wasn’t like a knife through the fucking chest, you didn’t know what was.

What hurt more? The fact he was officially letting you go, or the fact he thought you were even capable of falling out of love with him? Because that, you weren’t. Poe might have been the most stubborn, most annoying, most chaotic person you knew but he was everything. Everything you wanted and everything you needed - but everything you couldn’t have. You were two parts of a screwed up whole. Bad apart, but probably even worse off together. It was pretty fucked up of whoever was in the sky that they’d put you both in the galaxy at the same time. Existing without him was less painful than existing in a world where you couldn’t be together.

‘Poe...’ your voice was small, a tiny crack appearing in the middle of his name.

‘Me being an ass is just a defence mechanism.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘And I’m sorry.’

‘I haven’t fallen out of love with you.’ You ignored his apology.

‘Like I said, it’s okay.’ He shook his head. ‘I can see it in your eyes.’

‘If you think you can see it in my eyes then you clearly don’t know me at all.’ Your voice shook, but you managed to throw the accusation at him. An admirable trait, surely.

‘I don’t think I do.’ He admitted. ‘Not anymore.’

The next morning, Poe was sat in the canteen. He didn’t normally rise so early on weekends, but thanks to your discussion the night before, sleep had alluded him.

Instead, he was staring aimlessly at his whole bowl of oatmeal. He’d been stirring it around for the better of an hour, thinking of nothing but you. He thought it was sweet of you to have rejected his claims of love (or lack thereof) but nothing you could have said would have made him believe you. It all stemmed down to the fact that he’d spent so long convincing himself of it. If he truly believed - or at least thought he believed - that you didn’t love him anymore, then he wouldn’t fool himself to having false hope, He was more likely to force himself to pull his head out his backside and move on. It was less painful that way, to rip it off like a bandaid. There was no hope if there was no love. Both of those things were and few these days.

Poe jumped out of his exhausted, self-inflicted trance when something slammed on the table in front of him. He practically jumped out of his seat, oatmeal flying everywhere as he let out a yelp. He was about to open his mouth and yell, to cry in vain of his airborne breakfast, but he immediately stopped when he saw you staring down at him.

‘Do you really think I stopped loving you?’

He huffed. ‘I’m not having this conversation with you.’

‘Yes, you are.’ You snapped. ‘Answer the question, Poe. Do you really think I stopped loving you?’

‘What’s this?’ He asked, eyes falling onto the piece of paper resting atop the table.

‘Do you remember a few weeks ago when I went on that mission to Nevarro?’ You asked.

‘Uh, yeah.’ Poe scratched the back of his hair. ‘That dangerous one.’

‘Yeah, the dangerous one.’ You placed one leg over the bench seat opposite him, dropping down onto the table with a thud. ‘I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it back.’

‘None of us were.’

‘This is a letter I asked Leia to give to you in case I died.’ You slid it across to him. ‘You should give it read.’

‘What are you doing?’ Poe sighed.

‘I’m proving a point, Dameron.’

‘Yeah, you’ve always been good at that.’ He snatched the letter from you, pulling it open. ‘You just gonna stare at me the whole time that I read this?’

‘Yup.’

Another sigh escaped his lips as he tore it open, eyes briefly scanning the page for a moment. His brow furrowed - was it possible to feel like words were punching you in the throat?

Poe,

If you’re reading this, it’s either because I’m dead or M.I.A, or you’ve been snooping through Leia’s desk draw in search of that damned Coruscanti candy again. If it’s the latter, put this fucking down. Because it means I’m alive, and I’ll find you and throttle you. If it’s because of the first one, then keep reading, because it means I’m gone. Turns out that I only act immortal.

I should preface this by saying that I’m sorry. Sorry that we didn’t get to be together again and sorry that I didn’t try harder to make it happen. Please know that it’s what I wanted more than anything. You probably already know it, but I never stopped loving you. I died loving you (hopefully in a bad-ass way) and because death is, rather unfortunately, a permanent state, it means that I’ll love you forever.

I’m only being bold with my words because I know you won’t be around for me to be embarrassed by how soft you’ve made me, but you’re my best friend. My other half and my whole world. You made me feel safe and loved and by all intents and purposes, you are my home. Whoever ends up getting to marry you - because you will find someone; the galaxy is a large place and there is another person out there who will find your annoying ass to be rather charming - is the luckiest fucking person ever. I’m just sorry that I can’t be there to watch it happen, and even more sorry that it couldn’t be me.

Love you always, flyboy

- (name)

p.s I have a cactus on my window ledge. Can you water it for me? Thanks.

Poe’s eyes were bleary with tears by the end - at the thought of you dying, at the thought of him being the last person you thought of before you went on that mission. The mission that he’d sent you on, as your Commander. He’d caused you grief without even trying.

‘That mission was two weeks ago.’ He looked up at you, not even bothering to hide the water in his eyes. ‘You wrote this two weeks ago.’

‘Yeah.’ You quietly murmured. Giving a small nod, you stood up from the table and wiped your own eyes. ‘You should hold onto that.’

‘W-where are you going?’

‘I have work to do.’ You stood up. ‘Goodbye, Poe.’

'For now or forever?’ He tried to force a joke, but it didn’t really work in his favour.

‘You had a point in what you said.’ You replied. ‘We should both move on.’

His eyes fell back down to the letter, where a few scrawled words jumped out at him: I’ll love you forever.

Until now, he hadn’t considered the fact that forever was still forever, even when you spent it apart.

tags: @interwebseriesfan24 @spider-starry @itspdameronthings @lifeandloveandhappiness

#well fucking ouch lads #this one hurt #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron one shot #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron imagines #poe dameron fan fiction #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron angst #star wars x reader #star wars angst #star wars x you #star wars headcanons #star wars fan fiction #star wars #star wars fanfic

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whump-town · 3 years

Text

Envy For The Solid Ground

This is a fic about drowning but only for @genevievedarcygranger. So if you're not them don't read this. It's a waste of your time. It's not very good.

Childabuse and drowning oh my

To an untrained eye, Aaron Hotchner is the sort of man you look at and assume he’s just been big and powerful his entire life. There’s too much edge to him, effortless control. As most adult things go it’s impossible to imagine it in reverse. To dwindle suit and tie to dirty bare-feet playing in the yard and toy cars. But beneath the illusion he’s spent forty-years perfecting, there’s an eight-year-old boy hiccuping on his bed with welts from his father’s belt bleeding through his t-shirt. There's a twelve-year-old who had his father’s daily routine memorized down to the second who grew into the fourteen-year-old who gave himself a buzz cut in the bathroom mirror.

That stupid haircut saved his life. His father had nothing to hold onto, nothing to hold him still with. No one could grab him from behind, use the impossible bend of his neck to manipulate him backwards. His mother hated it, got this soft sadness from running her fingers over it and saying “it makes you look sick, like you’re dying”. Sean said he was just missing overalls, he’d be a perfect extra on the TV adaptation of “One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest”. But it hadn’t mattered to him that it made his mother dream of him at war, wading through bullets and being blown to bits. If the kids at school took one look at him and chose to ignore him then fantastic. That’s two things going his way but it only matters that he lives.

He stopped cutting it that short at twenty - even after not having lived with his father for four years. After knowing the solace of Haley’s family for two. He just couldn’t do it. There was a constant fear around him, always looking over his shoulder expecting someone to reach out and pull him back. Expecting the pain to come pouring down without hesitation, as if it never stopped.

His hair is the longest it’s ever been. A thought that nearly seems silly, nothing about his hair is long. Even after all this time he’s hardly strayed from a hairstyle not “okayed” by the military. Still hardly any length at all.

But not too short to hold. Not too short to manipulate.

“Hotch!”

The sun shines down into his eyes, blood trailing down his chin. It stings, the place at the curve of his throat where the knife rests. The first time he ever saw someone like this he thought, foolishly, that it wouldn’t hurt. Adrenaline and fear and surely everything else would prevent that knife biting edge from really hurting. But he can feel each bump. The way the Unsub’s hand jerks when he speaks, digging the knife into his flesh that much deeper. The way his own flinches and breaths pull the cut longer.

“Let him go!”

He can see the water from here, dangling halfway off… Actually, he’s not too sure where he is right now.

A foot chase. He remembers Reid yelling after him, thought he saw a trail up ahead. Thought he could get to the Unsub another way. He can hear Reid now, the snapping of the branches and leaves under his feet as he shifts. He’s afraid.

“Matthew.”

The good old emotional appeal.

It’s Emily standing there with her arms at her sides and her voice soft.

Which means Morgan isn’t too far off, gun pointed at the Unsub’s head.

“Matthew, please, you don’t have to do this.”

The knife jerks, more blood running down his chest. It’s soaking through his clothes.

“You’re hurting my friend, Matthew.”

The knife slips, digs in too much and he tries to move. Instincts pull him, urge him to move out of the way. He can’t get away, though, and ends up gurgling. Ends up choking and sputtering up blood.

Derek shoots, a judgment call he has to make. One he can’t stand as the bullet leaves his chamber.

“No!”

They fall. The Unsubs’ weight pulling Hotch down with him. His back hits the water first. Blacks out.

Derek rushes to the edge, pulling Emily back. They don’t come back up to the surface. Only blood. Hotch’s blood tangling with the mud they kick up. They hold their breath. Waiting. For something. For nothing.

It’s immediate, white shirt bubbling back up and Hotch’s head breaking the surface. His eyes wide and his face pale. He stutters out something, confused and shivering. “D-D-” his head goes under again. His fingers reach up until they’re gone too.

He’s panicking. Going to get himself killed.

He spits the water from his face, trying to shake it away but he’s slipping. His feet no longer sitting in the mud, his body being dragged alongside the Unsubs down into the current. He feels himself being drawn back and he panics, eyes widening as he realizes he has to get away. He’s nearly there, free from the grasp of the dead weight of the Unsub when he slips. “Dere--”

As he’s pulled under the current of the river he thinks about Jack. The winter that he got the croup and Haley couldn’t stop blaming herself, no matter how many times Hotch reasoned it was no more her fault than his. Even if it was no one’s fault. He’d spent so many hours rocking Jack in the bathroom. Him in his boxers and Jack in his diaper, the steam from the shower leaving their skin slick. For three days the house splintered with the sound of Jack’s crying, only ever falling silent when he grew too hoarse. Even then he was so congested each of his little breaths were still audible. Hotch would still wake in the middle of the night, heart hammering in his chest, and find himself standing over Jack. Placing his hand over the baby’s chest to convince himself his ears weren’t betraying, Jack was still breathing.

The rocks underneath his feet shift uncertainty as he pushes off them, trying to force his way back to the surface. Kicking madly and hands cutting through the water as quickly as he can. His head breaks through and he sucks greedily for air, knows what happens when he’s pulled back down. The water falls down his face into his mouth, the nearly salty taste of the river water turning his stomach. As he reaches up, attempting to grab onto one of the dried, gnarled branches reaching down towards him from the bank. The river pushes him too quickly and he can’t reach, his fingertips brushing against the wood teasingly. His hip hits a rock and he’s spun outwards. Pulled once again by the current.

The sun streaks through the water, brightening the murky water as his eyes open and he sees his own hand reaching up for the air.

It reminds him of Emily reaching for the blinds high above her head, cursing under her breath each time the broken string evaded her grasp. She’d never admit it but she’d been terrified of losing him after Foyet, of what might happen if he was left alone in his apartment. So she and Reid just didn’t leave. He woke from drugged slumber to them playing poker on his bed beside him. To a pillow half over his face where Emily mindlessly dropped it - conjuring a slight smirk at the thought of her smothering him while trying to keep him alive. The caught look on Reid’s face every time Hotch woke up and saw him, youthfully guilty of something. Wedged between Reid’s propped up knee, his voice steady as he read aloud from his book, and Emily’s face smushed into his shoulder he didn’t have a single nightmare.

His back hits the bottom of the river and he thrashes, panicking to pull himself up. He’s thrown against a rock by the current. Grunting as his temple cracks against a rock and going listlessly with the current. A ragdoll.

“You can’t go in!”

One time there was these double-booked out of town meetings. Hotch was supposed to go for the brass, the pure intent of just following orders. At the same time, headed in the same direction, Emily and Derek went off for interviews. The day before Hotch left he was informed that they’d all be taking one car, together. Four days. One car. Two grueling meetings. It was the worst four days of his life, honestly. Worse than being stabbed. Being shot has nothing on listening to Derek and Emily fight in the car for three days over everything and anything.

He never did that again.

Now Reid takes those trips with them.

It’s only fitting, it’s that awful trio that drags him out of the water.

Derek spitting river water out of his mouth as frequently as curses. “Just tell me where you see him goddammit!” He’s swimming against the current, fighting how quickly it pulls him away from where he needs to be. Tries to deny the fear in his stomach. For fear of what’s in this water. He saw the blood. Can still sees wisps of it now drifting around him.

Emily stands on the shore, out in the water to her shins trying to see. Above her Reid calls out but it’s just another branch, not Hotch. She knows it’s going to have to be her. It makes her chest ache, more than it does to see tendrils of dark blood marking Hotch’s path. But it’s her. She’s the one that’s going to have to call Derek out of the water. To tell him it’s pointless. That… That this time they’re not all coming home.

“I see him!” Reid has binoculars up to his face but he’s pointing out. “Morgan turn around!”

She searches where he points, eyes scanning up and down the bank. Looking for a head of black hair or his bright white t-shirt.

“I see him!”

She doesn’t. She doesn’t see him.

Morgan tears off through the water. He’s lost the ease in which he worked through the water upon first getting in. When Reid first pointed to where he thought he saw Hotch. His muscle scream, agony flicking through each movement but he has to move. He has to get there.

Emily’s heart drops when she sees Derek’s head go under the water. One. Two. Three-- How long does it take to find a grown man in a river? She puts her hand over her eyes, looking up to Reid. “Where are they!” she shouts .

Reid keeps scanning, keeps looking up and down the water. “I don’t--” Derek comes up, gasping but with a second head. Hotch. Bleeding, limp, but there. Found. “I see them! He’s up!” He points out into the water, stepping closer to the edge.

Emily runs through the water, ignores the chill until she’s in to her hips and wading through to get to Morgan. Hotch is passed between them, his cold skin pressed against her. His head rocks when Morgan lays him against her shoulder, moves him until his cold wet temple rests against face. What startles her the most as the river’s current tries to rip him from her arms is when she realizes she can’t feel him breathing.

She trips, falls hard on her ass. The rocks just slipping out from underneath her until she’s trying to grab at one to keep herself rooted here at the bank. He nearly slips away.

“Emily!” Derek has him. She looks up, blinking river water from her eyes, and Morgan’s got him. One arm around his hips, just barely keeping him there.

“He’s not breathing,” she manages. “I couldn’t-- He’s not. He’s not breathing.”

Reid meets them at the bank, hands going everywhere but not managing a thing. “Set him down gently--” he grimaces at how hard Hotch lands out on his back. Derek only guarantees that he doesn’t smack his head on any rock, just a wet hard fall into the mud. Reid leans over Hotch, ear to his chest as waits for something. All he hears is a bird in the trees mocking sounds and the rush of the river behind them.

“Is he--” Derek falls down beside him squeezing Hotch’s fingers. “Is he dead?”

Reid leans closer, presses down harder. “No, he’s--” Reid sits up, “Hotch?” He rubs his fist up and down Hotch’s sternum, patting Hotch's face with the other. “Hotch! Hotch get up!”

Faintly, Hotch’s lip part, slowly pulling down into a grimace until he can push at Reid’s hand. He gags, choking on water as he struggles to breathe. He’s hauled upright, Derek grabbing him by fistfuls of his shirt until he’s laying on his side. Sputtering and coughing water-- it burns his nose, nearly comes back in around each inhale he’s forced to take.

“Son of a bitch.”

Hotch falls back, kept up by Derek’s hand pulling him in and the knees Emily places at his back.

His blood has spread out onto the mud, and he hisses, groans in pain when Reid places his fingers against the bleeding wound on his neck. Watered down it slips between Reid’s fingers, hardly crimson at all. “Wa-- Waters freezing,” he rasps.

Derek chuckles, shaking his head. With a sigh he falls back into the mud, laying there as he struggles to catch his breath. “It was.” He looks over at the others, at Reid's worry-pinched face and Emily’s smile and relaxes. The sun will have them warmed up in no time. They’ll be fine.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #derek morgan #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction

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wordsablaze · 3 years

Text

13/13 - goat string of fate

A Dozen Denials Soulmate-identifiers exist to make things easier unless you’re Jaskier, who’s equally as deep in love as he is in denial. But there’s only so many excuses you can make to avoid the truth… (aka jaskier’s soulmate is definitely a witcher, just not the one he first assumes)

A/N: what we've all been waiting for... undeniable red string of fate, but with goats for eskel's sake ;) @alllthequeenshorses @eskel-loves-lilbleater

previous chapter

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”

Jaskier’s heart breaks.

He knows that Geralt isn’t lying because the words don’t show up on his skin and he knows that Geralt isn’t just saying that for the sake of it because his pulse is as steady as ever under his wrist and he knows that Geralt isn’t thinking with a clouded mind because he can’t feel any intense emotions at the back of his mind.

The only logical conclusion to make is that Geralt really means it.

“See you round,” he says, even though he’s not sure he will.

It’s nowhere near the first time he’s had his heart broken but somehow this time hurts so much more than every other time, probably something to do with the fact that he’s leaving his very soulmate behind as he walks away with blurred vision and wobbly steps.

He doesn’t walk very far, though; he just can’t bring himself to.

There is a building on fire.

And there is a witcher trying to help.

Nobody asked him to help and yet he runs into the building because he can hear the panicked heartbeats of four humans inside.

He hands over a frightened child to their mother and runs back in.

He hands over a man to his grateful sister and runs back in.

He hands over a crying girl to her father and runs back in.

There’s one more racing heartbeat inside the building but he can’t find it, it doesn’t belong to anyone he can see, and even though he tries his best because he can’t let anyone die - he just can’t - he has no choice but to leave when the roof caves in and smoke fills the air.

It’s only once he can breathe again that he realises the heartbeat has followed him out.

The last person wasn’t in the fire after all; they’re under his skin.

Jaskier doesn’t get the rest of the story from the others in the end.

He wants to - he’s a bard so of course he wants to - but he knows that his own story having just found such a bitter end means that he won’t do the dragon hunt any justice so he leaves its tale to the dwarves.

He’s tired and he kind of wants to cry and he doesn’t know which way he’s meant to go so he doesn’t even try to subtly follow the others back down the mountain. Instead, he walks and walks and walks and hopes he doesn’t fall to his death.

And he doesn’t. But he does stumble over nothing in particular and end up rolling over himself until he hits a tree, gasping for breath and curling around his lute because he doesn’t have any other source of comfort.

The last thought he manages before he drifts off - read: passes out - is that he’s incredibly glad his lute hasn't broken the same way his heart has.

There is a funeral.

And there is a witcher trying to mourn.

But there is something giddy in the back of his throat and something bright behind his eyes and something exciting at his fingertips and he cannot focus his emotions.

There is a fight.

And there is a witcher trying to concentrate.

But there is a puzzle in his lungs and a question on the tip of his tongue and a mystery in his every bone and he cannot tell if he knows what move to make next.

There is a festival.

And there is a witcher watching quietly.

But there is a heavy grief in his stomach and a heavy doubt inside his mind and a heavy pain within his blood and he has no idea why his body is telling him to be upset.

Jaskier wakes to the taste of oranges.

For some reason, it just makes him want to cry.

“We are not dying on some godsforsaken mountain,” Jaskier mutters to his lute but also to himself because if he is to die, it will not be at the hands of heartbreak.

A lot easier said than done, though, because he ends up lost. Horribly lost. So lost that he wonders if someone had moved him while he was sleeping because there’s no way he could end up so clueless when he’d been pretty close to their original path the day before.

And he’s not unfit but he must have bruised himself more than he can tell while tumbling because he doesn’t get further than the duration of half a dozen ballads before both his muscles and his lungs force him to stop and rest in danger of retiring altogether.

Still, he keeps going. He can’t find anything edible but he hangs onto the taste of oranges from his stolen dream as he pushes forwards, begrudgingly thanking Destiny for giving him at least that from his soulmate.

There is a town with a contract.

And there is a witcher who almost regrets accepting it.

The monster is easy enough to defeat, nothing that takes more than a day. No, the monster isn’t the reason he chooses to disappear for almost a month afterwards - that would be the mirror.

Or more specifically, what he sees in the mirror: one of his eyes is the wrong colour.

He thinks he’s delirious at first but one potion and two hours’ worth of meditating later, his eyes are still inexplicably mismatched.

His left eye is the colour of the sky. The colour of the ocean. The colour of a privilege that he was never allowed to have. And he’s read just about enough poetry to know how that means he has a soulmate out there somewhere.

All that does is drown him in a blue hue of guilt.

Jaskier has just started playing his third song on the lute when something crashes into his legs.

He yelps, springing to his feet and almost tripping over whatever it is that’d crashed into him, which turns out to be a goat. A goat, of all things.

“Right, well, if you could not do that whole attacking thing again, that’d be great. You have rather pointy horns,” Jaskier huffs, settling on the rock once again.

To its credit, the goat seems to listen, munching on grass instead of stepping on his toes as Jaskier starts playing again. Confused but not entirely against the company, he continues singing about whatever comes to mind until the sky begins to darken and the air turns cold.

He sighs, putting the lute away and gently reaching out to stroke the goat, smiling when it doesn’t just headbutt him and bleats happily before settling in his lap. “At least you seem to want to stick around,” he mumbles.

Too tired to find anywhere more sheltered, Jaskier pulls his doublet tighter around himself and hugs his new best friend as tightly as he dares. For a moment, the goat lifts its head and stares at him and he fears he’s about to have his eye poked out, but then it just burps and settles again.

This time, he falls asleep laughing.

There is a hearth.

And there is a witcher sat beside three other witchers.

And despite the warmth of the fire and the warmth of his family, he is cold.

He is colder than he ever is, colder than when he is submerged underwater during a fight or when he is caught unawares in a storm or when he is kicked out of a tavern because he brings down the mood.

There is no explanation for why he is cold because he is home and he is safe and he should be warm but for some reason, he is not.

He is rarely warm.

And if he is warm, he doesn’t understand why.

There is no explanation for why he is warm when passing ruins he’s never seen before or when camping in the middle of nowhere just to be away from people or when being told the last copy of the book he’d been looking for was just sold to someone else.

Eventually, he gets used to the confusion, pulls on a cloak, and moves on.

Jaskier is probably losing a few of his marbles.

With nothing better to do, he follows the goat as it travels along a seemingly random path to find nothing in particular, stopping every so often to munch on something or the other.

“I can’t believe I’m following a goat,” he mutters to himself as he brushes grass off his arms, “and it’s not even a cute little baby- what’s a baby goat called? Hmm, I should really know that… Or should I? It’s not like I’ve met any farmers lately. Or anyone, for who am I meant to meet atop a mountain? Well, a goat, apparently.”

Said goat bleats at him as if asking him to hurry up.

“Yes yes, I’m hurrying. Some of us don’t eat grass, you know? Oh, but how would you know when all you can think about is the next patch of moss you’re going to eat? Is that what life is to be, travelling from patch to patch and-? Hey, that could be a wonderful name. I dub thee Patchy, my dearest goat friend,” Jaskier declares, grinning.

Patchy bleats again and headbutts his shin but it’s okay because it doesn’t hurt in the slightest and he only wobbles a little bit.

“I’m taking that as your approval!”

There is a woman.

And there is a witcher lying in bed next to her.

They are both tired and not quite awake and she is gently running her nails along his arms because she has never seen anyone with so many scars.

He is waiting for her to fall asleep but she sits up and frowns, pointing out the words that have appeared on his skin: but I didn’t take any honey.

She must be able to tell he’s just as confused as she is because she gives him a funny look but doesn’t pry, though he leaves in the dead of night while she’s still asleep to avoid any chances of her asking questions.

But the words keep appearing and he ends up with plenty of his own questions anyway.

When he’s mending his armour: it doesn’t even hurt anymore; when he’s hunting: I love you more than I love getting drunk; when he’s brushing his horse: I assure you I have a perfectly good explanation; when he’s buying new gloves: I’m afraid I don’t know you; when he’s stitching up a wound: of course I was given permission to be here.

And on and on and on.

He wonders if this person is even human at times because they seem to lie more in a week than he even talks in a month.

Jaskier is exhausted.

“Hey, Patchy, it’s been lovely to know you but I think the time has come to part ways because I simply cannot take another step,” he mutters, leaning against the closest tree and sliding to the floor.

Patchy leaps into his lap with an oddly angry bleat.

Jaskier shrugs, ripping up a bit of grass and letting her eat it off his hand before sighing. “I fear it is indeed my fate to perish here. Perhaps life does grant blessings after all, hmm?”

His stomach rumbles and Patchy seems to take offence, startling and jerking sideways, the goat’s horns catching on his sleeve and causing a panic that leads to a large tear in his doublet and a mercifully smaller tear in his skin.

Still, he winces, pressing a hand onto the cut and half-heartedly glaring at Patchy. “Really? You’re lucky the material is red anyway, you menace.”

He regrets his words when the goat stands, spins on the spot, and makes a strange noise before sprinting away. Somehow, that abrupt departure stings far more than his actual injury.

There is an ocean.

And there is a witcher who has never been to the coast for a good reason, and still hasn’t.

He doesn’t belong in this scene, he’s borrowing it from someone else without even knowing how, but he can’t look away from the waves as they brush over the sand and over his toes before retreating once more.

There is a cane.

And there is a witcher who has never suffered this kind of punishment, and still hasn’t.

Although the injuries are not his and the crime - if it even exists - has nothing to do with him, he can’t escape the burning pain and the sharp throbbing as someone makes sure the wood meets its mark, again and again.

There is a cat.

And there is a witcher who has never been able to see one up close, and still hasn’t.

He’s not the one touching the tiny ball of fluff that curls up in his palms, he seems to be experiencing someone else’s amazement, but the feeling of soft fur and quiet purring stays with him for no less than a week.

Jaskier is ready to give up.

He truly has no idea where he is or how he’s meant to get back to flat land. The berries he’d found in the morning have done very little to provide him with energy and he’s about to declare himself as food for the wolves or something when he hears bleating.

“Patchy!”

And it is.

The goat barrels into him hard enough to knock him over but he’s too busy trying to hug his horned friend to care. He’s also too busy hugging his horned friend to notice that he’s being watched. That is, until someone clears their throat.

He freezes, looking up.

There’s a very long moment in which his heart drops about a mile into his stomach as he catches sight of a wolf medallion but then he sees the amber eyes and the spiked armour and the hesitant smile and his lungs remember how to work once again.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” Jaskier says, grinning.

The witcher frowns at that, glancing over him in clear concern. Before he can reply, Jaskier looks away to tug his sleeve out of Patchy’s mouth and winces as he pulls on the not quite scab that had developed over the goat-inflicted wound.

“Oh, is he yours?” the witcher asks after a minute, and gods is his voice deep enough to sink into forever.

Jaskier blinks, pulling himself back to the matter at hand before he spirals into a daydream and shaking his head. “I didn’t even know he was a he, to be honest. Thank you for that, by the way, at least I can sing him a more accurate song of gratitude now.”

The witcher chuckles and steps to the side, revealing another, smaller goat that immediately bounds over and settles on his leg; Jaskier has never been so innocently afraid to accidentally move in his life.

“She’s called Lil Bleater,” the witcher says, promptly cursing when said goat starts nibbling on the sleeve Jaskier had just saved from being eaten by Patchy.

“It’s not like I was planning on wearing this doublet again anyway,” Jaskier says, but he still feels incredibly guilty for letting such fine tailoring end up as food for a pair of goats.

Eskel has never been so confused.

He feels like he recognises this stranger from somewhere but he can’t place it, the knowledge is almost like smoke slipping between his fingers before he can grasp it properly.

“It looks like it’s seen better days anyway,” he says, immediately regretting it when the other man blinks at him.

But then he laughs - perhaps the nicest laugh Eskel has ever had the pleasure of hearing - and holds out a hand, amusement sparkling in his eyes. Eskel leans forwards to shake his hand but Lil Bleater chooses that moment to get up and charge at him so he steps back and picks her up instead, offering the man an apologetic look.

“Not to worry, my hand will live a little longer without the honour of yours in it. I’m Jaskier, and you have my eternal gratitude for appearing out of nowhere when I was about a day away from forgetting what other people’s voices sound like,” the man says sincerely.

“Jaskier?” Eskel echoes.

He knows Geralt has mentioned this bard in the past and he’d have to be living under a rock not to know of him at all, what with the songs that are sung his way whenever he ventures into more populated towns, but he can’t fathom why someone so famous would be spending his time with a mountain goat.

Jaskier grins up at him. “Ah, so you’ve heard of me! I wish I could say the same but I don’t believe we’ve met before?”

Eskel shakes his head. “I, uh, I don’t do… crowds.”

“You and every other witcher, it seems,” Jaskier says, but he doesn’t sound like he’s trying to insult anyone. If anything, he seems almost sad.

“The crowds seem more like your style, bardling. What are you doing up here?”

The bard opens his mouth to say something before closing it again, then sighs. “I got lost and ended up following a goat until I got even more lost?”

Eskel chuckles, then puts Lil Bleater back on the ground before leaning down and offering Jaskier his hand because it feels odd to continue the conversation while he’s still sitting down. This time, the goats don’t get in the way and he manages to pull them both upright.

Jaskier gets about five seconds of being upright before he keels over.

Everything hurts.

The world blurs around him.

His knees hit the floor with a dull thud.

Everything really hurts.

There’s something under his skin.

His body is on fire.

Everything hurts so very much and he has no idea what’s happening and the sky has disappeared altogether and there’s water rushing past his ears and he’s in so much pain and he’s going to die without even having learnt this gorgeous witcher’s name and he can’t feel his hands at all and it’s way too dark and-

“Breathe, Jaskier!”

He already is.

Or maybe he’s not.

He unclenches his jaw and gasps desperately.

“That’s it, just breathe, you’re okay.”

But he’s not.

Or maybe he will be.

He groans and reluctantly peels open his eyes.

“I’ve got you,” the witcher murmurs, and he has; his arms are practically cradled around Jaskier and the two of them are kneeling in a tangle of limbs on the ground.

Jaskier exhales.

“You’re not going to die, I promise. And my name’s Eskel,” the witcher whispers, at which point Jaskier mortifyingly realises he must have been panicking out loud.

Slowly, Jaskier uncurls his limbs.

He stretches his fingers out from where they’d been squeezed into fists and waits for a moment before accepting that whatever the blinding pain had been is over before looking up, intending to thank Eskel.

But Eskel gasps before he can say anything.

And Jaskier immediately panics again, wondering what could possibly be wrong. He doesn’t need to ask though, because Eskel lifts a hand to ever so lightly tracing his finger down the right side of Jaskier’s face and it doesn’t take a genius to work out what he can see.

“No no no no no,” Jaskier breathes frantically, “this cannot be happening.”

He pulls himself out of Eskel’s arms and shakes his head but his gaze lands on his hands as he uses them to balance and his breath hitches. Without wasting a second, he shrugs off his doublet and rolls his sleeves up, eyes widening at the sight of silvery scars he’s never earned, silvery scars he’d once had and once lost.

“No, I- I already know my- Geralt was- is- no, no, no no no no, wait. Wait. This can’t be right, it can’t- it- you can’t- I mean, we can’t be- nope, no no...” Jaskier’s words can’t seem to form themselves properly as he struggles to breathe.

Eskel has no idea what’s happening.

Except he does.

There’s only really one explanation for why the marks that had suddenly revealed themselves on Jaskier’s skin are an exact copy of his own scars, there’s only really one explanation for why the colour of Jaskier’s eyes had seemed so familiar, and there’s only really explanation for why he feels like someone has cast igni inside his heart.

Unfortunately, Jaskier doesn’t seem to like that one explanation.

He waits, though. He waits until Jaskier remembers how to inhale and exhale properly before offering the bard a small smile. “I’m sorry.”

Surprisingly, Jaskier looks confused at that. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “I don’t blame you for preferring, uh, Geralt. Or anyone else, for that matter. I wouldn’t want to be stuck with me either.”

Even more surprisingly, Jaskier shuffles closer and punches his arm with a surprising amount of strength, his confusion having been entirely replaced by anger. “I don’t know what in Melitele’s name you think you mean by that but I demand that you stop… thinking it. I’m not- I- I just thought- I’ve spent years, so many years, thinking that I knew and I- I don’t know… I can’t-”

He cuts himself off, his chin wobbling, and Eskel has the inexplicable urge to hug him.

So he does.

Jaskier stiffens for half a second before he seems to forget that he has bones and all but melts into the embrace, burying his head into the crook of Eskel’s neck and throwing his arms around him as if his life depends on it.

Eskel has never felt so pleasantly warm in his life.

He wraps his arms around Jaskier in return and pulls him close, pretending that he can’t hear the sobs the bard is trying so hard to stifle and marvelling at the fact that he gets to hold his soulmate in his arms at all.

His soulmate.

He’d never thought he’d actually get to meet them.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier mumbles eventually.

Eskel pulls back only enough to frown, brushing the tears away from under Jaskier’s eyes before tilting his head to the left. “You have nothing to apologise for.”

Jaskier feels like a fool.

He leans into Eskel’s soft touch for a moment before cupping the witcher’s face in his hands. “I’m sorry I never looked for you. I’m sorry I didn’t realise I was wrong. I’m sorry I almost just insulted you. I’m sorry for wasting so much time. I’m just so, so sorry.”

Eskel shrugs. “You didn’t know and I don’t blame you. It’s not your fault. I… I knew and I didn’t try so perhaps I ought to be the one apologising to you.”

But Jaskier did know.

To some extent, at least.

He’s known for long enough that not everything was adding up and he’d ignored it, he’d done nothing about it because he’d been terrified of losing Geralt, of losing his soulmate, of losing a life he’s loved, and it turns out he’s been losing everything he didn’t even know he could have had instead.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier mumbles again, letting his forehead fall against Eskel’s as he closes his eyes.

“How does getting to the nearest inn sound?” Eskel offers.

Jaskier laughs and meets Eskel’s eyes, nodding. “Sounds like a plan I can’t argue with.”

“We’ll start with getting you to a proper bed and then go from there.”

He tries to resist that, he really does, but Jaskier simply cannot stop himself from smirking and raising an eyebrow. “Straight to bed, darling? Aren’t you even going to buy me a drink first?”

The endearingly sheepish look on Eskel’s face is almost worth all the pain.

“Though you really should buy me a drink first, for one reason or the other; I am a little dizzy still,” Jaskier mutters, having forgotten all about that because of the unprecedented pain.

Eskel curses.

Before Jaskier can even process the emotional whiplash, Eskel has lifted him to his feet and turned around, dropping to one knee. “Let’s go.”

Jaskier blinks. “Are you asking me to… climb on your back?”

Eskel turns to look at him with half a smile. “I really don’t think you’re capable of walking more than a mile more without collapsing, Jaskier.”

Well, that’s probably true. He grabs his lute and swings that onto his own back before looping his arms around Eskel’s neck, his legs locking around the witcher’s waist as he stands up effortlessly.

Eskel smiles as Jaskier settles on his back as if he were born to do so.

Which, quite possibly, he sort of was.

He smells like the comfort Eskel gets from when the dreams he borrows are good ones and it feels impossible that he gets to experience it in person. But it’s very much not impossible because Jaskier is a steady weight around his waist and on his shoulder and against his neck.

It’s a little overwhelming.

“So you’re the one who was dreaming of a succubus then?” Jaskier asks out of the blue.

Eskel stops walking for a second, narrowly avoids accidentally kicking Lil Bleater, and clears his throat. “Dreaming? No. No, that’s not quite how we spent the night.”

There’s a moment of silence before Jaskier laughs brightly. Eskel can feel the way his shoulders shake with the force of his amusement and it’s almost a miracle that neither of them overbalance.

“You’ll have to elaborate on that at some point, it’s going to make a great song!”

“You want to write songs about the succubi I’ve met?” Eskel asks, confused. Surely the bard could have asked Geralt about them over the years, it’s not like witchers can afford to designate who takes care of which creatures or anything.

But Jaskier snorts, pokes Eskel’s cheek, and shakes his head. “No, I- I want to write songs about… about my soulmate.”

That feels like a confession and Eskel is honoured to have received it. He hums in acknowledgement and gently squeezes one of Jaskier’s legs. “Not to worry, we have all the time in the world.”

“We do?” Jaskier asks.

Shuffling the bard’s weight a little bit, Eskel lifts his right hand so Jaskier can see his wrist and more specifically, the ouroboros etched into it. He hears Jaskier gasp before there are gentle fingers around his arm that almost make him shiver, a warm finger tracing the symbol over and over until Eskel hears quiet sniffling.

It takes a while for Jaskier to exhale softly and give Eskel’s hand back to him, after which he goes back to supporting his weight more evenly. He has plenty of his own questions but he figures it’s best to leave them for later, when they’ve both recovered from the shock.

The town comes into view sooner than expected, or perhaps Eskel had just been unknowingly pushing himself to walk faster because he can feel the way Jaskier’s grip has slowly relaxed to the point where he’s practically just draped over him like a very strange sort of cloak.

As much as he doesn’t want to let go of Jaskier, he has to when they get to the stables. Both goats are more than happy to be secured near Scorpion, who huffs at Jaskier just hard enough to send him stumbling into Eskel’s side with a small yelp.

“I’ve got you,” Eskel chuckles.

Jaskier grins.

“That you have,” he agrees, “but have you got a room?”

Nodding, Eskel leads them both back to the inn. But instead of going up the stairs, he guides Jaskier to the table in the corner. “Stay here, I’m going to get some food.”

Jaskier blinks, used to this scenario playing out the other way around. Eskel is gone before he can even think of replying so he just yawns and waits, shuffling over when the witcher returns because if he doesn’t lean against someone, he’s probably going to fall into his meal.

Eskel pauses for a second before sliding into the seat beside him, placing two bowls of stew in front of them. “I know you’re tired but you really should eat.”

“How ever will I repay such kindness?” Jaskier mumbles before following Eskel’s instructions.

Jaskier is immensely grateful that Eskel doesn’t mind being leaned on because almost counterintuitively, eating only makes him want to fall asleep even more. By the time they’re both finished, he can barely keep his eyes open.

“Almost there,” Eskel says, at which point he realises they’re now halfway up the stairs.

Yawning again, Jaskier keeps a tight hold of Eskel’s arm as they get to his room, thrown off when they stop by the door instead of somewhere more suitable for sleeping. “What’s wrong?” he asks, frowning.

Eskel places the lute Jaskier apparently hadn’t been strong enough to carry himself down before gesturing around vaguely. “I didn’t know anyone would be staying with me so…”

Jaskier laughs, throwing his head back. He has no idea what compels him to do so but he cups Eskel’s confused face in his hands and places a soft kiss on his nose. “Eskel, darling, you are literally my soulmate. I think we’ll be alright sharing a bed.”

He can actually feel the way Eskel smiles under his hands and can’t help grinning back, but then his knees decide to buckle for no apparent reason - aside from the general exhaustion and probably clumsy bruises, of course - and Eskel is once again the only thing keeping him upright.

He’s not entirely sure what the sequence of events is after that but he doesn’t care to puzzle over it because he ends up with his head on an actual pillow and Eskel’s arms around him and he’s never felt so comfortable and safe and content in his life.

“Don’t leave without me,” Jaskier mumbles even as he can feel himself drifting off, only slightly embarrassed at being so obvious about it.

Eskel hums quietly and brushes the pad of his thumb over Jaskier’s cheek before moving his hair away from his forehead, smiling softly as their eyes meet. “I would never even think of it,” he promises.

And somehow, despite everything else in his life that’s somehow gone wrong and fallen apart and proven that perhaps he shouldn’t be so blindly trusting of what he thinks may be the truth even if he has plenty of reasons to believe otherwise, Jaskier can't bring himself to doubt the witcher’s words even in the slightest.

If there’s one thing he knows, it’s that Eskel has always been his destiny.

i apologise if this finale was a little messy because i was indecisive and couldn't choose just one pov but i am so hyped to have finished !!! i hope this ending was worth all the chaos <3

thanks for reading! masterlist | witcher blog: @itsjaskier

28 notes · View notes

aerinsfables · 3 years

Note

📝7️⃣🙇‍♀️

:) :)

Flower Shop AU, part 7 below.

Read part 6 here!

---

That had to have been one of the most energetic games of volleyball Bracken had ever been involved with in his life. Granted, he hadn’t actually played volleyball since high school PE classes, but still. The amount of banter which had gone between mostly Seth and Warren had been quite amusing to observe, and when Tanu joined in on the teasing, it became even funnier.

Warren had claimed a partnership with Tanu as soon as he reached the net, which left Seth with Bracken; a mistake, Bracken thought, which Warren would not soon forget. Seth and Bracken were a pretty formidable team, and they found their balance with one another very quickly. Bracken had always possessed a natural talent of quick reflexes and good coordination, and it appeared that Seth was similarly inclined. They worked well together. Tanu and Warren were both also good at the game, but were not always on the same page with each other, which led to Warren diving into Tanu’s shins once and Tanu knocking heads with Warren another time.

He had to admit, this was nice. The camaraderie, the friendly teasing and banter, the smiles and obvious love each of these people held for one another… it was nice.

Perhaps Father had had a point about it being time for Bracken to come out of his shell.

“20-17,” Seth announced as he served the ball across the net. Warren returned it, Bracken popped it over again, and the ball was passed back and forth several times before Tanu just barely missed it and the ball landed on his side of the court.

“Boo,” Vanessa yelled from where she sat. “Warren, I thought you said you were going to kick Seth’s butt.”

“Working on it,” Warren replied. Tanu fetched the ball and tossed it back over to Seth so he could serve it again.

“You’re not doing a great job,” she replied.

Warren turned around and pointed at her. “Why don’t you come join us, then, Miss I-Can-Do-Anything-Better-Than-You?”

Vanessa’s eyes narrowed and she turned to the others who were still around the unlit fire pit. “Anyone else want to join in? Mara? Dale? Kendra?”

Kendra started to shake her head no, but Dale stood up and planted a hand on her shoulder. “Come on,” he said. “Some exercise will do you good. Besides, we can’t let them think they’re better than we are, now, can we?”

A semi-smile crossed Kendra’s face, and she stood up. Dale gave her a quick hug and walked toward the net with his arm around her shoulders. Vanessa and Mara followed behind them.

“Who’s joining whose team?” Seth asked.

“I’m with Warren and Tanu,” Vanessa announced. “Mara’s with me.”

“That leaves us with Seth and Bracken,” Dale said. “My heart is broken, Vanessa. I thought you loved me.”

“Oh, I do, sweetheart. Somebody has to babysit your brother, though.”

“I do not need babysitting.”

“Sure looked like it from where I was sitting,” Vanessa replied.

Bracken deeply enjoyed all of the playfulness around him. Kendra had been correct when she’d told him that her family was a lively bunch.

“Welcome to our normal,” Kendra mumbled as she walked over to him. She wore a tired smile on her face.

“I am very entertained,” he admitted. “Are you alright?”

She replied with a sort of half shrug. “I don’t really feel like playing volleyball right now, but Dale is right. We have to kick Warren’s butt.”

Seth gave Kendra an enthusiastic grin and called to the other side of the net. “Did you hear that? Kendra just said we’re gonna cream you all.”

“Kendra should put her money where her mouth is,” Warren retorted. “Serve the ball, Seth!”

—————-

Lunch was ready before their game ended, and all parties had opted for food in lieu of continuing to play. Both teams had achieved roughly the same score up to that point, which was pretty exhilarating; it had been a very long time since Bracken had played a competitive sport, and he’d enjoyed the experience.

His phone alerted him to a new text message while everyone was eating lunch and chatting with one another. He gave it a quick glance, typed out a reply, sent his message and placed it back in his pocket.

“Is everything okay?” Kendra asked. She sat opposite from him at one of the picnic tables which had been set up on the deck. Scott and Marla shared this particular table, and the other attendees sat at additional ones.

“Yes, everything’s fine. One of the farms my family purchases a lot of flowers from likes to set up stalls at a local farmer’s market on Saturdays, and with Mother’s Day coming up in a couple weeks, they’ve asked for help with creating bouquets that weekend. It’s something I’ve helped them with for the past few years,” he explained.

“Which market?” Scott asked.

“It’s downtown,” Bracken replied. “Not too far from the flower shop and Warren and Dale’s café.”

“Oh, the one on 2nd Street?” Marla asked. “I like to go there to buy fresh produce. I don’t remember seeing you there before, though.”

“I usually only help them on Mother’s Day weekend,” Bracken explained. “Otherwise, I work in the shop on Saturdays.”

“Which farm is it?” Marla asked. “There are two or three different ones I can think of that sell flowers every weekend.”

“Bluebell,” Bracken said. “They usually have two or three stands in front of their tables where they put finished bouquets for customers to choose from, and their event tent is a light blue. It’s a family-run business as well. The parents and I put bouquets together all morning while the other son and their daughter handle the money and customer service part.”

“Interesting,” Scott stated. “I’m guessing their stall is pretty busy that particular weekend.”

Bracken nodded. “It’s their busiest day. Bouquets are purchased as quickly as they’re made. It’s typically a pretty busy weekend for our shop, as well, but the difference is that my family’s store receives probably 95% of our orders in advance of the holiday, whereas Bluebell creates and sells on the spot. It’s easy for my parents to handle the few customers who pop in that Saturday for quick arrangements. In exchange for our help here and there, Bluebell offers discounts to my family on the flowers we purchase from them.”

“A business move,” Kendra supplied.

“Yes,” he agreed. “We’ve worked with them for many years now. They’re practically family at this point.”

“Well. We might have to come visit you that weekend, then,” Marla said with a smile. “I don’t usually buy flowers, but it might be nice to grab a bouquet for once.”

“I buy you flowers,” Scott corrected. He sounded perhaps a little wounded in Bracken’s opinion.

Marla waved her hand at Scott. “I know, dear. I meant that I don’t usually buy flowers,” she said. “It might be nice to choose a bouquet for myself.”

Ruth walked up to their table and patted Scott’s shoulder. “Elise is here,” she announced. “She brought an assortment of little desserts. You four should go get some before Seth finds out.” Scott and Marla laughed and followed Ruth back inside the house.

Bracken looked up as another woman, presumably Elise, stepped out onto the back porch. She wore a loose-fitting tank top which showed off the tattoos on her upper arms, a studded nose ring in one nostril, and her hair was a stylish undercut on one side of her head. He remembered what Kendra had told him about Elise dating Mara, and he found it interesting that such different people were attracted to one another. Mara was much more conservative in appearance, and also seemed a little standoffish (at least to him, anyway), whereas Elise exuded very welcoming vibes.

Kendra smiled when she saw her. “Elise!” she called. She stood up and embraced her.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Elise said. “How are you doing?”

Kendra shrugged. “I’m fine. How are you? You look gorgeous. I love your hair!”

“Awww, thanks,” she replied. “It’s not totally done yet. I want to get it dyed, but haven’t decided on which color I want. Maybe orange.” She made eye contact with Bracken. “I’m Elise,” she said, and held out her hand to him in introduction.

“I’m Bracken,” he replied as he also stood up and shook her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” she replied. She quickly looked him up and down, then whispered into Kendra’s ear loudly enough for him to hear, “Where’d you find this handsome man?”

His face started to warm up at her words, and he averted his gaze to the table. It wasn’t necessarily uncommon for people to remark on his appearance, but he felt a little awkward about it whenever it happened.

Kendra cleared her throat. “Bracken made the bouquet I sent you a picture of last week. He’s one of the florists from the shop across the street from Warren and Dale’s place.”

“A man with creativity and a little sass, hmm? I approve.” Elise nodded her head. She then laughed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be weird. Mostly. If you’ll excuse me, though, I need to go hug the rest of my people.” She bounced on the balls of her feet a couple of times before she gave Kendra one more hug and ran off toward her girlfriend.

A small laugh escaped from Kendra, and a fleeting thought of how pretty her genuine smile was ran through Bracken’s head. “She seems nice,” he said.

“She is,” Kendra replied. “She’s like a favorite aunt, or cousin.”

“Elise brought dessert!” Seth shouted from the other side of the deck. He let out a loud whoop of excitement and ran for the kitchen. Bracken laughed.

“Grandma was serious about getting some before Seth takes it all,” Kendra warned.

Bracken shrugged. “It won’t hurt me to forego a little sugar. I don’t mind. Today.” He smiled. “Would you like some? I can fight him for a piece of cake for you.”

That elicited another genuine laugh from her, which broadened his own smile. “Thank you, but I’ve eaten roughly my weight in ice cream this week and should probably refrain from further sugar consumption as well.”

He wanted to hug her, but wasn’t sure if she’d appreciate it. Instead, he placed one hand on her shoulder and said, “He doesn’t deserve your tears.”

Kendra’s face reddened and she looked like she might suddenly start to cry. She turned toward the lawn and hugged herself, but didn’t otherwise respond.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he immediately apologized, distressed at the thought that he might’ve caused her distress.

She waved a hand at him. “Not your fault,” she said. “It doesn’t take much these days. You’re right, I know you’re right, but I can’t help it.”

“It’s okay to be sad,” he replied. “It’s okay to be angry, hurt, and upset, too.”

Kendra looked back at him with watery eyes. “Are you a therapist?” she teased with a weak smile.

He laughed a little. “I have four sisters, remember?”

“Right,” she giggled. “I feel so crazy right now. One minute I’m laughing, the next I’m crying, and now I’m laughing again.”

“Sounds pretty normal to me,” he said. “I don’t think I’d be much better off if our situations were reversed.”

She looked down at her feet with a soft smile. “Thanks.”

Vanessa walked up at that moment and wrapped an arm around Kendra’s shoulders, then glowered at Bracken. “Is he bothering you?” she asked Kendra while clearly staring at him.

“No,” Kendra said. “I’m just an emotional wreck.”

A short ‘hmm’ was uttered by Vanessa, who continued to glare at Bracken.

Her crystal clear and plain-as-day mistrust and what felt like hatred was really quite uncomfortable to endure. Before he had the chance to ask her what her severe dislike of him was founded on, seeing as they’d just barely met, Warren stopped by and pulled Vanessa away from Kendra.

“There you are,” he said. “I was looking for you. Elise was just telling some story about a ridiculous customer of yours from the other day. Why didn’t you tell me about him? The dude who insisted on misspelling a word in his tattoo design, then got mad when it turned out misspelled on his skin?”

She rolled her eyes. “That was Elise’s customer,” she corrected.

“My bad. Maybe you should come over and make sure I understand the other stories she’s telling.”

A sigh escaped her. “I know what you’re doing,” she said to Warren. She squeezed Kendra again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m alright,” Kendra replied. “Bracken is being kind.”

“If you’re sure,” Vanessa answered. “You know where to find me.” She narrowed her eyes at Bracken once more, who was starting to feel more than a little annoyed by her attitude.

“I’m watching you,” she told him.

Bracken sent her what he hoped was his best unimpressed expression.

Vanessa shook her head at him, then turned toward Warren. “Go ahead, take my overbearing ass away from here.”

Warren shot an apologetic look at Bracken before he escorted Vanessa back toward Elise, Mara, Dale and Tanu.

“She’s been a little protective of me this week,” Kendra explained. “Sorry about that.”

He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “It’s okay. She doesn’t have to like me. I would’ve appreciated a chance for her to get to know me before deciding that she hates me, but that’s her problem, not mine. I can’t please everyone.”

Kendra blinked. “She doesn’t hate you.”

“I find that difficult to believe.”

“If she hated you, she would’ve sent you back to your car and told you to never come back.”

Bracken shrugged his shoulders again. “It’s alright. I can deal with being disliked. I just wish I knew what I’d done to warrant it.”

“You didn’t do anything. She’s just being protective,” Kendra said. “I promise.”

He decided that he didn’t want to carry that particular subject any further. “Understood.”

An awkward silence fell between them for a few moments, and then Seth reappeared on the deck from the kitchen with a small plate stacked high with an assortment of mini desserts. He made his way over to them, apparently unaware of what had just happened with Vanessa, and announced, “She brought cheesecakes and brownies.”

“Did you take them all?” Kendra asked as she gestured toward his plate.

“There’s some left,” he replied. “I couldn’t stack anymore on top without them falling over.”

“Sugar addict,” Kendra teased.

Seth faked being wounded in his chest. “Kendra. My sister. You’ve hurt me.”

“Do you deny it?”

“No.”

“Well then, there you go.”

“I can’t help it,” Seth said as he chewed on one of the brownies. “Sugar is delicious.”

Bracken and Kendra both nodded their heads, then Kendra stole one of the tiny cheesecakes from Seth’s plate and popped it into her mouth.

“Hey!” Seth protested. “Get your own!”

“I can’t help it,” she replied. “Sugar is delicious.”

Bracken laughed as Seth held his plate over his head while Kendra also laughed and tried to reach it.

——

Read part 8 here!

#fablehaven #brackendra #aerinm writes #anonymous #asks #this is rapidly spinning out of control my dudes #whyyyyyyy do i do this to myself

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astringofmadhousefloozies · 3 years

Text

Sardines, or Professor Vargas is an Asshole

Another fic from someone who’s only half-read everything. Told in second person, starring a female Yuu.

Content warnings for coarse language, kidnapping, sexual harassment along the lines of Vargas being similar to Gaston, and being deeply, direly self indulgent.

As always, please let me know if you enjoyed it, I live and breathe for positive feedback.

You do not like Professor Vargas, and the feeling is mutual.

It wasn't like the almost amiable vitriol between you and Schonheit, which, while having its ups and downs, was usually at a level of shooting a few insults at each other in between whatever dorm prefect business had you talking to each other, and parting ways with a hair flip on his part and a rude hand guesture on yours. And hell, the other teachers seemed almost fond of you. Trein appreciated you passion for history, even if annoyed at your preference for layman-oriented literature, and would let you sound off about whatever strange bit of lore you'd recently found out, and even once down and listened very patiently as you tried to explain who Emperor Norton was before he said you needed to leave so he could mark papers. Crewel and you had reached an uneasy truce where he did not call you a puppy, and you did not start going "what happens when these go together" in potions class every time he called you that in protest. (You may be a bitch, but he certainly isn't allowed to imply it, even in the most roundabout of ways.)

But Vargas. Vargas hates your soft belly, your unwillingness to push yourself to the point of exhaustion, and most of all, he really, really hates that you're a girl that won't throw herself at his feet. You were trundling along at a swift walking pace on a broom, a mere few feet off the ground, when he stopped yelling at your classmates to pick on you instead.

"Too weak to do better than that?"

"I'm not magic. That I can do this at all is impressive." You're pointedly looking ahead, not looking at him jogging up beside you.

"You can go higher!"

"Professor," you say with barely contained irritation, "I am a beginner, and would much rather have the basics down before I attempt to turn myself into a fine paté from a hundred feet up."

He snorted. "Ashengrotto goes high; you can too."

"Azul's damn near in tears by the time he comes down because he didn't even have legs before a few years ago. He's not a good example."

Vargas, being a wretched asshole who should not be allowed to teach, instead tipped the end of your broom up. Only the broom shot into the air, you merely went ass-over-teakettle onto the grass, and stayed there because if you got up you would attempt to bite his nose clean off.

"Such poor balance! But I can fix that with some private lessons!" Oh, Christ. "You come by here after dark, I know all about teaching a girl how to ride -”

At that, you kicked him in the shin, and while he started back in pain, you shot up and started walking off the field, vibrating with the strength of your disgust.

"You can't hit a teacher! You'll regret this you stupid-" And you've picked up to a jog, because fuck if you were going to listen to that piece of shit try and pick up one of his own fucking students, what the actual fuck.

~*~*~*~

You relayed this whole mess across the supper table, afterwards, and your host was just as grossed out as you were.

"Keep an eye out next class," Azul said to you. "He holds a grudge."

"First hand knowledge?”

His silence was telling.

"You think I could get an exemption? Or like, permission to do a treadmill when everyone's out on a broom?"

"Who do you think you have to ask about all fitness-related things?" Azul had a faraway look that recalled war films. "It's not going to work.”

"What if I start skipping class?"

He gave you a look that could wither an evergreen. "Don't you dare, or he'll start picking on me again."

You shrugged. "Aight. I got three days to figure out what to do, then. You got any ideas?”

He folded his hands and rested his head upon them. "What would you pay?"

"No."

"Come on."

"What do I even have that you want?"

"I can think of a few things. The wave in your hair, or the gleam off your teeth."

"Because you need more curl to your hair."

"Someone might want to contract me for them."

"No. I got three days, Azul, we don't have to resort to your contracts.”

As it turned out, you did not have three days.

~*~*~*~

The next day's gym class was a motley bunch. Idia couldn't miss any more gym days this month, Lilia was doing his stretches, Floyd was... being Floyd, resulting in everyone who wasn't Rook giving him a wide berth, and Leona appeared to be skipping class and was therefore not present for the upcoming bullshit.

"Sorry I'm late!" Cater jogged in, cheery as sunshine though the clouds, and Idia rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't strain. "Laps today?"

"Vargas said we're doing Capture the Flag. Dunno how the teams'll go." Lilia was doing something complicated with his hands as he stretched his arms. "Kingscholar's absent, so they'll be uneven. And," he thumbed over at Rook, who was looking into the forest with the coiled intensity of a greyhound waiting for the rabbit to spring, "he's got an advantage, he knows the woods best."

"Yeah, but I've got unlimited data and a GPS." Cater patted his chest with a smile, the outline if his phone visibly through a pocket.

"Can't count on that for everything."

"Alright students!" yelled Vargas, strolling out of the woods with a bruise purpling one cheek. "Capture the Flag today. Use your brooms to navigate the forest, grab the flag, whoever brings it back gets the flag as a prize."

"It's in the forest, hanging from a pole in a clearing, you cannot miss it! All in white, too..." The professor brought up a little screen, showing off a live feed of his flag.

The flag, of course, was you, trussed up with rope and you legs hanging freely, still in last night's sleep shirt. Your voice came out, tinny from the speakers: "I did not consent to this, asshole."

The students were torn between looking at Vargas in shock, looking at the phone in shock, and muttering between themselves.

"Don't forget to have all the fun you want with the flag before you bring it back to me! When else will you get the chance?"

This just had everyone looking at each other with shifty-eyed suspicion.

"Every man for himself! Go get your prize!"

~*~*~*~

Vargas couldn't rig worth a damn. You're twenty feet in the air with just one rope suspending you, tied at the base with a simple knot. Everything hurt from chafing, you were cold, and you couldn't help but worry over what the hell was going to happen, depending on who found you. Vil still hadn't forgiven you for projecting a gorefest of a film across the walls of Pomefiore, so he might leave you to rot or use the situation to put a particularly vicious curse on you. Idia would probably drop dead of exhaustion after reaching you, leaving you both stuck. Floyd, well. As much as you enjoyed his company, it was like hand feeding a pet tiger; eventually he'll decide your hands tastes better, it's just a matter of when. You're running the numbers on most likely scenarios based on who shows up, when some twigs snap by the meadow's edge and you look towards a small "Hi."

Little ears! Little hands! Little all over, and looking up at you with curiousity as his tail swished. Chen'ya? No, no, other Ch- name. "Cheka! Hi, sweetie, honey, baby, can you get me down?" You'd already been here an hour and your hands were nothing but tingles.

"... Okay! Why're you up there?"

"Bad man," you say as he starts to tug at the rope. "You got it?"

He shook his head. "It's hard."

"Can you go get help, honey? Bring them back to get me down?"

He nodded. This was a big boy job, he could do it. "I'll get Uncle Leona."

Please don't, you thought to yourself, but instead said "Okay, please be quick, Cheka."

He started off towards the school, and you could have sworn he vanished before he actually hit the treeline.

~*~*~*~

He was only gone for a few minutes before you realized that you were starting to move. Turns out Cheka, despite being so small, had pulled enough at the rope before he left that the knot was unraveling.

"Oh shi-" is as far as you got before you're in freefall, and you yelped as you hit the ground feet first, wheezing. Fuck. You can barely move to survey the damage, because a certain asshole had put your hands behind your back, and every move made your ankles wail in pain. The only saving grace was that the ground was soft.

At least someone had landed by you, looking you up and down.

"... Hi, Yuu."

"... Hi, Lil."

Lilia pointed up. "You're supposed to be up there."

"Vargas was too busy trying to get upskirts to secure a fucking knot, apparently." You wince as he worked at the ropes. "My feet?"

"On the right way." You gritted your teeth and hissed as he prodded at them. "Both badly sprained, left worse than right. You're not walking out of here."

"Figured." You sat up and held your arms out. "Come on, old man, you're stronger than you look."

He was, but was too small to leverage you correctly.

"Can't you fly?"

"Yes," He said as he tried to balance you on the broom.

"Then carry me.”

"You want me to drop you?"

"Nope."

"Do we just wait for the others?"

As if on cue, you heard distant yelling and what was maybe an explosion.

"Yeah." Lil brightened, and snapped his fingers. "I saw a place, hold on."

Said place was either a nice treehouse or an okay deer blind, wide enough in the floor that you could lay flat out as he surveyed the damage. "This should be a good place."

"What the hell is going on out there?”

"Everyone's looking for you." Lil's settled crosslegged, with an amused smile. "Vargas said you're the prize, so everyone's trying to get here first. Isn't it good I found you? Who knows what they're planning."

You set your arm over your eyes and sighed. "Brave words from someone who's broken into my room more than once."

He shrugged. "You need looking after."

"De-organizing my things isn't looking after, you damned goblin."

He bristled. "I'm not a goblin."

"What is a goblin, Lilia."

"Small little fae who like to cause trouble."

"Exactly."

You couldn't see it, but you could feel the eye-roll.

~*~*~*~

It was five minutes at the most after that before Rook climbed in the door, looking so fresh-faced and joyful to see you it made you want to swat him. "Bonjour, my Trickster! You're living up to your name, hidden away!"

"Salut, Rook." You squinted at him. "You have first aid anything?"

"Hm," He said, prodding at your calf. "I have water, but these need wrapped."

"Give." Lilia took a sip of water before passing it to you. "The uniform denim won't tear easily-”

"Oh, we use this."

"Oh no you do not," You said as you tugged the hem of your sleep shirt from his hand. "No one here gets to see my underwear."

"I don't care about your panties, I care about this," he said as he brushed an ankle, making you jerk back. "It'll get worse if they aren't wrapped. There is fabric to spare.”

You huffed before you told him not to mention it to Vil, and between him and Lilia, you had two wrapped ankles and a dangerously short hemline. At least you'd actually put underwear on before Vargas decided to kidnap you, otherwise this would be a whole other level of distressing.

~*~*~*~

"You have a phone?"

Lilia pulled his from a hidden pocket. "You want to play Sweetie Scrunch?"

"No," You say as you take it from him and start flipping through his contacts. "I'm calling help."

It took him a whole three seconds before he realized who help was. "... Nope, nope, you're not getting Malleus involved, he will eat Vargas alive, we are not causing an international incident."

"Would you rather he find out after? And he knows how to heal." You'd already texted him a brief explanation one handed, the other keeping Lilia away.

"She is not wrong, monsieur... And it would be a delight to see him raise hell."

"See?" You gave Lilia a smile that would be very sweet if it wasn't full of the devil. "C'est bon."

~*~*~*~

Mal hurtled through the window so fast it was a miracle he didn't go clean through the far wall, before he was on top of you, fussing over his precious Child of Man.

"Mal, I am fine, please fix my -"

"Dreadful, simply dreadful." He was already working a prickly green light around your bruises. "And he did that, too?" he growled as he guestured to your ragged hemline."

"No, we did that to wrap my ankles. As much as I'd love to see it, we do not need to turn Vargas into - Mal. Mal. Put your clothing back-" He'd already managed to wrap you up in his green-trimmed uniform coat. "You don't have to do that."

"Yes I do." He already had you cradled in his lap, both arms around you in a vice grip. "You won't heal immediately, I must keep you safe until then.”

Lilia raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. You were about to ask, before a dreadful wheezing started up from outside, and familiar pale hands had the bottom of the doorframe in a vice grip. "Help."

"Shit, Idia! Get him in here before he falls!"

~*~*~*~

Idia looked downright grey in your arms as you tried to get him to drink some water. For someone who had the physical fortitude of an overboiled noodle, he'd pushed himself to his limits looking for you, and then some.

"You're okay? Full health?" Idia sounded horribly raspy, and you fussed over his scrapes as you picked half-charred twigs from his hair. He was too tired to protest you holding onto him in much the same manner Malleus was holding onto you.

"Bout three-quarters. Fifty before Mal got here." Idia's eyes flicked to just behind your left ear before he shrank back.

You turned your head around, and Mal gave you his sweetest you're-my-best-friend smile. You looked back at Idia, who was attempting to shrink into something microscopic, and then back at Mal.

"Play nice. He's my friend too."

Mal turned his face as innocent as he could muster. "Whatever do you mean, my friend?"

"You know what I mean."

"I do not." He wasn't looking at your face anymore.

"Yes you do. And he's you're friend too-"

Idia raised one hand tentatively. "We only play Dragon-Kun with each other."

You guestured down at Idia, still looking at Mal, looking anywhere but you. "You love your Dragon-kun. And maybe," you say as you nudge Malleus's cheek, "If you made more friends than me, you wouldn't have to be jealous when I have other friends?"

Mal's pupils were so narrow as to be barely visible when he glanced out of the corner of his eye at you, but he nodded, and mumbled a very quiet apology as Idia faintly relaxed.

"Impressive. I haven't been able to do that in years."

"That's because you're his dad."

"Do you think anyone else will show up, my Trickster? It's getting cramped in here."

You looked around and considered. "I mean, probably."

~*~*~*~

"Sevens?"

"Go fish."

"And that's when they added a dance emote, but it cause a glitch so the top half of your body started to spin around while the bottom half went normally, which would be okay, but if you collide with a wall then you clip about a mile above the ground and die from fall damage, and when they went to fix that -"

There were eight people in the treehouse, and no room for more. Mal had you in his lap in a corner. Idia was gesticulating wildly as he talked about what you were sure was this universe's version of Fallout 76, tucked against you at an angle. Floyd insisted on you using his lap as a footrest while he, Lilia and Cater played card games with an ancient deck Lilia had produced from another pocket. (You were not certain that Floyd's guesture was innocent, since he kept poking at your toes until you said you'd take them away if he didn't stop.) Rook was skipping this round to keep an eye out the window. There was maybe a half foot total of floor showing. Despite the magic fired and fists swung earlier, as soon as everyone had realized that no one was running to your rescue simply to perform their own indignities, everyone had relaxed.

Overall, it was very cozy, and as long as you could keep Idia talking instead of realizing he was crammed in a tiny room with a whole bunch of people, you could stay here quite comfortably for ages. Your ankles were currently only sore, with twinges of more, no one was at each other's throats, and as long as no one else fucked shit up, you could wait out Vargas, go home, and think about how in the hell you can report a teacher at this school for harassment.

"Trouble's coming."

Ah, shit.

Trouble, unfortunately, had figured out where they were due to the cluster of broomsticks at the base of the tree, flew to the window, and started spewing bullshit.

"What are you all doing? You abandoned the game," and here he guestured towards you, "and didn't come back with the prize. None of you would know what to do with a girl if she begged you!"

What a piece of shit, and he couldn't even read a room with eight sets of eyes glaring murder at him. He was still talking, but you weren't paying attention. Instead, you drained the last of the water, wiped your mouth on your arm, and took a deep breath.

"Get his ass."

~*~*~*~

Everyone scattered after that, not ready to deal with the consequences of ganging up on their teacher, even if he thoroughly deserved it. Everything will be dealt with tomorrow, when you can put weight on your legs without your knees buckling. Mal was walking you out of the woods personally in a princess carry, when he stopped in place.

"See, she's down, you didn't have to bug me."

You'd completely forgotten that Cheka had gone to bug Leona for help. "It's been hours."

He ignored that. "Draconia. What would your grandma say?"

"Mal-"

"I would hope she would be proud of my helping a friend." He held his head high, and brushed by Leona without another word.

"Bye!"

"Bye Cheka." You waved back at Cheka before the two lions were out of sight.

~*~*~*~

"Mal, you know you could just take me to my dorm, right?"

"Someone should keep an eye on you until you are fully healed," he said as he pulled out a pair of silk pajamas.

"Which you could do at my dorm, instead of." You guestured to the hangings on his bed. "Here."

"It's far more comfortable here than your dorm."

"I'm not kicking you out of your bed, Mal."

"You're not in a state to argue." He set the pajamas beside you, before turning to face the wall.

"About that."

He did not move a muscle.

"I'm surprised you didn't just heal them outright."

Silence.

"I know perfectly well that you can. So why didn't you?"

He still said nothing.

"Be that way, Malleus. But you know that's not okay." You flung the remains of your shirt at him, managing to catch it on one horn. "If you want me to stay over, just say that instead of conspiring to keep me dependent for an evening."

He turned, pulling the cloth from his horns, before his eyes nearly popped from his head and he hurriedly turned back to the wall. "I... am not used to this."

"Neither am I. We're going to have to have a little talk about boundaries and healthy friendships. You can turn around now."

He did, you patted the side of his bed, and he joined you.

"How do you want to do this, Mal."

"I do not."

"Tough titty, said the kitty."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I know I'm the first real friend you've had. I've been on both ends of that. You know what happens when you cling real fucking hard to your friend, and try to isolate them because you don't wanna share?"

His face was a practiced mask of emotionlessness. "What is that?"

"They suffocate, and draw away because the intensity is way too much. And then no one's happy."

Mal frowned, but said nothing.

"I do want to be your friend. I like you. You're funny, you're deeply sincere, and you're still the same person I knew when I just called you Horned Boy. But I will cut this off if you try to isolate me. I do not want to, but I will have to. If you can't play nice with others, you don't get to play with me at all."

He's so clearly trying to hide his distress and irritation, but he could not help a sigh. "You are not wrong, Child of Man. And..." He looked away. "You won't live forever. Or be here forever, at that."

"I will not. You won't either, but like, you'll outlive me. Eggs in one basket, and all. Another reason to attempt to make more friends."

"Hm." He stretched out beside you, staring at the ceiling. "With who should I start? My reputation precedes me."

"Well," you smiled, "If I've learned one thing, forced proximity does wonders with forcing Idia to like you, and he's already somewhat used to you."

He smiled at the ceiling. "I do like him."

"Me too. You'd like his little brother."

"The creation?”

"Yeah. Look, I'll network for you with other people. And I'll make sure to invite you places."

"A promise?"

"Of course. Now, are you going to take me home, or put up with the rumours of keeping me in your room all night after beating up Vargas to get at me?"

"... Oh dear."

"Yeah."

After a moment, "... I am alright with the rumours."

You snorted. "You could just ask for a sleepover next time. Don't wait for an injury."

"I will ask."

"Make sure Sebek doesn't eat me in the morning."

"I would like to see him try." He gripped your closest hand and squeezed it.

"Me too."

You lay there a few moments, scary lonely dragon boy and strange lonely human kid, hand in hand.

"Do you have any tales from your home you could tell me?"

"Mostly ones you already kind of know."

"I would still like to hear."

Even a dragon wants a bedtime story, it seems.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twst fic #malleus draconia

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kabira · 3 years

Text

10 | bad manners

pairing — spider-man!vernon x ofc

featuring — joshua, yeji (itzy), felix (skz), yangyang (nct)

word count — 2.9k

genres — spider-man au, marvel au, fluff, action, angst, humor

warnings — none.

“And all of this is on Friday?” Yangyang asked.

“Yeah,” Vernon said, webbing a drone and swinging it in a circular motion, sending it flying towards Yeji. “Tiger, sending a confused customer your way!”

“On it!” she yelled. She somersaulted sidelong over a mound of robot wreckage, launching herself towards the drone with her claws extended. They sliced through the metal like a knife through butter, and she landed on all fours, seconds before the drone fell to the ground in ribbons. “Cake.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything else from you,” Felix said. He was high above them in full mutant form, gliding down an icy slide and flash-freezing a laser every time an unfortunate red dot appeared on his skin. “Shouldn’t we be done yet?”

“We should,” Vernon said. An inactive drone hung high above him in the training chamber, its red eye dark. He frowned up at it, noticing his spider sense wasn’t going crazy despite its close proximity. “Hey, is there something wrong with this one?”

“What?” Yeji glanced up at the drone after demolishing another. Her claws, which had retracted, slowly extended to their full two-and-a-half-inch length again. “Nova, you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Second wave,” Nova said, like it was some kind of shared joke between them. “You got this?”

“I got this,” she said. Vernon frowned, glancing between the two of them, and the moment he looked away from the drone its eye blazed red, and four small spike-like blades extended from its sides. Vernon’s spider sense tingled, and he spun towards the drone, which charged through the air, its blades aimed straight at his face.

“Move!” Yeji called out from behind him. She lunged past him towards the drone, her claws narrowly avoiding slashing through the front of Vernon’s costume as he leaned back in alarm.

“A little too close for comfort,” he muttered, as her claws stabbed into the drone. She brought it down to the floor, crushing it under her knee, where it crackled and sputtered for a few seconds before finally dying.

“Sorry,” she said unapologetically, getting to her feet.

“No time to apologize,” Vernon said, pointing at the ceiling, where sections of the wall opened up to let in another wave of drones, this time with each of them armed with long metal spikes that looked like they could break through bone.

“That looks unsafe,” Nova observed, zig-zagging between the drones and blasting the ones that got in his way. “Any of this look kinda unsafe to you guys?”

“Of course not,” Vernon muttered, voice laced with sarcasm, cutting through the air between two of them and webbing them in midair before slamming them together. “It looks just dandy.”

“One of these days, one of us is gonna get killed, and Fury’ll have a bunch of angry adults to answer to,” Felix said, skewering a drone with a meter-long spire of ice.

“He’ll probably get away with it, too,” Vernon said. “You think no kid’s ever hurt himself fighting one of these? Like, jeez.” He punched through a drone. “And he’s still walking free.”

“Guys,” Yeji snapped, kicking a bot through the air and sending it flying into a wall like a pro soccer player. “Focus.”

“I think that was the last of them,” Felix said, lowering himself to the floor. The ice receded from his face, leaving behind slightly pinked skin.

“Alright, now that that’s done, explain,” Yeji said, facing Vernon with her arms crossed over her chest. “You’re having some kind of house party? I didn’t take you to be the partying type.”

“Not house party, movie night,” Vernon corrected. “It’s this thing we used to do back when—it’s this thing,” he repeated uselessly, rubbing the back of his covered neck. “Remember when I told you about Parker Game night? Sometimes we’d play those old one-on-one combat video games and Aunt May would join in and kick our collective ass.”

Felix raised a dyed eyebrow (dedication) and shook out his arms. “And you want us to come over? I thought it was like a private ceremony kind of thing.”

“No, it’s just among…friends.” Vernon sighed in frustration, regretting agreeing to Luce’s idea. Judging from the looks on their faces, they were definitely enjoying his discomfort. “Look, it wasn’t my idea, alright?”

“Admit it, you love us,” Yeji said with a disturbingly feline smile.

“Wait, so it was Luce’s idea to invite us, huh?” Yangyang grinned.

Vernon’s eyes narrowed beneath the mask, an inexplicable hot feeling rising beneath his sternum. “You don’t know that.”

“Well, it definitely wasn’t your blueberry friend,” Felix said. He looked thoughtful, staring down at his arms. Vernon still wasn’t sure what was up with his leaving the X-Men, but he figured it was a sensitive topic, and the boy often spaced out after their training sessions. Vernon wondered if they reminded him of the Xavier Institute.

“You don’t know that either,” he said.

Felix fixed him with a self-assured look in his eye. “I think I do.”

Vernon exhaled through his teeth, turning away from the trio and picking his way out through the wreckage of machine parts on the floor, studying the wiring peeking out from within some of the metal shells. “Fine, it was her idea,” he admitted. “But you don’t have to come or anything. It’s your decision.”

“But do you want us to?” Vernon turned, finding Yeji looking straight at him. He gulped, thankful for the mask covering his expression.

“I…” The other two had begun to stare too, Nova with a cocky smirk peeking out from under his helmet. Vernon scowled. “I don’t see how that changes anything.”

“It’s at your house, right?” Felix asked. He was the least nosy of the three, so it was surprising to hear him speak up like this. Then Vernon remembered him cornering him outside the briefing room and thought, or maybe not so much. “Do you want us to come or are you just relaying Lucy’s message?”

“I was just warning you ahead of time,” he said defensively. “She’s gonna tell you herself anyway.” Then he crossed his arms over his chest, covering the spider logo. “It’s just a movie—I don’t see why you guys are getting to worked up over it.”

“Yeah, Parker, it’s just a movie,” Nova mocked, floating a few inches off the ground, a smile tilted sideways on his face. “Just answer the question.”

He rolled his eyes, turning to kick aside a broken drone on the floor. “This is bullying.”

“Vernon…” Yeji said.

“Okay, maybe,” he said. Then he whirled around, pointing at them accusatorily. “But I don’t want to hear a single word out of any of you about it.”

Felix laughed. Yeji and Yangyang shared a smug high-five behind his back. “You really are warming up to us,” Felix said.

“Whatever,” Vernon mumbled. “Oh, and when you get to my house, behave. Aunt May wants to meet you, so I want each and every one of you to be on your best behavior. If I hear even a peep out of you about a S.H.I.E.L.D.-sanctioned mission or something, I will personally throw you out.”

“Don’t worry, web-head,” Yangyang said, still grinning a shit-eating grin, “we’ll behave.”

Needless to say, they did not behave.

Yangyang showed up almost half an hour behind schedule, unable to pull the training card because Felix and Yeji had appeared even earlier than the appointed time. He almost slipped up about six different times in front of Aunt May, who didn’t miss the sharp looks his three other teammates shot his way. She gave Vernon a meaningful look that said we’ll talk about this later before getting to the door.

“I’ve left you kids enough food to last through the night, but since your parents expect you to be home before the morning, make sure you don’t stay past your curfews,” she told the party of six that had gathered at the door to bid her goodbye. “I’ll be back before midnight at most, so make sure not to set the house on fire while I’m gone.”

“C’mon, Aunt May, that was one time,” Joshua mumbled in protest. The woman threw him a stern yet playful look.

What’s that about? Yeji mouthed at Vernon, who winced, and shook his head like don’t ask. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Parker, I’ll make sure they behave this time,” she said.

“Oh, honey, call me Aunt May,” the woman told her warmly. “Or even just May is fine.”

Yeji froze for a moment before letting a slow smile bloom on her face. “I will—Aunt May.”

Aunt May smiled at her before giving Vernon another telling look and a hug, telling him to call her if something happened and not to go out alone in case they ran out, they should have enough to keep them going for hours anyway. Then, with a small wave and a few more repetitions of the same warnings, she was gone.

“Damn,” Yangyang mumbled as they watched her walk away, standing behind the open door like the kindergarten kids left behind in an unsupervised classroom, elated by the prospect yet hesitant to step too far out of line. “Didn’t realize she was going to be that strict. Even Fu—”

Vernon kicked him in the shin before he could complete his sentence, making him yowl in indignance. He glared at him through tears of pain, but Vernon ignored him, even when he got a hard punch in the arm in retaliation.

Joshua, Felix, and Yeji all glared at him in sync, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by Luce. She stepped back inside the house, amidst the thick atmosphere left behind by Aunt May’s and Harry’s absence, and bit the inside of her cheek before releasing the door. “I’ll, uh—” she gestured vaguely towards somewhere inside the house— “I’ll get the popcorn.”

Vernon watched her go, clenching his fists so tightly his knuckles had turned white. He glanced helplessly at Yeji, who had been watching him anxiously. Upon the look on his face, she nodded subtly, herding the rest of the group into the living room.

“Come on, dumbass,” she muttered in a low voice to Yangyang, who was still pouting huffily. “Be a little more careful with what you say, huh? You’re supposed to be a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, for goodness’s sake.”

“It’s not my fault,” Yangyang protested, only to have Felix whack him upside the head. “Hey!”

“Don’t make the same mistake again,” Yeji murmured to him, casting a meaningful look towards Joshua, who had been looking over quizzically from his spot on the couch. “We still have civilians around here.”

“Oh, don’t worry about him, he knows,” Felix said as he passed them by, munching on the half of a granola bar he seemed to have procured out of thin air. He plopped down on the couch next to Joshua, making it dent a bit under the impact, almost pushing Joshua into the air.

Vernon stared at him, then at Joshua, who looked back, clueless of the secretive conversation that had just taken place. “You—”

“Popcorn,” announced Luce, even more cluelessly, as she walked into the room carrying a bowl that smelled so delicious Vernon’s stomach rumbled in response, cutting him off before he could complete his sentence (thankfully).

A silence fell over the group, the ones who had already been in the room tensing at the sudden entry. Luce blinked, glancing between them, then lowered the bowl slowly. “Actually…” She pressed her lips into an awkward smile. “I think I’m gonna go make some more—kinda forgot there were so many of us. Force of habit.”

Vernon stepped forward, but she gave him a quick smile before disappearing back into the kitchen. “Great,” he mumbled, passing a hand over his face. “She probably thinks we’re up to something now.”

“Technically, we are,” Yangyang interjected.

“You,” Vernon hissed, whirling on him, and stabbed a finger at his chest, making the surprised boy step back. “I told you to be more careful! Now you’ve gone and messed it all up and both Aunt May and Luce suspect something’s up, and if they get wind of what I’m up to when we—”

“Vernon.” Yeji put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it in an assuasive manner. “Try to be quiet, at least. Yelling isn’t going to help our case, either.”

Vernon took a deep breath and stepped away from Yangyang, who watched him with round eyes. “I knew this was a bad idea,” he said miserably. “I should’ve known better than to trust him with something like this.”

For once, Yangyang didn’t quip back, only pressing his lips together as Vernon headed towards the stairs that led up to his room. “I’m gonna go get us…something. I don’t know, I need a moment,” Vernon muttered. “Can one of you talk to Luce, make sure she’s not too weirded out by you guys? Not you, Nova.”

To his credit, Yangyang didn’t say anything. Felix nodded, getting up from the couch with a cautionary glance at him and made his way towards the kitchen. Vernon climbed up the stairs heavily, switching on the lights in his room and giving himself two minutes to calm down before he made his way back downstairs.

He had known having Spider-Man stuff mix with Vernon Parker stuff was going to create trouble, but he’d allowed himself to hope that maybe these guys could make it work. Well, apparently not.

He leaned against his desk and closed his eyes. They could have made it work, if it hadn’t been for Yangyang. That guy never knew when to shut up. At first, Vernon had assumed that his irritating qualities were just a natural personality trait that wouldn’t interfere with real life, but boy, had he been proved wrong.

Accidentally letting slip even the tiniest detail about their double life to people could have disastrous consequences, and Vernon knew those consequences well. Sometimes, it cost innocent people their lives.

I should have just said no to Luce when I still had the chance, he thought unhappily. He had to work day and night to keep Spider-Man a secret from his friends and family, even harder than usual now that he had to cover up for an additional three people. I shouldn’t have let my guard down.

Someone knocked at his door. “Can I come in?” Yeji’s muffled voice spoke from the other side.

Vernon sighed, but relented, opening the door and letting her in. Her eyes glanced around the room for a few seconds before coming to rest on him, and softened fractionally.

“I’ll be down in a few seconds,” he said tiredly. “I just needed a moment. Couldn’t start yelling at Yangyang out of nowhere in front of Luce.”

She nodded, but didn’t say anything. Vernon sat down heavily on his chair and looked up at her, eyebrows raised. “What?” he asked.

She hesitated for a moment before speaking. “This is going to sound bad,” she said, “but you shouldn’t be too hard on Yangyang.”

“Huh, really?” he asked, a hard edge to his voice. “You think so?”

“Vernon—”

“I know you think I’m overreacting, but I’m not,” he said tersely. “Someone close to you finding out about your secret identity is a dangerous thing. You know what happened the last time someone I cared about found out I was Spider-Man? He died, Yeji.”

Yeji pursed her lips. Neither of them said anything for a long moment, and Vernon glared holes into the tabletop as he waited in vain for his anger to abate.

“You know,” she started, “Yangyang never lets anyone see his room in the Helicarrier, but I saw it once. It was just after we were told we’d be working with you, before Fury told you about us.” Vernon glanced at her curiously, and found her looking thoughtfully at some point in the distance. There was a soft smile on her face.

“It was nothing special or different, just like the rooms the rest of us had been assigned with the single bed and desk arrangement, but there was something about the way he’d decorated it,” she said. “Most people had pictures of their families, some had medals or posters, but Yangyang? His room was covered in Spider-Man posters.” She laughed. “Cutouts from newspapers, magazine covers, article clippings—everywhere I turned, it had Spider-Man’s face plastered all over it.”

Vernon stared at her, dumbfounded. Yeji gave him a wry smile, leaning against the doorframe. “He hero-worships you, Pete,” she said. “I know he can come off as annoying and rash sometimes, but he means well. He just doesn’t know how to act around you. Just...give him some time.”

Vernon opened his mouth, then closed it. “I…I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” she said, lifting a single shoulder in a shrug. “Especially not to Yangyang. If he found out I told you all of this, he’d probably throw me off a bridge.”

“You can swim,” he said instinctively, then shook his head. “But, uh, thanks. For telling me.”

She nodded once, a small smile still playing on her lips. “Don’t mention it. Literally,” she added. “I have to say, I’m impressed that you really let Felix stay alone with Luce for so long.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” she said airily, as she turned to walk out of the door, but he didn’t miss the mischievous glint in her eye. Despite himself, he smiled. “Come on.”

#kwritersworldnet #caratwritersclub #seventeen #svt #vernon #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #vernon fluff #svt angst #vernon angst #seventeen angst #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #hansol fluff #hansol imagines

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missinghan · 4 years

Text

young & beautiful ⤖ lee felix

❖ genre : zombie apocalypse!au; punk! au

❖ word count : 13,1k.

❖ warning : explicit language, mentions of alcohol & violence

❖ summary : you’ve always thought your soulmate was an idiot to not be there sooner but eventually, everything connects when it started with Lee Felix holding your best friend at gunpoint.

one.

Jisung puffs his cheeks out and stares at his own reflection on the glass table. The bartender quickly comes back, pushing a tequila sunrise towards his direction. The boy takes an awful amount of time to study how the yellow, almost orange liquid bleeds into a deep red effortlessly.

He shakes his bang away furiously, calling out for the bartender. “Uhm, I just ordered a Coke. Not this.”

“Have a drink kid, it’s on me.”

He pushes the glass away. “No thanks.”

“What kind of adult doesn’t drink alcohol in desperate times?”

“Then what kind of bartender doesn’t run for his life when ravenous freaks are lurking the streets?”

The bartender tips his head back and laughs wholeheartedly. “Listen, kid. It’s either beating the shit out of someone or getting wasted to keep the little amount of sanity left on your mind. So I’m staying here for them alcoholics. Business is running low, not taking any risks.” He wipes his hand onto his white apron, throwing him a playful wink. “Call me if you need anything.”

Jisung beams innocently. “Do you have a pencil? And paper too?”

“Jisung you can’t be serious, where are you?”

Minutes later, he’s starting to regret the questionable-looking sketch of a squirrel on the piece of paper that the bartender gave him. Instead, he presses the tip of the pencil harder onto the surface until it snaps in half, leaving the sharp wooden edges sticking out. He can kill the bartender with this if he decides to spike his drink, Jisung figures. He hesitantly brings the rim of the glass to his lips and takes the smallest sip possible. The burning sensation goes down his throat in matters of seconds. His entire windpipe feels like it’s on fire.

“Hey, I need some water..” He chokes out as someone enters the bar.

The bartender averts his gaze onto the new customer. “Cool, what about you?”

The unfamiliar figure sits beside him, murmuring. “I’m not here for the drinks, but him.”

The bartender looks confused. “A water it is then?”

Jisung’s head starts spinning slightly, dizziness bubbling up inside his chest. He hiccups with the pencil held between his fingers. Something’s wrong with this man. He needs to get out of here, now. “Sorry, I don’t feel too well. I think I’ll get back to—“ Just when he slips himself off the stool, two other men appear out of nowhere and block his way as the first one firmly holds him in place by his shoulders. Jisung immediately turns to the bartender, signaling him to run with his eyes. And the bartender does as he insists.

One of the thugs growls gruffly, making Jisung drop the black duffle bag in his hand. “You’re gonna have to pay for what you did, boy.”

“Hi, I’m Jisung. Sup guys?”

“Did you just say ‘Hi, I’m Jisung’?”

Jisung grimaces as you hiss into the earpiece, the sound screeching against his eardrums. In which, it doesn't really help to cool the situation down. He drops onto his knees when a guy kicks him in the shin, face scrunching up in pain. One of the guys surrounded him hides behind a face mask, whipping out a dagger concealed in his sleeve. With a cheerful voice, “There’s nothing to be all grabby and stabby about.” Jisung gulps. He’d be lying if he said that he’s not about to piss his pants.

“Uhm, do you like the color red?”

The one who’s holding him down snaps, pulling his collar backward. “Shut it, twig.” He elbows him at the back of his head, earning a low, painful grunt.

Jisung asks, as light as a feather, he’s trying too hard to form a proper sentence at this point. “What about coding? Do you like coding? You guys look pretty smart, you must be into coding.”

“Jisung, the hell-- CODE RED, JEONGIN, CODE RED! JISUNG’S IN TROUBLE!”

He sighs in relief when you finally understand, limbs growing wobbly.

“Han, get the hell out of there! I swear--”

Your words get cut off when a goon peels the earpiece away harshly, examining the device with an amused smirk. “Look at this toy, it might be pretty expensive.” Then, he looks at his gang member and cocks a brow. “Why don’t we just take him with us? He’ll lead us right back to their hiding spot.” His team quickly nod their heads in agreement, staring down at the blond-haired boy with mischievous eyes.

With his head dangled low, Jisung’s limbs are giving in but the grip on the pencil never once loosens. “Okay..” He slowly looks up and shoots them a look, chuckling darkly. “This is gonna be fun.” In a split second, the sharp end of the pencil goes straight into the goon’s stomach, making him stagger backward and groan aloud in agony. Although Jisung’s frame is quite small compared to what a standard fighter needs to be, he never fails to take advantage of that. If he’s smaller, he’s gonna be faster than them.

He sweeps a leg across the ground, one of the men falls onto his head, easily slipping into a good sleep until the zombies come in and take care of his unconscious body. Jisung catches the earpiece when it falls out of the goon’s hand. “Thanks, I’m gonna need my toy back.” Before he can slip the device on again, an arm sweeps under his feet and he lands right onto his bottom. “Using fire against fire. Smartass.” He mutters and clumsily props himself up from facepalming himself onto a pool of fresh blood that’s slowly seeping through the tiled floor.

The only conscious goon smirks down at him. “I don’t like coding. But I do like the color red.” When Jisung flutters his eyes upwards, he’s met with a shiny metal blade, inevitable to drive down, straight into his chest, right through his heart. He automatically squeezes his eyes shut as an attempt to brace himself for the contact.

“Hey asshole,” His eyes shoot open at the more than familiar voice.

two.

You’re so screwed. You’re all fucking screwed.

You’re not screwed because you completely forgot that you have four finals in a row next week. You’re not screwed because you broke your mom’s favorite mug or accidentally had a scratch on your dad’s car. Heck, you wish they could beat you with a wooden spoon right now. If only they’re still alive. You’d have your parents put you in timeout and fail four subjects all at once just so that everything can be normal again.

In movies, particularly ‘Zombieland’ or ‘The Walking Dead’, humans are being controlled by a virus that turns you into a walking corpse that feeds off humans’ flesh. But, we naturally do have plenty of brain disorders that can do just that. However, none of those things were contagious in the first place. Until Mad Cow Disease came along. Who would have thought? Cows are simply being part of the food chain then an entire square block, forty bedrooms, and nineteen bathrooms; everyone in your neighborhood went apeshit after the steak they had for dinner.

It’s a miracle how you even managed to run away without being bit by your own parents, who are now brainless serial killers. The idea of eating someone’s organs doesn’t seem too far-fetched anymore when you know that you’re only one brain chemical away from turning to a psychotic cannibal. That’s not even the irony of the whole situation. Irony, is how ready your current generation is for the end of the world, but not exams.

Hence, you’re gonna throw a birthday party for one of your best friends like nothing’s ever happened. Except for the fact that you’ll have to lure him out of the sanctuary while the others are working on the surprise.

Now you’re sitting in an abandoned bar, attempting to cheer your friend up with a shot of whiskey. You’ve never really liked the idea of being inside a bar before. Drowning yourself in alcohol and letting the night snatch your consciousness away as you sway your body along with bad EDM, going deaf with laughter and music banging against your eardrums? Not ideal. But now, it’s all empty. The neon lights are hanging by a single cable, wallpapers chipping off with discolorations soaking through the wall. The once infamous bar where students used to get wasted every weekend is now dead. Both literally and metaphorically. You’re not complaining anyway.

“Hey Jeongin,” you speak up lowly. “Have you ever hit a girl before?” You run your tongue over the cut right on your bottom lip, tasting the coppery blood in boredom.

Jeongin stares blankly at the glass of whiskey that you just offered him, studying the yellowish component closely. “No? Why would I?” He looks up and almost freezes to death with the look that you’re throwing his way. He can’t tell whether you’re mad or not because you’re that type of person who doesn’t necessarily need to go all furious or mad to scare the shit out of someone.

“No? Oh, don’t mind me,” you shake your head, low chuckles vibrating through your chest capacity. “I was just gonna ask you how it feels. You know, to kick someone in the gut or punch them in the face when you know they’re clearly not your size.” You sigh and prop your head onto your hand, eyes slightly heavy from the alcohol kick. It’s been a while since you’ve messed with these things. “Right, sorry. Not my point. My point is: stop being a big baby and get out there, talk it out with Jisung you little shit!”

The boy in front of you quickly looks away when you stare him dead in the eye. He swallows heavily, picking at the ripped part of his jeans. “I’m not gonna talk it out with him. That was stupid, irresponsible and reckless. He could have just let it be and not have his jaw broken. He was supposed to sneak in, get out, and act like nothing’s ever happened. Instead, he got caught at a bar, waved at them and even said ‘Hi, I’m Jisung’. He didn’t even get anything but got you in danger! Look at you! Minho would kill us if he saw you with a thousand arrow wounds like this!” He throws his hands upwards and cries out. “I swear to God, I’d never sign up to save his ass, ever, again. I swear—“

You clear your throat, wordlessly dropping a black duffel bag onto the counter with a loud thud. Jeongin’s mouth forms an ‘o’ as his hands automatically unzip the bag, revealing an awful amount of weapons: shotguns, rifles, knives, crowbars, etc. Heck, even some food. God, Jeongin can’t even remember the last time he’s had a proper meal. He subconsciously runs his hand along the matte-finished surface of a firearm, a retort lingering on the tip of his tongue. “Wow,” he utters. “He really— he got them.”

“He did.” You cock a brow, leaning forward and zip the bag up again. “And tell you what, even if you’re not gonna be there when Jisung makes a bad decision again, I will. Because you know damn well that there’s nothing in this world that he wouldn’t hesitate to do as long as your little junkie ass is safe.”

“HEY, WE CAN TALK THIS OUT, CHILL—“

“I said hands up! DROP THE GUN!”

“Chan, DON’T DO IT!”

You and Jeongin quickly collect yourselves, scrambling out of the bar. When the door swings wide open, you’re met with Jisung on his knees, hands behind his head, his Benelli M4 abandoned by a water bottle near the entrance. Meanwhile, there are two other guys who seem like they’re talking amongst themselves as they hold your best friend at gunpoint. Your fingers hover over the pistol in your back pocket, mentally debating if you should engage or not.

The more you’re lost into your own thoughts, the more you find yourself staring at the pink-haired boys standing beside the brunette one, who’s having a handgun, pointing right at Jisung. The freckled boy has you drawn into him like instant gravity because suddenly, it feels like the world stops spinning when he looks up and accidentally meets your eyes. That’s when you take a closer look at his features. Perfect dark eyebrows, bright beady eyes, and prominent Cupid’s bow. His freckles are what throw you off, making it possible to look away because they’re like embers of disintegrated supernovas, scattered across the universe for eternities.

“Everyone calm down!” You snap out of it and break eye contact. As much as you’d love to stare at the freckled cutie all day, you’re gonna cut him in his sleep if he dares to put a finger on Jisung. “Lay off my friend. Now.” You declare and receive attention from the brunette as he tells you off with his eyes.

The guy who you assume is called, Chan jerks his head towards Jisung. “Tell your friend that it’d be nice if he could give it back.”

“Give what back?” You turn to Jisung. “Han, we’ve talked about this. We don’t steal from anyone, besides street gangs.” You tell him firmly, motioning for him to hand over whatever the fuck of a thing that those two strangers need because him getting killed for something as childish as a slice of cheesecake is gonna drive you nuts.

Jisung opens up his left palm and shows you a silver wedding band, smiling awkwardly as you hold yourself back from decking him in the face. “Look, I was just looking around and I found this thing, and I got curious then they just came back and deadass threatened me with their guns!” He adds in. “I don’t know what’s the big deal with this ring anyway. Looks like someone bought it on eBay.”

“Say that again, I dare you.” Chan tightens his grip on the gun and clicks in a bullet. As soon as you hear the bullet being locked in to the chamber, your hand automatically flies to your back pocket and pulls out your pistol. You directly aim at his head, finger trembling over the trigger when you switch off the safety catch. “Give-it-back,” Chan says through gritted teeth.

“Jisung..” You warn him.

Jisung protests. “Like hell I would.”

“I never miss, just throwing that out there,” Chan says indifferently

“I SAID PUT THE GUN DOWN.”

“ENOUGH!” Jeongin snaps, catching all of you off guard. “We are surrounded by mindless cannibals over here! We all went through it, we all were there when our family turned into those monsters, we all had those times where we had no place to go, no food to eat, no friends to be there for us. Don’t we have enough problems? For fuck’s sake look at us! Is pointing guns and yelling at each other gonna bring the good days back? So would you guys just stop it? We’re a bunch idiots trying to kill each other when the end is fucking near! Can’t we just be friends and play some dumbass games like ‘20 Questions’ like decent human beings while we’re driving them back to the safehouse ?”

You stare at him in awe for a moment there, your muscles relaxing and giving up on the gun. Jeongin gives Chan a Look, chest heaving up and down in pure furiosity. Sometimes the idea of surviving does mess with your mind, forgetting that people are still people. They’re just like you. They’ve gone through some pretty bad shits too.

Chan retrieves his weapon, sighing. “Sorry, we really mean no harm. It’s just that we need it back.” He scratches his neck sheepishly as two dimples are fully on display. He’s not so scary when he smiles after all.

“I’m gonna have to confiscate that for the time being.” You snatch the piece of jewelry from Jisung’s hand. “We’ll talk about this when you guys are back at our base.”

“But—“

“Chan, let her. It’s fine.” The freckled boy interrupts him.

You look at him and subconsciously smile. “Oh? I’m sorry, does this belong to you? Aren’t you scared that I’m gonna throw this pretty little thing away later?”

He replies with mild interest. “I don’t think you’d wanna do that, you could have just kept it to yourself.”

“No, Charming. It’s not my style.” You voice as you stare down at the ring, studying every little detail carefully. The silver band is exquisite with a sterling double knot, adding a unique touch to the elegant simplicity of the ring. You think you’re already falling in love, but are you really gonna tell him that? Most definitely not. “Yep, not my style. And I’ll throw it away someday, that’s for threatening my friend.”

He makes a face and takes a few steps towards you. “I have a name.”

“Don’t care. ‘Charming’ suits you pretty well.”

“It’s Felix. You’re welcome.” He grins, offering you a hand. You decide to take it, kind of taken aback when knowing that his hand is a lot smaller compared to the average guys’. “And I wouldn’t worry about that, you won’t be going home with it anyway. ‘Cause I’ll always find you, always.” He squeezes your hand a little bit too tight for your liking, making you flinch.

Little did you know, behind his back, Felix’s counting down from one two three with his fingers, Chan watching him closely with his gun ready.

Three.

Two.

One.

Jisung quickly notices and reaches out to you. “Y/N!” And one single shotgun rings through the area.

three.

On the outskirts of the once stellar city, lies a warehouse in a not so stellar neighborhood. Dead leaves are falling onto the ground, scraping against the concrete surface, and sending chills down people’s spine. It’s like they’re not even trying to grow properly even when it’s not halfway through spring yet. The eerie atmosphere is just another reason for people to not wander around for too long, as if they’d have the gut to come there in the first place. But it’s still a zombie apocalypse, there are worse things that could happen either way.

You’d be surprised at what people can do when they’re dangling off the fingertips of Death.

People would never guess what’s hidden behind the crooked door. A living room fully equipped with an outdated couch and broken TV, a kitchen with everything but a fridge. Further into the safe house is a bedroom big enough for ten people to fit in, a storage room full of firearms and weapons. Last but not least, security cameras and monitors are set up all around the base, to be more secure. No zombies in this household. It took you and the guys forever to collect enough materials. The only thing that you’re constantly running low on is food.

And turns out Jisung calling your name wasn't the last thing you’d heard.

“Ugh, Minho, get me water,” You groan loudly before wagging your hand around like a madwoman. Once you feel the cool metal surface on the nightstand, you quickly check your own reflection. Needless to say, you’re horrified at what you saw. Absolutely terrifying, yes. Hair falling onto your face, tiny scratches scattered across your cheekbones as they leave an itchy sensation of your skin. Fortunately, the cut on your lips is already cleaned, and your bruises are starting to fade. But what sucks is the constant banging effect on your temple, an imminent pain that’s threatening to swallow you whole.

Yeah, this is why you never drink.

“Minho, water..” Your whimper grows smaller and smaller towards the end as your hand gives up on holding onto your phone. “Is this what whiskey does to the human body?” You smack your lips together as the bitter taste seeps through your taste buds more deeply, choking on the alcohol smell in your own throat.

Minho takes long strides into the bedroom with a bowl of piping hot soup. “Whiskey contains almost no sugar, can reduce blood clots, decreases your chances of getting a heart attack, even a stroke, fights cancerous cells and..” He pauses before wiggling his eyebrows. “Helps you perform better in bed.” He chuckles when you bury your face under your blanket, cheeks tinted pink. He will never not get you with his less than appropriate comments.

“You’re gross.”

Minho smirks. “Low blow.” He cranes his neck tiredly, lips curling upwards into a small smile. “You’re quite lucky. Whoever was trying to kill you missed.”

Your brows automatically knit together as you try to gather the small pieces of memories your brain can muster. Everything that happened yesterday seems too cloudy for you to comprehend, but you could never forget the moment Chan’s bullet missed you by a strand of hair, piercing straight into the plexiglass window right behind you to catch you off guard. Next thing you know, Felix kicked the back of your knees, having you land on buckling ankles.

You tell Minho sternly. “If he wanted me dead, I wouldn’t have come back in one piece.” You hold in a breath, in disbelief of your own words. “He spared my life, believe it or not.” Chan let you go, but why would he? You did piss him and his friend off intentionally because you never know what you’re getting yourself into.

Minho figures you might have hit your head somewhere, so he places your food on the nightstand and scoffs. “Eat up, you’re talking a shit ton for someone who almost died.”

“Where’s Han?” You gladly receive the bowl of soup with two hands, mouth watering slightly since you haven’t eaten since yesterday.

As if on cue, you can hear Jisung shrieking from downstairs. “NO NO NO! DON’T SHOOT ME WITH MY OWN GUN!”

You and Minho exchange a look before rushing outside, dashing towards the living room. “Oh, you gotta be shitting me.” The commotion inside has your jaw dropped to the floor. Again, Jisung is held at gunpoint for the fourth time of the week, you’re quite surprised that his head hasn’t been blown into bits yet. With the gun pressed against his temple, beside him is the freckled boy from yesterday. Felix, if you’re not mistaken. Chan’s here too, neither of them is looking too happy. If Hyunjin was here seeing two strangers try to threaten his best friend, he’d definitely go apeshit.

“Woah woah, what’s the problem here?” Your brother, Woojin comes out from the kitchen with wide eyes and two glasses of water in his hands. “Lix, put the gun down.” He tells the younger boy firmly, but Felix doesn’t even move an inch.

He cocks his head towards Jisung, a scowl adorning his soft features. “It wouldn’t have to be like this if your friend here didn’t steal my ring. Twice.”

“Jisung, seriously?” You facepalm yourself. You can still vividly remember how Felix snatched the piece of jewelry away from your palm when your face smacked the ground. And now Jisung decided to take it back? Without your consent? You’re not taking a bullet for him, not this time.

Jisung puts his hands up in defeat. “Okay okay, I have a confession.” He inhales. “I sold it.” Just when you thought things can’t possibly get any worse.

“What?!” You and Felix exclaim simultaneously.

Felix tongues the inside of his cheek in annoyance. “Come here, tell you what..”

The moment Jisung takes a step towards him, Felix takes his hand in a little bit too abruptly. He twists it at a weird angle, making Jisung wince. “That, is for selling the ring.” He presses your friend harshly against the coffee table, the handle of the gun secured on the nape of his neck, and you grimace at the sight. But also, you’re low-key enjoying this. “And that, is for being a little shit. You’re coming with me tomorrow, no negotiation.”

Felix soon lets go when your brother glares at him, smiling softly, warm brown eyes twinkling like a starry night. Jisung backs away almost immediately in caution when he offers to pull him upright and cowers behind Minho. You can tell that he’s terrified of the seemingly harmless freckled boy now. This is what he gets for never learning, he’s made a grave mistake to touch someone’s property in the middle of an apocalypse, where everyone’s more than ready to tear each other apart when they’re pissed about off about something as little as being hangry. “Huh, you’re not very into handshakes then. Don’t you want your gun back too?” He puts his hands into the pockets of his jeans, turning to meet Woojin’s eyes.

“Alright, we’ll have to talk about this later.” Your brother merely sneers at Jisung. “I’ll reintroduce you guys. Y/N, my sister.” He motions towards you before averting his attention to the other two. “That’s Minho, find him if you’re injured or need someone to knock some solid logic into your head.” Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair. “And the moron who, uh, robbed you is Jisung. He’s a really good guy, I swear. His hands are apparently faster than his brain.”

Chan speaks up dryly. “So he’s a doctor, and a part-time therapist.” Minho nods satisfactorily. “And he’s an idiot.” Jisung just smiles awkwardly because he’s not planning on getting his ass kicked again. At least not for the time being.

You interject, still drowning in confusion. “Wait, you know him?”

“Yeah, he’s the son of our parents’ former business partners. You guys used to hang out as toddlers.” Woojin says.

You widen your eyes. “What?” You can’t believe it. Felix is ridiculously attractive (you’d hate to admit that in front of him) so hanging out with a boy this cute, even not for long would still definitely leave you with some kind of impression. There’s no way this charming guy had witnessed those times where you’re still taking medicine by swallowing them down with chocolate pudding. You’d rather bury yourself alive at this point.

“The Lees made that?” You gasp.

Woojin nods reluctantly. “They sure did.”

Felix takes a few steps forward and looks down at you, decreasing the distance between your faces. His minty breath fans your face and leaves you flustered within seconds. “Long time no see, Princess. Told you I will always find you.” He throws you a wolfish wink, proceeding to walk past you to go upstairs with Chan following him after.

“Hey! I still want my gun back!” Jisung yells after him.

The pet name that rolled off his tongue effortlessly sends your heartbeat over the edge. It’s beating vigorously inside your rib cage, louder than when your parents were about to eat you alive, louder than when you were kicked to the curb by some random mobs, so loud that you’re afraid everyone’s gonna hear it. It’s only your second encounter and he’s already messing with your heart just by simply existing as he is.

Jesus fucking Christ. Now, you’re really screwed.

Because falling for someone during an apocalypse is just another fucked up version of every rom-com to ever exist. Or maybe a knocked-off version of Warm Bodies, except Felix isn’t a zombie.

Yet.

four.

You wake up today feeling quite at peace for once in a while since the zombies outbreak only to find out that Jisung is heading outside to search for medicine with Minho. Meaning, drum rolls, you’re having the honor to go with Prince Charming aka Lee Felix and retrieve his stupid ring. You’re far too mad at Woojin to even finish the can of tuna that he kindly offered. Instead, you decide to bolt outside as soon as possible before you accidentally murder your brother.

“Get in Princess, we don’t have all day!” Felix calls out loudly as he repeatedly honks his car. Admittedly, you’re quite impressed that he managed to find a whole ass Jeep in the middle of this ghost town.

You enter the car, almost gasping at how good of a condition that this car is still in. Whoever owned this vehicle previously, God bless them because they definitely did a great job at keeping it nice and clean. There are no questionable items lying on the floor or inside one of the cabinets, the AC is still working, the radio isn’t showing those creepy statics sounds that never fail to chill you to the bones.

Felix perks a brow in amusement. “It’s mine, by the way, I did a great job at keeping it clean huh?” When you give him nothing but a scowl, he chuckles lightheartedly and starts the engine. “Buckle up, I don’t want you to suddenly fly out of the window or anything.”

“Oh, you’re pretty shit at driving then.” You comment flatly, making an effort to avoid his eyes. They keep drawing you in even at the slightest chance. You’re not falling into that downward spiral again, nope, never. But you can’t help but notice how he still looks good in a bomber jacket with a simple tee underneath, tucked neatly inside his ripped jeans.

Upon your cold response, Felix’s smile remains still on his lips. “Said someone who can’t even drive.” He snickers somewhat sarcastically. Wow, do you miss bickering with Minho about his three spoiled cats.

“Sure, hand over the keys unless you want us both to play tennis with Hitler in the afterlife.” You protest with as much sarcasm. God, it’s been two minutes into the ride and the amount of willpower you’re mustering right now to not grab him by the collar and yank his ass out of this car is actually terrifying. But doing that can potentially threaten your own life so indeed, you’re starting to wonder if that’s gonna be the wisest decision. “What’s the big deal with that ring anyway? Can’t you just break into some jewelry store and find another one that you like?”

Felix looks into the distance, his smile faltering. “My mom wanted me to give it to the girl that I’m willing to spend the rest of my life with. Even when things are fucked up, like right about… now..” He tells you sternly with a hint of sadness in his tone, his warm brown eyes are now cloudy. It’s hard to break through the wall that he’s trying to build, but you don’t think you both are close enough to talk about these things anyway.

If anything, you should try to lighten up the mood. “Good luck with that. Because the only thing you’re gonna be willing to live with now is a gun and those packets of Tim Tam Slam.”

He turns sideways to make eye contact with you for a split second before averting his gaze back on the road. So you actually pay attention to the little details. “Call it.” Felix smiles again, and somehow, you feel like a weight is being lifted off your chest. “And mind you, I have a fiancé. Well, more like ‘had’ but whatever, doesn’t matter, same thing.”

You nearly choke on your own saliva, eyes as wide as a goldfish’s. “You have a what?!”

“Relax, haven’t you heard of an arranged marriage before?” He looks at you as if you’re some kind of alien species from outer space. “I was gonna give the ring to her but bummer, your friend just had to sell it.”

Arms crossed over your chest, you hold back a chuckle with a hand secured on your mouth. “Wow..” You manage to choke out between giggles. “You must be getting something impressive to be able to agree to marry a goody-two-shoes who owns more money than what she knows to do with.”

“Pardon?” Felix snorts involuntarily. “What does that suppose to mean? Are you insulting my marriage?”

‘Insulting’ is an understatement for an entire lecture that you’ve already planned out in your head that you’re about to give him a piece of but you don’t think he’s ready for that just yet. Instead, you counter softly. “Not quite, but for the most parts, yeah, I guess I am.” He tightens his grip on the steering wheel and proceeds to throw daggers towards your direction with his eyes every three seconds. “But let me ask you this. If you wanna give that ring to your fiancé so badly, then do you really love her? Or is everything just a contract so that you won’t put your parents’ company at risk?”

A comfortable silence falls upon the both of you as Felix starts replaying your words over and over again in his mind. He’s never the type to go out and about, looking for love like it’s the only purpose of his life. He’s never dated anyone before. He used to believe that love always comes at the most unexpected moment for the longest time and he should be waiting, not searching. He didn’t think much about the arranged marriage either. She was a nice girl, but they’ve only talked twice, and nothing really clicked like how he imagined love would feel like. Felix knew, he knew deep down that it wouldn’t work out after all but he was just too much of a coward to admit it. But your words hit differently, imprinting him with a little something called ‘reality’.

Everything’s kinda screwed right now, no one knows how much longer humanity can keep up with this whole survival situation. Living on the streets, and can never get a good night's sleep. Although it does sting a bit knowing that he might die alone on this planet, it definitely gives him another point of view to look at the relationship between him and his fiancé. He doesn’t even want to imagine living in the same house with her at this point.

“Your mom wanted you to give it to someone special right?” You tell him softly, a hand brushing over his as an attempt to soothe the ache in his chest. “Then you gotta find them. It’s not over yet. But that doesn’t mean there’s much time left. You don’t have to keep running towards something that isn’t worth it in the first place anymore.” You pause for a moment, lips curling upwards. “Because if we cease to believe in love, why would we want to live?”

Felix bursts into laughter and brushes your hand off of him. “Ew! You stole that from a movie and it’s not even good. Jesus Y/N, get some counseling.”

“Don’t shit on my pop culture references like that you uncultured swine.”

“Just don’t do that again.”

You roll your eyes at him. “One more word and I’ll burn you down with this Jeep.” And he just smirks at you because he knows for sure that you won’t have the heart to destroy such a good car when the world is literally falling apart. Because chances are, you hate your dad’s old grey Innovator that only pumps lukewarm air inside the vehicle. In which, isn’t the most ideal thing for an apocalypse. But Woojin loves that thing far too much to throw it away so you’ve never had the heart to tell him to.

Felix calmly parks on a random sidewalk before taking the key and exits the car. “We’re here.” You follow him not long after, eyes squinted due to the brightness of the daylight. Even though you’re barely seeing anything, you can’t seem to recognize this neighborhood. And it doesn’t look very sketchy either, pretty mediocre to say the least. You can’t seem to remember if Woojin has taken you here or not. And you’re starting to wonder how many zombies are hiding behind those buildings, seeing your scent as a solution for their never-ending thirst. Who the hell did Jisung sell that ring to?

Felix narrows his eyes and spots something in the distance. “Y/N, are you seeing this?” You quickly stand beside him, and slowly, a slouched figure comes into view. “I’ll take care of that.” He places a hand on your shoulder when the figure picks up its pace, the muscles on your back tense up at his touch. “Trust me, I’m not gonna accidentally blow your head into bits.”

“Down!”

You quickly duck and slide yourself across the concrete surface in time before Felix can swing the baseball bat straight into your face. The bat comes in contact with the zombie harshly enough to knock it backward, onto her bottom. You and Felix look at each other for a solid three seconds before approaching the zombie again, examining her more closely. Her once blond hair is now doused in nothing but blood, sticking to her face and neck. Both of her lips are completely distorted as if another zombie gave her the kiss of Death (quite literally) as a welcome ritual. Suddenly, she jolts up from her lying position, hands wagging in midair to grab onto something.

You jump backward on instinct as Felix brings the baseball bat down again, and again, and again until you can’t even make out the horrendous features of the zombie anymore. He scrunches his nose at the smell of the poisoned blood and tosses the metal bat away. “Never hurts to double-tap, better not get blood on my white Jeep.”

You blurt subconsciously. “Impressive, Charming.” Okay but in your defense, Felix just smacked the hell out of the zombie with a baseball bat, he basically saved your life. Although you’re fully capable of protecting yourself, that was pretty hot.

He’s too busy fixing the sleeves of his shirt but his eyes immediately light up at your words. “Say that again?”

“In your freaking dreams, Lee.”

Felix pulls you in and ruffles your hair, rocking you side to side happily. “Don’t be so uptight! Complimenting me once in a while wouldn’t kill anyone now, would it?” When he’s too immersed in annoying the shit out of you, something falls out of his pocket with a small ‘clang’.

“Wait, you dropped something—“ You manage to wiggle out of his embrace and bend down to pick it up, and your mind just stops. “Felix…isn’t that your ring?”

five.

“Jesus Christ!” Woojin almost yells when he sees a black-eyed Felix exiting the kitchen with an ice pack on his right hand, lips swollen with several cuts across his face. “What happened to you?”

You walk into the living room not long after, tiny scratches are scattered all over your pale knuckles, blood trickling down on your cheeks like you’ve been crying red. “Okay,” Woojin shakes his head, pushing himself up from the beige-colored couch. “What the fuck happened to the both of you?”

“I punched him in the face.” “She punched me in the face.” The both of you confess in sync, exchanging questionable looks before turning away from each other.

“And why is there blood on your face again?” Woojin swears, if Felix dares to touch you, he will put his head on a chopping block, not to mention hurting you.

You shrug back, grabbing a water bottle from the coffee table and chug on it generously. “It’s not mine.” Without turning your head, you hand the bottle over to Felix. The boy gladly receives it, downing the whole thing left in one go. “Anyway, some mobsters appeared out of nowhere and they wanted his stupid ring. I got my ass kicked for a goddamn piece of jewelry, twice.” You merely glare at Felix who’s applying pressure to the cool pack of ice against his bruised eye, wincing every once in a while. He does feel kinda guilty, believe it or not. Maybe lying wasn’t the best option to get you to hang out with him more. There’s no way you two could have died back there, but he would be more than ready to throw the ring away for the sake of your safety.

But either way, Jisung’s gonna be dead meat to you after this.

“You do realize that we just kissed indirectly right?” Felix laughs when you chuck the now empty water bottle at him, hissing in anger. He’s acting like such a Lee, irritating, and carefree most of the time. In which, makes you wanna kill him with your bare hands even more in these kinds of situations. “Come here, a princess shouldn’t have blood on her pretty face.” He manages to turn you around and face him as he pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket. When he leans down slightly to wipe the crimson stickiness away, your once tense muscles now relax, loosening themselves.

Within this proximity, you’re able to take a closer look at his starry eyes with long lashes framing them perfectly, his cute button nose, his peachy lips and how his freckles are more beautiful than anything you’ve seen before. One of his hands holds your neck in place while the other is secured on your waist so it’s easier for him to get a better angle. Felix furrows his brows every now and then, being careful and gentle at the same time to get rid of the blood off your face completely. He did pull you into doing the dirty business after all. Might as well make up for it.

You didn’t push him away because this feels...safe, and right. He makes you feel at ease after the longest time, it’s like nothing you’ve experienced before. Not even your brother can possess this sense of comfort in his presence. It almost makes you smile which is seemingly paradoxical because forty minutes ago, you were figuring out ways to hide a corpse since you couldn’t stand his nosy ass for much longer.

“Ew, I’m getting out of here. I can’t bear seeing this.” Woojin makes a gagging noise before stumbling out of the living room with his cup of espresso, leaving you and Felix alone in the living room. A muffled silence occurs for the next thirty seconds.

“There,” He clears his throat before pulling away. “Done.”

You look away. “Thanks, you didn’t have to do that though.”

“Anything for my princess.”

You ignore his cheeky smile before rummaging through the wooden drawers. “Sit down.” You demand once you pull out a mini first aid kit, Minho always keeps those randomly around the house just in case. One can never be too careful after all. Felix does as you say, taking a seat on the couch. He watches you taking out a cotton swab with a bottle of sanitizing solution. “Lean in.” You command while dipping the cotton swab into the solution, his hand brushing over your thigh accidentally.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” You shake your head as an attempt to hide the coral tint on your cheeks. “This is gonna hurt though…” You warn him, cotton swab hovering over one of the cuts on his cheeks. Felix nods obediently, clenching his fists and squeezes his eyes shut to brace himself for the burn. He can’t gush over how cute you look anymore since he’s secretly terrified of cleaning wounds. But who isn’t?

You smirk internally. “Okay, I’m gonna count down from three to one.”

“Three..” A single drop of cold sweat rolls down on his temple.

“Two..” He holds his breath. But before he can react properly, you’re already pressing the cotton swab onto his wound, your other hand pinning his down firmly. “Felix quit moving already! How old are you for fuck’s sake?!” You laugh wholeheartedly, struggling to hold him in place while cleaning his opened cuts with the solution.

Felix shrieks like a little child. “Ah! Ow! Y/N! Ah! Y/N! Y/N, I SWEAR TO GOD!” He succeeds in pulling away after a good three minutes, the burn from the alcohol feels like there’s fire coursing through his veins, burning a hole right through his skin. He’s not doing that ever again. “That hurt like a motherfucker.” Whimpering, his brows are knitted together in agony when you put a bandage over the wound. “You didn’t even finish counting, I hate you.”

“There there you big baby.” Smiling at him, your hand gently caresses his calloused ones. It doesn’t take him long to realize how soft your hands are, and how cold they are compared to him too. So he decides to link your fingers together, hoping to give you some of his warmth. You completely freeze at his action and choose to look anywhere but his eyes, from the broken TV to the random magazines on the coffee table and his shiny pistol next to them.

Felix brushes his thumb over the back of your hand and chuckles. “See, you do know how to smile. It’s not that hard to smile in front of me after all, is it?” He brings your knuckles to his lips and peppers small kisses over them lovingly. It makes his heart crack a little upon seeing them all scratched up, because of him. Little actions like this always make you feel fuzzy on the inside, especially when it comes from someone like Felix? You’re done for.

“I didn’t see this. I’ve never seen this. I’m not seeing this. I will never see this again.” He pulls away shyly when Jisung starts teasing you both as he passes by the living room from upstairs. Oh right, weren’t you planning on decking his face for setting you on a ‘date’ with a guy you hardly know only after three solid days when he kicked your ass?

“HAN JISUNG GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE!”

six.

Falling for Lee Felix is scarier than getting infected with the Mad Cow Disease (or Mad Zombie Disease). It’s official. But knowing the basic bitch that you are, being loopy in love with him is quite inevitable. There’s no use fighting against fate anyway, still, you’re going to postpone it for as long as you can because you definitely don’t wanna get too attached during an apocalypse.

Sadly, having Felix share a room with Chan right beside yours doesn’t exactly help you avoid him. He always roams the house half-naked at night like he’s trying to put his chiseled abs up for auction after every shower. One time he almost gave you a cardiac arrest when you found him rummaging through the fridge at two in the morning without a shirt on. There were some nights where you didn’t even get a wink of sleep because Chan and he were too busy jamming to music even though they know that the walls in this house are clearly paper-thin. However, you chose to let them slide for the sake of Jisung’s and Minho’s so-called ‘beauty sleep’ aka their spontaneous cuddle sessions throughout the day. That’s only an excuse to avoid him even more.

Felix obviously knows what’s up, so he’s been acting extra annoying these days to get your attention. He keeps popping his head inside your room (which was initially a storage room but you insisted on having it since you didn’t want to share your questionable sleeping habits with any of the guys) and asks for random stuff that never seems to make sense. Like who needs a fucking stapler when the whole world is falling into a crisis? You still kept yourself together and didn’t throw hands at him because you’re not planning on giving him what he wanted.

But what Felix wants? Felix gets.

“Good morning Princess..” He half-whispers and half-singsongs after shutting the door of your room with his foot. “Thank fucking God.” He mentally bows to whatever gods up there that’s pushing their blood family feud aside to bless him for the day. You’re still fast asleep, snoring softly with your grey blanket wrapped around your body.

He’s impressed by how you still manage to not wake up early every other day because there’s no curtain unlike his room so the sunlight can easily peer right through, casting a delicate light on your figure. Surprisingly, you don’t sleep like Chan, with his leg dangling off the edge of the bed and his blanket’s on the floor by the time the sun rises again. You sleep with four limbs curled inwards, hands grabbing two full fists of the grey fabric like a puppy.

He also notices how you’re still keeping pictures of your childhood memories on one of the empty bookshelves. There’s one with you and Woojin standing in the middle of Time Square when you both came to the States. And there’s another one where you’re dressed up as Harley Quinn with Hyunjin as the Joker on your right, Jisung as Rick Flag to your left and your brother as Deadshot squatting on the ground for your senior year’s Halloween party. Although you’re more of a Marvel gal yourself.

“Y/N...” Felix whispers softly as he sits down on your bed, careful not to wake you up. His original plan to have you chase him up and down the house is already going down the drain since he really doesn’t want to ruin a good night's sleep. Chan has done that to him one too many times and he sure knows the consequences. Heck, Chan might not even see him after this.

Felix outstretches his hand carefully, caressing your cheekbone like you’re made of glass. He can’t help but act like a creep because you’re too cute for your own good when you’re sleeping. It’s kinda nice actually, to not have you yelling at him for not putting clothes on right after his shower or wrestling him to the floor whenever he headlocks you at the most random times.

Suddenly, your eyes shoot open. The moment you see another human being’s presence in your own personal bubble, you automatically grab him by the neck before pinning him down onto the bed, locking his arms behind his back. “Ow! Ow! Dude, chill!” Felix cries out from underneath you, struggling to breathe properly when you’re practically crushing his lungs. Okay, he definitely did not see that coming.

“My goodness, what are you doing here?!” You gasp in realization, pushing yourself off the bed.

“Woojin- said-“ he chokes out between uneven breaths. “I could- come in- and wake you up.”

You cross your arms and sigh. “Yeah, come in.” You say with expressive hands. “Not touching me without my consent.”

He winces at the red marks across his wrists. “Since when can you fight someone like that?” Yeah, those aren’t going away anytime soon.

“What part of ‘Zombie Apocalypse Self-Learn Defense Basics 101’ don’t you understand?” You yawn tiredly before running a hand through your bed head. “Anyway, what do you want?”

Felix beams innocently, taking in the sight of your pajamas. “Your attention.” And you internally thank your brother for not doing laundry yesterday (water’s also running low), which means you had to borrow Minho’s PJs instead of wearing your Mickey Mouse sweatpants with the tank top from your old basketball team.

You really don’t have time for this, you think. Coldly, “Why?” you fake a lifeless smile.

“You’ve never spoken to me since the day when those mobsters beat the shit out of us.” He pouts like a sad kitten. “Look, I know that it’s my fault okay? I’m sorry. But I really just wanted to hang out with you. If you didn’t play hard to get, you would have saved us a trip to some sketchy neighborhood.”

You stop him right there. “First of all, I did talk to you. Just a maximum of five words per day. And secondly, they didn’t beat the shit out of us, we made them run back to wherever they came from, crying for their mommy while soiling their pants.”

“There!” He exclaims. “You said it yourself. Five words per day. Why? Am I that much of an asshole to hold a civil conversation with? Don’t tell me that you’re still holding grudges from the day we first met.”

“So what if I hold grudges? Do you think holding my best friend at gunpoint is gonna make me wanna befriend you?”

“Okay, bad example—“

“Look, can we talk this out later? I need to go outside and look for some food. We’re running out of those premade, frozen chicken nuggets that my brother’s obsessed with. As always.” You push him aside and place your hand on the doorknob. But Felix catches your hand in time before you can twist it, yanking it back so that you’re facing him, dead in the eye. He’s not letting go of his chance again. “Let-me-go.” You deadpan but receive a frown from him as a reply.

“No,” Felix looks like you just spit on him, his mocha eyes are now unreadable, almost hurt at why you’re acting so cold towards him. Some guys find it hot when girls have this kind of facade on, but this? This shit hurts him, tremendously. You might see him as a spoiled brat at day and party animal at night who just happens to be friends with your brother for all he knows. “I don’t trust your definition of ‘later’. Who knows? You might never let me into your life again after this conversation. I don’t like people shutting me out like this. Tell me, Y/N, do you really hate me that much? If so, I solemnly swear I will never talk to you again.”

Your prepared beforehand witty retort grows dead on the tip of your tongue. His eyes...they’re not lying. It makes your heart crack a bit upon seeing how sad they look right now. Perhaps you were being too harsh on him? Maybe you shouldn’t have judged him from the get-go? “You care about me, don’t you?” Felix reaches his hand upwards to tug a strand of hair behind your ear. He gently grabs your hand and places them on his cheekbone, where a scar is fading by time. “Remember this? You treated me. You do care, Y/N. You’re not stupid enough to think that I didn’t know right?”

You retrieve your hand and scoff. “Why would I care? Did I look like I cared? The only reasons I treated your wounds were because I could witness your pathetic state and I punched you in the face previously. Totally didn’t regret that but still, I wanted to make it up to you.” You say, desperately trying to wiggle your way out of this conversation because you’re not enjoying where this is going.

He inches closer and closer until he’s a breath away from your lips. “Because when you were treating my wounds, you had that dumb look on your face whenever you’re focused.” And you finally exhale when he pulls away, backing out of your room with a smirk. “I’ll wait in the car, your Highness.”

seven.

Going grocery shopping with Felix is rather stressful. Not because there are zombies spontaneously popping out of nowhere every five minutes, but because you quickly, quickly realize that this boy knows nothing about food other than stuffing his face until he can’t even pick himself up anymore. He can’t tell the difference between actually good meat and meat that’s been spoiled for several weeks. You literally can’t even fathom why because the foul smell would definitely give it away but unfortunately, he doesn’t even spare a second to suspect the sketchy hues of green and blue on the red surface.

But hey, at least he can kick some zombies’ asses when you’re too busy deciding between salmon and tuna. You’d always end up getting both anyway because why not? Guess this is what you get for not having to pay for anything. Being stuck with an uneducated fool who’s never once experienced working in the kitchen. The area around here is somewhat isolated so the stores are still pretty stocked up with all of the essentials. Thank God they haven’t run out of Woojin’s favorite chicken nuggets.

“Do you even know what this is?” You throw your hands up midair in disbelief, referring to the pile of grapefruits that are now half-way empty for no particular reason.

Felix makes a thinking face, lips pursing. “I think it’s a flamingo.”

“Lee Yongbok, you gotta be shitting me—“

He stops midway towards the frozen aisle. “Woah woah slow down bro, where did you get that name from?” His Korean name is as confidential as Chan’s secret drawers full of his guilty pleasure food. Not many people call him that because he secretly hates it and whoever takes that advantage to make fun of him deserves the cruelest of punishment. Felix frowns furiously at you before grabbing several packs of the chicken nuggets, fries, and some dumplings to throw them into the cart along with his Tim Tam Slam and your KitKat. “Chan told you right? He’s been on my ass all week since we moved in with you guys.”

You help him with stocking up canned food. “Why though? He seems like such a nice guy.” Okay except for the fact that he almost blew Jisung’s brain out. But you’re not gonna dwell on the past. “No worries though, everyone has probably known your Korean name by now.”

“This is not what I signed up for.”

You aggressively grab him by the neck to ruffle his hair, laughing at his misery. “Look at us, we’re already becoming so civil, I bet my brother is loving this.”

Felix tugs himself free from your grip to fix his hair and huffs. “Could be fate, you know?” He wiggles his brows, making you gag as you both make your way out of the store.

“Right,” you roll your eyes. “And they say I’m the crazy one.”

“No! I’m serious!” He exclaims with two hands up in defense. “One thing leads to another. Are you seeing how far we’ve come?” He pauses for a bit when the two of you reach the car so that he can throw everything to the backseats. “Jisung impulsively stole my ring, which made us run into each other. I met you again because I just happen to be friends with your brother. And since you tried to avoid me so hard, I had an excuse to piss you off so that I’m making up to you right now. How is that not fate?” He ends his speech before entering the car, inserting his key to start the engine.

You jump into the passenger’s seat, scoffing. “Thanks for the pep talk, pretty sure fate’s doing all the work. Now, where are we going?”

“I’m hungry, and I’m craving something.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “And I’m supposed to care because..?”

“Shut up and turn on some music.” He tosses you his phone.

Felix’s playlist consists of a handful of Coldplay’s songs with some other upbeat, trendy ones. He knows enough lyrics to sing along to throughout the drive. You look out the window and loosen yourself up a bit. His voice is surprisingly soothing, a stark contrast to his usual deep talking voice which is kinda nice to listen to. Both of you never start talking because you’re already dozing off to Dreamland because he had the audacity to drag your ass out of bed at eight in the morning. Your head constantly knocks onto the cool glass window every two minutes or so, but it doesn’t seem to be bothering your slumber.

It’s almost noon, and the sun’s probably the only thing that’s keeping Felix awake. He’s hungry, thirsty, sleepy and kind of stiff from occupying the driver’s seat for way too long. He didn’t get any sleep last night, busy thinking of ways to get your attention again. Luckily, he didn’t walk out of your room with a black eye this time. Felix mentally exhales when he pulls up, and his eyes are met with the giant purple and pink neon sign: “Fancy” aka Chan’s favorite place. He shuts the engine off before leaning over to wake you up.

“Meow,” he flinches at the sound and immediately turns to you. You would never possibly make that, would you? “Meow,” there it is again. His eyes shift again to the backseats, squinting hard only to make out a yellow ball of fluff shuffling through the bags of groceries. “Oh my God Soonie, what the hell are you doing here?” He sighs in relief when the cat finally looks up at him, green eyes piercing through the dark.

You stir in your slumber and eventually wake up upon hearing the commotion. “What happened?” A loud yawn escapes your lips when you rub your eyes tiredly. You turn around only to see Minho’s oldest cat pawing at the paper bags. “Are you seeing Soonie in the backseats right now or am I just delusional?”

“Well, that makes two of us. She probably sneaked out again, Minho’s gonna throw hands soon.” Felix scoops Soonie into his arms easily and opens the door. Then, he turns around to look at you. “Come on, I bet you’re hungry, my treat.”

eight.

“Food,” Felix tells you when he shuts the door behind his back. He takes in the cool air of the diner and exhales deeply. God bless humanity for air conditioners.

You nod back without looking at him. “Yeah, food.” And you let him drag you across the diner by the wrist.

The diner is definitely not the place that needs to be booked months in advance. It’s not the kind with large mullioned windows, long embroidered curtains, velvet tables or delicate classical music in the background. It leans more towards the retro style with checkered floor, colorful and fun pieces of furniture, somewhere that makes you feel cozy too. You like it here.

Felix outstretches his limbs and yawns, petting Soonie gently. The cat isn’t as impulsive as she is whenever Doongie or Dori is trying to steal her toy. Thank goodness. “Nayeon!” He smiles and waves at the brunette girl behind the counter.

She quickly catches your eyes with her bunny-like smile, radiant skin, and pretty eyes. When she smiles, her cheeks are bunched up, eyes wrinkling into little crescent moons. The type of smile that will make anyone a little breathless. Then, you hear Felix mumbling that something smells really fucking good when he leans over the counter. You look around the diner once again, although it’s empty, there are still people working as if they don’t mind the given circumstances. These people are all high, they are all insane. They have to be.

Nayeon pulls out a pen along with her notepad, eyeing you with curiosity. “Hey kid, where’s Chan?” And you quickly break eye contact with her, pretending to have some kind of interest in the photo of her with other eight girls right beside the menu. They were on a tropical island, smiling and laughing with the ocean waves splashing against them. All of them are incredibly gorgeous, making you feel small in comparison.

“He’s elsewhere with Woojin today. I’ll take the usual,” Felix slides the smaller version of the menu across the counter, perking a brow for you to take a look at it. “Choose whatever you like.”

You shrug. “Anything will do.”

“Then two of what I already said then.” He nods towards the waitress, earning another warm smile.

Nayeon taps her pen against her cheek, whispering. “Who’s that? Did you find someone?” She looks down at how his hand is holding onto yours and grins mischievously. Felix automatically drops your hand at her words, blushing furiously while looking down in slight embarrassment. “Ah, no need to explain, I’ve got you.” She places a hand on his shoulder and laughs before punching in your order.

“It’s not—“

Nayeon puts her index finger over his mouth. “I’ve got you.” She’s never seen Felix hanging out with any girl other than his sisters before so she’s 90% sure that you’re not just any girl to be able to go to this specific diner with him. By the look of it, there’s gotta be something between you two. How you’re constantly staring into midair and anywhere else to avoid her eagle eyes, how Felix’s cheeks are redder than a tomato. Everything just speaks for itself. “Your orders will be right out.” She beams and walks back into the kitchen. You almost bury yourself alive hearing multiple females squealing and giggling in the distance.

“Sorry about that,” he pushes himself away from the counter before smiling sheepishly. “They just get excited because—“

“Because you’re a coward who’s never been in a relationship before.” You finish his sentence with a smirk, snatching Soonie from his pocket and walk over to one of the round tables.

Felix settles down on the opposite side of the table with a sigh. He shoots you a dirty look before pouting. “God, you’re so mean. Stop exposing my miserable, non-existent love life.”

[1:35p.m.]

meanhoe | uhm hello Kardashians, I’m looking for my eldest daughter Soonie?

woobear | not the living room!

[1:36p.m.]

trashbin | not my room!

drama lama | not the backyard!

old man | not the kitchen either!

[1:37p.m.]

quokka | not the bar too!

meanhoe | tf are you doing at a bar?

quokka | retrieving my sanity…

[1:38p.m.]

meanhoe | you know that my whiskey is wayyy better right?

quokka | DID I STUTTER?

meanhoe | swiped left.

[1:39p.m.]

y/n | she was inside Felix’s Jeep for some reason, we’re at a diner rn, some place called ‘Fancy’?

old man | LEE FELIX YOU TRAITOR!!

old man | YOU BETTER BRING ME SOME WHEN YOU GET HOME.

[1:40p.m.]

meanhoe | bring her home safely, and I’ll make dinner.

meanhoe | if not, I will grab you both by the throat and tear you apart, piece by piece.

meanhoe | there will be no negotiation, no compromise, and no mercy.

You just grin at your phone before putting the device away and shudder slightly. That’s enough Internet for today, boys being boys. This is why you’re low-key terrified of cat lovers. “Well aren’t you busy,” Felix scoffs when he sees that you’re not having any interest in one of the proper conversations with him that rarely happens. “Too busy texting with some cute boy to talk to me instead?” He cocks his head sideways, mustering his best puppy eyes or in this case, kitten eyes because he looks just like ‘Puss in Boots’.

You pinch his nose cutely, making him back off in pain. “If you’re saying Minho aka the freaky dad cat is cute then yes, I am extremely occupied with him threatening my life for having his beloved daughter in my arms.” Then, you allow him to glare at you for as long as he likes while you’re too focused on admiring the view from the window. The sky is oddly blue today, not too cloudy, not too sunny, the air is not that stuffy either. Maybe on a good day, even a zombie apocalypse seems pretty normal. You can understand why these girls still want to run the diner during times like this, simply because they love their job. And they want to help those in need because it’s the least they can do, to give people a heartwarming meal.

“Sorry,” Nayeon walks towards your table with a bowl of warm milk. “The food will be out in a minute, I just don’t want the little thing to starve and be all miserable while you guys are stuffing your faces.” She pets Soonie with the warmest smile and the kitten purrs into her touch, closing her eyes in satisfaction.

Felix pulls her out of your arms and gently places her next to him on the cushioned surface. “Thanks, you didn’t have to do that though. Minho spoils her on a daily basis.”

Curiously, “When did this happen?” You frown before running your index finger over a small hole that just happens to be the size of a bullet, cautious enough to not accidentally cut your finger.

“Oh, that,” The brunette waitress' expression mirrors yours, slightly confused and intrigued. “Huh, I wonder…”

And all of the colors drain on your face. “Duck,” you say breathlessly, breaths coming in short.

“What?” Felix can barely hear his own voice.

Nayeon suddenly looks alarmed. “Everyone get down!” She shouts at the top of her lungs, arms flailing like a madwoman. “GET DOWN! NOW!”

Just then, a bullet pierces right through the window, glass shattering into pieces as you see Nayeon clutching onto her own stomach, blood oozing from her fresh wound. You’re ready to yelp aloud when Felix pulls you down onto the ground with him, letting his body cover up your head and shards of glass cut his cheeks. The diner grows uncomfortably silent when no sound is made, but you still keep your eyes shut and your face buried in his chest.

“Hey hey look at me,” Felix tells you, angling your jaw so that you can make eye contact with him although your eyes are quivering in fear. It’s not the first time you’ve heard a gunshot before but he’s never seen you so shaken up about it before. It hurts seeing you like this. “We’re gonna be okay—“

Before you can reply without tripping over your own words, something falls onto the tiled floor, rolling across the surface to reach the other side of the diner. You squint your eyes hard to make out the shape of the object. It was almost the size of an avocado, round-ish, and dark. No one seems to notice it at all until there’s an ear-piercing sound that keeps beeping, echoing throughout the entire diner.

“Shit—“ You breathe out and hold onto Felix tightly, bracing yourself for the blow.

That’s when the entire place explodes, destroying every single thing until there’s nothing left but the grey ashes that are following the wind to reach the burning sky above.

Utterly demolished, you’d say.

nine.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Woojin says softly when he sits down next to you on your bed. He gives your hand a squeeze in reassurance, heartbroken at your state. You look as pale as a ghost, the bags under your eyes more evident than ever, and your lips chapped, starting to turn purple. You haven’t touched the food that Minho offered for the past few days, still refusing to talk to any of the guys. But he was relieved that you were saved from the pile of ruins by one of the workers there - Jihyo, he believes that’s her name. He wouldn’t know what to do if anything happened to you.

“No,” you shake your head profusely. “Not now.”

“So the thought of losing him does scare the shit out of you?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“Then you’ve found your happy ending,” your brother ruffles your hair and stands up. “Yes, right in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.” He smiles at you one last time, “Anyway, you better find him then. Godspeed.” before closing the door with a small ‘click’.

Meanwhile, you’re staring at the wooden floor blankly, starting to wonder how filthy rich the previous family living here was. By the look of it, they seemed to be pretty well off but were probably scared shitless when the disease spread like wildfire. With that, they took off running, leaving everything behind to preserve their precious lives. But who knows? They could be some random zombies out there, roaming the streets mindlessly by now.

You space out a lot these days, thinking about random things, but mostly him. You keep on asking yourself where in the world is he, how is he holding up, but it’s all pointless since you don’t even know if he’s still… Anyway, but when you peer at the small mirror on your table, you can see a small glimmer of another presence inside your room. Sometimes you don’t realize how far you can go whenever you’re thinking hard about something. It gets to the point where you don’t even move when Minho or Hyunjin is yelling or screaming about some stupid things right in front of your eyes.

You take another look, eyes growing wide. It’s a glimmer of a pink-haired boy.

“Hey Princess, not gonna choke me to death for intruding your room this time?” Felix jokes before kneeling down in front of you. It takes you an entire two minutes to understand that he’s here. He’s really here. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him in person that you’re starting to get emotional just by looking into his eyes. They’re still starry, warm and give you a sense of comfort whenever your gazes touch. “Hey, it’s all good now.” He wipes a single tear away from your face that you didn’t even take notice of.

You choke out, debating on whether you should be bawling your eyes out because he’s safe and sound or kick his ass for worrying you. “You can’t just come back and say that! Do you know how scared I was?! Do you have any idea how many sleepless nights I’ve gone through? And now you’re just gonna come back from the Underworld to tell me that ‘It’s all good now’? Well then if you excuse me, I’m gonna go murder my friends and see if it w—“

Felix figures you still haven’t changed one bit. He knows that you’re a lover, not a fighter. Talking big on the outside but easily hurt on the inside. That’s one of the things that makes you who you are today, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. So he wordlessly leans in to capture your lips in his, swallowing every word, every nonsense, every nag that you’re gonna throw his way until you completely melt into his touch. The kiss makes your head a little fuzzy, and butterflies are tickling at the pit of your stomach. For someone who’s never been in a relationship before, Felix will definitely make you giddy all day with a kiss like this. It’s kind of innocent, kind of childish but unforgettable.

The deeper the kiss gets, the more you think about your conversation with him the other day when he’s driving you to the diner. Fate might be a thing, but still a debatable topic. You’re not gonna say that you believe in fate because that’s a whole lot of commitment for someone who can’t even stay up to date with a short web drama. But maybe, just maybe, fate is doing its job just fine after all because you can’t ask for anyone else to be with you at the end of the world. You know that Felix’s not here just because the universe pities you (or him), or he will love you just for the hell of it either. Everything happens for a reason, but more importantly than ever, he’s not going anywhere this time. You didn’t ask, you’re sure of it by the look in his mocha eyes.

Because like you’ve said before, his eyes never lie. They could never.

You pull away before planting your hands on either side of his shoulders, chest heaving up and down due to shortness of breaths. “How did you...you know, make it?”

“I really thought that I was going to suffocate to my untimely death under the ruins of the diner but the girls found me later on when they were digging through everything. I was knocked out for a good week, some scratches here and there, but no one was hurt severely“ he stops himself before continuing when he sees your glossy eyes. “Nayeon is fine too. She didn’t lose that much blood, surprisingly.”

You let silence fall upon the both of you for a second when a rush of relief runs down your spine. Then, your lips twitch slightly at what you’re going to say next. “Do you know why I treated your wounds that day? Do you know why I stared at the floor when your friend was teasing us? Do you know why I spent the past few days being all depressed and teary in bed?” You ask Felix with such determination that it makes him chuckle.

“Easy,” he grins and caresses your cheekbone the exact same way he did a few days ago. “Because you fell for a spoiled rich kid who knows absolutely nothing about being in love. Just like how I did for you, a girl who’s best at killing the walking dead, not cooking, not cleaning, none of that shit. Weirdly enough, fate brought the two of us together again when we’re both lying on the borderline between life and death.”

You roll your eyes at him and finally crack a smile. The smile that he adores the most. “Then what if fate does us apart? What if it doesn’t want us to end up with each other again? What if this isn’t a happy ending but a beginning to something much more terrifying?”

“In that case,” Felix leans in again, his breath fanning your cheeks. “I will always find you. And look for you, and run to you until I no longer have the strength to lift myself off the ground with my own feet.” He gently slips the silver ring that he treasures with his entire life onto your finger and places small kisses on your knuckles, looking as beautiful as ever.

He’s right, and wrong at the same time. The idea of fate does have some kind of power over mundane mortals like you because you’ve been tied down to the idea of not being able to control your own life since you’re born. But on the other hand, sometimes you just have to take matters into your own hand to be able to get what you want in life. So seeing how determined Felix is to find you even if it means walking to the other side of the planet with his bare feet in spite of being such a naïveté who believes in things that are considered dumb, you know that he’s being serious.

At the same time, you accept the fact that you didn’t find love, it found you because it’s got a little something to do with fate, destiny and what’s written in the stars.

You tell him, voice hoarse. “You’ll find me and never let me go?”

“Not this lifetime, not even in another one.” He says with a smile, eyes crinkling.

#stayshub #stray kids ot9 #lee felix fluff #zombie apocalypse #skz au #skz fanfic #felix fic #lee yongbok #stray kids scenarios #felix x reader #han jisung #yang jeongin #bang chan #kim woojin #lee minho #hwang hyunjin #seo changbin

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pastellipanic · 4 years

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Junkenstein's Legend

It isnt a secret that I like Overwatch. It isnt a secret that my favourite event is the Halloween event of Junkensteins revenge. It also isnt a secret that I get hyperfixated onto uncommon things or parts of things. So today, presented by my hyperfixating grey brainmatter, I bring you:

The Full Tale of Junkensteins Revenge

Or, you know, the The Full Tale of Junkensteins Revenge as Theorized by Pastelli During Sleepless Nights. Anyway, we shall start at the beginning!

(Everything in this story is theorized upon the tidbits of canon information from the game, the comics and details of skins, sprays and maps. You are entitled to disagree with my theorization and I will gladly take on any opposing theories if they are given to me with a constructive and positive vibe. I will also gladly have a chat with anyone who is interested in the subject or has ideas I hadnt considered. That being said, Enjoy!)

Chapter 1: The sad beginnings of a mad doctor and his first step onto the battlefield.

Doctor Jamison Junkenstein was a young lad who worked for the local Lord Reinhardt in a town of Adlersbrunn located in the outskirts of Black Forest. He was a brilliant mechanic, engineer and had no fear of working with electricity, hence he had gotten the job in the first place. While his social skills were limited and his fame in the town stained, he was a hard worker and a genius in his own field. At some point during his career, he got bored of the same old electricity and piping, and began to experiment in robotics. His first one was a crude little thing but he was proud of it, so he decided to continue on this path. He began to dream of building live automatons, creatures that could think and feel for themselves. Perhaps it was the fact that he yearned for someone to befriend whilst the townspeople mistreated and disrespected him for his oddities, or perhaps it was his pride towards his own intelligence. However it may be, he started spending more time upon making the automatons, "omnics" as he called them or "Zomnics" as they were later called by the townspeople for their ghastly slow movements. Lord Reinhardt was displeased by him giving his time to such silly things, even more so when Junkenstein came to his door to show them. Every time he made adjustments and showed them to the Lord, he waved the "useless trinkets" away, and everytime his already feeble fame deteriorated in peoples rumours. Madman, lunatic and fool were quickly becoming synonyms for his name. This only spurred him on in his quest to prove them wrong. The metal husks laying in his laboratory soon turned to dug up corpses, the wires he used to put inside turned to stitches on the flesh and what he couldnt understand in anatomy he changed into machinery. Soon he had a body, half organic half inorganic, and all he needed was to make it come alive. Bloodpumping didnt work. Watershocks didnt work. Exchanging the heart into a running motor didnt work. Atlast he tried using electricity to bring his creation to life, unsuccessfully. Junkenstein was exhausted, abused and even his trust in his skills had failed him. He was on the brink of quitting and burying that stupid project, until...

Witch of the Wilds appeared!

The Witch of the Wilds was a well known individual, feared by all near and far for her magic. It was rumoured she could turn coal into gold, make waterfalls run upwards and burn a castle with the flick of her wrist. She was also known from her coming to people at their darkest hour and offering a solution... for a price. And thats exactly what she offered Junkenstein, a solution to his problems; the spark of life. She only asked for a favor, one she would come collect in a nearby future and one that he couldnt refuse. He accepted. He had nothing to lose. Applying the spark of life onto his machine, he started the creatures heart and mind. There were a lot of things that went through its mind when it woke, curiosity and giddiness, but most importantly: Panic. In a furious frenzy it tore itself from its bindings and ran out, into the streets of Adlersbrunn. The townspeople, upon seeing the monster, immediately screamed, cried, yelled, attacked and fled. The monster had no sympathy for people so cruel as the baker who hit it or the children kicking its shins, so he let out his rage onto the masses. It was carnage.

Junkenstein was happy. He had succeeded! His monster was doing exactly what he wanted; avenging the years of societal neglect and bullying Junkenstein had gone through. Yet he had no control over the monster, and no idea how to get it to the Lords doorstep. A couple of hours of manipulating the routes and trying to get the monster where he wanted, he finally got to the door.... Only to find that while he was busy, so was the Lord. He had hired a few wanderers to protect him when he had heard of the happenings in the town. An old soldier searching for a fight, an alchemist practizing her talent, an archer running from the past and a gunslinger hunting for easy money. Only four they were against the doctor, his monster and his minions, and against the Witch of the Wilds and her fearsome ally; a cursed pumpkinheaded man by the name of Reaper. And only four they were who beat him, leaving his corpse battered onto the rocktiles of the yard. His monster was perished, the Witch had fled and the Reaper had gone with her. The wanderers went inside to claim their prize.

Chapter 2: How to tame a monster and revive a doctor.

As the wanderers left the scene, Witch of the Wilds saw her chance to do her work. She quickly used the spark of life to revive Junkenstein, giving his bruised flesh some tidying up whilst doing it, and watched as he sat up. Safe to say, he was pissed to have lost. He wanted to charge right back into fight, but was stopped by the Witch. She managed to make him change his mind, to wait for a year and build his army before trying again, and give her some time to get allies. Gathering what he could of the broken zomnics, Junkenstein found the corpse of his monster and decided to take it back to his lab for revival. He wasnt sure if the creature would run out again or stay, but he wanted to still show the town that he could make something living. This time, when rising from the cold metal table, the monster sat still and stared at Junkenstein. During the fight it had noted that the doctor didnt attack him, even defending him from the attacking gunslinger. It decided to stay near him, for no other reason than that it trusted him. Junkenstein was thrilled to have a friend, even if it did smell of decay a bit.

11 months went by in peace. The town healed, forgot about the incident and, assuming that the wrecked corpse of a homeless man was Junkensteins, buried the past with it. Meanwhile the doctor had other things to think about. He had built an army of zomnics, had tamed the monster and befriended it, had taught it to speak a little and had served the Witch on a few occasions. On some days he still liked to venture into town to see how life was going there. At one point he had almost forgiven the town, before he had come to learn of a new game for the children based after the mocking of his person. Thats when his short temper blew into pieces and he jumped to make an announcement in the middle of the town. He raged, mocked, spat at the townspeople, before revealing his identity and announcing that all of them would perish under his boot. Seeing a dead man back from the grave gave quite a scare to the town, making them panickedly run to the local Lords. They decided that a meeting was to be held to consider this new threat. Some voted to kill Junkenstein again, yet it was deemed to be an ineffective solution due to him coming back the last time. Some voted to trap him and enslave him for the rest of his days, but it was a futile idea for someone like him to be trapped. He would just squirm his way out like the vermin he was. It was decided that Adlersbrunn was to be evacuated. All people were to be gathered into Lord Reinhardts castle, to have few protectors stay behind until they could safely escape. Lord Reinhardt sent word to three people in order to get protection for this event. A Countess from a family of Hunters that had shut herself from the world. An old friend of the Lord who traveled the world, hunting dragons. And a Monk with his Apprentice, answering to a higher calling than human.

Meanwhile the Witch of the Wilds was gathering her allies, having gotten an interesting offer from a dragon in the Black Forest. The dragon offered to lend one of their servants the powers of a dragon and give that servant into the Witches hands for the battle. The Witch was intrigued but suspicious, so she asked what the dragon wanted in return. Nothing. It wanted the greater good and it knew that the Witch wanted that too. Adlersbrunn was filled with people and people were filled with fears of the unknown. The Black Forest was filled with the unknown, and therefore they were hunted. Silver bullet battles, witch burnings and burials of the undead had plagued the creatures of the forest for long enough, and it was time for the people to leave them alone. If not by peace, then by force. Junkenstein was a great tool for the Witches cause, but she still needed more power, therefore she agreed to take the servant of the dragon onto the battlefield as her ally.

Chapter 3: Junkensteins Revenge 2, Electric Boogaloo

The fight happens almost the same as last, but this time the tables have turned. The wanderers struggle to keep up with the Summoners dragonfire blasts, the bombs lobbed by Junkenstein and the gunfire from Reapers guns. While they dont win the fight, they manage to hold them off just enough time for the townspeople to flee far away from Junkensteins grasp. Instead of a petrified Lord, Junkenstein is greeted by an empty castle. At first he seems gleeful, running to hop on the throne. Once he sits down and looks around, he bursts into tears. After all these years of pain, he doesnt even get his revenge. He doesnt get to have his victory even at his brightest moment. The monster tries to comfort its creator, succeeding just to quiet him enough for the Witch to speak. Its time for the favor he owes her.

Before, she wanted him to leave the town as well, but seeing how he was alone already she wanted something else. She wanted him to be a guardian for the black forest. No town would ever become of Adlersbrunn ever again and no one would step a foot into Black forest while the doctor was alive, to ensure that the creatures could live in peace.

He accepted, as he was to do, and remained the only human left.

Chapter 4: The time that we dont speak too much about because honestly nothing happens

Some hundred years passed in quiet. Adlersbrunn collapsed and became ruins of what it once was. Junkenstein guarded the forest and helped the creatures inside it, at one point building a bride for his monster. (Nothing too much is said about what happened to her or where she went) The monster learned and lived, helping Junkenstein with his work. Due to both of them having been revived with the spark of life, they had become immortal. (Unless killed) Witch of the Wilds passed peacefully after a long life. Reaper found his head and his curse was lifted. Life was good.

Chapter 5: Junkenstein of Eichenwalde

One day Junkenstein realizes that where Adlersbrunn once was, is now something new. People have come and started building a town, so he disguises himself and goes to investigate. These people have migrated here from the north, calling this place Eichenwalde, and seem to be very nice. They offer him food and water, the kids want to play with him and the grown ups tell stories of the North to him. He doesnt see an issue with them coming here to stay, since they seem nice and the forest has few creatures left to protect. When a little girl tries to run into the woods, Junkenstein holds her back and tells her not to go. Intrigued, the little girl asks why. The doctor starts telling about monsters and creatures to scare the kids, but they are more interested in hearing his ghost stories, so he obliges to tell them one. He tells about a mad scientist who created a monster and how the monster now lurks in the woods. The kids are excited and the adults think of it as a great legend. It becomes a habit for Junkenstein to come into the town to tell ghost stories to kids. One day, when its Halloween, he notices a difference. The town has changed their style into old fashioned clothes, their mechanical cars to wooden carriage and posters of a fake Mad scientist and a Monster litter the walls. The kids are playing as the characters from his stories and running around with mouths filled with candy. The legend has come into a tradition of a reenactment.

One day, a man arrives into the town, and raises some questions in Junkenstein. The man looks like the Lord. Speaks like the Lord. Walks like the Lord. Has the same mannerisms as the Lord. He even introduces himself as Reinhardt to the disguised Junkenstein. The Lord escaped. It would make sense for him to have started again somewhere else. This could be his descendant, without knowledge of the legend. Who would want such an odd story to be passed down to their descendants? Who would even believe it? Junkenstein keeps an eye on the man and, even when he leaves, the monster follows him for a while. It doesnt seem like he is a threat of any kind. The life goes on in Eichenwalde, with Junkenstein telling stories and living his life with the monster. Every year his story is celebrated in front of him, without any idea that it is truer than any other tale told.

The End.

It took me 3 hours to write this down and I know it starts showing at the end. Also, there are still some mysteries in the story that have absolutely no canon to even start theorizing from. (Aka The Sombra Situation. Theres literally only one spray and a skin where she is linked in any way.)

Also, some very fun theories that I didnt know how to incorporate into the story are:

McCree gets bitten by a werewolf after the first fight

The first fight is the original Junkensteins revenge-gamemode. The second fight is the Endless gamemode.

Canonically the countess killed the Monks master, and I like to think its because of this they lost. They couldnt trust eachother.

When Summoner is close by the air gets heated.(Almost Canon. It is implied in voicelines)

Junkenstein is implied to be so chatty that he keeps talking/laughing during the fight

The Countess is from a family of Vampire hunters, who was bitten by a vampire and was ashamed. The reason she joins the battle is to honor her familys name and hunt for one last time.

It took me 3 separate days to research the canon elements, put them onto a paper and theorize around them and now I finally got this written down in here.

If you are interested in the notes I have, here you can read them: (Mostly in english, but might have some finnish words in there)

Now go my children! Hyperfixate onto this and share my pain!

(Also I would appreciate that if you take this theory and post it somewhere else, that you would credit me and tell your friends I said Hi!)

#overwatch #junkensteins revenge #junkenstein #junkrat #roadhog #mercy #reaper #symmetra #halloween #hyperfixation #theory

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darkblueboxs · 3 years

Text

Ursa Major

i.e. the beardrew fic 🐻😉

Read here or on AO3 *

“What brings you to town?” The lodge manager flashes Neil an easy smile as he holds the cabin key in one hand. They clink together just out of Neil’s reach, as though he won’t relinquish them until Neil has provided a satisfactory answer.

“Business,” Neil answers shortly, and reaches for the keys.

“Let me know if you want to squeeze a little pleasure in, too.” The manager, whose name badge reading Nicky is almost lost amongst an array of rainbow pin-badges, winks exaggeratedly. Neil keeps his expression carefully blank as he all but pries the keys from him. “Andrew will show you which cabin is yours. He’s chopping wood out back.”

Neil steps out onto the back porch of the reception building, takes one look at the guy ripping logs apart with his bare hands, and decides that he can find it himself. He tries to avert his eyes, but the man stops to watch him pass, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He looks like such a stereotypical woodsman that Neil wonders for a second if he walked straight out of a Brawny advert, muscles flexing as he heaves a lump of wood half his size onto the log pile, several days’ worth of stubble dusting his jawline gold and a glowing worker’s tan defying the encroaching winter. He’s so stocky that Neil almost misses the fact that the man is somehow shorter than him, and for a moment his brain short-circuits as he tries to match his impossible presence to his impossible height.

Andrew – because this must be Andrew – barely spares Neil’s scars a second glance, eyes catching instead on the camera swinging around Neil’s neck. Neil’s hands go to it automatically – the device is worth more than his life – but he stills as Andrew drops the log with an earth-shaking thud. “Point that thing at me and I’ll break it.”

“I wasn’t going to.” Neil takes a step back, holding his hands in the air as though proving himself unarmed. “Sorry.”

“Whatever.” He turns back to his work, and without looking at him, adds “Yours is the last on the left.”

Neil makes no effort to hide his relief as he turns and heads up towards the row of log cabins, stumbling over exposed tree roots and pushing branches out of the way where the trees have begun encroaching on the dirt path. The place is quiet, which suits Neil perfectly; he didn’t pick wildlife photography because of his love for human company, after all. Of the dozen or so suites clustered around the central building, only two or three appear to be occupied, muddy hiking gear drying on doorsteps, BMWs with kayaks and bike racks strapped to the roofs parked down at the car park below. Neil chose the single bus that runs back and forth to the town across the lake once a day over risking a car rental on the worn dirt track; for better or for worse, he’s trapped there for the night.

Not that he expects to finish his assignment in the span of a day, but old instincts cry out for getaway options. He and his mother spent months in secluded mountain ranges like this one, but they were as much a threat as they were protection. It was easier to hear of visitors as soon as they arrived in the area, but harder to blend in amongst non-existent crowds.

He dumps his rucksack on his bed – he hasn’t broken the habit of travelling light quite yet – and takes in the neat little cabin (cosier than he expected, like it leapt out of a rustic furniture catalogue) before grabbing his kit and heading out into the hills.

He loses track of time quicker than usual, as he always does when he’s in new places, busy taking in the lay of the land, figuring out which trails are worth his time and which are too packed with litter and foot traffic to be of any use. The vistas are breath-taking; glittering pearl lakes studded throughout the endless verdant valleys, mountain ranges that draw across the swirling skyline like theatre curtains. Landscape photos aren’t Neil’s strong suit, but he snaps a few anyway, just for himself. They never had photos on the run, nothing that could be used as evidence, no footprints left in their wake. Neil likes having the mementos now, thin slips of glossy film that prove that he was alive, he was there, that he was real.

Sunset has bathed the woods in rich oranges as he makes his way back to his cabin, legs aching pleasantly with the memory of a good day’s exploration. There’s a packet of instant noodles waiting in his bag and a kettle in his cabin, but the smells drifting from the eatery in the central building convince Neil to forgo solitude for an hour and cough up for a real home-cooked meal.

Either Andrew has shaved since this morning or he has an identical twin; either way, the man who serves him chunky soup and bread does so with the barest pretences of politeness. Neil ignores the chatter of the other guests and staff as much as possible, flicking through the images on his digital display as he chews through a freshly baked roll. Neil’s twin theory is proven correct when Andrew sweeps into the dining room just as dessert is being brought out, windswept and scowling. Neil watches as he begins arranging kindling in the hearth, and soon the room is glowing with dancing light. Andrew stares into the flames, and the flickering glow carves deep shadows into his features, as though his face is transformed by the light. Neil doesn’t do portraits, but if he did, it would be perfect.

He snaps his gaze away as Andrew looks up, unfortunately catching the eye of the man at the next table.

“Photography, huh?” he says, grinning. He’s muscular too. Neil wonders if there’s something in the water here. “Got any good ones?”

Neil hands him the camera in lieu of answering, trying not to twitch his fingers as the stranger handles his most valuable possession.

“Oh, shit. These are seriously good, like, professional standard. Is this what you do for a living?” He hands the camera back and offers a hand with it. “I’m Matt, by the way.”

“Neil. Yeah, I work for National Parks Magazine.”

Matt whistles. “Fancy.”

“I guess.”

“Well, I’m no expert, but those look great to me. What is it, a tourism piece?”

“Oh, no, these were just for me. I do wildlife photography.”

“Plenty of that out here. I come down most weekends, usually see a few hawks, eagles too. We get lots of bird spotters in the Spring.”

“That’s great,” says Neil, “But not what I need for this assignment.”

“How mysterious.” Matt leans his chin on his hand. “Tell me more, Mister Bond.”

“I’m looking for bears, actually.”

There’s a clatter from across the room that cuts off Matt’s reaction as Andrew’s twin drops a stack of plates.

“Did I hear you say bears?” Nicky appears at Neil’s shoulder as if from nowhere. Neil fights back the impulse to bolt. “Mine is working at the reception desk if you want me to introduce you.”

Matt snorts. “Not that kind of bear, Nicky.”

“I heard there were grizzlies up here,” Neil says. “What do you mean, there’s a bear in the reception?”

“Oh, that’s adorable. No, I just meant my boyfriend. Though he gets a bit grizzly before his first cup of coffee most mornings-”

“There aren’t any bears here,” interrupts another voice, and Neil needs to learn to stop jumping if all the staff are going to sneak up on him like this. He turns to see Andrew’s brother wiping coffee stains from his sleeves. “You might as well leave.”

“Aaron,” Nicky says, “It’s fine, he’s a photographer, he isn’t here to hunt or anything-”

“Pretty fucked up face for a nature photographer.”

“Hey-!”

“It’s fine,” Neil cuts off Matt’s objection. “The scars were my father’s doing. He loved hunting. Me, not so much.”

The group falls quiet, which is the usual reaction his explanation gets. He has never gotten used to the awkward silences that his past invariably invokes, even when he leaves out the years of running, capture, his mother’s slow and terrible death at his father’s hands, his last-minute escape, the months of FBI interrogations and his eventual release. His father had deer heads mounted in his study and Neil remembers vividly the glassy, dead eyes that seemed to watch his every move. No, Neil is not a fan of hunting; he has spent far too long being the prey.

It’s at that moment that Andrew looks up from the fireplace, and Neil can tell from his expression that he has been listening. There’s a strange understanding which has no place on this stranger’s face, and for a moment Neil feels as though he’s stuck in the amber gaze like a fly caught in a honey trap.

“Why bears?” Matt says, and his words are like a hook pulling him from a lake. Neil forces air back into his lungs and turns back to the group. Nicky’s expression has softened, eyes still on Neil’s burns, while Aaron has sunk back into disdain. “Surely there’s less dangerous things to photograph.”

“They’re not dangerous if you’re careful,” Neil replies patiently. “Treat them with respect and they’ll do the same. Besides, I like bears.”

“I hear that,” says Nicky. Aaron pops him in the back of the head, but he waves him off, undeterred. “You should talk to Andrew. He might be able to help you-” There’s a muffled thud which sounds suspiciously like Aaron aiming a kick at Nicky’s shins out of Neil’s line of sight. “-or not, you know, whatever,” he finishes lamely.

Neil glances furtively over at Andrew, who has gone back to staring into the hearth. “It’s fine,” he says, wondering why his mouth feels so dry all of a sudden. “I’m used to finding my own way.”

Desert finished and cleared away, Neil sits with Matt on the couches that occupy the other portion of the communal area along with rows of bookshelves and a desktop computer that looks as though it hasn’t been touched since the nineties. Matt flicks through more of Neil’s photos, stopping on occasion to gasp or croon, while Neil accustoms himself to trusting Matt with his camera. The coffee table is stacked high with leaflets on hiking trails which Neil sets himself to memorising as well as pamphlets on good camping etiquette and forest fire prevention. When Aaron returns and announces that the main lodge is closing for the night by abruptly flicking the lights off, Neil is surprised to realise how late it is already. The fire Andrew started in the hearth has collapsed into flaky grey embers, and when Neil steps out onto the porch the thick smell of smoke clings to his clothes.

Neil and Matt part ways for the night, but only after Matt has extracted a promise from Neil that he will let him show him some of his favourite trails the next day.

Neil thinks he may be unconscious before his head even hits the pillow, and the rustle of the forest follows him into his sleep. In his dreams, wild creatures circle his bed, close, curious, watching, waiting.

He spends most of the weekend letting Matt show him his favourite routes that weave up and down the mountain peaks. Neil wouldn’t usually tolerate so much company, but it’s clear from Matt’s eager nature that he likes having someone to talk to, and his girlfriend, he explains, is on a work placement out of state until next month. Neil is surprised to discover that he doesn’t mind Matt’s presence, and at Matt’s insistence he takes several shots of Matt posing with the valley at his back, which Neil promises to email to him for his girlfriend.

Their hike isn’t all sightseeing, however; Neil pays close attention to any tracks and prints that could point him in the direction of bears, making a note on his map of everything he spots in hope of discerning a pattern. He’s surprised to see a lot of marks close to the popular footpaths, and centred around the lodge, too. Bears usually avoid humans unless driven from their own habitat. Neil wonders if the owners have been less than careful with the bins, encouraging raiders into the foothills scavenging for food.

He spends his evenings in the main lodge, where Matt draws him into conversation with the staff and other regulars. Nicky joins them whenever he isn’t working, and will drag Aaron over when their breaks coincide. Kevin, who is renting one of the upstairs rooms in the central lodge, will occasionally be persuaded to look up from his laptop, upon which he is typing meticulous notes about conservation of historically significant ruins in the area, a topic which Neil pretends to understand on the one occasion that Kevin tries to explain it to him. Andrew, on the other hand, shows no further interest in Neil following their first encounter. Other than occasional odd jobs around the cabins, Neil still isn’t clear on what he actually does, if anything. He seems to spend most of his days out in the wilderness, although Neil and Matt never pass him on any of their walks. Neil almost asks Nicky, but thinks better of it, sensing that such a query would be met with more glee than he is comfortable with.

On Sunday, Matt packs his gear into the back of his pickup and rolls his way back towards the main road, promising to return the following weekend. Neil waves him off, surprised by how quickly the quiet chases away the hum of the engine. He distracts himself from the returning solitude by taking himself off the marked trails and deeper into the wilderness, where the trees grow thick enough to block out the sky and the trickle of springs leads him into sludgy banks that threaten to suck his boots from his feet.

Eventually the earth flattens out as Neil reaches the valley floor, and the springs pool into a small lake that winks at Neil through the trees. Neil finds an embankment to set up on, and is so absorbed in fidgeting with his lenses that he misses the faint crack of branches breaking underfoot.

A shadow looms suddenly in front of him. Neil looks up, and goes still, breath caught in his throat.

The bear hasn’t noticed him yet. He – which he must be, going by the size – is reared up on his hind legs, eight feet tall at least, nose twitching. Neil would normally be jumping at such a stroke of luck, but the shocking bright blond of the bear’s fur stills his fingers on the shutter. He would say polar bear if he didn’t know better, but he does, and they’re about a million miles too far south for that to make sense. So maybe it’s the surprising colour, or the surprise of being so lucky as to just stumble across him, but some combination of the two causes Neil to do something incredibly stupid.

He opens his mouth.

“Oh, you are beautiful.”

The bear goes still. Then he turns, hazel eyes fixing on Neil.

Neil suddenly feels very, very small. Rule one of tracking bears – don’t surprise them. Weirdly, though, this bear doesn’t react in typical bear-like fashion. There is no reflexive snarling, no intimidation, no panic. Just the faintest twitch of his ears, a huff of… irritation?

“Sorry,” Neil says automatically, then winces, because he is talking to the bear now, for god’s sake-

Then again, it isn’t like he’s doing any harm. “You are just adorable. I hope you know that you are so cute. Look at those chubby cheeks!”

And, okay, maybe he’s using the same voice he uses to talk to stray cats, but in his defence, how often does he get the chance to baby-talk a bear?!

The bear just sort of stares at him, which is… odd, probably, but as long as he isn’t snapping Neil like a toothpick Neil isn’t too concerned. The gaze is piercing, like the bear is seeing right through him, and it’s disconcerting enough that Neil almost loses his grip on the camera.

Speaking of which…

Click.

The bear… pulls a face. Neil is about to apologise again, but the words die in his mouth when he drops onto his front paws with a thud that shakes straight through the earth. The urge to run seizes Neil suddenly, hand-in-hand with a familiar burst of adrenaline, and for a moment he’s twelve years old, tripping over his own feet as his mother yanks him through the dark with heart-stopping urgency.

You can’t run from bears, is the thing.

Slowly, Neil pushes himself up the bank, leaning heavy on his arms because he doesn’t trust his legs to support him. The bear just…watches. No, glares.

All at once, the fear that seized him so suddenly is gone, and Neil lets out a shaky breath.

“Thank you,” he says, because it seems rude, almost, to do otherwise. He taps his camera. “You were amazing.”

He scrambles up the bank and back into the woods, heart thudding in time with his footsteps.

Back at the cabin, he plugs his camera into his laptop with shaking fingers. He doesn’t stop to check the photo preview on the camera’s digital display, wants to see it blown up on his laptop screen in full jpeg glory.

It’s been a while since he backed up all his pictures, and as the loading bar trickles towards 100%, Neil’s stomach starts to growl. Grumbling, Neil leaves his computer to finish compiling and heads down to the main lodge in search of food.

It’s midweek, so the dining room is emptier than usual, although Neil spots Andrew in his usual place by the fireside almost immediately. They’ve been successfully ignoring each other since the day of Neil’s arrival, but the day’s events spur him to take a seat at Andrew’s side. “Nicky said you know about bears.”

Andrew flicks a scrap of newspaper into the flames. “Nicky says a lot of things.”

“I saw…” Neil winces. This is going to sound insane. “He looked like a polar bear.”

Andrew huffs, although it’s hard to say whether in scorn or amusement. “You saw a Kermode bear. They’re a subspecies of the American black bear.”

“You see a lot of them here?”

“No.”

It isn’t that Neil thinks Andrew is lying, not exactly, but there’s something he isn’t saying. Neil knows the shape of a secret, how it weighs in one’s chest, and Andrew is keeping something big in there, bristling beneath his skin.

“He was beautiful,” Neil says. “The most beautiful I’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t care,�� Andrew replies, and this time Neil swears he can see the bristling. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not? I’m a photographer. Finding beauty is my job.”

“Your job is to take pictures of shit and persuade people to pay you for it. Beauty is a construct.”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

“Exactly.”

“But not in your eye?” Neil guesses. Andrew’s brow creases in irritation. He dismisses Neil’s comment.

“What are you going to do now that you have found your precious bear?”

Neil shrugs. “Onto the next assignment. Wherever that is.”

“Sounds like a strange life.”

“I’m used to it.”

Aaron clatters into the dining room, grinding their conversation to a halt. His irritation turns to an open glare when he sees Neil at Andrew’s side, so Neil moves off to take his usual seat.

After dinner he calls his editor with an update, slouched in one of the communal couches and watching as Aaron and Nicky squabble over a game of pool.

“Neil, I’m telling you, there’s no way you saw a Kermode bear.” Robin says as paper rustles furiously on the other end of the line. “You’re on the wrong side of the continent.”

“But I did. I wish you could have seen him. He was so… calm.”

“Neil,” Robin says, “Are you sure?”

“I have the picture to prove it. I’ll send it over as soon as I’m back in my cabin. Is this, like, a big deal? Do you think there’s some kind of undiscovered subspecies, or… I don’t know, this seems like the kind of thing bear scientists would care about.”

Nicky and Aaron’s bickering suddenly falls silent. Neil doesn’t bother looking up to see why, not when Robin is snorting on the other end of the line. “Bear scientists.”

“I don’t know what they’re called. I’m just the dumbass who takes the photos.”

“Maybe they’ll name it after you. The Josten bear.”

Neil winces. “Poor bear.”

“Alright. I’ll be waiting at my desk. But I swear, if this is another prank or something-”

“I would never,” Neil says innocently. “I know you find my pranks un-bear-able.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Robin says, and promptly hangs up.

He’s eager to deliver on his promise as soon as possible, but Nicky catches him on his way to the door. Aaron disappeared at some point while Neil was on the phone, which is the only reason he accepts Nicky’s offer of a drink on the house, even if he won’t be persuaded from his soft drink of choice.

“That sounded like a big deal,” Nicky says, gesturing at Neil’s phone while not meeting his eyes. Once again, Neil’s neck prickles with the sense that something is being kept from him.

“Apparently I’ve found a bear species a million miles from where it should be,” Neil says. “It could be a big deal for you, too. Researchers coming to the area means more business for you, right?”

“Wow, yeah, sure.” Nicky’s smile is as pasty as it is wide. “Brilliant.”

“Speaking of,” says Neil. “I’ll be checking out a few days early. If you see Matt, can you tell him I’m sorry I missed him?”

“Sure,” says Nicky, although Neil isn’t sure he’s really listening. Neil glances at the amber liquid swirling in the bottom of Nicky’s glass and wonders if it’s stronger than it looks.

The temperature has dropped sharply in the time it took Neil to eat his dinner, and as he trudges back uphill to his cabin on weary legs the wind cuts through his light gear like a blade. His cabin windows spill orange on the path, a lamp left on, dumb, wasteful, isn’t he always complaining about light pollution-?

Neil stops dead a foot from his cabin door. He knows, knows, knows, that someone has been in since he last was there. The lodge offered daily cleaning services, but Neil had opted out for the duration of his stay, uneasy about strangers having access to his belongings even now that he has nothing left to hide. He wants to believe that they made a mistake in the cleaning schedule, but the same gut instinct telling him someone has been in his cabin tells him that it was no accident. Something is wrong.

Neil pushes the door open with the lightest press of his fingers. Adrenaline hums through him, old instincts reawakening as he prepares to be attacked.

The cabin is empty. No, not empty; the furniture, his clothes, phone charger, hiking gear, all still there…

But no laptop. And no camera.

Neil swears viciously. Before he knows it, he’s back at the central lodge, even though all the lights are out and they’re clearly closed for the night. Neil’s hand hovers over the bell at the front desk as the haze of his panic and fury lifts. They’re in the middle of nowhere, meaning the thief was either another lodger or a member of staff. Any accusations he makes won’t go anywhere.

Neil thinks of Aaron disappearing after his phone call, and instead of ringing the bell he clenches his hand into a fist.

The staff and permanent lodgers live over the main building, and although Neil has never seen the upper floor he can tell which windows are theirs by the glow on the other side of the curtains. The walls are made of thick, horizontal tree trunks that make for easy grips. Neil barely has his foot lodged against the first rivulet when he is caught in amber torchlight.

“Can I help you?” Andrew says rhetorically.

Neil drops back to the ground, teeth grinding together. If Andrew’s brother has resorted to a life of crime, there’s no way his twin hasn’t noticed. “Just looking for my things.”

“You won’t find them up there.” Andrew’s eyes flick up. “That’s Nicky and Eric’s room. I can only imagine what horrors would await you.”

“Which is Aaron’s?”

“You won’t find anything in his, either.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” Neil snaps. Andrew’s expression is infuriatingly impassive, and Neil knows that arguing any longer will be as productive as shouting at a brick wall. “Tell your cousin I won’t be checking out early after all. It turns out I have more work to do.”

Andrew clicks the torch off, plunging them both into sudden darkness. “I’m not your messenger boy.” Even in the dark, Neil can feel heavy hazel eyes burning into him.

“I don’t care.” Neil storms back off to his cabin, not waiting for a response. He sends Robin an apologetic text and drops onto his bed. Half-formed plans buzz around his mind like flies, but when he eventually falls asleep, it’s with the memory of a ghostly-white bear looking into his very soul. * Thanks for reading! Chapter two is on its way. <3

#andreil #all for the game #the foxhole court #aftg #tfc #my fic

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