#it's literally the closer I get to my house the worse this fucking black cloud is over my head

[milo-is-rambling]

Why do I feel guilty for being happy? Like I am happiest sitting in the trunk of the car at the lake alone reading and listening to music and watching movies and just being alone in the van and then I have to like force myself to get back in the drivers seat and go home to be alone at home like even if I did the same stuff in my bedroom it wouldn't make me happy the same way. I feel so bad for this change I feel like I'm avoiding my mom when I'm not it's just like memories of dad and friends I don't talk to anymore and like yeah it's just a lot easier to sit in the car and be happy so why do I feel so bad when I'm happy driving around

#i love my mom I love my bedroom I love my dog I love my house I love my yard and my neighbors but why did he have to die down the street #like dude #it's literally the closer I get to my house the worse this fucking black cloud is over my head #i just want to get away from it and the twenty minutes to drive to the lake seems to be just enough for me to get away from it all and just #live in the moment #and it's perfect. it's fucking perfect. but then I have to get up and go home cause I can't sit in the car forever #and I used to sit in the driveway at the old house parked for an hour after I got home #but now we've got real neighbors and no trees surrounding the yard we're so painfully visable to everyone I just want to sit outside but #also hide from the world at the same time and that's why I miss New England and trees surrounding my bedroom and climbing out my window to #smoke on a little wooden stool I made in eighth grade and I miss that old house so much and I can never go back and they cut all the trees #down anyways #the trees that watched me cry when I walked home from school and jump rope and laugh and smoke cigs with my best friend at the time and now #the trees are gone #it feels like a piece of me is still with that house in New Hampshire even though new people live there and maybe there's a part of my dad #there too that I'm not getting back #i can see him so clearly in my brain sitting at his desk in that house #i can see it clearer than I can see him anywhere in the new house he isn't with us he is in New Hampshire he isn't here it's so painfully #obvious that he isn't here anymore and it just hurts I don't wanna think about the house I just want to sit at the lake and cry in the trunk #like I'm doing rn cause fuck I made the tears happen thinking about New Hampshire and growing up and changing and death and my dad #it's just really hard to deal with sometimes and I had a great day today but I'm still ending it by crying

[whaleofatjme1920]

In a Mirror Image (Eyeless Jack X F!Reader)

🌸 In a Mirror Image

[Eyeless Jack X F!Reader]

[Warnings: blood, language, cheating (both physical but it's not like, in your face, and emotional)]

Part 1

The flowers that grow like weeds in your lungs bloom thicker and thicker every day. Your vision clouds with blue more often than not, and you can’t think about anything but the blossoms and blood that paint the bathroom with a hue you’re already much too used to. It’s a painful existence, and it’s getting worse. One of the most wretched parts? You’re deteriorating so fast that your vision no longer services you. You are blind, unrendered to see. You still choose to live in a delusion, and you are amongst the only who choose not to acknowledge it.

By now, everyone knows but only one other than you refuses to acknowledge it.

You hear Hoodie arguing with Jack more often than not. It seems the blond haired proxy is angry over what Jack has done to you and because he knows what Hanahaki does to those it takes root in.

“You’ll fucking kill her,” Hoodie seethes as he gets in Jack’s face for the fourth time this weekend. “Look at her-”

“I am!” Jack shot back, his arms crossing defensively over his chest. “Who are you to come in here and speculate on something that you’re not a part of?” He growls. Normally, Jack likes talking to Hoodie, but not when Hoodie’s on a mission to prove Jack a sinner.

“I wasn’t even aware you still had one,” Hoodie retorts through grit teeth. “I can’t believe you. Look at the flowers Ja-” and before he can continue tearing into Jack, he hears your bedroom door open.

While you still share the room with Jack, neither of you are in it at the same time. You’ve taken residence up on the living room couch with Kate and Jack more often than not stays with Leia. The room you share is usually empty, much like your heart.

“Hey there, buttercup,” Hoodie suddenly greets you as you tiredly walk into the kitchen where the two men had previously been in a standoff. “Did you sleep okay?” He asks, voice so much softer and gentler with you than what he had just been using.

You shake your head as you take a seat at the table. “I can’t sleep,” you say.

Hoodie’s brows furrow in sympathy before they knit in frustration when Jack sits next to you. He watches as Jack snakes his arm around you before he presses an empty kiss to the side of your head.

“No?” Jack says in a sickly saccharine tone. “I’ll see what I can do about that. Does that sound good to you?”

You nod slightly, the ghost of a smile on your lips. “That sounds good,” you murmur back.

“Anything for you,” he hums as he pulls you in closer to his side.

“You disgust me,” Hoodie hisses to Jack as he gets up and pushes in his chair roughly, making the table bounce. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Jack for a second as he leaves, roughly slamming the front door behind him.

“What was that about?” You ask, feigning innocence. You refuse to open your eyes to the situation you are in.

“He’s having a bad day,” Jack answers. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” he hums as he presses another kiss to the side of your head.

The butterflies in your stomach are dead, but the flowers blood evermore.

“You’re still sleeping out here?” Kate hums as she takes a seat next to you on the couch. She looks exhausted and she’s covered in blood. Her mask is cracked too.

“I guess,” you yawn as you shift slightly from your not so comfortable position. “How has your day been?” You ask as you reach for a glass of water only to see it’s not there.

“Let me,” Kate says as she gets up once more. She knows you’re getting worse. After getting you a bottle of water from the fridge, she comes back to your side. “I’ve had a busy day. Met with an independent named Nyein. They remind me of a big cat,” she finally answers as she opens the water bottle for you.

You take it and begin to slowly sip from it - it stops the flowers from blooming ever so slightly. Your airway opens just a little bit. “Do they now?”

Kate nods as she flips mindlessly through the channels. “They said they’re falling in love with a human. Bad business,” Kate winces, her dark eyes watching you carefully. “I hope they don’t…”

“It’s bad business,” you suddenly say as you feel petals fill your mouth. You cough slightly and the small little forget-me-nots fall into your lap, thankfully free of blood this time. You take one of the flowers into your fingertips and observe it gently. “I hope they’re okay.”

Kate puts her hand on your thigh, lightly squeezing before finally settling on the early evening news. “You wanna burn these blue fuckers?” She asks as the flowers in your lap remain stagnant save for the buds that unfurl at an alarmingly fast pace.

You feel the corners of your lips curl into a smile. “Yes.”

Morbid, your flowers have been springing up everywhere. They’ve infested the temporary house. So, you and Kate went around the place, plucking every single one before starting a bonfire in the backyard.

Toby, who considers himself a bit of a pyromaniac, was immediately summoned by the fire the two of you had cast in the backyard. He’d been out on a grocery run, and honestly, he had wanted to get out of the house.

The dynamics of the house had become uncomfortable to him. What with Leia and Jack sneaking off together and you coughing up a full greenhouse, he has been stressed. Toby can’t stand Jack and Hoodie arguing all the time as it reminds him of the life he tried to escape, and Masky can offer so much but ever since he renounced his love for Jay by force… It’s been hard. Toby knows it’s been hard for everyone involved.

He crosses through the house, sneers at Leia’s room, and then exits through the back to the scent of fire. He sees Kate’s arm around you as the fire blazes slightly blue.

“W-What are you g-gals up to?” He asks, coming to your other side so you remain in the middle.

“Burning stuff,” Kate nonchalantly replies. “You care to chuck anything in?”

Toby glances at you as you struggle to keep air in your lungs. “If I d-d-did, I’d be u-under c-charge for killing a-a-another under the O-Operator’s care,” he muses. He’s referring to Jack, of course. He takes in the scent of burning plant matter and blood and frowns when he remembers it’s yours. His hand reaches yours and squeezes gently.

You squeeze back.

Your experiences with Leia are lukewarm at best, and cold at worst. She’s something, she really is something. There’s moments when no one is in the temp house with you except for her alongside you, and those moments are tense, sharp, like a knife and burn colder than the depths of the sea.

The most memorable conversation you’ve ever had was the one that triggered a domino effect that would lead to a black hole in your chest.

“You’re still up?” Leia’s honeyed voice questions softly as she takes a seat across from you on the back porch at the glass table.

You find it more stifling inside so you choose to spend your time out. The weather is warm, afterall. The sun shines and fluffy clouds the size of whales swim overhead. You have a glass of pink lemonade made from a pouch Hoodie and Kate had picked up earlier. You find that the tang is enough to keep the flowers down.

“Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?” You say in passing before you sip from the glass. You enjoy watching the rabbits in the backyard. They hop around without a care in the world.

She begins to thread her fingers through her long silver hair, braiding it. “I just think you should be resting,” she says. “You look so tired these days-”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Touched a nerve,” she sighs. “You know you’re getting worse, right?”

You shoot her a glare, but you know she’s right. You’ve actually been holding out surprisingly longer than most people with Hanahaki Disease. Most people succumb to it within a few weeks of coughing, but you’ve managed to hold out for damn near an entire year. That’s almost unheard of. You’ve been hacking up flowers, their stems, roots and blood ever since Leia came into your life.

Everyone tells you that you’re getting worse, but you should have been dead months ago.

“Stop it,” you growl.

“You’re killing yourself,” she continues. “You could just… Let it all go, y’know?” She hums as she continues to fishtail her silver strands. “Renounce your feelings for him and save yourself.”

You grip your glass and set it back down roughly on the table. “That is literally none of your concern,” you repeat, eyes narrowing at the blue eyed beauty across from you. “Acting like you care-”

“I do, though,” she cuts you off. “I know that the Slender Man has big plans for you, but with you wasting away like this… You’ll never live long enough to see them through.” She flashes you a look of concern, but you can tell it’s fake. It shines like pyrite.

“What, so you can take my place just like that?” You bite back. “You can’t even wait until I’m fucking dead?”

Leia giggles and you hate to admit that it sounds pretty. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Daddy always did say I got what I wanted.” Her eyes drift off and you’re able to see she’s no longer thinking about you, but someone who once loved her. She finishes the braid. “Happy six years to you and Jack. Give him all my regards, won’t you?” She stands up, eyes the rabbits feasting on the clover in the grass, before she plucks your half empty glass from in front of you.

“Leia-!”

“It’s not like you need it,” she chuckles.

“It’s a special day,” you said to Masky, a small smile on your face. “It’s our six year anniversary.” Your posture changes to attention as he closes the door softly behind him. He still smells like cigarettes, but it’s a pleasant scent you’ve found comfort in where others find it a nuisance.

Masky put a smile on his face but it didn't reach his eyes. “You need me to draw a portal or something for you?” He holds his arms open to you as you fall into them, part because you’re so weak and secondly because he knows you need the affection - even if he can’t feel it.

You feel light come to your eyes as you nod after leaving a note for Jack in your shared room on his nightstand.

‘Dear Jack, happy six years! I’d wait for you to get back, but I have a surprise for you at the field you gifted to me for our first anniversary. I await you with happiness. Love, R.’

Masky drew the portal in the living room, a mess of swirling cloud-like silvers and blacks before he laid eyes upon the place you once shared only with Jack. “It’s super pretty,” he says, dark eyes scanning over all the wildflowers. There’s weeds on the path, like no one has cared for it in a while. ‘How poetic,’ he thinks. ‘It’s an allegory for your decayed relationship with Jack.’

“No it’s not,” you giggle as you bring Masky down one of the weed and chicory covered paths to the gazebo. “But it’s special to me,” you hum as you take a seat.

Masky follows beside you. He doesn’t take a seat, mostly feeling it wrong to impose on a space that is Jack’s despite his respect for him falling so far from what it used to be, but takes in the scent of dying flowers all the same. It’s summer, and instead of the sun warming the soft petals, it’s burning them. When you cough up more flowers while waiting for the man who still holds your heart (and refuses to return it) you’re less than pleased to see that they blend in with the untamed mosaic.

“Are you still tired?” Masky asks softly as he lights up a cigarette. “You can rest, I’m sure he won’t mind.”

You glance over to Masky before you rest your head in your hands, wondering where your lover is. You listen to the wind as it blows through the leaves. You listen to Masky’s hum, and eventually, you fall asleep.

You wake back up sometime during the night in your bed and not in a position you normally sleep in. It looks like whoever delivered you back here was extra careful with handling you. You only wake up because Jack has accidentally turned on the light.

“Shit, my bad,” he apologizes, quickly plunging the room back into darkness. “Did I wake you?” He knows he did.

“No,” you lie. “I couldn’t sleep anyways.” That was the most rest you’ve had in months. “Where have you been?” You ask quietly, still choosing to remain buried in the sheets.

Jack slides into bed next to you and gets comfortable. He smells like perfume you don’t wear. Through the faint light of the hallway that peeks under your door, you can see he’s got dark marks on his neck and jaw. “Leia wanted to show me her childhood home. Place isn’t run by Zalgo anymore, so we took a trip out there.”

“Did you now?” You hum as you feel tears prick your eyes.

Jack can see you in the dark. His vision at night far surpasses a human’s. He just chooses not to acknowledge it. Jack knows that his relationship with you is gone, and that you’ve been coughing up flowers for the past year. He knows, and it hurts him. Hurts him deeply that he’s the one causing you such pain, but at the same time, he’s a coward. He chooses not to let you go cleanly because his relationship with Leia is so finite.

He knows she only wants him because at the time he was unattainable. Now that she has him, it is only a matter of time until she does to him what he’s done to you. He understands that fully, but he refuses to leave the safety net that is you because he is selfish. His feelings for you aren’t nonexistent, but it’s that kind of fondness one has after the deed has been done, a love based on past memory and sentiment rather than what will and can be. It has reached his threshold, and you both are too caught up in security rather than what is healthy.

“I did,” he says as his mind rushes a mile a minute. “What did you do today?”

You wonder if you should answer that honestly or not. Would he even care? “I stayed here today, nothing special.” You feel the flowers unfurling in your lungs.

Jack hums once more, his back now facing you as he slowly succumbs to sleep.

You met Masky in the bathroom again, hacking your lungs and more of those fucking flowers up into the bathrub and the sink. Hell, you even got some in the toilet. Your body is growing weaker and weaker by the day. The fact you’ve held out for a year is astronomical, but you know you’ll be being taken from it eventually. No one survives Hanahaki when their lover’s feelings aren’t returned. It either gets returned, or you lose them all entirely.

He almost lost you. You broke the mirror when your body went limp as the vines and flowers crawled out from your lungs, through your esophagus and out of your mouth. If it was an art installation piece, Masky might’ve thought it beautiful, but the fact you went cold and limp and the flowers were blooming at a rapid pace - one he thought he couldn’t keep up with.

Masky, despite not being able to really feel anything, panicked as he took you into his arms. Did he genuinely care for you? No, but he cared to whatever extent the surgery left him with. He fretted because you are under his direct care. He cared so deeply because he too had seen many good proxies and independents lost to it. He cared because a part of him remembered what it was like to have daisies and rhododendrons fill his lungs. Normally, you only have one type of flower to clutter your lungs. Science says “just because.” An old wives’ tale says “love truly lost.” In his case? Jay’s death. Nothing was the same after that.

Masky took no hesitation in scooping you up into his arms and running out of the house to the forest to be closer to his boss’s energy. The Operator could fix this should he will it. He didn’t care that the lights in the house went on from his concerned proxies - the ones who had been sick over what befell you since you came into their care. He didn’t dare let you go as he trampled through the brush in the dead of night, using only the moon.

“Sir!” He calls out frantically. “Sir! I need your help!” He can hear your heart get slower and slower.

And just like that, the devoted father came to his child’s cry.

“My child,” he greets, instantly swooping down to look at your pained, flowery visage. “Did I not tell you to handle this?” He chides softly as he takes you into his arms. The sound of static only grows louder and louder.

“I thought she could,” he says, his tone clearly apologetic. “Please, just… Just fix this for me.” He watches the Operator closely as the tall man holds you in his arms.

While you are not exactly his child directly, you are also still under his care. Leia did not lie that the Operator sees good things for you. Without any other words, the tall man is gone, giving you to gods know who to perform a surgery that should be considered the only humane way out.

He returns to the house where Hoodie, Kate and Toby eagerly awaited him, clamoring around him and pecking like hens wondering where you are. He says that you’re in the hands of a god.

You floated in the ether, your body a galaxy. You watched as your chest was torn open - looked like by the hands of an independent that had talons to rival an eagle.

‘There’s so much,’ she says, her mouth turning into a frown as she worked on carefully removing the clusters of flowers. ‘How is she not dead?’

The Slender Man continues to observe, not offering the doctor any words.

The spirals and swirls inside of you continue to swirl before the flowers get torn out, one by one. The roots that cling to your lungs are stubborn, but with every single one removed, the lights of a different universe go out. Snuffed. Lost. The cavity in your chest grows wider until it births a black hole.

‘How much longer?’ The Slender Man asks, watching as the independent calls in another to help her rid your body of weeds.

She shakes her head as she continues to root them out. They bloom under her touch. ‘I have no idea - she must’ve felt so strongly-’

‘They just keep coming up, Sir,’ the other interjects, her four eyes scanning you rapidly.

The black hole begins to suck up the stars and nebulas that comprise your system. It feasts on you, making every part of what made you you, disappear in its depths. It grows larger as it consumes you. It grows heavier. It grows more powerful.

‘We’re almost there,’ the taloned independent says, her wings fluttering softly to emphasize her point. ‘I’ve never seen it this bad before.’

‘Fix this,’ the Slender Man seethes, his patience wearing thin. He knows your body will not be able to handle this much longer.

The black hole reaches its mass, and slowly, it begins to consume you. It overtakes you, bathes you, and leaves nothing left when it has taken all that it can. Your body is empty. You are a shell. Glimpses of blue, grey and reddish brown flash in your mind’s eye and through the eye of the black hole, but you cannot place the feelings you used to associate with them. You remember, but you do not feel.

The last of the flowers are pulled. The taloned independent is exhausted, and her partner is just as tired. ‘Good fucking lord,’ she breathes out, exhausted from the late night gardening session. ‘In all my years I have never seen that awful disease take hold of an individual that bad,’ she notes. Her bird-like eyes watch over your open chest to make sure they’ve fully cleared it out.

A single forget-me-not sprouts, and the Slender Man is the one who plucks it. Just like that, the flowers, their roots, all evidence you’d ever had life inside of you, is gone. Withered and wilted away.

The black hole takes all that you have to offer, and you are back to consciousness, no longer floating, no longer a home to the vibrancy of the universe.

What came after was a bit of a blur. The Slender Man had brought you back to the safe house you had called your home for the past year surprised to see that some of his favored children were still away, waiting for you as the light of the sun rose over the grass. It was a new dawn.

“How is she?” Hoodie asked, immediately springing up.

“Fixed,” was all the Slender Man said, his gaze shifting from you to your group’s leader. “Masky, I’m entrusting you to watch over her as you have been through something similar.”

“Of course,” the dark eyed man says as he takes you gingerly into his arms. “I wouldn’t trust her with anyone else.”

“One last thing,” the tall man in a suit hums. “I am taking Eyeless Jack from this house. Leia will stay with him.”

“It’s probably for the best. We trust your judgment,” Masky replies.

The Slender Man’s head gently cups Masky’s cheek before he leaves them with the sound of static that dissipates as fast as it appeared.

You spent the first few days after your surgery under bed rest. The Slender Man had healed you but he still worried for the state of your lungs. You needed the rest, and you were pleased to have it. Other than that, you felt… nothing. You were numb. Fleeting feelings of happiness or thankfulness, maybe something melancholic would slip through but ultimately, you were nowhere near your old self.

Jack was not allowed anywhere near you. That was one of the first instructions given to him when the Slender Man had popped into his head. While he did not have an opinion on Jack’s unfaithful behavior, he was more displeased with the fact he’d kickstarted the disease in you. The Slender Man thought that if he started it in Leia, then perhaps everything would turn out alright.

So, he sent the two out with a different group - which mostly meant Jeff, someone the Slender Man knew detested behavior that Jack had committed.

It was not easy for Jack to share the same space with Jeff after word had gotten out about you.

“You’re my best friend,” Jeff had sighed one late afternoon, refusing to even acknowledge Leia in the room. “But that? That was fucked up.”

Jack hummed and kept his gaze on Leia, who looked at him with nothing short of adoration. “Sure.”

Jeff sighed once more and stood up. “You don’t feel an inch bad, do you?”

“No.”

“You’re a shitty guy but you’re an even shittier liar.” Jeff broke the door with how hard he’d slammed it on his way out.

Jack really wasn’t the same, that much was apparent. He’d slowly been becoming more withdrawn and quicker to agitation. Of course, he’d take it out on whoever was around to deal with it. Leia included - it just came in a different form. One in which she’d never complained. But when things were rough between them, things were rough.

Jeff could hardly stand the two most days, so when he’d sneak out, it was with his dog to come pay a visit with you. And he hated how dull you had become.

“Masky used to be a lot more personable,” Jeff would say. “Life of the party when we could get him out of his pseudo-philosophical bullshit. Then he hurled flowers and we knew something was wrong.” Jeff’s hand rubs your back gently as a sign of friendship.

“And then?”

“Then he got that stupid surgery and now he’s just existing. No further purpose, just existing because some pale guy says so for his benefit.” Jeff huffed and looked up at the setting sun.

You found your gaze following his.

“What you’re doing right now,” he began. “It’s no way to live.”

“Would you have rather I’d succumbed to it?” You asked, not adding any inflection to whether you’re happy or sad, hurt or even offended.

“In all honesty?” Jeff tore his eyes from the pink and blue sky. “Yeah. This,” he gestured to you. “This isn’t you.”

Everything you’re supposed to feel feels dampened. Instead, you nodded. “Note taken.”

Jeff frowned.

The first time Jack was able to see you after your surgery was nearing halfway to what would have been seven months. It’d been a rough time without him seeing you, mostly because the guilt had been devouring every humanity he had left. Nothing could fill the void.

Like the first time you had met him, it was an accident when you crossed paths once again. You had been clearing out a house one fine winter’s evening, doing what had been asked of you before you got the faintest scent of something familiar and something you once recognized as comforting. You furrow your brows, weapon at your hip as you slowly and quietly come down the stairs.

Your lips are pressed into a thin line as you peer into the living room. Snow falls outside the window.

“Reader?” A male voice asks, turning around from the hallway. “Is that you?”

You tilt your head slightly as you register the mask you’re looking at. Eyeless Jack, mostly just known as ‘EJ’ or ‘Jack’. You’ve never really spent any time with him though outside of little jobs, so you have no idea who this is or why he sounds so happy to see you.

“Uh, hi, EJ?” You say as you walk at a leisurely pace down the stairs.

Jack freezes momentarily as he comes to greet you in the living room. He’d almost forgotten that when the flowers are removed, so too are the memories alongside feelings.”It’s… It’s good to see you,” he says as he looks down at you, wondering if he should touch you or not.

“I guess it’s nice to see you too,” you say. “What are you doing in this area?” You inquire. You vaguely remember the Slender Man not wanting you two to be in the same area.

“Just out and about,” he answers as he scratches at the back of his neck. “Leia wanted to uh, hunt down some of her sisters - I - it doesn’t matter,” he suddenly finishes, feeling much too awkward to even look at you. He knows you don’t remember, but he certainly does. Looking at you… He has a fresh slate.

“That’s nice,” you say in a tone that’s clearly disinterested. You walk towards the living room windows and look into what is now a cold winter’s night. You can see the snow still falling. If you want to make it back to Masky before he gets worried, you’ll need to head out almost immediately. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

Jack slowly comes to your side and puts his attention on you, watching as the snow continues to fall. “Yeah, the prettiest,” he says softly, desperately trying in vain to hold back on scooping you into his arms. There’s something scratching at the back of his throat.

You nod once again and zip up your coat. “They’re expecting me,” you say, gearing up to brave the snow.

“Do you need any-”

“No,” you cut him off. You’re not sure why it comes out so harshly, but you figure it must be a remnant of a memory you no longer have access to. “I can manage on my own.” You brush past him and open the front door, eyes momentarily clamping shut at how cold it is before you step onto the porch. The sound of the crunching snow is satisfying.

“Stay safe out there,” Jack says softly, not moving from his place as he continues to gaze out the window at the falling snow.

You turn your head briefly over your shoulder, “and you as well.”

Jack hears the door close and you walk off into the night, back to a group he was barred from. That tickling in the back of his throat grows more and more prevalent until he clears his throat. Feels like there’s something on his tongue. He coughs a few more times before holding his hands in front of his mouth, displeased to see the small blue petals he knows will bloom to full flowers in a time frame that is too long to be considered fair.

#eyeless jack #xreader #creepypasta x reader #eyeless jack x reader #creepypasta #hanahaki #angst #masky #hoodie #brian thomas #tim wright #kate the chaser #reader insert #slender man

[spaceskam]

the impossible replication of desire

Summary: Body sharing fic!

Warnings: panic attacks, their trauma (Alex has a dream of Michael’s exorcism & a dream of Jesse Manes’ abuse, super easy to skip), angst, happy ending

ao3

Alex was tired.

His steps were heavy as he climbed the stairs of his porch, heading towards the front door of the cabin. All the lights were off, but that didn’t mean anything. Michael’s truck was out front. He was home.

Home. Alex nearly flinched at his own thoughts, carefully unlocking the door in slow motion before pressing in the code on the keypad for the third lock. This wasn’t Michael’s home and he wasn’t Michael’s family. He made that clear more than enough times, but Alex’s home was open to him and so was the security of his bunker. It was all Michael’s if he wanted it and therefore here he was.

After not only being taken by his father, but discovering his house practically ransacked, Alex put his house up for sale and moved into the cabin. A chunk of money he got from the sale was spent on security systems. It was more difficult to break into than the White House now.

He knew Michael would be here. He felt safe coming home and knowing he would be there, all of the notifications from his security system and the easy access to his security cameras letting him know long before he could see his truck there for himself. It was nice.

Still, the house was dark as Alex let himself in and then locked the door back behind him, throwing on the chain latch for extra measure. There was light coming from the bunker, but other than that it was just as he left it.

“Did you eat dinner?” Alex called down to the bunker, flicking on the light to the living room to drop his stuff down. He then moved to the kitchen, turning on the light in there and opening the refrigerator. It was basically the same, only restocked with water bottles. He’d thank Michael for that later. “I guess not.”

Alex yawned and pulled out a frozen bag of vegetables from the freezer, turning the oven on to pre-heat. He moved as if on autopilot as he walked past the bunker and towards his bedroom. It was a little weird that Michael hadn’t responded, but maybe he was finishing something up. Alex changed into something more comfortable even while leaving his prosthetic on. He’d take that off later.

“Guerin? Did you fall asleep down there?” Alex asked when he emerged from his room and Michael was still nowhere to be seen. A familiar wave of anxiety shot through his system, his stomach tensing with nausea as he immediately assumed the worst. Which was stupid because he was probably just wearing headphones.

Convincing himself not to worry, Alex put a layer of tinfoil on a pan and then poured the frozen vegetables onto it before putting it in the oven. Then he went and sat on the couch while he waited for it to cook. His phone, however, couldn’t keep his attention as his eyes kept drifting to the bunker. Michael was okay. He was safe in Alex’s bunker. He was just listening to music or too in the zone. There were a billion reasons why we didn’t answer.

“Dinner’s ready!” Alex called when twenty minutes passed and he pulled the food out of the oven. He listened quietly‒no response. “Michael?”

Deciding that he could use the excuse of dinner and it was his house, Alex went to the opening of the bunker. He held on and carefully started climbing down the latter. He hated how many times he would look down to check his foot placement, though he could easily blame the fatigue for his anxiety.

“Michael, what are you‒”

Alex froze as he turned to the work table. Michael stood by it, eyes wide, lips parted, and his hand a new piece of alien tech Alex didn’t recognize. He looked catatonic and Alex could feel his heart thumping in his ears.

“Michael?” he asked, taking a cautious step closer. No reaction, not even a blink or anything. “Hey. Hey, are you alright?”

Alex slowly walked closer and gently touched his shoulder. He didn’t move. Alex swallowed hard, slowly counting down from three mentally to keep himself calm. 

“I’m going to take your hands off of this and then I’m going to call Isobel. You’re alright,” Alex said out loud, more for himself than Michael.

He carefully touched Michael’s wrists and he was abnormally cold, colder than even any human should be, and Alex became increasingly aware that he wasn’t sure he was breathing. He had to count down from three again, head spinning and jumping to conclusions he shouldn’t.

“You’re fine. I know you’re fine. You’ll be fine. This is fine,” Alex repeated, panic swarming his brain like a cloud of bees that wouldn’t go away no matter how many times he swatted. He managed to stay relatively calm nonetheless.

And then he accidentally touched the alien tech in the process of peeling his fingers off of it.

A bright light flashed through Alex’s eyes and a piercing white noise flooded his hearing, cutting him off from most of his senses as something body-slammed him and knocked him to the ground. His mind was too fuzzy to construct thoughts. All he could do was breathe and wait for it to pass even as thoughts and memories crowded into his mind too fast to catch. Half of them he was sure weren’t even his own.

And then it all went black.

-

When Alex came to, his body ached and his head was throbbing.

He sat up slowly, his eyes instantly falling on Michael who hadn’t moved. The sight almost brought Alex to tears‒he felt overwhelmed. He was tired and he hurt and he was overwhelmed. It was like his body was stuffed with emotions that he wasn’t prepared for. Which‒honestly wasn’t that abnormal. Maybe he should go take his anxiety meds before bed…

‘Do I actually look like that?’ Michael asked suddenly. Alex would’ve been relieved by the sound if maybe Michael’s mouth had moved or maybe he’d heard it with his ears rather than inside his own head, alongside his own inner monologue.

“Michael?” Alex asked weakly, still feeling too much. 

‘Don’t freak out, okay?’ Michael said, still inside his head. Tears pricked Alex’s eyes and he started breathing heavier. ‘Alex, hey, don’t freak out. It’s okay. I’m here‒literally. And‒oh, fuck, I don’t like that. Do you feel like that all the time or is it just right now? Is it because you’re panicking? Do you feel this way each time you panic? Because your thoughts are too fast for me to even process and you feel like you’re suffocating which would be bad because I’m in you too and that’s gonna be hard to explain on the death certificate, ha. If you are freaking out, maybe‒’

“Do you always think this much because shut the fuck up,” Alex snapped, meaner than he meant to but he couldn’t think. He needed to just think and he couldn’t when Michael’s thoughts were filling his brain and‒

Oh god, Michael’s thoughts were filling his brain.

‘Hey, my thoughts aren’t that bad. But don’t worry, I think I can sort of keep you out of most of them because I can only hear your loud ones‒I think. I’m gonna need you to calm down before I know for sure.’

“Michael,” Alex whispered, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, “Can you please get out of my head?”

There was silence for a moment and Michael must’ve been right that they could only hear the loud thoughts. But‒Well, he could still feel him. He could feel the way he was struggling. If he was in front of him, he would probably have that cocky little smirk and his head tilted back. He would act like he was chill, like he wasn’t scared, maybe he’d pretend to be angry.

But Alex could feel the fear. It was a cold, quiet, deep dread.

“You don’t know how to get out, do you?” Alex asked carefully. 

‘No.’ Michael replied honestly. Which. Fair enough. ‘But I’ll figure it out!’

“Figure it out,” Alex said, “Do… do you even know what happened? How are you in my head? What did you do?”

‘Okay, so, working theory, the alien tech I was messing with was working through my consciousness and when you touched it, it freaked out and put me in the wrong body. So, your body. So my entire consciousness is in you. Kinda kinky if you think about it.’

“No,” Alex whispered, closing his eyes and slowly bowing his head. He didn’t like this. There were a billion ways to feel, but his brain could only say how much he didn’t like this. He didn’t like hearing someone else’s voice in his head.

‘Alex,’ Michael said softly, ‘Alex, are you okay?’

“You’re in my fucking head, what do you mean am I okay? Of course I’m not okay, are you okay?” Alex said, heart thudding in his chest and head still swimming. He was tired and he hurt and he needed to eat and he needed Michael out of his head.

‘Let’s go eat the dinner that you made,’ Michael told him, ignoring the question which was answer enough, ‘Then we’ll come see if I can fix it.’

“I don’t like this,” Alex said.

‘I know. Me neither. But you need to eat, I can tell you haven’t eaten all day,’ Michael instructed. Alex swallowed and lifted his head, looking up again.

Michael’s body was still frozen in place, empty of all thought apparently. Leaving him there was just something Alex wasn’t prepared or willing to do. He pushed himself to his feet carefully, ignoring Michael’s ‘whoa’ reaction. 

‘You’re tired,’ Michael said. Stating the obvious, loud enough for them both to hear.

“Yeah, I worked all day,” Alex said. Michael didn’t respond. “I’m laying you down.”

Alex walked over to Michael’s body, carefully reaching out and touching his cheek. He was still cold. He moved his thumb to rest under his nose. He wasn’t breathing. Alex gave a shuttered breath.

‘It’s just in stasis, it’s alright, don’t freak out. I’m still alive.’

“Don’t freak out,” Alex repeated with a scoff. 

Still, he was careful as ever as he put one hand on the back of Michael’s neck and the other on his waist. He made sure not to even accidentally bump the alien tech just in case that somehow made this horrific situation infinitely worse. He guided his body to the couch they’d placed in there, taking the brunt of his weight and not caring if his body ached in the process. It didn’t matter.

Michael was suspiciously silent through the entire thing, even as Alex brushed his hair back and pulled a blanket over him just in case. What if when he came to, he was still cold? That just wouldn’t do. He wanted to keep him as warm as possible.

“Can you feel hunger right now?” Alex asked after a long stretch of silence. He didn’t want Michael in his head, but he also didn’t really like the feeling of him being too silent for too long. At least while he was in his head, he knew where he was.

‘I can feel yours. It’s basically like I was just stuffed into your body. I bet I could control it if I tried.’ It was said in a rather intrigued tone, that of a scientist and nothing more. But it still shot a pang of panic through Alex’s system. He’d experienced not being in control of his body before and he wasn’t keen on a repeat, this time even more extreme. ‘Sorry.’

“Is that how you feel?” Alex asked carefully, his hand deceptively steady as he scraped off the vegetables onto a plate. They weren’t hot anymore. It was cool enough to touch the pan. “Like you’re trapped in my head?”

‘Well, don’t say it like that.’

“So, yes,” Alex said, bringing the plate to the table. He sat down and held his fork in his hand, staring at it. He wasn’t hungry anymore.

‘Alex. Eat.’

And he tried. Michael was quiet. He could tell he was still there, the buzzing of his thoughts still affecting Alex despite the fact that he was keeping them from overpowering Alex. It was almost impressive how quickly his thoughts were moving, constant unfettered thought process. He was suddenly hit with a memory of Michael, young and pretty and hiding so much from him, saying how loud and chaotic his thoughts were and how music helped quiet it.

The buzzing slowed for a moment.

‘Is that how you saw me?’ Michael’s voice asked him, curiosity in his tone more than anything else. Alex blinked. He was starting to feel a bit numb to the whole thing.

“So we can share memories,” Alex said bluntly, dread building in him and dissipating into his bloodstream. He couldn’t care about that. If he cared, he’d think more about things he didn’t want Michael to see and he would be loud about them.

He leaned into the numbness.

‘I’m going to fix this,’ Michael said with a newfound determination. A bitter smirk found Alex’s face. He wondered, not for the first time, about all the things that Michael didn’t want him to know.

“Okay.”

Alex finished half of the vegetables before putting them in the refrigerator and telling himself he was definitely going to eat them later. Similar to the way he was definitely going to get a water filter since he didn’t trust the water that came to the cabin but he didn’t want to just keep buying water bottles. Eventually, he would, hopefully.

Michael’s thoughts buzzed and Alex dragged himself back to the ladder down to the bunker. He was tired and his body ached and he really didn’t want to be climbing up and down the latter so many times. Couldn’t Michael accidentally discover this horrific thing on a day he didn’t have work?

‘Right, so, this is going to be a little bit weird because I can’t handle the tech myself. You’re just going to have to listen to what I say and try to do them to the best of your ability. Not saying that you aren’t as capable as me, I’d never say that, you’re so smart and good at everything you do. I actually saw your work the other day, that website you were coding for that little mom and pop shop in town and that was really impressive how quickly you can type. I didn’t know you did freelance work like that either, is that for extra money or for a hobby? I wonder how complicated it would be to set up a recording system with all your tech stuff, I can’t imagine it’d be‒

“Michael,” Alex said slowly, a headache already coming on. He suddenly had a new appreciation for Michael Guerin in his own body. It was beginning to feel like a miracle that he didn’t have panic attacks every day over his own overwhelming brain. “Slow down, keep focus.”

‘I’m focused, I am, sorry.’ It was a lie. Maybe that’s why he was good with his hands, he needed something to put his energy into. ‘My point was that it’s hard for me to explain what I’m doing with my hands, so I’m just gonna try and hope for the best.’

“I’ll try.”

‘And I trust you.’ There was a pause, though the buzzing never stopped. It honestly didn’t really stop when he was talking. That alone was a bit scary. Maybe they’d need to work on something to help his brain relax. 

“I trust you too,” Alex whispered. 

Michael guided him through different ways to handle the tech, correcting him here and there and doing his best not to get frustrated which Alex appreciated. He tried to hold onto it while Michael’s body was still holding it and he focused really hard, trying his damnedest to send Michael back. And Michael was trying to, giving all of his focus, but no matter how long he tried, nothing happened.

‘Try holding it by yourself.’

“What if we both just get sucked in and then we’re both catatonic?”

‘That won’t happen.’ There was a pause. ‘I think.’

Alex took a deep breath and just listened, carefully peeling Michael’s fingers off the tech. It was like taking something from a corpse which was. Unpleasant. And not the first time Alex had done that.

‘Alex.’ Michael’s voice was a warning and it’d be more helpful if Michael knew what he was warning him from. ‘I’m okay. I’m not dead.’

They were friends right now. They weren’t together, but they were friendly and Michael was welcome in his house. Sometimes, they hugged. Alex knew restraint and he knew how to wait for what he wanted. Even with all of that, he couldn’t help the way his stomach twisted and turned at the prospect of never touching him again. It would be endless taunting to have his voice in his head and yet nothing to be tactile with. Nothing to touch, nothing to feed, nothing to hold, nothing to be held by.

“I know,” Alex said, pushing those thoughts down deep and pulled the alien tech into his lap. If Michael heard any of his thoughts, he said nothing. 

‘Okay, do you see that thing in the top right that looks like a thumbprint?’ Michael asked. Alex scanned it and then nodded, going to reach for it. ‘No!’

“What? Why not?” Alex asked quietly, but he snatched his hand away.

‘Sorry, sorry. It’ll shock you if you don’t put your left thumb on it, but it has to be kept in the top right corner.’

“How does it know?” Alex asked.

‘Fuck if I know. Okay, put your left thumb on it and then put your right palm in the center.” Alex did as he was told. ‘Close your eyes and picture me being plucked out of your mind, through your arm, and into the piece.’

“What is this, some kind of meditation?”

‘Just bear with me.’

And Alex did. He pictured it over and over, plucking a tiny Michael out of his brain. When the first one didn’t work, he imagined different parts of his brain. Then he imagined the tiny Michael flailing like a Mii. Which really only messed up his focus because he started smiling at the idea.

‘This isn’t working,’ Michael sighed. It was weird that he could sigh in his brain. He wondered how that worked. Could he laugh in his brain? Alex couldn’t. ‘You’re distracted.’

“I’m sorry,” Alex said instantly, his spine straightening up a bit in response. He could feel the buzzing of Michael roar a bit louder.

‘It isn’t your fault. You’re tired‒I’m tired. Maybe we should go to sleep and try again in the morning.’ Michael suggested. Alex gulped softly, staring at the piece.

He wasn’t too keen on sleeping with Michael in his head. When he was awake, he could keep things quiet. He didn’t know what would happen if he went to sleep. Would Michael see his dreams? The idea in particular scared the shit out of him, more than even their current situation.

“What happens tomorrow, then? I have work. Don’t you?” Alex asked. 

‘Maybe we could call in. For me, just use my phone to text Sanders. Old man has the font on his phone ridiculously big and can still barely see it, so he just has my ringtone set so he’ll piece it together. It’s not even anything cool, it’s just one of the sparkly ones that come already downloaded into your phone. I do like that I have my own ringtone though. Does that make me weird? Do you think he’d be freaked out if he knew I liked it? Nah, he’s basically like my dad. Don’t tell him that, though, I think that’d make it weird. Well, he did want to adopt me, so maybe not that weird, but‒’

“Michael,” Alex cut in, lips parted a bit as he absorbed the few words that he could, “He wanted to adopt you?”

There was just buzzing for a while and then, ‘I thought I told you.’

“No, I would’ve remembered,” Alex whispered. 

‘Oh. Well. Yeah. Sorry.’

Alex swallowed and shifted, looking over to Michael’s body. He was still cold and not breathing and the whole thing was just more and more unsettling by the minute. So Alex took a deep breath and placed the piece on Michael’s stomach before standing up.

“I’ll call my superior in the morning and tell him I can’t make it,” Alex said. 

He sighed and closed his eyes. He typically found that as a comfort, as sealing himself in so it was just him. But that didn’t quite work with Michael in his brain. It was just as invasive. As much as he loved Michael with his entire being, it still made his skin crawl in a way he dreaded to admit.

‘In the morning, we’ll figure it out. And if we still are struggling, we’ll call in Liz. Oh! I bet Izzy could help if she could get into the mindscape.’

“No offense, but I barely like having you in my head. If we can avoid bringing your sister in that, that’d be great,” Alex said dryly, making his way to the latter. It looked much more intimidating than usual. God, he was tired.

‘Last resort.’ Michael promised.

Alex sighed and started to drag himself up the ladder. It took way more effort than he would ever willingly admit‒but he couldn’t even keep that to himself because Michael was in his head. He, presumably, could feel how much it was taking out of him. Thankfully, he didn’t say anything.

Alex took his time catching his breath as he moved to his bathroom, locking the door behind him on instinct, and then paused before he made another move. He needed to wash off, but he wasn’t keen on that with Michael in his head. He was comfortable with Michael seeing his body, yes, but… That was different.

“Michael?” Alex asked.

‘Oh, um, I’m sure there’s a way I can, like, turn off. Or something? Give me a minute.’

“Wait,” Alex said quickly, clutching the counter. His breathing labored a bit as his stomach churned and Michael’s buzzing amplified. “Don’t… Don’t turn off, that’ll freak me out, I don’t want you to go away until you’re in your body again.”

It was probably a horrible thing to say that he would regret, but also the idea of Michael going silent was suffocating and he couldn’t handle that on top of everything else.

‘Okay, I won’t.’ His voice was soft, earnest. It was debatably the first time he sounded like he actually understood what Alex needed from him. Alex didn’t want to think about that.

“Just… How do you see? Are you seeing through my eyes or is it some type of omnipotent, third-person type view or… I don’t know, I haven’t read enough sci-fi books on body sharing,” Alex said, pulling out the stool that was tucked underneath the counter. 

He sat down and put his hands on his thighs. He pushed down with each finger one at a time slowly, from his pinky on his left hand to his pinky on his right. He breathed in tandem.

‘I see through your eyes. Right now I see your hands, your sweatpants, your rug. I love that rug by the way, but I don’t know if you should have a fabric floor mat in the bathroom. That’s, like, a hub for mold and bacteria. Did you know that? They have rubber ones, do you think those would work? I’m going to get you one and see how you like it, I think it’d be good. Or, like, at least‒’

“Michael,” Alex sighed. He’d said his name more times today than he’d said probably ever before. He just thought so loud and so much. 

‘Sorry. But, yes, I see through your eyes.’

“Is there a way for you to not look?” Alex asked. Michael was quiet except the buzzing. “This is just… I don’t think…”

‘I don’t know, Alex. Let me see, okay? Give me a second, let me try.’ Michael sounded like he really would try, so Alex nodded and let him.

There was a stretch of silence with Alex doing nothing but pressing his fingers into his thighs, keeping himself calm and grounded. He didn’t try to rush as Michael fiddled around in his brain. He wasn’t really in a rush anyway. He wasn’t eager to go to sleep like this.

They kept on until Alex’s left hand stopped pressing into his thigh without his approval. Alex stopped breathing, staring at it and trying to move it. It wouldn’t.

“Michael,” he whispered, all that panic he’d subdued rising to the surface at alarming rates. It only worsened when his hand clenched into a fist on its own accord.

Alex made a noise between fear and shock, flinching away from himself. His throat closed in on itself and choked him and his head spun and tears pricked his eyes and he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t control his body and he couldn’t control his body and he couldn’t control his body and he couldn’t

‘Fuck! Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t know that‒Alex, Alex, breathe. Breathe, okay? Breathe. Move your hand, look, it’s yours, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ Michael rambled and Alex felt hot tears pour over his cheeks. He clenched his hands into fists over and over, making sure he could control them.

Alex’s breathing was ragged and he was shaking, but he watched his hands and tried to ignore Michael's rambling. He slowly moved his hands to the top of his head and looked at the pole that held his shower curtain. He counted each ring as effectively as he could, trying to catch his breath. Michael eventually caught on that his words weren’t helping.

They sat like that for‒for too long. Alex wasn’t sure how long it actually was, but it was enough that, by the time he could breathe again, he was too exhausted to think about showering. He still kept moving his hands, making sure he was able to.

“I don’t like that,” Alex said, voice smaller than he would’ve liked. Childish, honestly. Helpless and out of control and childish. 

‘I am so sorry. I didn’t realize that would happen, I was just trying to figure out where I could go. But, I… I’m so sorry. I won’t do it again.’ Michael was genuinely repentant. Later, Alex would feel embarrassed about the entire thing. Right now, he just wanted Michael in his own body. ‘I’m so sorry.’

“Is that how you feel?” Alex asked, swallowing softly, “Like you’re completely out of control? Like… like something is moving for you?”

Michael’s lack of response was response enough.

Alex laughed a wet laugh and sucked a deep breath in through his nose. Hands shaking, he turned towards the sink. He wet his toothbrush with hot water and put toothpaste on it and brushed his teeth the way he did every night. Michael stayed quiet.

He rinsed, spit, washed his face, took his anxiety medication, and told himself he’d try to shower in the morning. A few more grounding breaths later, he moved to his bedroom with a wet washcloth in his hand. Alex sniffled and sat on the edge of his bed, slowly removing his prosthetic. He was supposed to clean the sleeve, but he couldn’t right now. He instead wiped his stump with the washcloth and decided it would have to be good enough.

Alex pulled out his phone and checked to make sure all of his security alarms were on and he’d already known the doors were locked. Typically, he would’ve done another round, but he was tired and overwhelmed and wanted to get in bed. He shifted towards the top of his bed and climbed beneath the blankets, wrapping himself up tightly. The lights were still on. He’d turn them off in a minute.

“I’m sorry for freaking out,” Alex whispered after a solid two minutes of cocooning himself.

‘Don’t be. I’m sorry for this entire situation. It’s… super invasive.’

“You didn’t do it on purpose,” Alex murmured into his comforter, breathing as steadily as he could. In, out, in, out.

‘It’s unfair. I promise I’m going to fix this.’

“I believe you.” And Alex did believe him. He believed that Michael could do practically anything he set his mind to. That was the benefit of having a genius on hand.

This was just a particularly horrible situation that had Alex too nervous to think too loud.

‘You’re tired. Get some rest.’ Michael said, soft and sweet. For a fleeting moment, Alex wished he was here. ‘I wonder if my telekinesis works in your head. Do we even know if it’s physical or psychological? I don’t think we really do, or, like, not entirely. We gotta look into that as soon as I’m back in my body. Do you think I could turn the light out without making you get up? Do you mind if I try?’

Alex swallowed and clutched his blanket closer. When it was dark, it’d be even harder to fully conceptualize that Michael was in his head. When it was dark, he would hear him and it would be so easy to imagine he was just on the other side of the bed.

Still, he was right. Alex was tired. And the only way he was going to calm down was if he slept. That was easier said than done and he didn’t really want to sleep, but it was something he needed. He’d just have to play it by ear.

‘Please get some sleep, Alex.’ Michael sounded like he heard him. Perhaps he really did.

“I’ll try,” Alex said, “Try turning out the light.”

In theory, Alex did understand how the aliens used their powers. It was an intense and beautiful thing and Alex could watch Michael do it for hours. Feeling it, however, was something different. Michael focused on the light switch and Alex was all but lit up from the inside. His lips parted and the barrier in his mind he used to keep Michael out of his private thoughts seemed to shatter as they melded for a moment, too quickly to really learn anything and yet long enough to feel akin to the way he did when Michael whispered his closest secrets minutes after sex. Too intimate. Too close. Too much.

The light was off and the feeling died and the barrier returned. Michael went to his side of the brain and Alex took shaky breaths, tugging the blanket tighter around him. At least the feeling of sheer panic had subsided. Instead, blinding embarrassment and foggy pleasure and a massive amount of fatigue had filled his entire brain. Because of a fucking light switch.

‘My bad.’ Michael said, his voice warm enough to be a verbal hug.

Alex breathed in, curling up beneath his blanket and holding it to his nose. He wanted Michael so badly, more than he had in a while. Which was saying something because he typically wanted him a lot.

“You feel like that every time you use your telekinesis?” Alex asked softly. If he let his mind drift enough, he could imagine idle fingers on his hips, a foot rubbing against his calf, a pair of lips on his neck. Even then it was nothing more than phantom desires, once he hoped were too quiet for Michael to hear.

He was a little too convinced that they weren’t and yet Michael didn’t mention it.

‘No. I guess because it’s, like, through a different conduit‒not saying you’re just a conduit, but, you know, my body is built to do that stuff and yours isn’t. So it’s kinda like immediately lifting 50lbs when you’ve never lifted weights before. Deceivingly easy and then it’s not, like that took a lot of effort on my part and it’s not my body. And then‒there’s two of us, so it’s different. I kinda for a minute felt like we were bumping brains. Did that hurt? I didn’t feel any pain, but I don’t know how this works. I bet that drained you, though, you feel more fatigued. I won’t do it again. Are you okay? Talk to me.’

“Lifting too much weight doesn’t feel like that,” Alex whispered, eyes drifting closed. He was tired. So tired that he was almost a little angry that he wouldn’t be able to stay up long enough to keep his dreams away from Michael.

Michael hummed softly, amused.

‘Can you try something for me?’ he asked, soft and sweet and coaxing. A drastic tonal shift from where he’d been just a moment ago, from where he’d been for months. ‘Try talking to me in your head so you don’t have to keep talking out loud, I know that gets exhausting. Let’s see what it sounds like.’

In a different world, a different time, Michael would’ve called him baby somewhere in there. Sometimes Alex listened to him talk and could hear where he should’ve called him baby. He hadn’t heard it in so long. God, he needed to get rid of these thoughts.

‘It was draining and I’m tired,’ Alex tried, like an internal monologue but with more intent. Here is where Michael would smile at him, lean close, touch him somewhere just because he wanted to. Because he could. When was the last time Michael touched him simply because he could? Had it been a year now? More?

‘You’re thinking a lot of stuff I can’t hear. You okay?’ Michael asked.

“Does it sound like buzzing?” Alex murmured, “Yours sounds like buzzing.”

‘Yeah, a little. You don’t like the in-brain talking?’

“Might make it difficult to keep the stuff I don’t want you to hear away from you,” Alex said simply, “It’s hard enough.”

‘Fair.’ Michael was quiet for a moment, the buzzing still there. 

Maybe they would wake up in the morning and this would all be fixed. Maybe this was a bad dream that would just force Alex to appreciate Michael’s existence.

But that would be fucking stupid because he already appreciated Michael’s existence. It was Michael who didn’t want him, not the way he wanted. Not the way they used to be.

Alex’s eyes slid open, suddenly not as willing to go to sleep. He was exhausted and wasn’t sure he would be able to get up in the morning if he didn’t sleep, but he didn’t want to. There was a chance that he would sleep and Michael would see things he shouldn’t and it wouldn’t change anything other than their already fragile relationship.

He couldn’t even keep his thoughts straight at this point.

‘Alex, you need to go to sleep. We’re tired.’

Alex didn’t respond, just staring at a fixed point on the wall. He shouldn’t have let him turn the lights off. The longer he forced himself to stay awake, the more the good feelings from his power faded and the more the bad ones from earlier in the night amplified.

Alex stayed awake as long as he could, fought off the fatigue, ran off the adrenaline from his anxiety.

Still, none of it was a match for how drained he was in every sense of the word.

-

“What are you talking about? What are you doing?”

Alex was laid on a bed of some kind, trying to fight them off. They were all faceless until they weren’t. Light would shift and he would catch angry, hateful, sorrowful, and clinical stares. They ignored his questions as they strapped him to the bed.

He was shirtless, pantsless, bare, and exposed. His ankles were held down by more straps. The people around him ignored him as he started to panic. They were all wearing black and white, all in habits and priest attire. Where was he? What was going on? What were they doing?

“Please, Father, help this young boy,” one of them said. A nun, the one who looked like she wanted to cry. Like maybe she felt bad. If she did, she didn’t do anything to help him. “Please.”

“Step back. We don’t know what this thing will do.”

The one who held his hand slipped away and Alex tried to keep himself calm. 

If you’re good, they’ll let you go. If you’re good, they’ll let you go. Just be good. Just be good. You can be good.

Alex locked eyes with the priest who stood over him. He made a face, one of disgust. One of ‘how dare you think you’re allowed to look at me’ and Alex never broke eye contact. 

He spoke in a different language and began to circle Alex’s body. It started off stupid: just recitations and throwing water on him. It was cold and Alex would flinch, but beyond that he didn’t do anything. This seemed to piss off the man more and he took a step to the side to speak with the other patrons. While he was doing that, Alex started to try and wiggle out of the restraints.

Before he knew it, though, they were back. The water they threw on him this time was hot. Flicks and droplets of scalding water, enough to make him gasp and enough to make him want to try to fight the restraints more. On his chest, on his thighs, on his legs, on his arms, on his face. It burned.

He kept it in for as long as he could, kept quiet, kept obedient, tried to be good. But it hurt. He screamed at them, please, please, please. 

“It’s working.”

It seemed like it went on for days, hours. Alex laid there until he couldn’t cry anymore. He laid there until he was starving so much he felt nauseous. He laid there until every inch of him hurt in some way. He laid there when they pressed heated crosses into his arm. He laid there and let them brand him.

He laid there.

He laid there and he didn’t lose control.

He was going to be good.

-

Alex woke up with a start, gasping and clutching the sheets.

It was dark still. His dream was… not one he’d had before. Mindless, he checked his body the places his dream had said he’d been burned. It felt real. He checked his arms for crosses, rucked up his shirt to see splash marks from boiling holy water, felt his face to see if there were any sensitive spots. It took him three checks to realize it was the wrong body.

The cross brand that had faded over the years was rather inconspicuous on a man full of scars, but Alex had felt it. The parts of his body that took him a while to not flinch away from when Alex tried to touch made more sense. He just… didn’t think it was because of this.

‘I’m sorry.’ Michael’s voice was soft and nervous. Alex felt residual anxiety on top of the pre-existing bullshit from the dream itself. 

“Michael,” Alex said because that’s all he could say, “Michael.”

‘Go back to sleep,’ Michael tried, ‘I’ll do better this time.’

Alex caught his breath and tightened his hold on his sheets. He wanted to curl up into his chest, to tell him sweet nothings. To touch and be touched because that was safe. Whatever he’d just dreamed was not safe. Having an empty Michael-suit in his basement was not safe.

Still, he slowly coaxed himself back to lay down. He was tired still and that dream had robbed him of any sense of being rested. And it was still dark.

‘Please go back to sleep. It’ll be okay. I’m sorry.’

“I’m sorry too.”

-

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Dohman said, getting too close to Alex’s face. He would never understand why men who took homosexuality as their enemy number one decided to get nose to nose with other men when they were angry. It would be funny if it wasn’t the actual worst.

“Look, Dohman, you’re not my fucking type, get over it,” Alex said, shoving him back. That was his first wrong step, but what was he supposed to do? Let it happen? “I like men, not whatever the fuck you are.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dohman asked, his eyebrows tugging together further and his face turning a deeper shade of rage red.

“What‒are you upset? Aw, do you have a crush on me?”

Dohman threw the first punch and Alex managed to dodge it, throwing the second one. There were a few more, a blur of them, before he was hit in the nose and stumbled back. He stumbled straight into a different room, a kitchen.

“Alex. You’re late.”

The voice was one that instilled fear deep within Alex and he stood up a little straighter. His father sat at the head of the table, staring at him like he expected him to be late. Alex took a deep breath and went to sit at the table.

“I’m sorry, what do you think you’re doing?” he asked. Alex blinked.

“Sitting.”

“Did I say you could sit? You’re late. You missed curfew. Do I need to remind you what happens when you miss curfew?” he asked. Alex shook his head.

“No, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.”

Alex held his breath as he stood up straight and went to the corner of the kitchen. He knelt down, his face towards the wall, and held his arms up. If he slumped or his arms wavered or if he sat on his feet, he would get an extra two hours. So he didn’t let that happen.

Alex listened to his father eat dinner. Listened to him put his dishes in the sink. Listened to him go into the living room and turn on the TV. He always wondered if he forgot about him, but he knew he couldn’t get up without consequences.

So Alex stayed.

And Alex didn’t slump.

He was going to be good.

-

When Alex woke up this time, the sun was still hidden away.

This one was less shocking, less jarring, more standard. Still, he curled up in bed and rubbed his knees mindlessly. Michael’s buzzing was there, but he didn’t say any words. Alex was almost thankful for it. He was embarrassed and still tired.

As his alarm went off to tell him to get up and get ready for work at the bright and early time of 4 AM, Alex turned it off and instead called the base. He made up an excuse about a stomach bug and how he wasn’t sure he wanted to risk giving it to anyone else and didn’t he have sick days built up? His superior agreed, told him to get some rest, and promised to see him when he was better.

Alex dropped his phone.

‘It was much sexier sleeping next to you when we didn’t share dreams.’ Michael sounded tired somehow. How did that work? Michael had probably already thought about that question a million times over.

“Yeah, it was,” Alex agreed.

He laid in bed for a few extra minutes before deciding he wasn’t going to get any more sleep. Whenever Michael left his brain, he was going to be taking a trazodone and he was going to knock into a relatively dreamless sleep for 12 hours. He at least had that to look forward to.

Alex climbed out of bed and reached for his crutches. When he got upright, it made it just that much more prevalent how tired his body was. This whole thing was draining and exhausting. His leg was sore, his head hurt, his stomach felt like he’d gotten a rather extensive core workout.

He spent his morning going through his regular routine, only this time with mindless Michael commentary. Alex had definitely understood Michael had a rather busy thought process and he struggled with silence, but he hadn’t realized how much. It was almost concerning.

Still, he listened and brushed his teeth, listened and washed his face, listened and took his meds, listened and put his prosthetic on, forced himself to eat breakfast, etc, etc, etc. Midway through his third cup of coffee, Alex started making his way down to the bunker. He held the mug between his teeth and focused on the ladder instead of Michael’s rambling.

When he looked at Michael’s body, it was exactly the way he left it. Alex walked over slowly and put his hand on his bicep, massaging it carefully and making sure it wasn’t getting stiff. He looked dead, he didn’t want him to feel dead.

Michael in his mind, however, went actually silent for a moment. Even the buzzing stopped.

‘What are you doing?’ Michael asked carefully.

“Sorry, I won’t touch you,” Alex said, taking his hand away. His eyes were harder to remove.

‘You can.’ He was speaking slowly, the buzzing returning at an all-time loud. ‘I just… didn’t think you would want to touch me. That’s pretty gross. Haven’t bathed.’

“Neither have I,” Alex said simply, “I pretty much always want to touch you.”

The buzzing, somehow, amplified. 

Alex squeezed his eyes shut in response, the headache he had worsening because of it. Michael hadn’t mentioned the headache and Alex was beginning to wonder if he just always had a headache and that’s why it wasn’t phasing him. It would make sense if his brain was really that full all the time.

Instead of thinking too much about that, Alex took a big sip of his coffee and then sat it on the table.

“Alright, let’s get to work.”

The two of them got to work brainstorming which was much easier than it would’ve been if Michael was on the outside because Michael’s ideas that were hard to verbalize came across to Alex in concepts. Well‒easier in theory because Alex only had so much knowledge within Michael’s specialty.

But, nonetheless, they worked. And they worked. And hours went by and Michael was still stuck in his head and no matter how hard they worked, nothing happened.

By lunchtime, Alex was exhausted all over again and he was beginning to feel more than a bit frustrated. He just wanted Michael in his own body. Why couldn’t the universe just give him that one thing? That should be an easy fucking request.

“I hate this piece of shit,” Alex grumbled, carefully setting the alien tech down instead of throwing it across the room because that would presumably be very bad. He tilted his head back from where he was sitting on the floor by the couch, the back of his head resting against Michael’s thigh.

‘Maybe we should call Liz,’ Michael in his head suggested, not mentioning a single thing about where his head was. Alex’s hands rested carefully on his own thighs, pressing down each finger one at a time starting from his left pinky all the way to his right. This was fine.

“What do I say? That I accidentally robbed you of your subconscious and that you’re stuck in my brain and she’s basically lost her science partner because he’s in my fucking head and I’m not him and I’m useless and‒”

‘Alex,’ Michael said softly, in the same way Alex had said his name when he got to rambling, ‘You’re not useless. And this isn’t your fault. It’s not one’s fault, we didn’t know this was going to happen. So let’s just call her and see if she can come help.’

Alex breathed in deep and nodded slowly. He sat there unmoving for a moment after that. Michael’s buzzing was incessant and it was very clearly worried. It gave off the same energy that Michael had so many times before, just much different because it was in Alex’s head rather than on Michael’s face.

“I wish you could hug me,” Alex said softly. It felt like a simple, easy statement all things considered. Michael’s worried buzzing tapered off just a little.

‘I wish I could too.’

And they sat there, taking a break before they called Liz. She wasn’t in California anymore, having come back because there was just something about Roswell that refused to let you fucking leave. Or she missed her dad and her sister. One of the two options. So, at least they had that going for them.

Alex pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts and found Liz Ortecho sitting in his short list of 25 contacts. He hadn’t actually spoken to her in a while, not over the phone and not just the two of them. Once upon a time it would’ve upset him, but they were adults and they hadn’t been each other’s first priorities in a very long time. Alex wasn’t sure he’d ever been hers. But that was fine too because that’s what friendship was sometimes.

“Alex?” Liz answered like she was extremely confused to see him calling. Alex huffed a laugh despite nothing about his situation being funny. Not in the fucking slightest.

“So, I have a little situation that I don’t feel comfortable telling you over the phone,” Alex said. He knew she was rather easygoing about what she shared over the phone, but he wasn’t as trusting. Hell, he barely liked having his phone on him when he was doing things like this at all even with all of his protective shit on it. He knew how easy it was to be tracked, to be listened to. The only one who took his concerns seriously was Michael and Kyle. “Can you be at the cabin in less than an hour?”

“...what cabin?”

Alex sighed, “The old Valenti hunting cabin? Come on, I know you and Kyle probably hooked up here a lot when we were in high school.”

“Oh. Okay. Yeah. I’ll be there. Should I bring anything?”

“Kyle.”

“Got it.”

Alex sighed as the call ended and dropped his phone. His eyes drifted over to Michael’s body, still and cold and catatonic. He reached out for his hand mindlessly and started to massage it carefully, working into all the muscles he knew still got sore on bad days. Not like they were sore now.

‘You don’t have to do this,’ Michael said, ‘You don’t have to…’

There was an implication, one that was rather insulting if Alex was asked. He never allowed his feelings to go unknown, not since his rather embarrassing display at the Wild Pony. It was Michael who needed to catch up; Alex hadn’t been hiding it.

“Do you want me to stop?” Alex asked again.

‘No,’ he said, ‘I just hate that I can’t feel it.’

“You will when you get back. You’ll be able to feel it then,” Alex said, a quiet promise that he would continue. He hoped that was good enough for Michael to understand.

They sat, waiting for Liz to show up and staying as calm as they physically could. Alex considered crawling beside him more than once but he felt that would just be too much. Too much whatever. Alex waited until he felt as at peace as he physically could be.

“Michael,” Alex called, “How did you take over my hand last night? You tried to explain it but I didn’t really understand.”

‘Basically, from my understanding, I just connected those parts of my psyche to your arm. Like when you’re laying in bed and you need to get up and so your brain tells your body to move. Like that, I guess, and I guess it was enough to take over yours.’

Alex blinked and breathed steadily, rolling his shoulders back and steeling himself.

“Try again,” Alex suggested.

‘What? No. No, I’m not doing that. You didn’t like that, I’m not doing that to you again.’

“You’re cooped up in my brain. Don’t you want to stretch out? I feel guilty that you’re trapped there. As long as you don’t take over my whole body and I know what you’re going to do, I think I’ll be okay,” Alex urged. Michael didn’t say anything right away. “I just feel bad. Just tell me what you’re going to do before you do it, okay?”

‘Are you sure?’

Alex nodded and kept his breaths steady, waiting for the moment Michael would decide to act. Maybe this was stupid and maybe he’d freak out again, but…

‘Okay, it’s gonna be your left arm, elbow down.’ Alex kept his breathing steady and used his right hand to continue holding onto Michael’s. He wasn’t clutching back and that made it feel a bit hollow, but that was alright. Michael was in him. One day when this was over, he’d probably make a joke about it. ‘Okay, ready?’

“Ready,” Alex agreed.

He swallowed as he felt his arm go numb and tingly as Michael took over. He kept his breathing even and held onto his hand and watched as Michael moved his fingers carefully, just stretching them around.

‘I’m gonna raise it, alright?’

“Alright.”

‘You’re doing so good, thank you for this.’

Alex nodded as watched as his hand rose and his wrist rolled. He could feel a bit of panic edging in him, but he held out. Michael used Alex’s thumb to trace each finger on his hand.

‘Can I touch you?’ Michael asked. Alex took a shaky breath and nodded again, not really trusting his voice. This whole thing was weird and slightly terrifying and slightly exhilarating at the same time. He’d never felt something quite like this before. He was pretty sure not many had. ‘Okay.’

His hand moved to his face, gently tracing over his nose and his cheek. Alex’s lips twitched and let out a heavy breath. Michael guided his hand over his jaw and to his neck, sliding over his shoulder and down his arm until he got to where Alex was holding Michael’s body’s hand. The hand Michael was controlling layered over them, squeezing the hand Alex still had.

‘Squeeze back,’ Michael requested. Alex did. It must’ve looked insane that he was just holding his own hand, but his heart was thudding in his chest at the reality of it.

“You know we’ve never held hands,” Alex pointed out, “Not for real.”

‘Yeah,’ Michael said softly, ‘We’re gonna.’

“We’re gonna?” Alex wondered, watching as the thumb Michael was controlling rubbed against the back of the hand he could feel.

‘We’re gonna. This doesn’t count.’

“Okay.”

Alex startled as his phone went off, alerting him that someone was within a half-mile of the cabin. Slowly, feeling came back to his hand and Michael was no longer in control of it. Alex took a few breaths to reset himself before putting Michael’s hand back on his side.

“We should go upstairs,” Alex said.

‘Do you feel okay?’

“Yeah,” Alex said even though he knew Michael could literally feel him. It was nice that he asked nonetheless. 

Alex pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his empty mug before going to climb the ladder again. He needed to put stairs in or something because this was just getting annoying.

‘I’ll build you stairs,’ Michael offered. Alex tried not to get that warm and fuzzy feeling in response to that because this was very much not the time.

“Not necessary.”

‘I’m gonna.’

They got up to the cabin and Alex walked over to the kitchen, rinsing out his mug. He stared at the coffee maker for a few seconds before he reached over and dumped the grinds out and rinsed the mesh. Michael rambled about coffee grinds being good for compost or something and Alex nodded along, agreeing to wherever his train of thought was headed. He started another pot and then waited.

By the time Liz and Kyle showed up, Alex had already poured himself another cup and went to unlock the door. If he looked like he hadn’t slept (which he knew he did), they didn’t say anything as he let them in. Kyle did, however, reach to give him a short hug because they did that now. Alex still thought it was a little weird, but he appreciated the effort and sometimes he actively wanted the affection.

“So, what’s going on? Is Michael here? Because if not, you should’ve had me bring him,” Liz said. Alex huffed a laugh.

“Yeah, he’s definitely present,” he said. It wasn’t funny. Michael seemed amused anyway. “There’s no point in me beating around the bush or anything, so basically Michael fucked with a piece of tech, got stuck in it, and when I touched it he got stuck in my head.”

They stared at him.

“Like… you can’t stop thinking about him stuck or…” Liz trailed off. Alex snorted.

“No, like his entire psyche is currently existing in my head. He says hi and to tell you your haircut looks nice,” Alex said. He didn’t notice she even got a haircut. Their eyes widened. “We’ve messed around with the piece for hours and nothing is working, so we called you over.”

“Okay, um,” Liz breathed, nodding her head, “Yeah, absolutely. Just, like, give me a minute. This is insane. He’s really in your head? Where’s his body?”

“Downstairs. And, yeah, he’s really in my head,” Alex said. 

A warm feeling started to burn in Alex’s stomach, one that he was rather certain didn’t belong to him. It still took him a minute to realize it was Michael’s and that was… a lot. Apparently, every other feeling of his Alex had felt was one they were sharing at the same time. Good to know that they were both guilty and existential as hell.

“Okay. Wow. Right. I’m going downstairs. I wish you would’ve warned me! I could’ve brought some more stuff,” Liz said as if she didn’t have a backpack full of things already. She headed down the ladder with no hesitation.

“And you’re okay?” Kyle asked, keeping his voice low. His eyebrows were pulled together in concern as he searched Alex’s face. “That’s like a major invasion of privacy. Are you sure he didn’t do this on purpose?”

‘Dude, what the fuck.’

Alex snorted, “You know he can hear you, right?”

Kyle blinked a few times and then very clearly decided he didn’t care because he eyed him very deliberately.

“Tell me if you need anything. I’ll get you some sedatives or whatever if we can’t figure this out because I know you haven’t slept,” Kyle said, squeezing his arm. Alex nodded in appreciation, but they both knew he wouldn’t be accepting anything. “Coffee fresh?”

“Yep, just brewed it.”

“And you’ve eaten lunch?”

“I will,” Alex said. Kyle raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. “I will!”

“I’ll make you some toast and meet you down there with Liz,” Kyle decided and then headed into the kitchen. Alex rolled his eyes, but he listened without argument.

‘It still freaks me out how close you two are. It’s so weird. He’s still so punchable.’ 

“His jaws way more chiseled now, though, so it might hurt,” Alex pointed out, his words muffled around his coffee mug as he carefully made his way down the ladder.

“Huh?” Liz answered.

“Was talking to Michael,” Alex said and chose not to be embarrassed by it as he hit the floor. If he was, that would just be more than he could physically handle right now.

“Oh. Okay. Right,” Liz said, blinking as she stood up straighter, “Sorry, this is just so weird.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty weird for me too,” Alex said.

His eyes drifted to Michael’s body where Liz had clearly already gotten started. She was questionably comfortable with his body, having already taken a blood sample and written down his current state in detail in her notebook. Sometimes she worried Alex with this whole thing, but Michael didn’t seem to have any arguments.

‘She’s basically like my best friend after you. We’ve done a million experiments on each other, so I don’t really care what she does to me,’ Michael explained anyway. Alex nodded and let him continue to think about what she was going to do. He could tell this was going to be rather exhausting having to play translator, but he supposed it was worth it.

“Okay, so, he’s stable. It’s obviously a different kind of stasis than the pod, but he is in stasis. I checked his blood under his microscope and all of his blood cells are basically frozen in time. Oh, I need to check his hair and his skin cells. This is insane,” Liz rambled. Alex could feel Michael’s residual excitement start to build in his body. He almost felt bad he couldn’t enjoy this with her.

For Michael’s benefit, even though it made him uncomfortable, Alex looked under the microscope at the frozen cells. His skin cells were equally frozen and his hair‒well, his hair looked like all hair does, but Michael seemed to think it looked different and he would just accept that.

Liz picked up the piece and marveled at it for a moment, grinning wildly. Alex felt himself doing the same solely based on Michael’s emotions which was, honestly, too much. He tried not to think about it too much. If he didn’t, he wasn’t sure anything would get done.

Alex very quickly realized that he couldn’t keep up with Michael’s thoughts and his headache was strengthening by the second even after he ate the toast Kyle decided to force-feed him. He, however, kept that to a minimum and tried to carry a conversation with Liz by repeating Michael. He made it a good thirty minutes before he hit a point where he wasn’t making sense due to Michael’s brain saying three different things while Alex was talking.

“Okay, wait, stop,” Alex said, dropping his head in his hand. It was throbbing and Michael hadn’t said anything. “What the fuck, does your head hurt all the time?”

‘More times than not, yeah,’ Michael answered. Alex shook his head and rubbed his temples. ‘I’m sorry. Do you have medicine? Nothing usually works on me outside of acetone and that only dulls it. I’m sure something works on you, though, right? Do you have ibuprofen? I know you have Tylenol upstairs in the bathroom, but I’m not sure if that would work and maybe it’d make you tired and you’re already tired enough which would make things a little bit more difficult since we’re trying to‒’

“Michael. Please,” Alex whispered. He stopped rambling where Alex could hear, but the buzzing never stopped. Liz and Kyle, on the other hand, were silent. “Kyle, can you go get my Aleve from upstairs?”

“Yeah, sure thing,” Kyle said, his footsteps rather quickly heading up the ladder.

Alex sat there for a moment, rubbing his temples and breathing. This time, he could feel the separation from his own guilt and nerves and Michael’s guilt and nerves and he could feel where they blended. He needed a fucking nap.

“Alex, do you need a break?” Liz asked. Alex huffed a laugh.

“Are you going to figure it without me translating for him?” he asked. Liz didn’t answer and that was answer enough. 

Alex took a deep breath and lowered himself to the floor beside the couch. He could feel the guilty, yet restless energy burning within him that all belonged to Michael. He wished he was out and so he could watch him ramble, watch him pace, just watch. 

‘What can I do?’ Michael asked. 

“Nothing,” Alex responded. Liz, by now, caught on that he was simply talking to himself.

Kyle returned with a glass of water and a doctor-approved tweak of Aleve. Alex took it graciously, downed the rest of the water, and then returned his head to his hands.

They’d barely made any progress, namely because they didn’t know where to start other than the piece which Alex and Michael had already worked with. Alex, under Michael’s instruction, had gotten out the other pieces in hopes that would solve the problem, but that hadn’t made a difference.

Maybe they were stuck like this.

‘We aren’t stuck,’ Michael said, ‘I’m getting my body back.’

Alex felt when his breath hitched and felt when tears pricked his eyes. He brought his knee in closer and bowed his head against it so he could at least pretend he wasn’t losing it. But he was. He was overwhelmed and fucking terrified and he wanted Michael.

‘Alex,’ Michael said, ‘If anyone can figure this out, it’s us, alright? Just take a breath and I’ll try to dial it back. I’m sorry.’

‘You shouldn’t have to apologize for just existing as yourself. This just isn’t fair,’ Alex thought back at him, not really eager to let Kyle and Liz in on their conversation. Part of him was still scared this would make it harder to keep his thoughts to himself, but, after their dreams, he was beginning to feel like it didn’t matter.

‘It’s not fair. Not at all. But maybe there’s a reason for it? Like, why would this exist if there wasn’t a reason for it, you know? Why would they make it if it was just a torture mechanism?’ Michael asked. Alex bit the inside of his cheek. ‘I’m trying to think of what use this could have.’

‘Couples therapy?’ Alex offered. Michael’s amusement lit him up for a moment, a silent acknowledgment that he’d probably laugh if he had a body to do it with. ‘Missions, maybe? Or coaching. It’s an effective communication device.’

‘Maybe when they were coming here they only had space for so many people, so they had some people leave their body on their planet,’ Michael suggested.

‘Maybe. We probably won’t ever know. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s okay,’ Michael said, but they were both keenly aware that it wasn’t actually okay that they knew so little, ‘I just need to get back into my own body.’

“What’s the next step?” Alex asked.

‘Give us the rest of the day to try and figure this out and, if not, then we might have to call Isobel in,’ Michael said at the same time Liz responded with, “I think we should keep trying and if we can’t figure it out by tonight, we get Max and Isobel to see if they can think of anything.”

Alex huffed a laugh and raised his head.

“Okay. Let’s keep trying.”

-

Hours later, Alex found himself in his bathroom again. This time he was a little more determined to actually bathe. He felt gross and just needed something to make him feel better. The food and medicine Kyle gave him only helped so much and their constant stream of failures didn’t make any of it better.

Kyle and Liz with apologetic faces, but they had a clear determination to want to continue trying to figure it out. However, the four of them agreed to bring in Isobel and Max because this very clearly was going to need some more alien reinforcement.

“I’m really not looking forward to Isobel being in my head,” Alex sighed, leaning over to turn on the faucet. He felt until the water was hot before plugging the drain and sat himself down on his stool to wait for the tub to fill.

‘I know, but I’m hoping she’ll be able to see something we can’t. We aren’t really in a mindscape right now. Maybe she’ll see a way to put me back,’ Michael encouraged. Alex sighed and unbuttoned his jeans.

“I get why we need her, I just don’t know what I’m going to have control over. And, no offense, but I don’t really trust Isobel to be respectful or quiet about anything she does see,” Alex admitted. Michael’s instant understanding and agreement was palpable.

‘I’ll try to make sure she keeps it to herself. She’s getting better,’ Michael said. Alex sighed and hoped he was right.

Alex pulled off his jeans and tossed them into his hamper and went to his prosthetic. Thinking about his hesitation from last night almost felt ridiculous‒as if Michael would say anything about him bathing‒but he knew the circumstances tonight were a little different. He felt different.

Once his prosthetic was removed completely, he put it outside the bathroom door and then closed it. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed that with his jeans and then closed his eyes. His head still hurt and he was exhausted, but he needed to bathe. He was gross. Michael, for his part, stayed quiet for the first time since that morning. It was honestly a blessing though he felt guilty about it.

The bathtub got to where Alex wanted it and he shut off the water, moved to take off his boxers. He threw them alongside his other clothes and then skillfully moved himself onto the ledge of the tub. Alex swiveled around and put his foot in the bath before slowly lowering himself in. He could feel his muscles instantly reacting to the warm water. He needed this.

Alex sunk into the water until it touched his chin and closed his eyes, reveling in the warmth of it. There was something endlessly lonely about having someone you love stuck in your brain and not being able to touch them. It was cruel, almost.

Michael’s buzzing seemed to calm a bit as they sat there in nothing but the hot water and each other’s company. Alex had imagined bathing with him more than once and never had it crossed his mind that the first time he would get the chance, Michael’s body wouldn’t be there to experience it. They were having too many firsts this way.

All of them led right back to being too close, too much, too aware. He hated it and yet he had never felt more seen by Michael Guerin in his entire life.

Cruel and laughable.

‘Alex,’ Michael said, soft and warm like he had late the night before, ‘Can I use your hand? The same one as earlier. I just… wanna try something.’

Alex’s heart picked up speed in the same way it had when he held his hand and he nodded without hesitation.

His left arm tingled and then went numb as Michael took over. The hand Michael was in control of glided across the top of the water and then rested over his heart. He rubbed his hand into his skin, slowly making his way up to his neck and over his jaw. Michael felt over his features again, only this time focusing on his lips.

His thumb pressed into Alex’s bottom lip and slowly dragged his mouth open. Alex huffed a laugh and opened it further, letting Michael press the pad of his thumb against his tongue. Alex bit down gently and felt a burst of adoration flood through him. It stole his breath for a moment.

Michael pulled out of his mouth slowly and slid back down to his chest and then to the arm Alex still had control over. He felt over his bicep and his forearm, feeling each muscle as if they were something to behold on their own which really only had Alex’s picking up speed.

‘Why have I never taken my time with you before?’ Michael asked. They both knew. Neither of them said anything.

Alex tilted his head back and closed his eyes as Michael’s fingers dragged over his neck and then dipped beneath the water. He traced over his chest and his stomach, slow and curious despite the familiarity of it. Michael touched his thigh and dragged his fingertips up and down before sliding between his thighs.

Alex caught his wrist and Michael obediently paused.

“Michael,” Alex whispered, his breathing noticeably heavier as he tried his damnedest to ignore the tight, warm feeling in his stomach, “Michael.”

‘Yeah?’

“What happens if we can’t figure it out?” Alex asked,  “What happens if you’re stuck?”

‘Don’t think like that,’ Michael answered.

“We have to think like that. Eventually, we’re going to have to go back to work, eventually, we’re going to have to pretend to carry on. What happens if you’re still stuck in my head?” Alex demanded.

‘Don’t think like that,’ Michael repeated, ‘It won’t come to that. We will fix it.’

“But what if we can’t?”

‘Alex, listen to me. No matter what happens, I won’t be stuck in your head for the rest of your life. This is temporary regardless of what that means for me. I’m not making your life miserable.’ 

Alex breathed out like he’d been hit. He didn’t ask what that meant. He didn’t ask how long Michael was willing to try. He didn’t ask anything.

“I miss you,” Alex breathed, “I want… I want‒”

‘I know. Me too.’

They sat there for a moment with that and Alex wanted to say he loved him, just in case. But they had time. They had to have time. 

And he didn’t want any more firsts this way.

Alex let go of his wrist and Michael’s hand rested on his legs. He let his eyes close again and tried to relax as Michael moved again. Alex almost expected him to reach between his thighs again, and yet Michael just rested his hand on his face. 

Michael cradled his jaw in his hand and rubbed his thumb over his cheek slow and methodically. Alex squeezed his eyes shut and leaned into the touch. If he kept his eyes closed and if he focused hard enough, he could almost feel his breath on the back of his neck.

‘I’m here. I’ve got you.’

-

Alex woke up long before his alarm again.

Dreams of angry foster parents bled into dreams of angry drill sergeants bled into active battle bled into his father with any object he could get his hand on. It was miserable and Alex had to wonder why they couldn’t have a nice dream. Just one. On where Alex could pretend to touch him again and he’d be warm.

Despite having Michael in his head, Alex couldn’t help but feel even more lonely than he had when he climbed into bed. They’d tried to shut off the lights with his telekinesis again before bed and it was a little more painful than the first time and Michael vowed not to use it again and he’d gone quiet. And Alex was lonely.

“You know what’s crazy? It’s only been, like, 36 hours. Why does it feel so much longer?” Alex whispered, voice deep from sleep. 

‘Because it has been longer. I was practically living in your house and yet I didn’t do anything. I wasted so much time,’ Michael said. Alex wanted to argue, but he found himself not having much to add. They had wasted so much time and now they weren’t even sure what time they would have.

“Me too.”

‘No, Alex, you’ve known what you wanted for a year now at least. You’ve made it clear. I kept trying to wait for, like, a moment when it felt right. And I’m beginning to think it just never felt right because I wasn’t with you. Self-defeating cycle or whatever,’ Michael said, very clearly annoyed in the emotions that filled him. 

“You’re allowed to take your time.”

‘But I was never going to be perfectly ready. I’m always going to struggle. But I could’ve had you. God, I was so lonely and you were right there.’

“I’m here now,” Alex whispered. Michael’s self-deprecation was louder than Alex was willing to take.

He laid in bed for a few seconds longer before he got up and reached for his crutches. He was lonely. Michael was lonely. This was so stupid and ridiculous and he hated every goddamn thing about it. He just wanted him back. Was that such a hard request?

Clearly, it was. The universe didn’t want them to have anything.

Alex made his way to the bunker and ignored the worry Michael was experiencing as he slid his crutches down the ladder. He made sure they landed out of the way before heading down himself, hopping down one rung at a time while having his arms carry the brunt of his weight. Michael managed not to say anything.

Once he hit the ground, Alex picked up his crutches again and made his way to the couch where Michael’s body was. He rested his crutches down on the floor and then gently pulled the alien tech off of Michael to put it on the counter. Then he pulled the corner of the blanket up and crawled inside.

‘Alex,’ Michael whispered, sounding almost pitiful. Alex just cuddled closer. He was cold and unbreathing and it was unsettling as hell, but it was Michael.

Of all the things they hadn’t done, they had done this. Alex had slept with his head on his shoulder or his chest more than once. Michael had slept fully on top of him even more. They always slept well together. Even when the nightmares came, there was a safety in having another body to hold. And so Alex held him.

He tugged Michael’s limp arm around him and layered his hand over his to keep it on his hip. He rested his head on his chest and draped his leg over Michael’s thighs. Then Alex closed his eyes.

‘Get some sleep, Alex,’ Michael said, ‘I’ll hold you for real soon.’

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Alex murmured.

‘I fully plan to keep it. Get some rest.’

And Alex did. He never actually fell asleep hard enough to actually dream which was both great and terrible. He was still tired when he opened his eyes again, but he didn’t have any dreams to add to the list and that in itself was refreshing. Michael was still a cold, unmoving rock beneath him. Alex didn’t move.

He laid there for a long time, rubbing circles in his chest with his thumb. 

Eventually, Alex made his way upstairs to get presentable whenever he realized Liz, Kyle, Max, and Isobel were probably on their way. Michael was quiet in his mind, but the ever-present buzzing wasn’t gone so he took that as a good sign.

Alex got dressed and brushed his teeth and got his prosthetic on and managed to even eat breakfast by the time they pulled up. 

‘It’s gonna be okay. Hopefully, we’ll figure it out today,’ Michael said. Alex sighed and nodded, sipping his coffee as he unlocked the door.

“Hopefully.”

“So you trapped my brother in your brain?” Isobel greeted. Alex managed a smile.

“Good morning to you too.”

“Can he hear us?” she wondered, eyeing Alex. He nodded easily. “Michael, this was a really weird way for you to try and get a boyfriend.”

‘That’s not what happened!’

“He said that’s not what happened,” Alex repeated. Isobel rolled her eyes like she didn’t buy it. Alex was too ready to get this over with to argue. “Let’s go downstairs and you can see what you need to do. There’s coffee in the kitchen if you guys want any.”

No one went and got coffee.

By the time they made it down to the bunker and Alex sat on the floor beside the couch, he found himself feeling like a spectacle. They were all staring at him and Michael with confusion and fear and pity‒and he was more than slightly miserable about it. Michael murmured encouraging words, but it only did so much.

“I hate seeing him like that,” Isobel said, suddenly a lot less flippant now that she was actually seeing Michael laid out and unbreathing and cold. Alex watched a series of emotions cross her face and couldn’t help but think about how this was the second brother she was seeing look dead.

‘I’m not dead. I’m going to be okay,’ Michael insisted. Alex nodded. He hoped he was right.

“Me too. Can we get started?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Isobel said. She quickly knelt beside him and beside the couch.

‘Wait, before she starts, we all three should be holding the piece,’ Michael said quickly. Alex licked his lips and nodded.

“Michael says we should hold the piece. And, Kyle, stand by to check vitals whenever he comes to. Max, just be ready to do your little healing thing just in case,” Alex instructed. Kyle nodded and Max opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was immediately shut down by Liz and Isobel simultaneously glaring at him. Then he nodded.

Alex took a deep breath as grabbed the piece. He pulled Michael’s hand off the couch to touch it as well and Isobel grabbed onto the other end. Alex locked eyes with Isobel and instantly started to feel her trying to pry. Instinct and training told him not to let her.

‘Alex. Relax. I’m right here. It’s gonna be okay,’ Michael coaxed. He kept whispering sweet words of encouragement and Alex did his best to let himself go as he started at Isobel.

Slowly but surely, he phased out of consciousness and into where she wanted him.

-

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, what is this?”

Alex was sitting cross-legged on a bench of some sort and everything around them was pitch black. Well, mostly. Isobel was far to his right and across from him was Michael. To his left, the piece floated and lit the empty space well enough that he could see their faces. Isobel was fully mobile and aware, but Michael seemed to be just as catatonic as he was in real life.

“Why does he look like that?” Alex asked, “He’s obviously awake, I’ve been hearing him in my head.”

“I don’t know, why does your mindscape look like this? I’ve never been in one that’s all black before,” Isobel commented. 

Alex could barely give her the time of day as he stared at Michael. It took him a moment but he eventually realized he was vibrating so quickly it was hard to catch. No wonder there was incessant buzzing. Alex wanted to reach out to him, to touch him, but he couldn’t seem to move.

“Jesus, this place is ridiculous, I feel like I’m walking in tar,” Isobel said. Alex finally looked at her and she was moving, but it was in slow motion. It was really fucking frustrating.

“I think it’s because I don’t want you to see anything,” Alex admitted. Isobel scoffed.

“Well, will you let up enough for me to try and fix this?” she demanded. Alex swallowed and looked at Michael and then to the piece. He really didn’t want to.

“Tell me what the plan is first,” Alex said. Despite how irritated she very clearly was, Isobel gave him an answer.

“I’m going to lead Michael to the piece and then I’m going to get out of your mindscape and then go into his and lead him away. That sounds like the easiest route,” Isobel said. Alex bit his bottom lip as he stared at Michael. That did sound like the easiest route. And that’s primarily what made him nervous.

He didn’t like doing this without hearing Michael’s opinion.

“Listen, Alex, maybe if you let up, he’ll be more aware and we can ask what he thinks we should do,” Isobel said. Alex stayed quiet for a moment.

He made his decision quietly while staring at the blurred outline of Michael’s body. Light started to filter into the space and Isobel’s movement was made a bit easier as she headed to Michael. As the light flooded in, so did memories.

Michael’s voice‒never with someone I like as much as I like you. Alex’s voice‒you’re mine. His father’s voice‒too many to pick out anything in particular. Isobel glanced over at him as his father’s voice started to overpower Alex’s own thoughts. 

“Stop it, focus on him,” Alex said. Isobel took a breath and nodded.

Michael’s blurred figure slowly opened his eyes, blinking and tired. Alive. The sight alone was enough to bring him a bit of comfort. Alex listened as Isobel ran her plan by him and he nodded, glancing over at Alex. He gave a smile and Alex couldn’t help but give one right back.

In the background, his own voice and Michael’s voice overpowered his father’s.

“I’ll see you on the other side,” Michael told him, echo-y and honest. Alex nodded.

“And I’ll see you.”

Michael took Isobel’s hand and she swiftly led him over to the piece with practiced ease. She gave one more glance around Alex’s mindscape before she waved and everything went black again.

-

Alex opened his eyes to see both Isobel and Michael still out of it. Michael’s buzzing no longer filled his head.

Alex gave a breath of relief and slumped back, his hands bracing against the floor as he waited.

It was painfully quiet as they all watched Isobel and Michael hold onto the piece with bated breaths. It worked. Hopefully. It was working. Michael wasn’t in his head. That was good. This was good. Things were going in the right direction.

Or he thought that until Isobel opened her eyes and let go of the piece. She didn’t look satisfied or relieved as she stared at Michael’s body. His still, cold, unbreathing body. They all waited. 

“Where is he?” Alex asked after a moment, “Why isn’t he waking up?”

“He… He said he could do it on his own. I thought he had it…” Isobel said softly. Alex choked on air and stared at her with wide eyes.

“Well go back in and see where he’s at! Maybe he got lost!” Alex demanded. She didn’t look his way as she stared at her brother.

“No, I saw him leave. If he’s not there, then I don’t know…” Isobel trailed off.

In an instant, Alex was on his knees and trying his best to avoid the piece as he shook Michael’s shoulders.

“Wake up,” he told him, “Wake up, you promised me you’d see me.”

A few more seconds passed without him and Isobel scrambled back to grab Max’s arm, tugging him forward. She was snapping at him to do something, but Alex could barely hear as he shook him. He needed him to wake up.

“Alex, move, I’m gonna try to get up, but if you’re touching him it could hurt you,” Max said. Alex moved away faster than he logically should’ve, but Max quickly stepped in and put his hand over his heart.

Before any funky alien healing could happen, though, Michael’s eyes opened and he took a deep breath.

“Fuck, my head hurts.”

And for the first time in days, Alex laughed.

-

After Michael insisted he was fine, let Liz and Kyle take vitals, and insisted he was fine some more, they eventually gave them some space under the condition that Michael had to get lunch with Isobel after he got some rest.

The house was quiet, the doors were locked, and the sun was shining through the windows as Alex sat on his bed and Michael sat across from him. They were both changed into nightclothes and staring at each other, feeling familiar in a completely new way. Alex had no doubt that his joy was nothing but his own.

It was nice to have quiet in his mind again. Nicer to have Michael here. Even nicer than that, to have Michael be on the same page.

“Alex,” Michael said, slowly like he was testing the word in his mouth again. Alex found himself smiling a bit too wide.

“Michael,” Alex said back. Michael smiled just as wide. “In the nicest way possible, I never want to get near your brain ever again.”

Michael laughed softly and, fuck, it was a nice sound. He hadn’t realized how much he missed it.

“And in the nicest way possible, I never want to be stuck inside you ever again,” Michael said. His tongue pressed behind his teeth as he smirked. “I mean, not in that way, at least.”

Alex shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“When are you going to touch me with your own hands?” Alex asked. Michael sat up a little straighter.

“I thought we were meant to take a nap.”

“Why can’t we do both?”

Michael didn’t need to be asked a second time as he lunged forward, easily pressing Alex into the mattress. For the first time in a long time, Alex was kissed without hesitation and without a time limit and without restrictions. He was kissed like he was known and loved by someone he knew and loved.

Michael’s hands gripped his sides and slowly slid up, feeling him and gripping him tightly. He settled between Alex’s thighs and kissed him breathless and touched him anywhere he could reach. Even the way he grabbed his knee and his elbows felt like gentle caresses, carefully and deliberately.

“I am going to take my time with you,” Michael whispered into his mouth, “And I am going to savor every minute of it.”

Alex grinned and tugged him closer, wanting to have every inch of himself pressed against every inch of Michael. He was warm and breathing and his heart was beating. All things Alex would never take for granted.

“I’m going to put in the work this time, Alex,” Michael promised, pulling Alex off the bed just enough to grab the blanket and throw it over them. With a tilt of the head and no ridiculous reaction at all, the light shut off and the curtains closed and it was just them. Separate, but together. “This time I’m not wasting time.”

“Me neither,” Alex hummed. Michael’s hands slid beneath his shirt, over his bare stomach and chest, and breathed him in. 

“I love you,” Michael said, honest and out loud, “And I know you know that I love you, but I love you. So much.”

“I love you too,” Alex said, “And I know you know that I love you, but I love you.”

Michael grinned and wrapped his arms around him, slowly lowering himself as he left a trail of kisses from his mouth to his neck. His head hit Alex’s shoulder and his body relaxed on top of his. Fully and completely.

Because he was here. And he was breathing. And he was his.

And Alex finally fell asleep.

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #my fic #alex + body

[jean-kayak]

Chapter 1

Summary: A relaxing summer at home after your second year of college sounds nice, until someone comes back and makes it anything but

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x black!fem!reader

Chapter Warnings: cursing, a lot of sexual tension lmao

Word Count: 2139

A/N: Alright, here it is! I’ve been working on this for a while now, if you’ve been following my shitposts, and I’ve been really nervous to post it, so I would like to thank @styxtm​ for reading this chapter and giving me the confidence to post it! Hope you guys like it!

Tags: @her-majesty-kiara, @germfart3​, @styxtm​, @iwascrybaby​​

Chapter summary: Someone you’d never thought you’d see again literally walks back into your life

"When are you gonna be done? It's hot as fuck out here," you complain, waving a hand in front of your face, but it doesn't anything to cool you down, instead spreading the humid, sticky air across your face.

You hear Jean groan as you set down the tray of nails you have in your hands on the ground, throwing your hair up in a bun, getting the curls off of your neck. "Stop complaining. It's not even that bad."

"You chose to build a storage unit during one of the hottest days so far in the summer," you respond, and he just chuckles as he blindly holds his hand out. You pick through the different pieces, finding the one he needs before dropping it into his hand.

"My mom wanted it built, and my stepdad's been too busy, so I offered to do it."

"You offered to do it. I just came over here to hang out," you say, sighing heavily as you rest a hand on your hip.

You've been best friends with Jean since you were kids, growing up in the same neighborhood, literally living right next to each other, and when you graduated high school, you both ended up going to different colleges.

You had decided to stay on your college campus for the summer after your freshman, not ready to go back home yet. Now your sophomore year of college is over, and both you and Jean ended up coming back home to do who knows what, but ever since you both have come back, you've either been over his house or vice versa.

Both of your parents always joked about how it seemed like you two were separated at birth, constantly attached at the hip, and sometimes it really does feel like he's a brother to you. He was always there for you when your other friends weren't, and since you were an only child, he saved you multiples from boredom due to not having anyone to spend time with.

"I'm almost done, I just need you to help me hold this last wall." You walk over to where he's standing, resting your back against the wall as he screws in the last few nails. "Okay, I think that's it," he says, and you both walk back as you take in the new building.

You both tilt your head, the building finally seeming to stand upright. "How'd you manage to make it slanted?" you ask, and Jean sighs as he lets his head fall back in annoyance.

"I don't know," he says, looking through the instructions, and you look to your left as you scoff lightly.

"Well, those look like the foundation pieces," you comment, pointing to the plates that the building is supposed to be on top of. "You did good though, I just don't know how long the building will last."

"Whatever, I'm done. It's hot," he sighs and you bristle as you both start walking towards his house.

"Says the one who said it wasn't even that bad," you argue, and he waves you off.

"That's because the clouds were providing shade." You huff lightly at his weak counter.

"Yeah, okay." Your body nearly goes limp as you feel the cool air wrap around your body when you step into the house, Jean sliding the patio door closed, cutting off the stifling heat. You plop down on the loveseat, sinking down into the plush leather as it cools your heated skin.

"Heads up." You open your eyes in time to see Jean throwing you a bottle of water, and you catch it easily, opening it as he sits down on the couch. "What else are you planning on doing this summer?"

You shrug lazily. "I don't know. Party?" you try, and he raises an eyebrow at you.

"You want to spend the whole summer partying?"

"There's nothing else to do, and Ymir always finds the best parties." You had been friends with her since high school and by your senior year, you were joining her at a different party almost every other weekend. You wouldn't really say it was the best time of your life, but it definitely gave you a distraction from the current dilemma you were having at the time. "Pretty sure there'll be one soon since everyone's coming back. Unless you have any better ideas."

"I guess I'll go to a few, but I don't--"

The sound of the front door opening and an awfully familiar voice cuts Jean off. "Damn, it feels good in here." The dilemma walks into the living room, stopping when he sees you and Jean. "Oh, shit, what're you doing here?"

"At my house? I could ask you the same thing," Jean shoots back at his brother, and you feel a strong urge to leave, running back to your own house. "I thought you were staying in that city, why are you here, Eren?"

Eren fucking Jaeger. The stubborn dilemma you had to deal with all of your life, but it especially got worse to deal with once you got to high school. Probably the textbook definition of a bad boy, the sleeves of tattoos you can see on his arms and the piercings solidify it.

Oh, and he's also your best friend's older step-brother.

He shrugs. "Dunno. Guess I just wanted to come back, glad I did though." You look away when you see him smirk, knowing that last bit was geared towards you.

You stand up quickly, drinking some water in hopes that it hides your nerves well. "I'm starving. You got any food?" you ask Jean as you walk towards the kitchen, purposefully walking the long way so that you don't have to go anywhere near him.

"I don't know, you can look," he calls after you, and you can feel Eren's eyes on you as you walk, suddenly feeling very naked in your shorts and cropped tank top.

When you're in the safety of the kitchen and you hear the conversation between the siblings start, you sigh heavily as you rest your head against the counter. Of course, it would be just your fucking luck that he would come back.

You groan softly in frustration as you lift your head up and grab an orange, peeling it a little more aggressively than you should as you hop onto the counter. You huff slightly as you put a slice into your mouth. This is a total wreck in your plans.

To anyone else, it wouldn't seem like a big deal, but your history with Eren isn't the greatest. Maybe starting with the fact that you started to have a crush on him which ended up only blossoming once you got to high school. And the worst part was that everyone knew it. You know they did, but it's not like you were discreet about it.

You were just a naive teenager that was stupid enough to fall? Maybe not fall for him, but you definitely were stupid enough to think that he could possibly be into you.

Your inner turmoil is only fueled when he walks into the kitchen, you failing to notice that the conversation had stopped. You look down at your legs, swinging them as you continue to eat the orange, trying to focus on anything but the suffocating awkward tension in the room.

You can see him lean against the counter across from the one your sitting on, crossing his foot over his ankle. When you find yourself staring at his thighs and how tight his shorts are, you quickly look away. "So, how ya been?" he asks, and you find yourself rolling your eyes at his poor attempt to make small talk.

"Good," you answer, not even looking up, patting a simple rhythm on your thigh, his strong gaze on you making you feel some type of way. "College was fun," you add.

You hear him chuckle softly. "Yeah? Looks like it treated you really good."

You feel your face flush warm as you look up, and you hate your body still reacts the same way it did years back. It's your turn to take him in, and you bite your lip hesitantly, noticing that college treated him very well.

He does more than fill out his clothes, they're practically like a second skin the way they stretch out over his body. Your eyes trail over his inked arms, trying to make out everything that you can see. He's grown his hair out, it's longer now, opting for putting his hair up in a high bun, the silver piercings shining in the light when he turns his head slightly. Your eyes catch the simple gold chain around his neck, and you realize that you've been staring for too long.

"So, what are you doing here?" you ask, and you're genuinely asking because according to Jean, he wasn't supposed to be here, and you thought this summer was going to be smooth sailing.

"A little birdie told me that you were here, so..." he trails off with a shrug, and you squint your eyes at him.

"So, you came back just for me?"

"What if I told you I did?" You scoff as you toss the orange peel in the trashcan, putting the last two slices in your mouth.

"I would tell you," you start, finishing the slices. "That you're ridiculous." He hums as he smiles at you, moving away from the counter, standing in front of you.

"So, what's the deal with you and my brother anyway?" he questions suddenly, and you shake your head slowly.

"You mean like if I like him or something?" You scoff. "He's my best friend, and he's into someone else anyway."

He nods, his eyebrows creasing as he thinks. "Oh, yeah. That Mikasa chick, right? She's kinda hot."

"What do you want, Eren?" Now you're getting annoyed, and you hate how you feel that tiny fire of jealousy burning in your chest at his comment. He moves closer to you, and you don't even realize that your legs spread to fit his frame.

"There's a lot of things I want," he answers, resting his hands dangerously close to your thighs on the counter.

"Is one of those things to annoy the hell out of me?" you joke, and he chuckles as he nods his head.

"Maybe. That's one."

"A lot of people don't get what they want."

You feel your breathing hitch when he leans in closer to you, close enough that you can feel his breath fanning over your face. "I got all summer to get what I want."

You gulp harshly as you find it difficult to tear your eyes away from his. "What is it?" you ask, your voice a lot more airy than you want it to be.

He tilts his head to the side like he's thinking as you try to find a way out of this situation. "It's more of a who than an it," he tells you, and try to slow your breathing which you didn't even realize had picked up. That's how much of an effect he has on you, and you hate it.

"Well, I hope you get who you're looking for," you respond, but he doesn't move when you shift.

"Eren, leave her alone, she doesn't want anything to do with you," Jean yells from the living room, but Eren's eyes never leave yours as he grins.

"I think you beg to differ," he whispers, and you scoff.

"You would be terribly wrong." And it really is hard to lie when your body is screaming the truth.

"I would?" he questions, keeping his voice low, and you glance to your right, seeing that Jean can't see into the kitchen, and you jump when he pulls you into him by your thighs. Your lower half is touching him, and if you move your legs, they'll tighten around his waist, so you don't move. "You're not a very good liar," he says, his lips just in front of yours, so close that if you even lean in a smidge, you'd be kissing him.

"And that means?"

"Getting you right where I want you won't take all summer." Your mouth falls open slightly as your body goes warm all over. You need to get out of here before you do something you shouldn't.

"Eren, what the hell are you doing?" Eren gives you a wink before he moves away from you.

"Nothing, man. Just making small talk." He crosses his arms as he leans back against the counter, and you find yourself glued to your spot before your brain tells you to move, hopping off the counter, not giving him another look as you walk out of the kitchen, feeling his gaze burning into you.

So much for a relaxing summer.

|Masterlist|Chapter 2|

Taglist: CLOSED

#nothing changed #eren jaeger #eren yaeger #eren jaeger x reader #eren yaeger x reader #eren jaeger x you #eren yaeger x you #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction

[misslynn99]

Epicenter: Chapter Two

Pro Hero! Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Link on AO3: Epicenter

Link to Chapter 1

Author: misslynn_99 (Me!)

The next morning, the café regulars buzzed around the TV monitors, excitedly chatting about the news. Official footage of the attack had finally been aired. Concrete flew everywhere as the villain lashed out against heroes, sending distraught civilians fleeing from the scene. The scene that every news station had on repeat, however, was that of several tons of concrete on a direct collision course for a young family, until Ground Zero put himself between the two. He squared back one shoulder to pulverize the rubble with a blast, and in that moment, his wild eyes were molten flames, the fine cascade of dust casting a hazy halo around his form.

It was such a harsh contrast to the villain swinging a pillar of concrete immediately after, colliding directly with the hero’s chest and sending him hurtling back against the harsh exterior of another building, slumping bonelessly on the ground.

“He saved them.” You whispered to yourself. Icy needles twisted in your chest. Eijirou had  trusted you to care for his closest friend at his most vulnerable. The café was much closer than any hospital to the scene, but your heart skipped a beat, fluttering in astonishment. “He could have died. It’s a wonder he didn’t.” Just how close had Ground Zero been to death’s door when he showed up here?

“Blasty is lucky he’s got a rad, manly partner like me.” Eijirou’s voice startled you, suddenly far too close to your ear.

“Hi!” You squeaked. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

“You think I’d let my best girl go un-thanked after saving my partner’s ass yesterday?” His arms swept you into a tight bear hug, twirling your feet off of the floor. Eijirou’s easy smile seemed to smooth over the awkward tension from the day before, as if it were no more than an insignificant blight of an otherwise sunny day.

“Quit harassing the woman, Shitty Hair. We’re here on business.”

“She likes it.” Eijirou had the gall to stick out his tongue. “Isn’t that right?”

“I, I don’t mind.” You couldn’t help but squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment, dropping your head forward, and you prayed that no one would notice. This crush was spiraling out of control, as the sturdy muscles that could shatter any obstacle and strong enough to lift cars supported you easily in his embrace.

“ ‘Don’t mind’ isn’t the same as ‘like’.” Ground Zero’s mouth turned even further downward into a scowl. Reluctantly, Eijirou set you down, and you felt cold at the absence of his touch. The tension settled again like a thick cloud, choking out whatever embers of affection you felt for the red haired hero.

“I didn’t mean to impose.” The red-head’s own face was dusted with faint pink, nervously scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s no problem.” You tried your best to smile kindly, wincing internally at the memory of his flinch. “Why don’t I get you both some coffee on the house? It’s the least I can do for everything you two do to protect the city.”

“One black coffee it is then!” Eijirou perked back up.

“So, I take it you’ll have the latte, extra heavy cream with two pumps caramel, two pumps cinnamon, and cinnamon-brown sugar mix dusted on top?”

Ground Zero’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t have to say that so loud.”

“No shame.” You chuckled despite yourself. “Plenty of people take their coffee sweet, too.”

“Don’t spare Blasty’s feelings!” Eijirou laughed. “Even Mr. ‘Nothing is spicy enough’ likes sweets on occasion.”

“You better shut your mouth!” Ground Zero snapped, his tone climbing with each word. Curiously, Eijirou kept laughing, and tapped at his own ear.

“Right, got it.” The blonde grumbled. “Too loud.”

“Here you go, boys.”

“I have a name, you know.” The blonde held the cup up, scowling. “I’m off work, damn it. You called Shitty hair by his name on the cup.”

“It’s not like you introduced yourself between eating shit against the building and going in for surgery.” Eijirou scoffed.

“And you did?”

“Kiri stayed with me while they gave me IV fluids.” You supplied bashfully. “And I wanted to know when you made it out okay.”

“Call me Bakugou then.” He made a strangled noise. “When I’m not in suit tearing shit up, I don’t wanna hear ‘Ground Zero’ from you, got it?

“Not your given name?” Eijirou seemed to take a savage joy in goading on the explosive hero. “That’s awful cold, Katsuki. She did save you from a hospital stay and a month off of hero work.”

“Or Katsuki, whatever.” If looks could kill, Eijirou would have dropped dead in his tracks. Bakugou’s eye twitched and small firework-pops crackled off of his palms, clenched into fists at his side.  You hoped that the café regulars were too enamored with the news and their own conversations to notice the sparks flying.

“I can call you Bakugou, if that’s what make you more comfortable. Wouldn’t want to get on your bad side.” You chuckled, carefully watching his expression for his reaction to the playful jab.

“Kacchan’s bark is worse than his bite, at least off of the battlefield.” A new voice drifted in from the door. The emerald curls, gelled up from his undercut, were unmistakable. “I’m afraid that we didn’t get introduced last night. I’m Deku, but you can call me Midoriya if you’d like.”

“Kacchan?” You grinned wickedly. “Isn’t that so cute!”

Bakugou bristled. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, you fucking nerd!” He whipped around to snarl at the green-haired hero that had just walked in. For someone who was effectively co-workers with the number one hero, Bakugou acted like he despised the man.

“Aw, pump the breaks Kacchan.” Midoriya scrunched his freckled nose in a wide grin. “I’m just here to say hello to the woman who saved your life last night. So, this is where Kiri has been getting your coffee from? It’s such a nice little café, I think I’ll have stop by more often.”

“Like hell you will! We found it first!” Bakugou growled, stepping between you and Deku, while Eijirou chimed in the background, “I think you mean that I found it first.”

“Boys, boys, you’re all very pretty.” You ducked around the pro hero’s side, attempting to soothe the bickering. “I have plenty of coffee to go around. “

“You’re not keeping her as your personal barista and healer, Kacchan.”

“What happened to keeping this on the down-low?” Bakugou suddenly stiffened, whispering harshly.

“I think someone is feeling a bit embarrassed.” Eijirou rolled his eyes.

“I got my shit rocked on national television, of fucking course I feel embarrassed.” The blonde snapped. “But for her safety, I thought we agreed to keep any rescue shit-talk out of the public eye.”

Wincing, you looked up at him. “I think they’re calling you saving that family the rescue of the year though. And lots of people have minor healing quirks.”

Whipping his head back and forth, he snagged the strings of your apron and tugged you behind the coffee bar, through the doorway into the kitchen.

“Wait!” The two other heroes followed suit, chasing you as Bakugou dragged you out of the public eye.

“You don’t have a ‘minor healing quirk.’ “ He scowled, placing a hand on each of your shoulders, hands trembling as if he were resisting the urge to shake you. You could feel the residual heat of his calloused palms, the threat of an explosion ghosting along your skin and sending shivers up your spine.

“You have a self-destructive healing quirk that has major potential to get you kidnapped. Do you know the League of Villains would do to get their hands on you? Or fuck it, the Hero Commission? They’d keep you caged up like some animal to fix up their toys as they broke so that they could be sent out scot-free again.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Midoriya and Eijirou recoil, especially as the blonde hero turned his ire towards them once again. “Is some kind of joke to you two? Kirishima, if you could take two minutes to keep it in your pants, and Deku, if you could be serious, we need to come up with a plan.”

“Yes, Kacchan.” Midoriya and Eijirou nodded.

“Where do you live?” His burning eyes narrowed in your direction once again.

Swallowing thickly, you met his gaze. “In the loft above the café.”

“Hmm. Who all knows about the full extent of your quirk?”

“Just my parents, and my best friend from middle school, who moved to the states while we were in college.”

“Maybe she should stay with one of us?” Midoriya offered. “Just to see if anyone’s decided to target her?”

Panic froze your feet to the floor. “I don’t think that’s necessary.” You laughed nervously, fiddling with the apron strings tied at your hip. “I mean, you’re all very nice, but I could never ask that of anyone. I’m up at 4 in the morning to get the café ready to open at five, and walking alone in the dark is not my forte.” Especially if I might as well have a big target painted on my forehead now.

“The League definitely keeps an eye on our flats. They might not have made the connection that she’s done anything yet, but moving her in would be a surefire way to draw their attention. Also, there’s no way the Commission would just ignore someone else hanging out all the time.” Eijirou argued. “I think it would be better to set up surveillance on the café and her loft, and maybe get her a panic button or something.”

“A panic button.” Bakugou snorted. “I don’t know if you’ve heard of it, but there are these novel things called ‘cellphones.’ “

“And if she can’t call?” Midoriya raised an eyebrow.

“Brave words for someone who dropped his location to Icy-Hot, with literally no context, in the middle of an alleyway, and he magically appeared anyways.”

Sighing and stepping between the two bickering men, Eijirou held his hand out expectantly. “Here, I’ll put our numbers in your phone. We should probably scope out your apartment later.”

“I close at five tonight.” You offered, passing your cell to him, contacts open. “I’ll probably be done cleaning up by six, but you’re free to drop by whenever you get the chance after that. All of this feels pretty crazy though. It’s not like I did anything out in the open.”

Turning on the full force of his overwhelming intensity, Bakugou rounded on you once again, having caught the tail of your conversation. “There’s a couple articles floating around. You’re in the pictures, being floated to the hospital, and some low life bloggers are wondering how I was fine so soon afterwards, when Recovery Girl was on the other side of the country for some other case.” Venom dripped from his words, as if this were your fault somehow.

“It’s not my fault that I helped you!” Anger leaked into your voice. You couldn’t believe that he had the audacityto blame you for this. “Don’t talk to me like it is. I couldn’t not do anything. It’s a wonder that hit didn’t do worse, and I am certainly not responsible for them taking me to the hospital with you.”

In frustration, you stormed out of the kitchen, straightening your apron and apologizing to the handful of customers who were waiting by the cash register. A friendly smile and a few discounted coffees later, they sat down at a booth. The heroes were still in your kitchen, and you felt your resolve to ignore them crumbling. “I did give Kiri and Bakugou free coffee earlier.” You mumbled to yourself, a mischievous idea taking root; Bakugou’s buttons were so easy to press.

Leaning around the corner, you poked your head back through the kitchen doorway. The heroes froze, their argument in low tones evaporating with your return. “Midoriya!” You grinned, drawing out the syllables playfully and deliberately ignoring the blonde hero’s angry stare. “How do you like your coffee? Sweet as you are?”

“Uh, umm” He stuttered and his eyes darted between you and the door. “With oat milk, white chocolate and toffee, and iced please.”

“Coming right up! On the house.” The sound of sparks dancing off of Bakugou’s palms eased your flare of anger, taking a little bit of satisfaction in riling up the blonde in return, and you set about making the drink.

The trio must have finally decided to drop their discussion, and shortly followed you out to wait by the coffee bar. Bakugo turned his back to you, eyeing the door and clutching his coffee  while Midoriya and Eijirou resigned themselves to facing you, their awkward expressions apologetic. The other café patrons were thankfully still transfixed by the TVs, oblivious to the situation at hand.

“Here’s your phone back.” Eijirou mumbled, setting your phone on the counter. “He doesn’t mean it. He’s just frustrated and annoyed, nothing against you personally. It’s just kinda how he is, ya know? He takes it out on everyone. He’s been this way since he was a teenager, but he doesn’t blame you. Promise.”

“Hmm. I suppose I can accept your apology on his behalf, just this once.” You whispered back, sliding a coffee cup to Midoriya, who sipped it gratefully.

“We’ll be back later. Come on, nerds.” Bakugo’s voice was gruff as he called over his shoulder. “We have a meeting and a patrol shift soon.”

The heroes left and an unease settled in your gut at their absence, acutely missing their larger than life presence. Even as the customers milled about, coming up for refills and pastries, their words weighed on your mind. Villains and Heroes had never been a major point of contention in your life; a quirk like yours wasn’t suited for the spotlight, and like thousands of others, accepted your fate as a civilian.

The coffee shop felt like a homage to another era, before quirks existed. The small planters bloomed in the window display under your mindful care, without any sparks of magic to enhance their color or growth. The coffee beans that arrived each week were roasted delicately by hand, and each new drink was born from trial and error; no surprising powers of charm or persuasion lured customers to your door. It was an honest life that you were proud of, built with hard work and love.

Ringing up another customer and brewing the earl grey tea for a London Fog, it felt like your head was ringing. Your quirk had never been an active threat to your well-being. You had gained some control over the years, having only been able to tend minor scratches and bruises as a child, but never showed enough promise to be recruited into the medical field as a young teen. Even now, the drawbacks were too great. Healing left you exhausted, and the more extensive the injury, the greater the fatigue.

It wasn’t like you came from a family of fantastic heroes either. Your mother worked as a doctor in a wound care and surgical center because she could clean infected tissue at the expense of the patient’s energy. Your father’s quirk was completely unrelated to your own, allowing him to sculpt metal by heating his hands, albeit without flames. It was hard to believe that the arguably worse version of your mother’s quirk made you a target, but the underlying assumptions behind it sent shivers of fear down your spine. If there was no regard for your well-being, your quirk could be indispensable, could be used to patch anyone up at the expense of draining you dry.

Nevertheless, the hours ticked by, dread worrying the pit of your stomach. Bile rose in the back of your throat the longer your anxious thoughts raced. Without the grace of someone with a more offensive quirk, there was little you could do to defend yourself.

Maybe Bakugou was right to be annoyed, but he didn’t have the right to be such an ass about it. Closing time was only half an hour away, and the customers had dwindled in the shop. The pleasant humming of customers faded, exposing every raw nerve that you had. The last person was out, and at 5:06,

... there was a knock.

Snapping to attention, you jerked towards the doors, feeling a strange mixture of relief and annoyance upon seeing Bakugou waiting by the door. Sighing, you called out, “It’s still unlocked.”

He didn’t enter though. He leaned partially against the window with one hand, the other shoved deep into the pocket of his white jeans. He had the hood up on his black and gold hoodie, but not enough to conceal his distinctive blonde hair and you could have sworn his red eyes could burn a hole through anything as he peered in the window. He must not have heard you, and you steeled your resolve to go and let him in.

“Shitty Hair sent me.” He grumbled.

“Hmm.” You hummed in response, wandering back behind the counter to tuck away the extra bottles of syrup and take down the pastry display. “Make yourself at home then.”

The hero looked even more uncomfortable, his shifting gaze never lingering on anything for too long, before he spotted the bottle of disinfectant. To your surprise, he started wiping off tables, but you don’t breath a word, afraid to break the uncanny silence.

At 5:45, Eijirou, Midoriya, and a woman you could only assume was Uravity knocked, and Bakugou dropped the supplies as if he had been burned. Midoriya was the first to heckle him, teasing “Kacchan, I didn’t know that you could be helpful!”

“I was bored, you damn nerd. That’s all.”

The heroes were almost unrecognizably causal. Uravity and Midoriya were in matching letterman jackets, sky blue and patterned with delicate pink cherry blossoms falling from slender black branches, with Shouto written across the back in a beautiful script. Eijirou was also devastatingly casual, wearing baggy, low-rise black jeans and a white v-neck that dipped dangerously below his collar bones. His long red hair was up in his trademark loose ponytail, spilling over his shoulders and down his back.

“So nice to see you again! I’m Uraraka.” Her smile glowed as she bounced forward to greet you. “It’s nice to really see the place that Kirishima and Bakugo talk so much about.”

A frown creased your features. “I think I would have remembered Bakugou coming in for coffee. Doesn’t Kiri just get his?” You mumbled, panicking as you realized it was out loud.

Thankfully, Uraraka giggled. “No, he just won’t let Kiri get coffee from anywhere else now. I think the whole agency knows his order by now.”

“It’s just the least shitty.” Bakugou growled. “But whatever. I have shit to do, so let’s get this over with.”

“Lead the way.” Midoriya smiled kindly.

The stairs to the flat were in the kitchen, the door tucked out of sight next to a supply closet. Butterflies fluttered in your chest, and a sudden self-consciousness that almost froze you in place. The apartment was an intimate insight into your life and personality. Your reading was on the living room table, and cherished photos hung on the walls. Is my laundry hanging up to dry? You winced at the thought.

“Welcome!” You forced a smile and led them to the kitchen table. “So, what do you need to check out?”

“We’re not trying to invade your privacy more than necessary.” Midoriya looked solemn, glancing at you shyly from underneath his lashes. “I was thinking we should put a camera right in the stairway that faces the entrance, another on the fire escape, and one on the outside of each of your windows. Then, we can just set up a bunch around the café.”

“Oh,” You relaxed into your seat. “That’s not as bad as I was expecting.”

Midoriya and Uraraka were  sitting ram-rod straight at your table, posture stiff and schooled. Eijirou was examining your end table in the living room, carefully turning your favorite candle in his hands, while Bakugou trailed behind like a sullen shadow.

“We just want to make sure you’re safe.” Uraraka reassured. “We’ll probably change the patrol route to make sure that we stop by here, but we won’t be in the shop every time. If nothing is weird, we’ll leave you be after a while.”

“I’m glad.” The remaining tension left your shoulders, and you let out a sigh of relief. “I really don’t want to put my life on pause. I’ve worked really hard for what I have here. “

“Of course!” Eijirou looked over his shoulder, now surveying the sliding glass door that led to the fire escape. “This is the best place in town, and I don’t think I’ll ever stay awake through another Commission meeting without my usual again. Plus, we owe you big time. It’s our fault that you’re starting to get some media attention.”

“Do the cameras need plug-ins or batteries?” You asked cautiously.

“Nah,  they’re the special surveillance ones Chargebolt rigged, and we’ll get a notification if the battery is less than 25%. We’ve just gotta get them set up. Uraraka can up to stick them, then make ‘em weightless so they don’t fall down.”

At Eijirou’s words, you could see Uraraka tapping her fingers, jumping up to stick the device to the ceiling. With a frown of concentration, she pulled out her phone, checking the feed and fiddling with the camera until it was angled to her satisfaction before drifting back to the floor.

“We can take it from here. Feel free to go back to closing, or what you usually do in the evening. Don’t be afraid to let us know if you need anything.” Midoriya nodded before excitedly leaning in closer, eyes sparkling with the enthusiasm of a little kid. “Also, at some point, can I study your quirk? I keep notebooks of all different quirks I encounter, and yours is so interesting.”

“Shut your trap, nerd!” Bakugou growled from behind Eijirou, who jumped and clutched his partner’s arm. “Stop acting like we’re at the damn zoo. Save it for later.”

“Am not, Kacchan!” Midoriya whined. Turning to you, he put up his hands in a peace gesture. “I think we better get going, though. I think today’s probably been quite the day for you. Uraraka will set those up outside, and we’ll be out of your hair.”

Snagging Bakugou’s sleeve, Midoriya pulled him unwillingly down the stairs, with Uraraka having already moved on to install the security cameras in the café. Despite his tough front, the blonde didn’t fight too much, only grimacing and batting away the other hero’s hand as they left.

“Hey Kiri,” You said nervously, before the hero had the chance to follow his teammates out of your apartment. “Thanks for having Bakugou come over to be there while I was closing. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what you guys said this morning. I just feel so uneasy, like every stranger could be dangerous and I can’t do anything to save myself. It really set my mind at ease to have someone else there.”

“I bet.” He winced with sympathy. “But I didn’t ship Bakugou out here. He volunteered, and you didn't hear that from me.”

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #fanfiction #reader insert #bakugou katuski x reader #female reader #she/her pronouns #pro hero bakugou #aged up characters #pro hero au #coffee shop au #angst with a happy ending #reader has a healing quirk #canon typical violence #somewhat graphic description of wounds #slow burn #no beta we die like men #Ground zero Au

[starkerdestroyedmylifee]

Thief

Peter tries not to feel the weight of his backpack as he makes his way up from the lab. He really does. But, it’s heavy. 

‘Well, of course it is.’ 

Peter curses himself, popping up each step and hoping- praying- he doesn’t bump into anyone on the way. It’s still heavy, though. Even with his super-strength; heavy, and metal, and not his, because he really, really shouldn’t have it.

At all.

When the day had begun, Peter’d played the part of ‘devastated mentee’ to a T. His eyes had been puffy, exiting his aunt May’s car, rubbing his runny nose on the cuff of his suit.

No, not his suit.

Some store-bought thrift that didn’t quite fit his shoulders. A black jacket with fabrics frayed at the base, and dress-pants not quite long enough. Pepper had offered paying to get something tailored, but Peter’d declined quickly. It didn’t feel right, taking money from Mr. Stark’s fortune, even beyond the grave. They hadn’t known each other well enough. Which is odd, considering he’s currently attending said man’s funeral.

Peter tries not to linger on the fact that he’s technically (Technically meaning actually) stealing from Mr. Stark, and instead makes his way through the crowded living room. The majority of guests seem to be winding down now, what with Tony’s eulogy all said and done. Only soft, meditated tones, and consoling hands on shoulders, and Ms. Pepper Potts- smiling politely, but dead on her feet- striking up some conversation about sewage. He meets her gaze, and the weight of his backpack is bone-breaking.

She doesn’t walk over to him, thankfully. Of course, he’s just another kid wrapped up in her late husband’s antics. The invitation sent their way had been courteous at best, but worded as something that was supposed to happen, despite being a bit inappropriate. Peter’s a stranger, after all. And, what happens when you invite strangers into your house?

They steal your stuff.

Still, Ms. Potts nods his way. Soft; disinterested. Her gaze quickly slides over him, onto another guest far more deserving of her attention. Despite this, Peter’s back goes rigid for the few seconds spent on him. He holds his breath- freezes- before letting it out in relief.

‘This is horrible.’ Peter thinks to himself. ‘I’m literally going to hell for this.’ 

It doesn’t matter at this point. Not with his mind fogged in an overwhelming cloud of grief, or his eyes still stinging from such a heavy cry, or his throat burning from yet another wave of anguish. ‘No,’ he decides, tapping his aunt’s shoulder. ‘It doesn’t even matter at this point.’

He feigns a stomach ache, by which May thinks he’s playing sick to escape the depressing atmosphere of his idol’s funeral, and drives him home before Happy can so much as woo her to stay at his place.

Up the stairs.

Through the hallway.

Into his bedroom.

He shuts the door. Crumbles to pieces. Because-. Because, he finally starts realizing what he’s just done.

‘Oh, god. Oh god, this is so much worse than I thought it would be. This is- This is literally the worst idea I’ve ever had. Stupid, stupid, stupid!’

Peter can’t help his hands from shaking as he lifts the metal helmet out of his bag. It’s cold against his skin, which only makes his mouth go dry. Mr. Stark used to wear this. He used to wear this, and it’d been cold. Heavy and cold.

“...I really fucked up.” He says out loud, which only seems to solidify it.

Well, he can’t take it back now. Not if Pepper ends up noticing that it is gone. A monument. A goddamn trophy of Mr. Stark’s. One of his earliest models, with the classic red spray and golden faceplate. Christ, if he’d wanted it so badly, why didn’t he just buy a replica?

Because it wasn’t the same.

It isn’t the same.

But, damn it all, it’s also not his. 

Peter had just wanted something to remember Mr. Stark by, and-. God, that helmet had called to him like a siren. 

‘Mr. Stark would want you to have it.’ His brain had supplied.

Which-.

Uh.

No.

No, he would not want a literal child hanging onto his legacy like a fucking baseball card, instead of in a museum, or some well-maintained pedestal, or in a safe to be preserved for the next thousand years. Tony had been over the top like that. He liked to think his work was worth something. It was meant to adore.

The thought of Peter one day throwing it on top of his dirty laundry made him want to cry.

“Oh, god. Oh- Oh, shit. Okay, Peter. This is-. Oh, shit.” He tosses Mr. Stark’s helmet on the bed, and really does almost cry. A High-Tec, revolutionary piece of hardware, worn by Earth’s savior had just been thrown on his rumpled bedsheets, and goddamn fucking shit Peter is definitely- definitely- about to have a panic attack. He throws his arms up.

“That’s it.” Peter rambles sharply. “I’m screwed. I am so screwed, because I-. Oh my god, is it chipped? Of course it’s fucking chipped, Peter. It-. It’s Tony’s. Of course. Oh my god, I’m going to jail.” He peeks out the window, half-expecting to see cop cars at the entrance of his apartment complex. “Why did I do this?”

That’s the big question. Up until this point, Mr. Stark had only ever been an idol. Then a mentor. Then a father figure.

And, then-.

Okay, no. Peter is not going there. He paces around his room, onto his walls, the ceiling, hanging off his fingertips before plopping back onto his bare feet. He sighs, cursing, before making his inevitable journey back to the helmet.

Picking it up, his senses note a slight rise in temperature. It’s still cold, obviously. His room is well-heated though, unlike the lifeless cellar they’d had it cooped up in just hours before. Which makes Peter feel a little better about things- he smiles, tilting it this way and that. ‘Ha! A real home.’- before noticing a patch of crumbs on the helmet’s jaw from when he’d eaten Cheetos on the bed, wiped his fingers against the sheets, and seamlessly forgotten to throw them in the wash.

Peter almost faints.

Luckily, they’re easily wiped away by some bed-side tissues (Peter tries not to remember what he uses said tissues for. He’s already mortified by his poor treatment of it.) He sits on the bed with a huff, settling Mr. Stark’s tech in his lap like a pet. Peter runs his fingers over it apologetically, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Nothing feels like enough. He sighs, lowering his head.

“I bet you think this is pretty funny, huh?” Peter supplies, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, it’s not… It’s a little funny, but only because I know you’d probably have some quippy one-liner set up for me.” He falls onto his back, bringing the helmet to rest against his chest. Breathing out through his nose, he raises the metal mask just above him, so he can stare up at it. His bedroom light catches the surface of gleaming red, and Peter feels like a dirty slob just touching this rare treasure.

“Something like…” He pauses, thinking for a moment. “‘Oh, Peter. Looks like you’re a head of the game…’ That was really bad.” He chews his lip. “‘Sorry, kid. I want you to fill my shoes. This is a little much.’ God, no. That doesn’t sound like Mr. Stark at all.” Peter turns onto his side, letting the helmet lay against his pillow. They stare intimately at each other. ‘They’ being Peter and a lifeless curve of metal. He pulls the mask a bit closer.

“‘Woah there, Spiderman. At least buy dinner before you take it to bed.’” Peter turns his face into his pillow, groaning pitifully. 

“Why are helmet jokes so hard?” He pauses, mulling his complaint over. “Okay, that one wasn’t bad.” Like that, Peter angles his face to check on the helmet, and looks to see its reaction. Which creeps him out, of course. Alright, so maybe there are even more implications to stealing his idol’s helmet then the fact he stole it. Maybe it’s just bad to have an inanimate object symbolic of Mr. Stark around him.

‘No shit.’ Peter thinks to himself, drawing a hand down his face.

Still…

He places a finger along the metal mask’s faceplate; feels the cool of its surface, the crisp curve of each indent. It’s nice. Really, really nice. Which is exactly why he has to pull away and face the wall of his room.

‘Nope. No chance. Time out, Peter.’

He closes his eyes, counting back from one hundred. He does it seven times. Eight. It doesn’t matter. Peter turns around to face it again, and does exactly what he’d been doing before. His fingers map out the metal slabs, just imagining what it must’ve been like inside.

‘It probably smells like him.’ Peter’s brain coos.

‘What? Like booze, and sweat, and morning breath? Is that what you’re tempting me with?’

‘Yes.’

It doesn’t smell like Mr. Stark, for the record. It smells sterile and lifeless and unworn, like someone went and purged it of everything Tony. Which, Peter assures himself, is completely, totally fine. It doesn’t bother him a bit.

Not one bit.

Not when he slips a hand inside and feels the strange padding used to cradle Mr. Stark’s head. Or when he pulls it out, not devastated to find the man hadn’t shed any hair. Nope. Not even a little. Because that would be weird, and a little obsessive. A lot obsessive. It’s not like Peter could clone Mr. Stark if he had any kind of DNA. It’s not like Peter wants to.

He checks his alarm clock, the same one still ticking five years after the blip; 10:47.

Not crazy late. On the contrary, it’d be amazingly early for the hyper-active teen to turn in just yet. That’s what he tells himself as he reaches over his night stand, tugging the string of his lamp light. The room goes dark and Peter tries (Read: fails miserably) to fall asleep. Looking his crime in the face anymore than he already has to is punishment enough, at least for today.

He tries to ease his muscles, but they just won’t let up. There’s a weight in his bed that he’s not used to, and it sets all his human nerves on edge, even with his Spidey-senses dormant. Peter should put it in the closet, but he can’t bear the image of allowing it to collect dust. On the contrary, the thought leaves him choked and wanting a glass of water he doesn’t have the energy to grab. The idea of mistreating anything Tony Stark-related has the young vigilante in shambles.

Which is why he soon finds himself rotating around to face the helmet in his bed. Even through darkness, he can make out a sharp outline of lunar beams streaming in through the window. It’s soothing. It’s reprimanding. Peter sniffs, blinking away what feels like an ocean of tears.

“I’m sorry…?” He offers shyly. His tone breaks, shoulders bunched, brow pinched with a grimace only offset by the flush of his cheeks. ‘At least here,’ Peter thinks to himself, ‘I can get some kind of closure.’ 

Which is exactly what leads him to kiss the metal armor.

Soft, across where he’s sure Tony’s lips would be located. It’s quick. Innocent, really. If things weren’t so different in the 21st century, people might mistake it for a platonic peck. Because Tony- brave, wise Tony- was like a father to him, in the only way he understood a father could be. It’d been so tender, after all. With those sweet, thin fingers caressing, not pulling, and palms that cradled, not smooshed. Nothing demanding. Nothing sexual. Just a good ol’ fashion kiss, which lasts no more than a few seconds.

Peter promises himself it isn’t anything else. It’s a platonic kiss on the lips. Which is a thing. It is, but other people might make it out to be something more. Someone like MJ would probably cackle her ass off if she knew he’d given the mask a kiss, as short as it is.

The few that follow after are a bit longer.

By the time Peter finishes, he’s relaxed in the worst way possible. He feels groggy, worn at the lips, and shitty as all hell because that last kiss had definitely been excessive. 

And, okay.

Peter has a massive crush on Mr. Stark.

It’s terribly obvious. And tragic as shit, since the man is dead. Despite reminding himself, he can’t help but cling onto that damn feeling of metal on chapped, teenage lips. He feels sleepy, and he suddenly doesn’t want to be. It feels immensely inappropriate falling asleep next to a helmet he smooched to pieces.

Like sleeping next to Tony in Peter’s perverse, miserable fantasies.

Where Ms. Potts is away on business, and Mr. Stark is oh-so alone, and oh-so desperate for some kind of bodily touch. Where Peter is his sexy young intern, who has the confidence to wear feminine lingerie under his work clothes, and doesn’t mind brushing hips. They could make hot, passionate love in the lab for all he cares, and Mr. Stark would call him Baby, and Peter would call him Daddy, and it would hardly be funny to say in the moment, though he might snort when thinking over it later.

Best of all, Tony likes Peter best in his fantasies.

Parker is his favorite.

It’s only ever fantasy, though. Peter knows better than to indulge it.

In a conflicting fit between putting the helmet away, or pulling a sheet over top, or entertaining the notion of sneaking it back in place before anyone notices it’s gone, Peter decides to give the mask his bed while he sleeps on the floor. He’d much rather give Mr. Stark his best than chance disrespecting the man’s memory in favor of comfort. He obviously can’t be trusted, getting too close to Tony-related objects.

Laying on his bedroom floor twiddling his thumbs, Peter can’t help but wonder: What has my life come to?

#Starker #Peter x Tony #Tony/Peter #Fic #I don't know anymore guys #I miiiiight continue this?? #Or maybe I'll just leave the babe to suffer

[starrysebastians]

Tis the damn season

Summary : On the first post-blip Thanksgiving, you find yourself having to reunite with your parents and your heart is not in it — Sam persuades you to take Bucky with you, and this might be an opportunity for you two to get to know each other. I just heard a ten pound turkey hit the ground and also very strong words. Do you need help? 

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count : 11k 

Warnings : general sadness, mentions of death and strained family relationships, but holiday fluff to make up for it.

A/n : this was written for @wonderlandmind4​'s fall winter challenge, thank you for hosting this! (Got carried away with the word count while simultaneously having no inspiration and writing utter shit I'm genuinely sorry about this?????) 

"God I hate this damn season and everything about it."

The sound of pebbles aggressively kicked by your foot is drowned out by the driver's door being slammed shut. It echoes around the empty street, morning fog still lingering in the air even in the early afternoon. A white cloud escapes your lips as you sigh, emptying all of your lungs' air before breathing in once again, and your eyes follow the shape — up, up, until it vanishes into the air and you are left staring at a familiar bay window. The curtain moves before you can even begin to turn your gaze away and a curse escapes your lips.

"Think they saw us?" His tone is dripping with irony.

Bucky is leaning against the car, arms crossed against his broad chest and his face as blank as your mind when you try to think about why you chose to do this. In the small moment of contemplation you were having, you didn't even notice him walk around the car and stand next to you.

"Nah, impossible," you say deadpan as a hand waves behind the glass. You stare at it silently before you talk again."We can still make a run for it." 

You don't move as Bucky pushes himself off the car and opens the trunk, bags all held in his metal hand. The trunk slams shut and he is already crossing the road leading to the front lawn. 

"I was being serious!" You call out, huffing when he turns around and glares at you. 

Throwing up your arms and letting them fall back at your sides with a heavy sigh, you begrudgingly lock the car and walk towards the house — it seems so much smaller to you now. 

"Of course they put Christmas decorations literally everywhere," you mutter under your breath, suddenly feeling a wave of holiday hatred hitting you at full speed.

Bucky eyes you for a second before knocking on the door, a horrified expression distorting your features when the word wait doesn't get to be voiced out loud. His eyes are more grey than usual, matching the sky, and they hold a twinkle of amusement at the sight of you, mouth open and eyes looking up at the sky as if some sort of alien could possibly appear and whisk you far away from here.

It's intriguing, seeing you this way — in your hometown, nervous about spending Thanksgiving with your parents. Nervous isn't the right word though, because he thinks he has never seen you nervous before ; there are actually a lot of emotions he hasn't seen you display yet. Not that he has a reason to, actually, because he only sees you when you are visiting Sam at their new headquarters, or when you are helping out on a mission. So really, he has only seen you laughing at Sam's jokes, or being angry at armed criminals. And what is left between those two extreme moods are mostly you being silent or passive-agressive — although the passive-aggressiveness is reserved for him, he has noticed.

"Y/N!" Your mother's voice makes you want to wince and you purse your lips, a poor attempt at smiling. Bucky had stepped behind you after having knocked on the door and you are at the forefront of every attack. 

Arms feel strange and foreign around you, a warmth you are not used to anymore. You can't really feel your hands as you awkwardly reciprocate the gesture, patting your parents' back as your gaze rests upon the staircase, so many memories rushing to your mind at once.

"Hi," you say simply, taking a step back and crossing your arms. You clear your throat, leaning closer to Bucky, your arm brushing his. This is what a regular person would do, right? "This is James." 

You don't really pay attention to the way your mother's arms engulf Bucky — poor guy. Their voices are just noise to you as you step around them and walk to the living room. We have been dying to meet you. Y/N has been keeping you hidden from us for so long. We are so glad to have you here, James. Slow and careful steps, eyes taking it all in — the green walls, the fireplace, the old rug and the stains you've made, the painting you've always found disturbing. It smells just the same. You run your hands across every surface, fingers lingering on cold wood.

"It's a good thing that you're here early. I'll show you to your room and you can settle in, rest a little." You turn around lazily, lids heavy with the weight of nostalgia and old visions. Your mother's hand is resting on Bucky's forearm, probably because his shoulder was out of reach, and he looks at you with an unreadable expression on his face. You wonder if he is uncomfortable being touched like this by your parents or if it is something else. "You must have had a long ride." 

Bucky opens his mouth and you cut him off before he can even begin to utter a single word, eyes boring into his with a warning. 

"We did. Exhausting. Lots of traffic." You have faked enough yawns in your life to fool even your own parents — then again, how long has it been since they last saw you? And it takes little effort to conclude that you and Bucky will rest in your room for a while before coming down and helping with dinner preparations. 

The stairs creak under your feet and you smile a little at the sound. Your room smells like old wood, rays of light playing with dust particles around you. An old fluffy carpet, pastel tones and white walls, very few decoration. Some pictures — pictures of artists you used to like, empty postcards, not personal ones. These ones have been taken off the wall years and years ago.

The mattress dips under your weight as you slump down on your bed, fingers moving on their own to stroke a soft blanket. Bucky closes the door behind him, eyes lingering on the almost empty walls. The thought of you and him in your old room and sharing your bed finally crosses your mind.

"M’gonna go for a walk," you suddenly say, getting up from the bed in a swift movement. You don’t walk towards the door, but towards the window instead. 

"O...kay," Bucky drawls out. He watches as you open the window, grunting as it requires some forceful pulling. "Is this a secret code for...I’m gonna jump out the window and die so I can avoid my parents?" 

You snicker, closing your eyes and breathing in as the icy air finally hits your face. Tendrils of hair fly around your features and tickle your skin. You turn around, fingers putting your hair back into place, strands tucked behind your ears.

"I wish," you almost don’t add anything, but Bucky looks so utterly lost and confused as you throw a leg outside that you have to. "I used to sneak out of here all the time. It’s safe, there’s a big ledge and then I land on the guest room's balcony." 

"When are you getting back?" He only asks, pushing his body off the wall and going to sit down on the spot you were occupying just a minute before.

"In time. Don’t worry," this time you’re fully out of the room, feet expertly walking on the ledge. "If they knock just say I’m asleep." You stop in your tracks, voice louder. "And don’t go through my stuff. I’ll know and I’ll kill you."

*

Bucky’s still sitting on the bed when you get back, your hair slightly damp and frizzy from the humidity and the small drizzle outside. Cheeks and nose reddened by the cold and eyes brighter now that you have breathed in some fresh air, that isn't the air from New-York, something purer with a familiar smell. 

"I’ve been gone two hours. Please tell me you’ve got up at least once," you mock, bending down to untie your shoelaces and avoid making mud stains all over the carpet. This floor has suffered enough over the years. 

"No. I’ve been sitting there waiting for you like the good dog that I am." His voice dripping with sarcasm, you roll your eyes. "Told them you were asleep and blocked the door in case they wanted to check on you." 

You raise your head slowly, squinting at him. 

"So...you talked to them?"

He stares back with a bored expression. 

"Yes. I’ve talked to them. I'm spending Thanksgiving with them and sleeping in their house, so I figured maybe I could behave like a civilized person and say hi, you know." You blink. "Plus, I'm your boyfriend." You blink again.

"You didn't have to talk to them so soon. We've got all night," you mumble, now going for your socks.

"I've endured far worse than having a full conversation with someone's parents, Y/N," he chuckles and your smile doesn't reach your eyes.

"Right." 

Bucky looks at you, really looks at you. Hands going through your hair and gripping it a little too tight as you try to weave your fingers through knots and tangled strands — wind still raging outside. Dark shadows under your lashes from having rubbed your eyes in exhaustion and forgetting you had mascara on. Jaw ticking every now and then as your eyes bore into an empty spot, and he doesn't know if you are staring at an actual object or at something that only exists in your mind.

"Have they asked anything about us?" You say, sitting down on the floor and next to your travel bag.

"The usual. How we met, how long we’ve been together…that sort of thing."

Your stomach twists and you look up, alarmed.

"Oh god. What did you tell them? I forgot to make something up. We should have discussed this in the car, I just forgot." You run your hands through your tangled hair, again. "Fuck."

"It’s okay," Bucky’s eyes follow your every move as you rummage through your bag to find another top, fingers pulling on a soft black fabric. "I told them we met through Sam. And obviously they knew who he was — who I was, so I assumed they knew about you too." There’s an interrogation in his voice and you simply nod in confirmation. "So we talked about our jobs, mostly."

"Exciting," you comment sardonically. "And how long have we been dating?"

"Told them we started dating before the snap." 

You freeze, hands still resting on your black top, a slightly sheer and shiny material you thought would be more festive.

"So…definitely more than five years," you start, and he nods in response. "And...that means I visited Wakanda, right?"

He thinks for a second. 

"Right. Yeah."

You hum again.

"Not very practical. I’ve never been to Wakanda."

"Now you have a problem with accuracy?"

You glare at him. 

"No. Just saying. We could have met in New-York. Would have been simpler. That's all."

"Right. Two months ago and it was love at first sight so you’re already bringing me home to your parents — whom you haven’t seen in years. Makes sense." You clench your jaw and he raises a brow, sparkling blue eyes taunting you.

Glaring at him one last time, you turn around and face the wall.

"First of all, we didn’t meet two months ago," you start undoing the buttons of the cardigan you are wearing. "I'd definitely remember if I had only been enduring your presence for two months." He scoffs behind you. 

You pull your cardigan over your head, tossing it somewhere in the room. Some deodorant and you grab the festive top. Bucky stares at your back for a second, soft skin covered in small beauty spots and old scars, defined muscles in action grabbing his full attention. Your neck, the way your hair brushes up your shoulders, the glimpse at your breasts and the curve of your waist — he focuses his gaze on the window instead. An afternoon sky blanketed by dark grey clouds, a promise of rain and a mirror of what he guesses is an internal turmoil.

"And?"

"And what?" You face him again, fitted dark fabric clinging to your body.

"You said first of all. I’m assuming there’s a second part." Brow quirked and smirk slowly lifting the left corner of his mouth, he watches your face fall. 

"There isn’t," he nods, full mocking smile on his lips now. "I actually like using first of all knowing there’s nothing else I have to add. It’s a figure of speech."

He scoffs, shaking his head. 

"It’s not."

"It is now," you stand up, brushing your hands against your thighs. You are now dressed in all black and it looks like you are going on a mission. You are, somehow. "Are you gonna change for tonight?"

"What, is it that ugly?" Bucky looks down at his outfit. 

Fitted blue sweater and black jeans with dark combat boots. You know he had cut his hair right after...everything, but it has grown out again and you’re surprised to find curls. You don’t notice him looking up, instead keeping your eyes fixed upon the blue of his sweater and the way it hugs his chest. He clears his throat and you meet his gaze — curious.

"No, it’s not," you force a smile. "It’s very nice, actually. Brings out your eyes." You sigh, turning around and grabbing your toilet bag and makeup. 

"I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or not right now," Bucky frowns. Isn’t it part of the job description to know whether people are being genuine or not? Aren’t spies supposed to know that kind of thing? He never can tell with you. Everything you say has that kind of monotonous tone and it's either ironic or deadly serious. 

You let out a light chuckle as you enter the bathroom. "I’m not making fun of you, Barnes. Blue looks good on you." 

You stare at your reflection for a second. Pale skin and dark circles, the remnants of a fight barely visible because your hair is hiding the last remaining scar. The door to the bathroom was left open and you catch Bucky’s gaze in the mirror. 

He busies himself with his bag, going through his stuff and deeming perfume to be the only necessary adjustment to his current state. Fingers scratching an unshaven throat, he calls out your name, meeting your eyes again in the mirror. You only hum.

"Should I call you babe for the weekend?"

Your hand halts mid-air, makeup brush just a few centimeters away from your skin.

"What?"

"Well. We’re selling this thing. What about PDA, that sort of thing?"

You laugh again, and this time it sounds really genuine to him. High and full of disbelief. 

"Didn’t think you were familiar with the term PDA," you shake your head to yourself while he rolls his eyes. "But to answer your question — " you turn to look directly at him, complexion brighter and cheeks rosier. "— call me babe and you won't live to see another day. "

"Why have someone pretend to be your boyfriend if you're just gonna act like he's your friend?"

"Barnes. You think you have to exchange saliva with me in front of my parents for them to believe we’re together? Me bringing you here is already huge, trust me." 

He stares at your back. Dropping the subject. 

"Should I shave?" You don't need to look at him to answer confidently.

"No. I love a man with a stubble."  

You finish your makeup in silence as he lays on the bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the dinner that awaits him. He is curious about you and your family. Not a lot of people in this field still have their parents, or at least are being honest about what they do for a living. But mostly he is curious about you, someone he has been getting used to working or training with, but not holding casual conversations or doing simple things.

*

A week earlier 

Bucky raises a brow as Sam answers his phone. It’s eight in the morning and they just returned from their morning job, among fog and drizzle, the sun slowly rising over New York City and filtering through Central Park's trees and half-empty branches. It is not as cold as it should be for this time of the year, but he can still feel the early morning air biting at his face, even inside the apartment. Sometimes after a run he has breakfast with Sam, when they haven’t bickered so much on the way over that Bucky decided to run home instead. 

"I cannot deal with this amount of bad energy in the morning. Come over," Sam laughs and Bucky stares at his mug of coffee while his mind goes though every possibility. 

And when Sam opens the door and you step in, he goes back to staring at his mug, only watching your every move from the corner of his eye. You do look agitated for someone who probably woke up less than an hour ago. 

"I can’t." The new Captain America shakes his head and you grab him by the shoulders, hands looking so small. 

"Sam. I wasn’t asking. This is not an option." 

"We’re having a Thanksgiving dinner at the VA, I can’t ditch the guys," he says and you groan, head thrown back. 

You plop down on a bar stool, the one across Bucky, and you only nod at him as a hello. He rolls his eyes — typical. He is hunched over the kitchen counter, plate of pancakes drowned in maple syrup placed in front of him. You stare as he picks up his fork and knife and starts eating, following every mouthful with empty eyes.

He almost opens his mouth to snap at you before you slightly shake your head and turn to the window to your left. The beginning of fall doesn't feel like it is supposed to — yellows and oranges and reds could be a palette of grey and you wouldn't even notice the difference. It's not the same anymore.

"Why do you absolutely have to bring someone anyway?" You sigh as Sam asks.

"They think I have a long-time partner."

"Why would they think you have a long-time partner when I've never even seen you hold a conversation with a guy?" Bucky comments.

"First of all, you've been gone five years. I'd shut up if I were you." You scowl, lips almost curling up in anger when you whirl around to glare at him. "Second of all, you're not exactly a god in that area either." 

"Well I have been gone for five years, I've got an excuse," he shrugs with a smirk and you eye the table where they are sitting at, pastries and pancakes, fruits and hot beverages, full glasses. "Throw that glass of water at my face and I'll kill you." 

You hold his gaze for a second and purse your lips, eyes turning away as you sit down and rest your elbows on the wooden surface, permanent frown etched on your face. 

"They think they've missed five years of my life, I had a moment of…weakness. Didn't have the heart to tell them I was still single." You look out the window again. The wind howls loudly and a chill runs across your spine even though you're perfectly warm inside. "I think I'm gonna say he died." 

You don't pay attention to the small beat of silence that follows your sentence — a silence that is interrupted by Bucky's fork scratching against his plate. You scowl at him. 

"You're gonna say what now?" 

You shrug at Sam.

"Then I don't have to explain why we broke up. And since I will spend years recovering my mom won't think of bothering me with boyfriend talk for a while." Which seems like a rather logical and practical plan to you, underserving of such funny looks.

"You can't just make up someone and then say they died, Y/N."

"I don't see why not. A lot of people have died recently, I can easily get away with it." The way you speak and shrug, it's all innocent and casual, but your words leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

Sam and Bucky exchange a look and stare at each other for a second as if a simple blink was enough for them to communicate their exact thoughts. You almost feel jealous.

"Just take someone else. I’m sure some of your friends have nothing to do on Thanksgiving."

Something heavy settles on your chest as you think of the people you would have loved to take home to your parents. Tony would have been impressive — albeit older and, well, married with a child. But your parents would have been starstruck. And Natasha would have seduced them right away. One foot into the threshold and they would have swooned at her feet, hanging onto her every word. Steve would have made the perfect boyfriend — the ideal american sweetheart, thoughtful and selfless, not the kind of person who would let you down. Not the kind of person who would leave everything behind. 

When your silence has stretched for a little too long, you clear your throat, tightening your hold around a steaming cup of tea that you assumed was meant for you. Sam is now sitting next to you and you hadn't even realized he had moved while contemplating how lonely your life was. Bucky is staring at you with an unreadable expression and you shrug, again.

"I don't really have anyone else to bring. But that's okay. I'll stick to my story," you give Sam a woeful smile. "They'll think I'm sad and avoid annoying me for the whole evening so really I couldn't ask for a better story." 

You stretch your arm in order to reach the plate of pancakes, but your fingers barely graze it. Bucky silently pushes it towards you and you simply purse your lips. It looks like a smile, right? Drowning your pancakes in syrup just like he did five minutes ago, you sit up straighter and exhale. Then your tone changes. "Anyway."

Sam crosses his arms and nods at Bucky. Blue eyes fixed upon the dark-skinned man’s face, he already knows. 

"Bucky doesn’t have anything planned for Thanksgiving," he starts and you keep chewing. "You should take him. I’m told he’s great boyfriend material." 

You slowly look up, skeptic look on your face. 

"I feel like you could sabotage me at dinner and I do not want that. The whole thing’s annoying enough as it is." 

He shrugs. Too bad. Sam’s eyes are getting bigger and bigger and Bucky sighs, setting his fork on the counter and leaning back. The leather squeaks under his weight and he clears his throat. The noise makes you raise your head and you look at him curiously. 

"I’ll behave." 

You stay silent for a little while as Bucky raises his eyebrows expectantly. Is he better than making up someone and then saying they died? You think about it, and the chance of your mother not leaving you alone and looking at you with pity instead suddenly crosses your mind. Not good. Not your plan.

"Okay," you resign. Your pancakes don’t taste as good as they did before you said yes. Bucky and you have probably exchanged ten full sentences ever since you met, and they weren’t necessarily sweet. It is not that you don’t get along or fight — you work well together, actually. But he’s not your friend either. And sometimes, most of the time, you can’t help but feel something akin to anger build up in your chest when you look at him and see Steve instead. 

*

The table is pretty. Red and green, matching the decorations hung upon the fireplace and all over the house. Candles and elegant wine glasses. Christmas tree already up in the back of the living room, which you can still see from your spot at the table. The flickering lights and glittering garlands are a welcomed distraction to the people actually sitting in front of you, and you can't even remember the last time you had dinner with your parents. So formal.

You notice your mother stealing a glance at you before she fully turns her body towards Bucky. Fuck. You try to shoot her a warning glance but her sweet smile is already into place and there is nothing you can do except watch. You knew appetizers and amuse-bouches and your comments about their incredible taste would not be enough to keep the conversation from turning more personal, but you didn't think it would be so soon.

"You know, this is the first Thanksgiving Y/N is spending with us." Bucky quirks a brow and you scoff in disbelief.

"This isn't true. I have distinct memories of yelling and burnt turkey. Where else would that be?" You deadpan, hand moving towards your glass before stopping mid-air, a single drop of red wine left starring back at you. 

You hold back a groan, eyes flickering between the glass and the bottle. Should you maybe wait before getting a refill and not get any comments from your parents? 

"I meant, this is the first Thanksgiving you're willingly spending with us. You were sixteen last time," your mother's voice holds the same irony, but hers is sad while yours sounds angry. Bucky steals a quick glance at you without ever moving his head, and smiles sweetly at your mother, as if trying to make up for your attitude. "Are you still in touch with your parents, James?"

"Oh god," you groan, hand on your forehead. "Mother." 

You decide that possibly getting a comment about your drinking habits is worth it if drinking means not feeling this crushing weight of shame, embarrassment, and everything else. Bucky looks down at your arm as it emerges right in front of him — you don't spare him a glance, fingers curling up around the bottle and the sound of wine filling up your glass grows higher and higher until you stop. Even this can't drown out the conversation. Your dad's voice echoes from the other room, footsteps drawing closer. 

"Sweetie, I think you're forgetting how old James is."

You don't watch as Bucky probably smiles softly at your dad, then at your mom, and says it's fine. Red wine is pretty when it is swirling in a moving glass — it reminds you of fall, leaves twirling in the wind, the red lipstick you're wearing, but mostly blood.

Your mother is babbling out apologies and reaching out for Bucky's hand across the table and he is being so gentle and patient it makes you want to shake him by the shoulders and yell at him for being so good to them. 

"We only heard from Y/N six months ago, actually." 

"Well, you were gone before, so," you mutter, regretting every single choice that has lead you to this moment. Bucky perks up, eyes going quickly between your closed face and your parents, eyebrows drawing in a compassionate frown. Man, is he good at this. 

"Were you both…taken by the snap?" 

You sigh, turning your head to look out the window while Bucky and your parents talk about their shared experience, finger tracing the rim of your glass over and over again. For some the light around them and their alternate universe was all blue, others say it was a sort of ethereal shade of green. Some have non memory whatsoever of the whole experience and you wonder what it would have been like for you. You think that a minute in a world on literal fire would have been better than five years in the real one. 

Natasha's world is probably made out of purple and red — you hear this is how Vormir looked. Pretty. 

The rain suddenly hitting the bay window snaps you out of your quiet moment of contemplation. It was left slightly open and the sound of the wind blowing through swaying trees lulls your for a second, eyes unfocused. 

Your name echoes around the dining room again and your gaze snaps to that of your mother. 

"What?" You say in a sigh. 

"Nothing!" Her tone is unusually high. "I was just explaining to your boyfriend how we reunited. You visiting us when everyone came back." She looks at Bucky again. "It was a big surprise."

You don’t meet his gaze, instead resting your elbows on the table and nuzzling your face in the palms of your hands. You probably should have kept being a ghost.

"A good one, I bet?" He keeps his tone light.

Your mom goes on about how they have missed you all this time and you resume playing with your glass. And maybe refill it a few times.

"Oh. We saw the ceremony you had for Steve Rogers with Captain...Captain America. It was very moving." Your dad tells Bucky with a compassionate frown and you purse your lips. You almost want to put your hand on Bucky’s shoulder — his hand, his thigh, anything to give him some sort of comfort, but you can’t bring yourself to move your own hand. Everything feels really heavy. 

In your opinion, it’s actually a good thing that Steve died so soon. He had first been a man out of time when he woke up in 2011, and managed to adapt. Even said he wouldn’t go back because the past was the past. Right. But coming back an old man, having lived another full life while your friends remain the same? This wasn’t right, for anyone. With Tony and Natasha gone, you would rather have Steve be gone as well. Can’t really move on if something is still holding you back — now they’re all definitely gone. 

Your chair scratches the wooden floor as you stand up on almost-wobbly legs. 

"M’gonna check on the turkey." Your voice doesn’t even sound like your own and your throat hurts. 

Voices are drown out as you close the kitchen door, back resting against it for a moment. The room is hot even though the window has been left open. You breathe in and out slowly, taking in the smell of pies and spices. You walk towards the window, slowly, taking it all in as you calm down. Nothing is in its usual place. Scattered utensils over every surface, traces of flour and sugar on the table and bottles which haven't been closed. Something makes you jump and it's a pan is overflowing.

There are only a few seconds left on the oven's timer. Pan situation under control, oven gloves on both hands, you think maybe cooking more for yourself would take your mind off things. You almost sigh in contentment as the warmth from the plate spreads through your hands, arms and even radiates through your chest. 

All sorts of pies litter the kitchen table, cinnamon, clove and ginger invading your senses. All of you is consumed by spices and sounds of domestic life and it looks so homey but you can't bring yourself to feel at home. This whole day has been like being in a dream, floating through life, childhood and Thanksgiving memories like an intruder. Seeing yourself move around but not being able to control or truly touch anything.

You see yourself with the turkey between your gloved-hand, red lipstick and pretty outfit hugging your body. You see yourself ten years ago, dressed in a red dress and hair cascading down your back, laughing hysterically as you set a turkey down on a large wooden table, candles lighting up your friends' eyes. Seven years ago, in that deep green jumpsuit — the color of Natasha's eyes, Tony had said all night. Six years ago, in that matching Christmas jumper and soft socks in which you kept slipping on the cabin's floor. Five years ago and the years following the snap when everything was dark and hopeless and you had lost so much but you still had Natasha and Tony and Steve.

Every single bittersweet Thanksgiving memory plays out right before your blurry eyes, like a film. A compilation of every celebration shared between loved ones, your chosen family. And it feels so lonely without your best friends and half of the team you used to be.

Your hands shake as you go to set the plate down on the kitchen table — it's greasy and slippery and your hands are starting to burn so you don't even feel the glove slowly slipping.

Fuck.

It takes a moment to be fully registered.

"Fuck!"

On the other side of the door, Bucky’s cough is enough to cover a string of colorful curses and the cracks and tears in your voice. Your hands are as wet as your cheeks and you drop to your knees, muttering shit shit and shit all over again under your breath.

The plate clatters against the floor as you set it beside the turkey. Too loud. The minute your mother enters this kitchen you are a dead woman. "Shit."

Footsteps draw closer and heavier and you curse again, hands greasy and knees hurting from hitting the tiles. Somehow your fingers won’t grasp the turkey’s correctly and it keeps slipping back to the floor. 

The door creaks open and you whirl around, eyes wide open and a strings of excuses ready. But Bucky stands here, hands in his back closing the door behind him and keeping anyone from seeing what is happening inside the kitchen. Mouth agape and tear tracks probably visible on your face, you finally close your mouth to gulp, turning your back to him and breathing in and out as quietly as possible. 

Which is probably not quiet enough for someone whose ears are more than human. 

You sniffle. Bucky stares at your back, hand still securing the doorknob. He doesn’t really know how to proceed with you, so he takes a few quiet steps forward. He clears his throat.

"I just heard a ten pound turkey hit the ground and also very strong words. Do you need help?"

This is so stupid. 

"Bucky. The turkey’s on the floor. Literally."

"Yeah. I can see that," he eyes you, gauging your expression. Your eyes are dead set on the animal and hands still hovering over it, not quite stable. "It’s okay. They won’t know. I made noise when you dropped it."

"You did?" Your voice is smaller than usual and he bats your hands away from the turkey, grabbing it with his metal hand. 

"Yeah. Coughed so hard your mom almost stood up to keep me from choking." You gape at him. He smiles at your stunned expression and the turkey is back in its plate, looking perfectly normal. Your hands are still greasy and you don't know what to do with them.

"Hey," Bucky's voice is softer than it usually is. Or maybe you never really noticed it was soft in the first place. "Look at me." 

You change positions and rest your back against a cupboard, closing your eyes for a second before re-opening them. Crouching down to your level, he studies your face as you wipe off remaining tears with your sleeve. Flushed cheeks and quivering lips, wet lashes and a crease between your eyebrows. You hold his gaze for what seems like an eternity. There is a kind of intensity, determination in his eyes as he searches into yours. You aren't sure what he is looking for — maybe he is trying to find the right words, but eventually he just sighs and fully sits down in front of you. He is probably annoyed. 

You bite down on your lip as your throat swells again, sudden shame washing over you. Having a meltdown is not something you do. Not when you are on your own, not in front of your friends and certainly not in front of a friend of a friend, even when his presence has become something usual and almost comforting to you as you hide it between rolled eyes and silence. Sometimes it's nice to visit Sam and have a trio again, even if it is not the trio you are used to. When you close your eyes and listen to the voices around you or when your vision is hazy, the mere idea of feeling surrounded is already comforting.

"M'sorry, this is stupid," you mutter, throwing your head back to have it rest against the cupboard. The bang echoes in your ears and Bucky slides a bit closer.

"It's okay," he shrugs. "Take your time." 

He is so gentle in everything that he does. It's in the way he looks at you, eyes searching into yours but never once displaying pity, as if everything was perfectly normal. It isn't to you, but he seems so relaxed and unbothered. The way he speaks softly and expresses nothing but patience and serenity, the way his flesh hand slowly moves closer to your leg and almost hovers above your skin.

You sigh, head banging against the cupboard again, and spread your legs a little bit further. The right one brushes against his limb and he hesitates for a moment. Another look at you and his hand is resting on your calf. The warmth seeps through your black jeans and at this particular moment it comes back to you that you used to love being touched.

"I can't believe I dropped the fucking turkey," you say flatly. Bucky blinks slowly at you, the only proof that he heard you. He doesn't think he should talk and break your train of thoughts right now. "This isn't…what I normally do. On Thanksgiving. I've never spent Thanksgiving here. I mean, after I moved out."

Bucky's fingers move slowly against your leg, a sense of satisfaction washing over him as you start talking. You purse your lips, somehow wanting to keep your mouth shut but feeling oddly relaxed to be sitting on the floor with his thumb brushing over your jeans-clad skin. You look down, eyes following his fingers before focusing on your own, still numbly resting at your side.

"Yeah, that's what your mom was saying earlier," Bucky nods, eying your hands as well. 

On your left, there is this hook with towels hanging from it. His arm is long enough for him to grab one without having to get up. You don't respond, instead staring at the tiles and the space between your legs. You don't seem to notice when he hands you the towel, so he slowly moves his flesh hand towards yours. The loss of warmth makes you look down to your calf, stomach dropping a little when his fingers aren't dancing on your skin anymore. 

"What do you usually do for Thanksgiving?" 

You blink. He grabs your arms, hands sliding from your forearm to your wrist, thumb resting on your pulse point longer than he should. Then his hands are cupping yours, gently turning your palms upwards. There is this small beat of silence and tension where both of you are looking at your almost intertwined hands as if you were not their owners, as if they were moving on their own and you could only watch as this unfolded before your eyes. 

Should he let go? 

"I always spend it with Natasha." Your voice breaks the moment. His gaze snaps up but you're staring into the void again. "We have this tradition." You blink. Once, twice. Slowly, kind of like a cat. "Had. We used to rent a cabin, somewhere remote and snowy, and Tony used to come as well. Well, before he had Morgan. Then we used to come to his house and have this big dinner with him and Pepper, sometimes Clint and his family." 

Your gaze drops to your hand in his, one holding it up and the other wiping the oily substance away. Every movement seems so soft and gentle it makes your brain go fuzzy for a second.

"That sounds really nice." Bucky comments softly, going for the other hand.

"Steve came sometimes," you add, and he quirks a brow in surprise. "When everyone was taken away. Sometimes he held a little something at the VA, but we had him over once or twice." You nod. "It was nice."

Bucky simply nods. Your hands don't shine with turkey grease anymore, and it physically pains him to let go of your hands. For a second he thinks you are about to hold his tighter and keep him from prying off his fingers, but his ears suddenly pick up movement, and the way his posture visibly changes makes you snap out of it. Back straighter, eyes wider, shoulders squared.

"Shit." 

He is quicker than you and stands near the door to tell your mom that the turkey’s ready — you’re on your feet again even if you have to grip the counter’s edge for a second so your legs don't give out under your weight. His body is blocking your mother's view of the kitchen and you can only hear her voice.

"Look at her, making us Thanksgiving dinner with her boyfriend," she tells your dad and you snicker. 

"Look at her making us eat a turkey she dropped on the floor!" You singsong, pressing the heel of your hands to your cheeks as you try to make the red disappear.

"Now this is girlfriend material," Bucky mocks. The door is closed again and he takes a few steps towards you, the turkey being right next to where your hand is set.

You laugh at the absurdity of the situation and he smiles. He is only a foot away from you and you wonder if the warmth you are feeling is real or if it is your imagination, your mind and chest aching for comfort again. Touch is a vicious and dangerous thing when you can still feel it linger on your skin well after it is gone.

Metal hand reaching for the plate and body almost trapping you against the counter while you fix your gaze on anything but him, Bucky freezes for a moment — he meant to grab the plate and turn around, but this does feel intimate. 

"Hey," he breaks the silence and you have to look up. In this instant, you want to take a mental picture and remember exactly how he looks. Light shining into his eyes, illuminated the tip of his perfectly carved nose and cheekbones. Pink lips parted and tongue swiping over them. Could this be nervousness?

You raise your chin, biting the inside of your cheek and fighting to maintain eye-contact. He is so close that you cannot help but being distracted by his smell, the way your chests would touch if you just pushed yourself off the counter, the way you want to feel cornered and caged if it means resting your cheek against his chest and having his arms around you.

Fuck.

"You gonna be okay?" 

You wonder if his senses can pick up your internal turmoil. If he can hear your heart hammering against your ribcage, the quickened and shaky breaths. You fold your arms and hug yourself, a poor attempt at gaining back some control over yourself.

"M'fine," you mutter. He doesn't look convinced and still hasn't moved. You lower your head, the remnants of previous haircut mistakes and bangs falling over your eyes. "Really."

"Yeah?" 

You look up again, mustering up a smile.

"Yeah. A little meltdown can work wonders for a girl." 

He chuckles and you have never wanted to kiss anyone this badly in your entire life, but you blame it on the emotional rollercoaster this day has been. You almost flinch as Bucky raises his hand but exhale as his fingers graze your cheeks, moving your hair out of your eyes.

Your mother calls your name and you sigh. Bucky brings out the turkey and you set the side dishes on the table, carefully avoiding the candles and almost squishing a green garland. It's a perfect picture, you and him stepping out of the kitchen in tandem and smiling down at your parents as they congratulate you on the turkey — this is probably a picture you had in mind as a child. Something out of a romantic comedy.

You sit down and Bucky's hands linger on your shoulders, thumbs stroking exposed skin and your neck. You raise your head, leaning back in your chair to meet his gaze. Should you put your hand on his? Should you smile and gaze lovingly at him — isn't that what you are already doing? He bents down, softly kissing your cheek, lips ghosting over your ear.

"Let's sell this thing, shall we?" 

* 

You step out of the bathroom, silky pajamas hugging your figure and wet hair sending shivers down your back. You sigh heavily, feeling the need to seek warmth but not having enough energy. Your arms are at your sides and your bare feet have a hard time moving.

Bucky stares at the carpet as drops of water trickle down your hair and slowly form a dark spot at your feet. His gaze travels back to your face, eyebrow quirked. You look absolutely drained, with your lips slightly parted and the way you blink slowly, as if your eyelids weighted tons.

"If they ask us to stay for lunch tomorrow," you begin, slowly approaching the bed. "Please say we have a mission." 

Bucky gives you a small nod. You sit down on the bed or rather let your body drop unceremoniously and lay down, hands on your stomach and eyes glued to the white ceiling. The mattress moves with Bucky and you hear him rest his back on the bed's head. Creaky wood that won't stop making noise.

"Well," Bucky starts, looking down at your form. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" 

You slowly peel your gaze off the ceiling, body and face still as your gaze moves to his face, his eyes already on yours.

"I don't have the strength to answer you right now." 

His shoulder shake and so does the bed. You groan.

"Can I ask you a question?" 

"No."

"Why did you decide to contact your parents after all this time?"

"Did you hear me say no?" 

He gives you a half shrug and you sigh, rolling so you are lying on your stomach, elbows propped up on the mattress. Bucky knows this means you are going to talk, and he sits up straighter, intrigued.

"Everyone was gone," you say simply, fingers drumming mindlessly on your cheek. "It was…utter and complete chaos everywhere. You're lucky you didn't get to see it. Just to go out in the streets, enter a coffee shop and see the look on people's faces…" You don't finish your sentence, eyes fixed upon Bucky's torso but mind miles away from your room. His shoulders sag as he takes in your expression. "And I felt lucky I still had Natasha, and Steve. And Tony. I was so lucky compared to others — sometimes I helped Steve out with his therapy meetings and I just…hearing about other people's loss…I wondered about my parents, somehow. I drove all the way up here and the house was so silent and empty, I just knew." You shrug, lowering your gaze to numbly observe the patterns on your sheets. "We've never been close, and I thought I didn't care about them the way I've always felt like they didn't care about me, but when I realized they weren't here anymore…they're still my parents, you know?" Not expecting you to look up at him, Bucky is at a loss for words when you bite your lip and go silent as if you were waiting for an answer.

You swallow thickly.

"So when everyone came back, I had this urge to make sure they did too. And now we're here," you purse your lips. "Not sure this was a good idea." 

Sometimes you think contacting them was a mistake. Yes, you felt an incommensurable sense of loss, standing in this empty house with the wooden floor creaking underneath your feet, dust flying and twirling around you, your reflection staring mockingly at you whenever you passed a mirror. Too late. Visiting your childhood home was the moment it all came rushing back to you ; the moment your mind finally caught up with reality and you simply crumbled. Orphan, half of your friends turned into dust, a whole world of shades of grey and not an ounce of hope. But spending Thanksgiving here doesn't give you the comfort or closure you thought it would. Being here and feeling like a stranger in your own home, bringing a fake boyfriend, having to sit through celebrations when there is nothing left to celebrate on this earth for you.

"They looked happy to see you."

Your chest tightens for a moment. It's somewhere between guilt and longing.

"Yeah, I guess," you give him a half shrug. Your face is resting right next to his thighs and you stare for a moment. Another barely perceptible movement and the headboard squeaks again. You almost let your face fall on his thighs when heavily groaning. He laughs and it gets worse.

"Well at least it's gonna be easy to convince them we really are a couple, right babe?" He says, deadpan. You look up at him through your lashes, sly smile on your face, a force of habit. Striking blue eyes staring back at you, perfectly sculpted face and a smirk on his plump lips. It would be so easy to pretend this is a normal scene from a domestic life. The creases around your mouth disappears as you blink a sort of haze away.

The moment passes and you busy yourself with the laptop you brought, while Bucky stalks to the bathroom. The sound of water running manages to soothe you, weight on your chest slowly dwindling and breaths coming in lighter. It's a white noise lulling you to sleep. You lazily brush your hair and slide into bed, covers pulled to your chin and body stiff as the cold from the sheets seep into your bones for a long moment. 

The shower curtain rattles, bottles clink against the sink and water runs again with the sound of a toothbrush. You turn on your side, chin tucked to your chest and arms under your pillows, scared to stretch out your legs and meet a biting cold again. The bathroom door opens and you relish the very small amount of warm steam reaching you.

The bed dips and you keep your eyes closed.

"You sure you don't want me out of your bed?" You don't know how many times he has asked this question. You only hum, too tired to voice your thoughts out loud. You feel the covers being lifted and shiver — could it be his thigh brushing against yours?

His mere nearness already warms the bed up and you silently thank a higher presence for the super soldier serum.

"God you're like a personal heater," you mutter, faced squished against your pillow, body moving closer to his on its own until warmth has engulfed you and you can finally extend your legs, feet reaching the end of the bed.

"Mh, I get that a lot," you feel his chest rumble next to you and you hum in response, something between contentment and an attempt to hide a blooming sensation in your chest.

You get closer again, face now pressed against his arm, cheek to warm and toned flesh. It doesn't take long for his arm to move, a frown etched on your features before they ease up again as he guides your face to his chest. An arm snaking around your shoulders and holding you closer, a chest rising and falling with deep and even breaths, a back and forth that rocks you.

You can't even remember the last time you felt this at peace. This warm and safe, arms secured around you like a cocoon, the smell of your childhood and his cologne mixing together. And it hits your half-asleep brain that you had craved this all along, all those years of darkness and loss.

"M'sorry," you murmur, your lips moving against his chests and your words barely discernible. "Just really need this right now." 

His fingers linger on your back, hand sliding down to rest on your waist. Squeezing, thumb stroking your skin, fingers tracing random shapes. You shift, your own arm laying on his stomach, almost hugging him like a pillow or a big stuffed animal. Fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt like a reflex, legs tangling with his.

"It's okay." His voice is smooth, quiet. "Me too."

*

Eyes bleary and squinting to adjust to the light, you hold on to the banister as you wobble down the stairs. Voices echo around the living room and you frown. It's only eight.

You still as Bucky's laugh reaches your ears and hurry down the remaining steps. The morning light shines through the windows, surprisingly blue and clear skies facing you. Red and green lights dance around the living room's walls, reflections from the Christmas Tree's decoration. Lips parted in awe, you linger for a moment. The atmosphere is different from last night, it feels lighter. It's not just that the downpour has been replaced by a blue sky and what seems to be a perfect fall day — ice cold but the sun still shining. You feel lighter.

"Hey." You whirl around. You didn't notice Bucky approaching you. Coking his head to the side, he looks at you with an unreadable expression. "You planning on spending the day standing here?" 

"Tempting," you give him a half shrug, and he extends his flesh hand towards you, palm up and inviting.

"We made breakfast," he says as you rest you put your hand in his warily. 

"We?" 

The smell of bacon hits you when you enter the dining room, a table full of pancakes and pies greeting you. Steaming cups of coffee, a teapot — Bucky discreetly tugs you closer to him, hot breath on your cheek.

"You prefer tea in the morning, right?" It is whispered as not to draw suspicions towards the fact that he knows nothing about you, but it takes you a moment to recover from the initial surprise of the gesture. You nod numbly, eyes fixed upon your intertwined fingers. When did you say it was okay for PDA? 

The conversation flows more easily in the morning, the sight of a table this impressive and Bucky's touch lifting your spirits. You think life could be this easy all the time. This tranquil and domestic, a good night's sleep with someone and pancakes waiting for you in the morning. You smile as you talk about some of your most confusing missions, as you and Bucky tell stories about Sam. Albeit a bit pained, but it's something.

Leaving your parents after breakfast isn't as satisfying as you thought it would be, and you give warmer hugs than what you gave last night.

You sigh when the driver's door closes, sinking into your seat and resting your forehead against the cool window. The landscape is an orange blur, the sound of the wind blowing around the car loud enough for the radio to be useless. When you are in the city again, the car slows down and you are stuck in traffic. Bucky's hand reaches out to switch the radio on and you turn slightly in your seat, body leaning towards his.

"I was a bitch to you," you state without any warning and he snorts, looking at you with a confused expression. "When we first met." 

"Oh," his raises his brows high, as if in absolute agreement.

"You just reminded me of Steve," you say softly. "And I hated him for leaving. Still do, sometimes." you think, frown etched on your features. "Most of the time. But it wasn't fair to you and I'm sorry." 

He turns his head towards you, a simple nod to you. You fold your hands on your lap, chest lighter now that you have said it out loud. He clears his throat and you look at him again. Sun reflecting on his sparkling eyes, a smile pushing its way onto his lips. Genuine, soft. You find yourself returning the gesture naturally — no pursed or tight lips, no physical pain in your cheeks. 

"And this was nice," you add quietly.

*

"It's not that we haven't talked," you roll your eyes, nursing a drink of champagne and crossing the bal room with Sam at your side. Voice louder than usual, eyelids and lips glittering, your heels click against the floor and you side step dancing couples. 

It's quieter near the Christmas Tree. Well, near the bar.

"So you have talked?" Sam sets his empty glass on the bar counter and asks for a refill with a simple tilt of the head. Perks of being Captain America, surely. You lean against the cold marble, in-between the stools, huffing.

"No, we didn't," you repeat for what is probably the third time.

"Man, this isn't going anywhere," Sam shakes his head, eyes skimming over the crowd. You do the same.

"That's what I told when you insisted on starting this conversation, Wilson." 

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever," he grumbles before taking another sip of his drink. You give in with a half shrug and a sigh.

"We just haven't had a reason to, Sam, don't read too much into it," you say casually. "No missions, no meeting…" 

"Right. And the fact that you haven't been to our headquarters in a month."

"Well, as I said. No mission, no meeting," you raise your eyebrows. "You think I'm gonna drive all the way up there to say hi and prove you that everything is fine?" 

"I was expecting this kind of commitment to the team, yes," Sam sighs dramatically and you return to your bubbly drink.

The song switches to Mariah Carey and a chorus of cheers erupts from the room, almost making you physically wince. Hands in the air, feet jumping up and down and literally making the room shake, every vibration felt deep in your chest.

"Now this is a song I haven't heard today."

Sam snickers.

"Here we go. Was wondering when you were gonna ruin the mood." 

"Hey!" You head whirls around, mouth open. Brown eyes twinkling with amusement, eyebrows barely raised, the kind of satisfaction you get when you want to say I told you so. "You have to admit that this is getting redundant." You are definitely not to blame here — surely more there are more than three Christmas songs in the world?  

"It's Christmas." 

"Yes, I'm painfully of aware." Someone falls on the dance floor and you judge them silently. You and Sam probably look intimidating as both of you are leaning against the bar, glass in hand and chins raised. "Plus it took me more than an hour to…" You trail off, a sudden glint drawing your attention to the entrance of the room, right across from the bar. "…get here." 

Sam follows your line of sight. Through a flurry of red figures, glittery and twinkling dresses twirling around with every move and laughter mixed with animated chatter and pop songs, a dark figure parts the crowd and makes its way towards the bar. Something akin to slow-motion happens in your brain. Completely unprepared for something you had been thinking about for days. Not days. Weeks.

Your chest rumbles with the rhythm of the song, matching each beat of the drums. It helps you cover up the fact that your heart is violently pounding against your ribcage and that he can probably hear it. Hell, Steve could probably hear it from his grave — this thought makes you blink, a semblance of composure coming back to your face.

"Hey man!" Sam happily greets his friend, patting him on the back. "Happy Christmas Eve." His hand lingers, squeezing Bucky's shoulder. His gaze is warm and the silent eye-contact you two share when your eyes travel above Bucky's shoulder is a way of wishing you the same. Playful face merging into something sincere. Jolly songs contrasting with the sad look in your eyes and the woeful smiles you three have plastered on your face. Civilians like to call this night the first Christmas into a normal life again. Their old life.

"Hi," Bucky greets you, a little breathless, and you wonder if he took the stairs to get here. 

Sam is whisked away by a politician and you remember that he is here as Captain America and therefore is on duty. Champagne has never looked prettier, swirling in your glass as you try to focus on anything else but the man ordering a drink beside you.

"How have you been?" He asks, mimicking your exact posture and taking a first sip of a scotch. You cast him a side glance. There's a scratch above his left eyebrow and you wonder why no one told you about this mission or called for backup. 

"You mean, have I lost my goddamn mind in the kitchen again and thrown a poor animal on the floor?" He chuckles. Your eyes travel down his face and his midnight blue suit for a moment. Too long, and he notices. "Nope. I'm good." 

He nods, then tilts his head to the side. His once-over is even less subtle than yours and you bury your face into your glass, not knowing where to look anymore. Shit. This was easier when you just bumped into him on your way to see Sam or simply shared missions with him — no small talk, no information on each other, nothing. 

Thanksgiving was supposed to be unpleasant. And it was — bleak, gloomy, melancholic. But he wasn't.

"Care to dance?"

Your head snaps up towards him. You laugh, the rest of your drink downed in a second. Bucky stands up straighter — finishing a drink means being freeing oneself from having to hold a glass, right?

"I don't dance, Barnes." 

"You don't?" You shake your head, already lifting a hand to motion for another drink. He steps around the bar stool that was previously keeping you apart, the smell of cologne and aftershave hitting your senses. 

"I don't. Certainly not on Christmas songs." 

He turns his head towards the crowd, chest rising as he breathes in deeply. The room does look pretty. Golden, red and green. Trees and fake wrapped gifts on the floor, fairy lights cascading down the windows and giving a kind of ethereal glow to everything and everyone standing here. It makes looks softer, eyes lighter. A couple captures everyone's attention ; skillfully dancing on every single song and adapting to every tempo. Their smiles are so bright that your lips quirk up a little without you even noticing it. It is radiant and contagious and for a moment they are all you can see.

A small gasp gets stuck in your throat when Bucky steps in front of you, breaking your focus on the dance floor. How did he get so close? 

He offers you his hand, palms up and inviting. You remember how they felt on Thanksgiving.

"Bucky, I…really can't dance," you shake your head, lips parted.

"C'mon. No one cares."

He doesn't wait for you to place your hand in his, but simply grabs it, fingers naturally intertwining as if they had been designed to fit together. You open your mouth to argue, but all that escapes your mouth is a chuckle. An incredulous and surprised chuckle — almost a giggle but it hurts to admit it, eyes flitting over the crowd and the people surrounding you. Are they looking? Are they seeing what you are seeing? 

He tugs on your hand and it is a slow song that echoes around the room, two bodies felling in step and gliding across the glittering floor. You hide your surprise at the way he leads you effortlessly — you had heard stories about his days in the forties and you suppose this is what he mastered to woo the dames. A warm hand in yours and the other firmly placed around your waist, drawing you close to his chest. You wrap an arm around his neck, fingernails tingling his skin.

"Is this Bing Crosby?" You ask lazily, body swaying slowly.

He hums.

"Uh. Better than Mariah Carey," you state quietly, almost in his ear. Hot breath on his skin. He huffs, quiet laughter and crinkles by his eyes. Out of all the things you could say to him right now, this is what you do.

"I'm glad you came," he says softly and you look at him curiously. He gives you a half shrug as you slowly twirl in his arms. "We haven't seen you in a while. Didn't want you to be alone today." 

Your stomach twists when you are pulled into his arms again, your hand hesitantly cupping the back of his neck. You had indeed considered staying in bed and possibly crying in front of a romantic comedy, as cliché as it sounds. Completely immerse yourself in a universe that isn't yours and whose characters you do not have to grieve for. Vicariously feeling the Christmas Spirit of others.

But you wanted to be with your friends, as painful as it is to be reminded that your circle is half empty. Sam has poured his heart into this party — a tribute to Tony, a bit of giving after having taken so much, money raised for people in need and an opportunity to reunite and share something as a group again. You admire his strength and will and it is no surprise to you that he gets to carry the Captain America mantle. Someone whose heart knows no limit and who would do anything for his friends.

You smile wistfully.

"It's a nice party," is the only thing you say, small shrug accompanying a casual tone.

"It is," Bucky nods. Eyes going over every decoration again. It is a nice feeling — swaying in his arms, warmth and cologne engulfing you whole and caging you from the outside world. His skin is so soft against your fingers and you want to nuzzle your face into his neck, completely hide away and feel nothing but him.

You shouldn’t let yourself feel this way for someone you might lose, but you can’t help but relish the feeling of being held again. His hands cannot mend the pieces of your broken heart but they can contain them and keep you from crumbling down. 

Disappointment probably shows on your face and your tired smile when the song ends and he steps away from you — hand still lingering on yours. As if reading your thoughts, Bucky casts a glance behind him and motions towards the exit with his chin. You follow his line of sight, then eye the crowd around you. He is right, no one cares.

Trailing behind him with flitting glances around you, hand grabbing a hold of his suit as if you could squeeze fabric tighter than flesh, you don’t notice when he stops and you bump into his back.  The idea of leaving this party with him is taking up all your thoughts — no clear ideas but a definite feeling, an urge to find the comfort of his arms again.You almost don't look up as a string of cheers and laughter erupts around you. Way too close to you to be a simple coincidence. Bucky's hand tightens around yours. Green stares back at you.

Oh.

No.

Mistletoe. 

Should you shake it off with a good laughter that makes it look like this is extremely funny but he is just a friend? Should you pretend not to see it even though your eyes are boring holes into it? 

Bucky has already made up his mind.

Warm flesh squeezes your hand while cool metal rests on the small of your back, encircling your waist and pulling you close so unexpectedly that you almost stumble into his arms. The warmth emitted from his body is already melting away any smart quips or observations you had ready to get out of this. Completely shattering your resolve not to melt into his arms. You can only feel him. His arms around you, flesh hand moving up your arm, caressing and squeezing your shoulder until it is resting on your neck, fingers delicately holding your chin. You don't resist when he lifts it, eyes meeting his through your thick lashes.

This is the opposite of the quiet and intimate moment you were thinking about when leaving the room. Far from discreet touches but right among flashing lights, booming music and expectant stares. You’ve never had a kiss under the mistletoe and this is way too cheesy and holidays-like.

But he leans forward and his lips are on yours. Softly. Delicately. It lasts a split second. It satisfies the crowd and it seems like a peck that could happen to both lovers and friends but it leaves you aching for more.

You look up in a daze when he pulls away, lips parted and eyes wide. You blink it all away and plaster a tight-lipped smile on your face when you fake-bow to clapping strangers, and it takes all the willpower in the world to hold yourself upright. 

The corridor is almost empty, save late-comers jogging towards where you are coming from or drunken people escaping the warm and almost suffocating air of the party. You have absolutely no idea where you are going, numb legs carrying you all the way to a remote corner. Your back hits the wall — his arm around you softens the impact.

Who instigated the second kiss? You feel like he met you halfway, or maybe you stayed rooted to your spot like a deer caught in headlights, pulse probably heard from a miles away. You can only focus on the softness of his lips on your skin, tender kisses on your neck and on the corner of your mouth. Eyes fluttering shut, fingers making their way through his hair and tugging, cheek to cheek and chest to chest — time has stopped.

You only open your eyes halfway when he pulls away for air, blurred vision and pounding heart. You feel his hot breath on your face when he chuckles breathlessly.

"Still hate this damn season?" 

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes one shot #christmas one shot #Wonderland4SeasonalWC

[nicklightbearer]

whatever here is the fic

we happy few, nick lightbearer is once again hunted by foggy jack but this time he fights back. just..... not.... well.

this is a tickling fanfic fair warning <3

“Nick.. Nick!”

Rolling over, Nick Lightbearer grumbled and pulled the sheets over his head.

“Virgiiiiiiiiillll.. Five more minutes…” “In five minutes you’ll be dead, idiot! Up, up!”

Nick blinked a few times before feeling a small something land on his stomach- with a high-pitched screech, he sat bolt upright, scrambling to throw the blankets off. There was an oof! from the floor where they landed, and Nick shivered as he peered over the bed.

A rat. There had been a rat- wait- Virgil?

“.. What? What! You’re dead! I- I already avenged you- what do you want now??”

The rat huffed indignantly.

“Well, maybe I’m trying to keep your stupid arse alive, huh? He’s headed here already- so put some pants on, for god’s sake, and find a weapon!” “He? He who?” “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Who do you think??”

Who would- ah bollocks. Nick leapt to his feet, clutching at the wall for support as his head spun. God, even the reds and yellows were wearing on him..

“Foggy- Foggy Jack?? But I- I thought he-“ “Oh, come on. Put two and two together, Nicky.” “Ooh, if you weren’t dead, I’d right love to throttle you for the stupid vague clues…”

Virgil wheezed out a laugh that made Nick roll his eyes as he dug through the dresser.

“You may have blasted the bastard right hard, but it’d take more than a riff or two to kill a man. He’s more starstruck than ever, now.” “See, that wasn’t so hard! Straight answers, Virg, straight answers!”

The room wavered again and Nick cursed angrily as he toppled over trying to pull his slacks up.

“Who taught you how to quip back, huh?” “Could have something to do with the fuckin’.. Broken mood booth outside.”

Grumbling, he finally managed to stand up and pull his pants up proper, tugging on his jacket with only a moment’s hesitation. The blue one, yes, he’d rather wear dark colors if he’s hiding from a serial killer.

“Anyway- where is he now?”

There was a pause, and Nick looked up. The rat was gone.

“Virgil..? Dammit.”

A sudden jiggling of his door handle made him gasp, and he backed away before bolting towards the window.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckit in a bucket, ooh, I don’t have my-“

The front door splintered under a heavy blow, and Nick squealed another curse to himself before nearly leaping into the bathroom and slamming the door shut.

”Guitar!” “Mr. Lightbearer.. Do open up, please! I brought ahh.. Some whiskey! A gift from a fan!”

It almost gave him pause before he shook his head wildly.

“No, no. Focus, Nicky!”

He cast his gaze around the room in a panic. Empty pill bottles littered the sink and floor, and he shoved a few of them out of the way to rummage through the cabinet. Nothing.

Nothing but a plunger next to the toilet- though he considered it, the flimsy weight felt more useless than his own fists, and he discarded it quickly.

That left.. the tub.

Wait. The tub! He leaned over to whip the curtain back, and cringed slightly at the sight of the woman inside- thank god, she was clothed. But in her hand was his goal- just last night, he’d been on the.. Receiving end of…

Pulling it carefully from her grasp, he sighed in relief before jolting at the sound of the door splintering again. Fuck, fuck! He couldn’t let Jack see this poor bird- wait-

Checking her pulse, he sighed in relief. Okay, problem for later. It wouldn’t be the first time a woman woke up alone in his house. He quickly pushed out the door again, closing it and jiggling the lock just to make sure it wouldn’t open again- yep!

Then again, that left only himself and the eye that now peered through his former front door, which was largely splintered to bits. He backed up a little before dashing to his bedroom, both hoping and not hoping that Jack would follow.

“Ohh, Mr. Lightbearer… Nicky~!” The slip from formal to a deeper purring tone sent a shiver down the rockstar’s spine, and he clutched at his makeshift weapon nervously as he pushed his back against the door.

“Hey, lock it and get back, idiot! He just broke the other one down, what happens when he slams an axe through this one??” “Virgil- ooh, you’re right!”

He’s always right. Nick jumped back, casting his gaze around the room after clicking the lock shut. Not much to work with, really, but he could.. He could hide- er- well, the closet would be too obvious, right? Or would it be so obvious that he wouldn’t check?

“No, he knows you’re stupid, Nick. Fucksakes.” “Well, what- ooh!”

Pulling open the dresser drawers, he started throwing clothes on the floor next to the window. The rat perched on top of the dresser sighed as he watched, but Nick ignored him for the moment.

“And what, pray tell, is the plan here? D’you have a gun you never told me about? A machete? Hell, even a baseball bat-” “No- I’m fine for weapon, thanks. This is- well- you’ll see!”

Shouldn’t say it out loud, not with how the door groaned as a weight was thrown against it. Nick shuddered as he pushed the clothes haphazardly closer to the wall, then scooted behind the curtain. The pile on the floor was enough to hide his feet- and the curtains were against a black window, so no light would give him away…

It wasn’t perfect. But if the closet was checked first, he’d have the upper hand.

The door splintered after only a few more hits, and Nick held his breath. He could just barely see through the fabric, having his face so close- and seeing Jack again, albeit this time with a slightly more ruffled appearance, made his heart leap into his throat. Terror was enough to keep his fist gripping the weapon, and he watched with wide eyes as the killer stalked into the room, the red glimmer from his own eyes casting an eerie light over the room as a cloud of fog rolled in after him.

It was nothing if not dramatic, he mused, almost inspired by the sight if he hadn’t been fearing for his life.

Jack hummed to himself as he glanced around the room, the familiar tune to Cheer Up bringing a grimace to Nick’s face. Genuinely, the guy was still a fan- it felt bad to be holding a weapon towards any fan for any reason, but..

Seeing the glittering knife that Jack held whipped his perspective back instantly. Fuck, this guy was absolutely bonkers- though, granted, that only made him feel worse- he couldn’t afford to be wishy-washy about this!

As predicted, Jack didn’t even notice the curtains, instead peering under the bed before turning towards the closet.

“Nick, Nick, Nick… Really, I can’t believe you’d let yourself be cornered so easily. Really, I expected more resistance. No activated security system-”

Fuck! He’d forgotten to turn it on in his drunken stupor the night before!

“No bobbies to guard the house, and not a single manager in sight.. Oh, wait!”

A flash of anger nearly made him leap out right there- but no, he’d wait and bide his time.. For just the right moment…

As Jack grasped the handle on the closet, Nick tensed.

“I suppose you don’t have one of those, do you?”

He flung the doors wide with a taunting laugh that died slowly, his outstretched arms lowering with confusion.

“What..?”

Now!

Nick leapt from his hiding place, nearly tripping on all the clothes but somehow managing to stumble so that he was standing on the bed- not unlike someone hiding away from a mouse, except the mouse was a person and that person had a big knife with his name on it, possibly literally.

However, his unsure footing made him miss his target of ‘back of the skull, god, please let me just knock him out’ and instead slam the instrument across Jack’s back. The impact made him tense, and he squeezed the handle nervously-

Only for electricity to zip out of it, making his palms tingle as the killer gasped. Oh, fuck on a stick.

But.. Something was off. Rather than immediately whipping to stab him, Jack stumbled, slamming against the dresser and clutching at his suit.

“What- what in the blazes-”

Well, no time for hesitation! He swung again, this time holding the button down with purpose. Anything to catch this guy off guard, right? It was also far easier to tap repeatedly at his body rather than his head, and… It worked.

Somehow, it worked. Jack’s arms were glued to his sides and he shimmied away from the assault, expression shifting from a confused pout to a more.. Well, his cheeks puffed out and he cringed, but a smile still seemed to tug at his lips. This smile was different, though, and seemed far more genuine than the mask let on.

“Stop- hey, stop! What- waha- wait!”

Ho. Ly. Shit.

Foggy Jack. Serial killer, menace to society, his personal fuckin’ stalker….. Was ticklish.

Okay. Okay. Well, this information was definitely going to be put to use- let’s see- right the fuck now. Nick slid down from the bed, using the Tickler to bop Jack closer to it- an easy task, given that he nearly tripped himself right onto it. With a quick push.. Perfect!

Foggy Jack was now on his bed. Disheveled, covering his mouth to hold back giggles, and with an expression bordering on infatuation shining out from behind his hand.

For a minute, he was stunned, before remembering the knife. Glancing down, though- oh, he wasn’t holding it. He’d dropped it- there, on the floor.

Jeez, it was almost like he didn’t want to kill Nick.

….. Shelving that thought to dwell on later, Nick grinned with as much menace as he could muster.

“Well, well, well. Ya know, mister Foggy Jack, you’re not half so scary like this.”

Jack yelped as the Tickler was pushed squarely against the middle of his stomach, trying to grab it but letting go quickly as Nick tapped the button a few times. The sensations of light electricity dancing across his torso quickly gave rise to more giggles, ones that he could hardly hold back for all the delight he clearly felt.

“Really! Sheesh, if I’d known about this before, all this lot of stuff would have been so much easier.. Hey, arms up!”

Nick huffed, pushing the arms that seemed nearly glued to his sides before just wiggling a hand between sleeve and shirt. For practiced fingers like his, coaxing out more shocked laughter was easy- and with the Tickler now running up and down his stomach, Jack finally broke.

“Waihihihit! No- stop! St- ahaha! It tickles!” “Well, I sure fuckin’ hope it does, lovely… That’s the point.”

Though, to be honest, he wasn’t sure how to handle things from here. Sure, he could wear out Jack and- wait, perfect. He’d just tickle the man until he properly passed out, then run and find a bobby. Perfect!

Though, as he watched the man writhe beneath him, escalated to proper laughter as skilled fingers squeezed at his sides and the Tickler continued tormenting his stomach, he was a tad hesitant. The ticklish near-agony that made shrieks ring out was… Hm, fun!

As he listened to more of that adorably broken-up laughter, he wondered how addicting this sort of drug might be.

“PLEHEASE- DON’T- DON’T TICKLE ME- IHI CAN’T, I CAN’T TAKE IT! M- MAHAHA- NNNNICK!” “That’s Mr. Lightbearer to you, mister Foggy. Go on, ask me proper to quit, maybe I’ll think about it. Probably not.” “Mr. Light- eehee! Lightbeareheher! Please!” “Please what??” “Plehehease- dOHON’T! Stoooohohop tickling mehehe!” “Don’t stop tickling you? Don’t mind if I do, sweetheart!”

Though the petname didn’t go unnoticed by either of them, Nick chose to eliminate any chance of a response by ducking down- the sudden closeness of their faces made Jack go silent, breathless with both laughter and starstruck awe. Nick winked before ducking his face down and  blowing a raspberry right against his neck, sliding the Tickler to press down against his torso again.

The response was immediate. Jack flailed wildly and cackled, beating at Nick’s back weakly as he choked out wordless pleas. Of course, none of them were heeded, and a few more raspberries were instead strategically placed on the man’s neck. In all his years, even knowing that most people were at least a little ticklish around the face (due to the masks, certainly), he’d never garnered a reaction quite this intense. Must be extra sensitive- therefore, weak, and the wheezes between laughs made Nick grin.

It was honestly.. Kinda cute. He was glad that his goal was to tickle the man to pieces, since otherwise he’d normally give a break by now.

As the struggling became weaker, and the laughs reached pitches that frequently dipped into silent snorts, Nick hummed to himself. Now would be a good a time as ever to drop a little.. Finale, let’s say. He pulled back for a moment, easily readjusting their positions- now, with Jack laying limply on the bed and only weakly with his arms linked around his waist, he climbed on after him properly. It wasn’t hard to sit above his prey, wiggling his fingers a little for extra effect- and relishing in the burst of giggles and flinch- before tapping his chin.

“Now, let’s see.. Something tells me you’re nearly tuckered out. But I’m not quite done, oh no.” “N.. No??”

Something about the way his voice was suddenly softer, even shy in a way- it made Nick’s stomach do a few flips.

“No! Of course not. You’ve been awful rude, banging my door down and threatening me. But I can put that behind us.”

Bending down again, he placed a hand on either side of Jack’s head, their faces nearly touching- once again, Jack held his breath, eyes wide.

“.. Close your eyes for me, Jacky.”

The speed at which his hesitation faded to nervousness, then to giddy anticipation.. It was adorable. Jack finally closed his eyes, then covered his face with a shuddering giggle.

From there, it was easy for Nick to unbutton his jacket- and even easier to bury his face against Jack’s stomach, nibbling through the shirt and earning a new set of squeals.

“No! No- ahaha- ooh, you-!” “Go on, give me a laugh! Just for me, Jacky! Ooh, those could be lyrics..”

He hummed a bit with the idea before returning to his previous actions- and it wasn’t long before the laughter died down, Jack barely writhing beneath him. Nick sat up eventually, finally giving it a rest as he watched the killer gasp a few times before he was silent.

… He leaned forward to check for a pulse. Yep. Hammering away, actually, but calming down.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure what to do. Sitting back on Jack’s legs, he gazed down, watching him sleep with a foggy confusion building in the back of his skull.

Sure, a bobby might.. Be able to help. But he was so tired. And Jack was warm- warmer than he expected, and…

Maybe a little nap wouldn’t hurt. He did crawl over to the side of the bed to push the knife under the dresser, first, but.. Yes, a nap.

Popping a spare Joy he found under one of his shirts, he flopped onto the bed, resolving to take care of the matter later. It was probably fine.

#this one's for you #hackneyfashioninstitute #<3 #we ticklish few #lightbearer #foggy poggy

[xthewhiteravenx]

Welcome to the Trap House Intelligence Agency “Protect Those Who Cannot Protect Themselves”

The Angels: Katrina Stuart, Tara Yummy, Devyn Lundy, Xepher Wolf (with Angel-in-Training Amber Scholl)

The Gentlemen: Colby Brock, Sam Golbach, Jake Webber, Corey Scherer, Aryia Emrani (with Gentlemen-in-Training Kevin Langue and Mike’sDead)

             »»————-　☠　————-««

“We were born with the insatiable taste for blood.”

            »»————-　☠　————-««

In these very rare occasions where an assignment required both teams, hell was always bound to break loose. Both teams should have known that by now but they enjoyed each other’s company too much sometimes that it clouded their judgement of their power. That thrill, however, was an addiction for them all and it is what made each member the perfect agent for the Trap House Intelligence Agency. It helped that each of them was an orphan, making them the perfect choice for their secret life, and the only people any of them cared about was each other. 

They were dangerous. They were cunning. They were beautiful. And they would not hesitate to kill you to qui non sibi munait... to protect those who cannot protect themselves...

“Can you switch the security off, Angel Kat?” a blonde, dressed impeccably in his dark blue specialty-made suit, cocked his handgun, rounding the corner. His blue eyes narrowed in on the hallway, waiting for any movement.

Through his ear piece, the blonde heard the voice of his girlfriend, a literal angel, “Of course, babes!”

Gentleman Sam Golbach smiled brightly, “Thank you, love!” and slowly walked down the long hallway. 

A few feet behind him was his “twin” (tied at the hip since they met in the Academy) Gentleman Colby Brock, who dressed in a completely black suit. One handgun was in his hand, ready to aim and fire, set to kill, but on his back was a pair of katana’s. Colby rarely every used them, though he was quite deadly with them, and instead used his hand-to-hand combat which was just as lethal. He was always able to get the enemy in a headlock with ease in the first few seconds before they knew what happened. A dark angel had taken their eyesight away and they floated into unconsciousness. 

Behind Colby was Angel Xepher and an Angel-in-Training Amber. Both were heavily armed, but Amber was way more on edge than anyone was. If Sam could sense it from the few feet ahead he was, he knew Colby did. Suddenly, Colby turned to Amber with a soft expression, raising his hand to grasp her shoulder. She looked up at him with wide-brown eyes. This was her first official mission. 

“You’re okay, Amber,” he reassured her and she exhaled, nodding. 

Sam paused at a doorway and then turned, gun aimed within. Quick blue eyes drifted within and saw nothing except for the Prize. Smirking and lowering his gun, Sam made his way inside and quickly pocked the small GPS device they were searching months for. Just as he did so, a loud alarm went off. Sam went wide-eyed and dashed out of the room. 

Colby gave him a side-eye of annoyance, as they all took off back the way they came, “What the fuck, Sam?”

Sam growled, “Wasn’t my fault,” and then aimed his voice toward his girlfriend, “I thought you said you lowered the security alarms, Kat!”

“I DID!” Kat was pissed and Sam could hear her tapping away on her laptop, “Fuck! Run, Sam! There’s an escape point out on the dam.”

Sam rolled his eyes, “We’ll be there,” he told his best friend and a shot rang out behind them. 

Colby whirled around on instinct, Amber and Xepher continuing to run with Sam, and fell to his knees. His suit was made of Kevlar, like all Gentlemen’s suits were, and so his suit did not tare as he slid across his knees; he would have bruises on his knees afterwards though but nothing that couldn’t heal. As he slid, he brought his gun up and Colby shot at the figure blindly, watching as they fell to the ground. Colby smirked, rising with ease, and rushed off to catch up with the others. 

“Took you long enough,” Xepher teased as Colby came up beside her. 

He laughed and rolled his eyes, “Another dare, Xepher?”

A twinkle appeared in Xepher’s eyes, “You’re going down bitch!”

Gunfire began to rain down around them moments later and they rushed down the hallway. Each one of them spins around and shoots at their enemy, including Amber who got rather giddy after someone was hit. Xepher counted off each one she disarmed or injured so Colby knew exactly where they were at on their dare. 

“15!” she called out. 

Colby smirked, shooting another enemy, “18!” and Xepher growled, slamming her shoulder into a door that led them out on top of the dam.

Sam turned around and pushed his body up into the door, holding it there as soldiers pushed into him from the other side. Colby jogged further down the dam, peering around but not seeing anyone with a car or a helicopter to get them out. 

“Where the fuck is our escape route, Katrina?” Colby growled into his earbud. 

“Hold on, you grumpy koala,” Katrina murmured back, typing away on her laptop. 

“We don’t got all day!” Sam grew angrier and angrier, pushing harder against the door, “And certainly not me here holding this damn door!”

“Did all of you pass your sky diving exam?” Katrina suddenly asks out of nowhere. 

Colby cocks an eyebrow as he turns back to Xepher and Amber, “Of course we did.”

Amber looked down at the ground, toeing at a leaf, “Not me.”

Colby turned to her, “Shit...,” Amber looked at him, hurtful that she wasn’t a full Angel yet and was failing her team (though this mission was not supposed to end this way). Colby smiled softly at her and nodded, “Stay with me, okay? I got you.”

“Good,” Katrina interrupted their moment, “Because you all need to jump off the side of the damn in 5... 4.... 3....”

Both Gentlemen and Angels ran for the edge, Sam sprinting away from the door, which sprung open and a flood of soldiers spilled out onto the dam road. Guns raised and aimed at the four figures running for the edge. Colby grabbed Amber’s waist, pulling her close to him. 

And they all jumped off the dam. 

The air rushed up to meet Amber’s face, but she held on tightly to Colby’s body. Xepher cried out in adrenaline above them and Sam laughed so loudly above the wind.

Then, Colby opened his parachute, bringing Amber closer to his body, as they came to a slow fall. Xepher and Sam followed a few moments later. Below them, a speed boat sprung to life, spinning a circle of turning water to signal where it was. Gun shots rained down and Amber gave a sharp noise of surprise as both she and Colby suddenly went into a freefall as their parachute gave out. 

“Get ready to swim!” Colby screamed in her ear, unlatching his broken parachute from his body. 

The pair dived into the water, bubbles rising up around them. Colby could hear the muffled sounds of Xepher and Sam’s bodies hitting the water too, as he quickly kicked himself to the surface. With a gasp of fresh air, Colby spun around catching the boat’s attention, but was also looking for signs of his teammates. 

A few seconds later, Amber appeared beside him, followed by Xepher and Sam, who gave him a watery smile. Xepher’s makeup had run a little, but majority of it had stayed on her face from the waterproof makeup Angels were allowed to use. Colby was honestly a bit jealous.

“Everyone okay?” Sam coughed a bit and they each nodded. 

A breath escaped from Colby. His worse fear was always if someone on his team got hurt and he was relived. This mission was too close for comfort.

“Hey!” a familiar voice called out from the boat, as it slowly came up beside the four. Colby reached out for the metal pole of the ladder, pulling himself up onto the deck. He was drenched and Colby pulled at his collar, undoing his tie from around his neck and tossing it onto a nearby chair. The others followed behind him and Colby looked up at the driver. 

“Well, don’t you all look like wet dogs,” it was Angel Katrina and beside her with four White Claws in hand was Gentleman Aryia. Katrina wore a deep blue bikini, while Aryia wore a dark grey suit. To anyone looking at them, they would have appeared as some couple away on vacation. As they came closer to the front of the boat, Katrina’s nose scrunched up, “Smell like wet dogs too.”

“Thanks, mom,” Colby laughed at his best friends’ girlfriend as he took the White Claw from Aryia, cracking it open and bringing it up to his lips for a quick drink. 

Sam walked over to Katrina, pecking her lips with a quick kiss and getting her wet as he did so, before taking a towel to dry himself off. Colby placed his White Claw down on the side of the boat and began to unbutton his ruined suit, placing the wet material on a nearby seat till he was down to a pair of swim shorts. 

Katrina laughed, pushing Sam away and turned to the others getting undressed into their swimwear, “Let’s get the fuck out of here!” and she punched the throttle, spinning the wheel, and the speed boat was off across the large lake. 

#sam and colby #sam and colby au #sam golbach #colby brock #katrina stuart #tara yummy #xepher wolf #devyn lundy #amber scholl #corey scherer #jake webber #aryia emrani #mike's dead #sam and colby au: spy #edit: mine #edit: trap house intelligence agency #traphousedaily #[more coming soon!]

[bangtanlalaland]

falcon | jjk 01 (m.)

synopsis ⇣ Jungkook Jeon, known as “Falcon,” unites with his best friend to rebel against the twisted, dominant system of the city, Python, until everything changes when he crosses paths with one of many enemies.

— dystopia au; enemies to lovers au

⇢pairing: free runner!jeon jungkook x detective!female reader    ⇢featuring: free runner!park jimin, free runner!kim namjoon, free runner!min yoongi & police captain!jung hoseok

⇢genre: angst, fluff, smut

⇢word count: 12.2k

⇢contents ⨯ warnings: (this fic is totally inspired by mirror’s edge), there’s isn’t any smut in this chapter (but there will be in future chapters), slow burn, some fluff in there, so much dialogue (it’s literally a MOVIE), some violence, some blood, some death, swearing lots of action (oops), fighting, free-running, lots & lots of drama (srsly get your popcorn ready), mentions of premonitions, major plot twists, infidelity (sorta?), mentions of sex, some sope action (yes i said it), namgi is also a thing (oop), basically jungkook is a rebel & proud, jimin is very clever (like woah), namjoon is a leader & sweetheart (as always), yoongi is a bad guy (¿woahhh did we expect that?) hoseok is a fuckboi (i’m sorry ugh :(((), also viper in this story is actually taehyung (oop), police stuff (duh), lots of bi stuff going on here, (much love for the lgbtq community)

artwork poster by: @hellenys​​

song rec: “falcon” by jaden smith

a/n: woah! so this is yet another wip that I’ve had for so long. I’ve made the decision to make this a series! (or maybe a two-shot) still not 100% sure yet, but I am honestly beyond relieved to finally release this. also a huge thank you to @hellenys​ for the artwork! I was actually inspired to start writing falcon after seeing her work. (specifically the photo above^) so you guys go check her out, her artwork is amazing!

Smack.

The sound of your boss dropping a chunky stack full of vanilla colored folders onto your desk, in your cubicle, startles your attention from sipping your now third afternoon dose of coffee. You swear he has been on your ass ever since you stepped foot into the clouded atmosphere of the police department. You were convinced you’re in Hell. Literally.

He eagerly spills, “These missing persons reports aren’t going to solve themselves. I can’t even step out for a $5 burger at that fast food shit place down the street without the press breathing down my neck about the citizens’ missing loved ones.”

You sigh for what has been the one thousandth time today so far. Going on one thousand-one. This city has been getting worse as the days go by, missing persons reports dating as far as 10 years back, maybe more if you really dig deep in there. Runners scatter the rooftops of the city, yet you and your entire team were left with zero leads. And your boss was right; the press was constantly nagging like a toddler at the age of two. Yet you and your tiny team were responsible for getting hands dirty and finding answers. And here he goes yet again…

“Contact the victims families. See if there’s any new information they could give us. Just in case. Over time, victims may remember details they happened to leave out- ” The phone for the department rings on your desk, and you hold your index finger up as if to politely ask your boss to shut his damn mouth so you can answer the phone.

“Python Police Department.” Your face grows concerned, mouthing to your boss: “Missing Person.” He throws his hands up and shakes his head in response, waiting for your departure from the phone. The elderly woman seemed borderline upset, but mostly depressed. As if all the life that was once in her was drained completely. After reassuring you will find answers, you hang up and turn to face your boss.

“It was a lady named Mrs. Jeon. She wants to follow up on the case for her son. Jungkook?” You say, more so as a question rather than a statement, in hopes that you pronounced his name correctly. Your boss nods in approval, clearly knowledgeable of who you’re talking about.

“Yeah she calls here at least one or twice a week saying the same thing over and over again,” he pauses momentarily then starts, “I remember that kid. He was in high school when his mother reported him missing,” he continues while shaking his head.

“I’ll never forget the day dispatch called me out there to see what was going on. This was back in my rookie detective days. At first I thought maybe he’s just playing hooky. Happens all the time, right?” You nod in agreement. You’d heard of his name before but never looked into it, considering you’d just been promoted 4 months ago. And for the first month, you’d only been sent to canvas witnesses. Although sadly, Jungkook is simply one among hundreds if not thousands of cases that have gone cold.

He continues, “But then, we checked the grid and his chip was gone. We didn’t get any alerts about its removal, so it was definitely shocking.”

“That doesn’t make sense. What do you mean it was gone?” You ask with crossed arms.

“Well, more like the grid showed that the chips’ location was his home. Obviously, he isn’t home and we searched the house. No chip.” He pauses for a moment as if processing what he’s about to say, “Someway, somehow, he removed himself from the grid. But, he wasn’t the only one.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I reassured Mrs. Jeon that if he didn’t show up in two days then we could file a missing persons report. She insisted that something was wrong and didn’t want to wait two days. But she had no other choice, and so she filed the report and days turned into weeks, months, and years.”

“How long?” You question.

With a sigh he replies, “Five.”

“No wonder she’s calling.”

“I know. But that’s the weirdest thing about it. As I mentioned, Jungkook wasn’t the only one with a missing chip.” He reassures with a sigh of what you assume is exhaustion.

“And?”

Your boss squints his eyes, as if he’s thinking.

“Follow me.”

He leads you to the “Cold Cases” room. It looks almost like a library, but instead of children books it’s several cases from murders to runaways — where endless amounts of evidence, files, reports, and other tangible items are stored. He scrambles through a pull out drawer of folders labeled and sectioned off in alphabetical order. He then pulls out a vanilla folder, and opens the file, revealing a photo of a young teen with dark, brown hair and plump, pink lips.

“Mrs. Park. Mother of Jimin Park. She filed a missing persons report the same day Mrs. Jeon did. They actually came together. And apparently they live on the same street.” He states while exiting the room and striding you into his office.

You inquire, trying to catch up to his quick pace. “So what are you implying?”

“I think…” he trails off, placing the folder on top of his desk and flopping into his office seat. “Jungkook and Jimin decided to drop out of school and run away in the sunset together.”

“And why would you assume that?”

“Well, let’s talk about the runners that run the rooftops. I know you’re still trying to get the hang of things, but there’s a pattern with this.”

“Okay?” You more-so question, rather than stating.

“First things first. Their chips. Runners always remove them, except we get alerts when done so.” He pauses. Of course you’re aware of the misdemeanor charge for that, right?” You nod in a “yes” gesture.

“Good. So, first they remove the chips. Second, they completely vanish. No one sees them for good and has no knowledge of where they are. It’s like they never existed, right? Families, friends, co-workers or whoever they know don’t see them anymore.”

You nod again, catching along. “Mmhmm.”

“Then, a missing persons report is filed. Either by a relative or a close friend. With that being said, it only makes sense that Jungkook and Jimin would be close together at least. I mean surely if Mrs. Park filed a report with Mrs. Jeon then couldn’t they both have known each other? Or at least had some knowledge of the relationship their sons had with one another? And again, the chips. Surely, they were in this together, and there’s not one part of me that doubts it.”

You take a deep sigh, soaking this information in, “Makes sense.”

“Look,” he says, while moving closer to you, stuffing his hands in his pockets. You gaze upon him, admiring the beauty mark on the left side of his top lip. His chocolate waves crown his face.

“What I’m trying to say is- If you find one of them, chances are you’ll find the other. Just… please be careful, ____. If these guys can suddenly vanish off the grid without a trace, who knows what else they’re capable of?”

Meanwhile, Jimin barges into a hideout on a rooftop (now part of an abandoned building) far into the city, but enough distance from prying eyes. He’s panting, out of breath, sweating and bent over as he removes his earpiece, swiping the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand. He runs his fingers through his jet, black strands. The sun slightly scorched his once pale cheeks, resulting in a rosy, pink shade.

“Fuck!”

Namjoon removes his headset and arises from his seat in the area that he and his mates have labelled as “coms,” having hacked into the city’s surveillance system.

“Good job, Phoenix. Water?” He asks, while offering Jimin a sip of his bottled water, before downing it completely.

“Fuck, no. I almost fucking died!” Jimin replies, still panting.

“Relax. You’re alive, aren’t you?” Namjoon retorts nonchalantly.

He crushes his plastic bottle and lunges it toward Jungkooks slumped figure over the couch nearby. He grunts in response, jerking up in his sleep. Being on the run for the past 5 years has only caused him to be as alert as a hawk.

“You’re up next, Falcon.” Jungkook shakes his head, gaining consciousness of his surroundings again. His black tank top and white nylon sweats having stuck to his form. His milk, chocolate strands blanket his face as he sits up, rubbing his eyes. The faint sunlight helps to awaken him from his slumber, as he covers his eyes to adjust to the sunrays. Jimin, who now has gained his breath back, flings his earpiece at Jungkook.

“Blue lights are heavy today. Watch your ass, huh?” With that, Jungkook stretches upward while placing the earpiece on. On his way towards the tiny kitchen area, Namjoon keys into the channel.

“Thunderbird for Falcon.” Jungkook gulps his banana milk and returns the carton to its place in the fridge. Wiping his mouth to rid the milk residue, he responds, “Go for Falcon.”

“I’m sure you probably don’t want to hear this. But it’s time for a test run.”

Jungkook is silent, yet internally screaming. He hates test runs. Who doesn’t though?

“I know what you’re thinking. I’ve told you before that one time won’t count. But, I need to calculate your momentum, and it helps tremendously to compare to your previous test runs.” Jungkook wasn’t worried about speed, but more so about his body. The last time he’d done a test run, he had completely passed out from overworking his body. Namjoon couldn’t leave the hideout, given that blue lights were everywhere and he didn’t want to risk not having anyone watching over the place. Luckily Jimin was already out for a run, and decided to take a detour to rescue his best friend. But, Jungkook does not like to fail. In fact, he despises it. He’s afraid that he’d fail. Again. He takes a deep breath.

“I know you can do it. The advantage now is that you actually got rest.” Jungkook couldn’t help but nod in agreement. He knew the last time he was going non-stop and being the stubborn bunny he is, Namjoon warned him more than once that he’d burnout sooner or later. But that’s the conflict with Jungkook. He grew complacent of being on the run constantly. It’s his life now; he hates the society he lives in and refuses to live according to the systems’ standards.

“Copy that, Thunderbird.” Jungkook responds, his arms and hands flexing, veins popping, as he slips on his neon red fingerless gloves. He pulls the straps of his black mask over and behind his ears — completely concealing most of his face.

Namjoon smiles in response, “That’s what I like to hear! Let’s bring that energy to the test, Falcon.”

Back at the station, you step out of your formal addression towards your boss and slip, “Hobi, I’ll be fine.”

“I know, I just can’t see myself losing you. You know how much you mean to me, right?” He asks, while reaching his hand towards your cheek with the intent to caress you but your reflexes immediately catch on, and you turn the opposite direction while muttering under your breath, “You know that we can’t-”

“I know. Sorry.”

A brief moment of silence shares the space between you both. Hoseok Jung, or as your recent pet name for him: Hobi, is not only the police captain of the Python Police Department, but currently your main squeeze as well. At least, that’s what you’d like to think. You can’t quite pinpoint what “this” with him is, given that neither of you made it official yet or set any boundaries. Which resulted in this continuous cycle of confusion on where you stand in this said “situationship.” But you don’t probe him, instead you just go with the flow and see where things lead. The only major conflict is that no one at the station should know about your doings. Or else there would be major consequences to face. You suppose that’s why Hoseok is the way he is with you. Maybe you’re nothing but a fling to him. Although some of the things he says deem otherwise.

“Last I heard, his street name is Falcon.” Hoseok skims through a folder on his desk that contains numerous papers, all to what you assumed held important information, then he pulls one out.

“I have a list of coordinates for locations where security cameras are installed and picked up high runner activity. Check those out and see if there are any leads. If no luck, go out and canvas witnesses on the street.” You nod in agreement, gathering your belongings to head on your way when suddenly you feel Hoseok’s grasp on your wrist. You immediately turn your gaze towards him, eyes blown wide as saucers.

“Please, be careful. Call me when you make it to the first and last location.” You eye his grip on you and snatch away quickly, regaining your composure.

“I will,” you respond, while slipping out of his office to leave the building.

On the rooftops, Jungkook gets into position. Staring ahead of himself, he takes a deep breath, awaiting Namjoon’s marker. A tiny droplet of sweat drips down the right side of his face, trailing down to his neck.

“On your mark. Ready.” Jungkook takes another deep breath. The sun suddenly becomes beyond its warm state, at this point, it’s scorching. His palms are damp. The black of his tee absorbs the city’s heat.

“Set.”

His mind goes racing in a million different ways. It was strange that at this moment, his mother crosses his mind. He wondered if she was okay. But, he couldn’t risk seeing her. Exposing himself. Then blue lights would find out, and   he’d be done. For good.

No, can’t risk it. No matter how much it hurts.

Since the age of 18, Jungkook called the rooftops his home. Some part of him felt selfish for only thinking of himself and leaving his mother behind. But he knew she would only scold him for rebelling against the system. Therefore, it was imperative that he left. For months, he and Jimin elaborated an escape — consistently backtracking and fixing any errors in their plan.

Unfortunately, plans don’t always go as planned and being just a couple of high school kids, Jungkook and Jimin hadn’t fully thought out the whole “where would we bunk” deal. But, all changed when they reached the rooftops. Although the first two years were literal Hell. Probably part of the reason Jungkook had become too exhausted at the end of it all. It was horrid to run non-stop, stability not being an option. Jungkook and Jimin had several quarrels with other runners. It became a cycle that Jungkook grew weary of:

Getting accepted into a hideout → Developing trust with other runners → Everything feels comfortable now →  Someone does something to show their true colors (Runners are out to get each other, despite the consequences. Whether the reward is for money, power, or maybe even freedom) → Jungkook and Jimin realize they can’t trust other runners → In conclusion, they flee → The process repeats

That is, until they met Namjoon. At first, he resisted. He previously had one roommate before that betrayed him, just as other runners betrayed Jimin and Jungkook. He thinks of him sometimes, and he’ll never forget his name. Yoongi Min, who goes by Firebird. Blue lights offered Yoongi a deal: to persuade Namjoon into a trap, at a disclosed location, in return for clearing his own name of all criminal records — freedom. Yoongi had been Namjoon’s roommate for four years, eventually growing close and becoming trustworthy of one another. Even coining each other’s names together, as a team. He always thought he’d take over the city of Python with Yoongi. Thus, that’s why Namjoon took Jungkook and Jimin in; because he saw them as himself and Yoongi, knowing that he would have wanted someone else to do the same for him and his once good friend.

“Go.” And with that, Jungkook powers forward leading with one goal in mind: Fast.

“I want you to head straight as far as you can. Got it?”

“Copy,” Jungkook slips. He starts at a steady pace, sliding under pipes connected to cooling fan systems, and vaulting over fences being sure to avoid high voltage ones. However, his velocity decreases when doing so. Namjoon takes note of that.

“Try to keep a linear direction as much as possible. Jump to the next building, using the metal pipe as a pole.”

Jungkook makes an estimate on how fast he should run to land onto the pole that’s adjacent to the rooftop of the building he’s currently on. He backs away about two meters and plants his feet on the ground, getting into position. His body exerts force and within seconds, Jungkook leaps from the rooftop. His heart dropping to his stomach, silently praying that his calculations were correct; and within seconds he lands onto the metal pole, his toned biceps clinging on for life. The leather gloves he wears grant a better grip on the surface, as he pulls himself upward, finally reaching the rooftop.

“Good job, Falcon. Keep pushing!”

Jungkook heaves, but knows he can’t stop now. He continues to scan his surroundings, taking in the view of the city from his vantage point. The sun still beams within the distance. Glass buildings towering the city, camera drones and lightweight super-jets scattering the sky.

No time for distractions.

Jungkook continues on his path as instructed by Namjoon. Lightly jogging, he rapidly picks up his pace until he takes a quick glance to his right and something catches his eye: a security camera, hanging below a billboard on the current building he stands on. He treads forward, and notices a blue light on the camera that blinks rapidly. He sticks his middle finger up towards the object and makes a swift turn to walk away when suddenly he stops dead in his tracks.

You push open the door to the rooftop access, finally having reached the top of the corporate office building of Cobra Enterprises, the biggest conglomerate in the city. To your surprise, on your left, there stands a man with doe-like eyes and lengthy, coffee-colored strands concealing his face. Your mouth flew agape, realizing that this is your first encounter ever with a runner — his neon red gloves serving as evidence.

“Falcon, what’s going on? I’m picking up a blue light within your perimeter,” Namjoon keys in. Jungkook says nothing, simply eyeing your form. He’d never been in love, and it wasn’t as if he’d recognize love even if it were standing right in front of his face with a big sign that said: “Hey! It’s me. I am love.” It was your essence that gave him an odd feeling. A feeling that intrigued him for some strange reason. But then you flashed that shiny PPD badge, which glistened in the sun, and it caught his attention — instantly sending a wave of discouragement throughout his heart.

“I’m Detective ____ with PPD,” you slip.

“Abort the test run! Get the hell out of there!” Namjoon commands on the other end of Jungkook’s earpiece. You attempt to step closer to the man, but he raises his hand up.

“Don’t come any closer.”

You shake your head, “It’s okay. I-I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to talk, okay?” You reassure while gradually lifting your hands up in the air, as if surrendering to him. He scoffs, obviously not impressed by your coy tactic.

“A blue light wanting to talk? Nah, don’t think so,” he spits while clenching his fists and backing away.

“No, please! I-I-” You suddenly become tongue-tied, as the man evidently runs away out of your sight, leaving you behind. Frozen in place.

That asshole.

Your cell rings conveniently at the right moment.

— Hobi ❤️ [Incoming Call]

You swipe to answer, and can’t even get a “hello” out before Hoseok starts on his shit again.

“Goddammit, ____! I told you to call me when you got to your first location.” He sounds furious, as if you’re his pet on a leash.

“Okay, dad!” You retort, clearly annoyed with him in this moment as you make your way down the exhausting flight of stairs inside the building.

“You know what-” Hoseok runs his fingers through his waves. “My place. 30 minutes.” The sound of a click on the line indicates that he hung up, leaving you with a frustrated temper.

Jungkook storms into the hideout, snatching his mask off of his face. Namjoon rips his headset off, visibly pissed.

“You wanna tell me what the hell happened back there?”

Jungkook scoffs, currently not up for anyone’s shit, as he trails to the fridge to grab his carton of banana milk yet again. Namjoon rolls his eyes while shaking his head. Jungkook releases his lips from the carton and slips, “Nothing.”

The sound of Namjoon’s tongue clicking echoes through the space, “Bullshit! You know our code, and you did NOT follow!”

With his back, turned Jungkook takes a deep huff, cheeks on fire. Jimin silently creeps nearby and coyly chimes in,

“See a blue light, call it a night. Don’t take flight, and you’ll put up a fight.”

“That’s right, Phoenix. We do NOT stick around once a blue light is within our sight. We take flight. Is that understood?” Namjoon probes with a stern tone, directing towards Jungkook.

The youngest turns face forward, with a clenched jaw and jutted chest. He says nothing, clearly testing the eldest. Namjoon steps forward and closes the gap between one another, so close that their noses nearly touch.

“Is that understood?” He inquires, his voice a few octaves lower. Jungkook pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue before breaking.

“Copy.”

“Get your shit together, Falcon. We’ll pick this up tomorrow.” Namjoon pulls away and brushes past Jimin, heading out of the kitchen. Infuriated, Jungkook lunges the now empty carton toward the wall ahead of him and also brushes past Jimin, who grasps his wrist in time to halt him. A look of worry spreads across Jimin’s face.

“Come on, Kook. You know Thunderbird. He’s just trying to protect us. It’s like… his job.”

Jungkook stays silent, thinking if he would ever get to see your innocent face again. Jimin nudges his arm to grasp his attention.

“You do know that you can talk to me, right?” He reassures with a promising expression. Jungkook simply nods and walks away, leaving Jimin worried. He knows when something is wrong with his best friend. He can feel it. But he also knows that Jungkook is a tough cookie, and it will take time for him to finally crack.

Meanwhile, Jungkook locks himself in his room — having confined himself completely from the world even if it was just for a few hours. How could he be so stupid? Why couldn’t he just talk to you like you wanted? Maybe you were a good person. At least that’s what he assumed, considering your beautiful face.

No. Snap out of it!

He can’t trust anyone. It’s for his own good. As the sun sets, he peeks through the glass window in his room to soak in the view of the city. Streams of pink, yellow, and blue paint the evening sky. If only he’d introduced himself to you, maybe he would feel a slight less pain in his chest. It was something Jungkook craved that he’d never gotten yet.

Intimacy.

Hoseok is frustrated; he runs his fingers through his hair for what has felt like the millionth time today.

“What’s gotten into you, huh?” He asks with a dark, lustful feel in his eyes. You gaze at him in complete silence.

“Can’t obey me anymore or what?” He lets out a frustrated sigh while gripping your hips.

“Oh you’re asking for it, huh?” He coos while mustering up the idea to tickle his way into getting a response from you. You break the silence, the sound of your laughter filling up his penthouse. Giggles and gasps for breaths emit from you, a sound that Hoseok thinks he could hear for the rest of his life and never grow tired.

“Oh my-! S-stop!”

And like a light-switch, he abruptly stops. His hands falling down to your sides, gripping your hips again. He gazes into your stare for what feels like an eternity. That familiar beauty mark on his lip is your favorite sight. He notes your eyes landing on his lips for too long, and he takes the opportunity to inch forward and meet yours.

He tastes like coffee — the kind you have in the morning before heading out to the station. The kind you’re used to sipping while reading emails at work or making phone calls. Or even the kind you order from your favorite coffee shop where you first met him and continue to meet up with him there to discuss anything work related.

Your lips soften against his, as his softens against yours. You’re not even sure how that is possible. Physics? Maybe.

However, the thought of your relationship with Hoseok crosses your mind. And  before you could even think twice about what to do, with his tongue literally down your throat, you unexpectedly shove him lightly. His eyebrows furrow in response, concerned if he’d done something wrong (when he could swear you like french kissing, considering you both do it all the time, and he remembered you mentioned one moment how much you like to do so).

“What are we? What is this?” You blurt out. Hoseok’s expression makes you instantly regret asking him. He pulls himself away from you completely to pace back and forth with his hand on his hip, shaking his head. Your gaze drops to the floor, feeling like such shit for bringing it up. But you’d be damned if he made you feel bad, because you have to know. For your own sake. Your own sanity.

“Are we really doing this right now?” He asks while sitting down on the leather loveseat.

That’s it. Something in you snaps.

“Hoseok!” You screech, gaining a wide-eyed stare from him.

“We’ve been fucking for over 2 years! What did you think? That I was just going to keep floating around, letting you stuff me every fucking week and not say anything about it?”

You are a panting, hot, and frustrated mess on the verge of tears from how upset you are. Hoseok watches your riled up figure, and he can’t seem to bring words together. He’s had a long day and wants nothing more than to release his stress into you either on his bed, or this loveseat, or maybe the kitchen counter if you can’t make it to his bedroom. But your emotions are clouding the atmosphere, and it’s something he can’t handle.

“I don’t know what you expect me to say,” he states dryly.

You felt like someone just hammered a nail into your heart. Your mouth flies agape, sucking in a breath to contain yourself from crying in front of his eyes.

“Why can’t we just fuck and not go through all of this? What do we need a label for anyway? It’s not like anyone at the  station is going to find out.” He shrugs, emitting a chuckle paired  with a nonchalant vibe.

Drip.

And then a tear fell down your cheek, prompting yourself to march out the front door and never look back. Clutching your crossbody, your leather chelsea boots click against the hardwood floor. Before Hoseok had the chance to grab you by the wrist, you were gone. You continued strutting down the hall, better yet lightly jogging to get as far away as possible as quickly as possible. Your fingers find placement on the ↓ button for the elevator.

Ding.

The moment the elevator doors shut is when the tears came streaming down   your cheeks, like a waterfall. You knew all along it was a bad idea to get involved with Hoseok. You’re sentimental and have always been so. “Catching feelings” while having weekly sex with him was bound to happen eventually. All in all, you could say that you saw the end coming, but at least 70% of you wanted things to be different than what they were. As your mother would call it, “living in la la land.” For the remainder of  the night, you comfort yourself on your couch, stuffing your face with leftover chocolate-covered strawberries and sipping champagne. All while venting on the phone to your childhood friend and updating him on the current situation with Hoseok.

“Ah. I’m sorry, noona. Hobi is a real ass sometimes, you know?”

You take another sip from your wine glass, “Ugh. That’s the thing!” You pause, popping a strawberry in your mouth, “I knew it. And yet, I still fell for him. I’m just horrible, a mess.”

“Don’t say that,” he replies with a yawn following his response.

“It’s true, Yoongi! I’ve literally been letting him in this whole time and not standing my ground. It’s so pathetic of me,” You sigh with a frown upon your face that Yoongi obviously cannot see.

“Wow. He was that good, huh?” You roll your eyes just thinking about it, “Ugh, yes! Don’t even remind me!”

“Well-” yet another yawn cutting him off again, “Just take your time, you   know? I’m sure it won’t be that easy to get over him. But eventually, it’ll happen.” Your eyes begin to tear up again, “You really think so?”

Yoongi hesitates for a brief moment, “No, I’m just trying to get you off the phone so I can go to sleep.”

“Fuck you, Yoongi Min.” His cute giggle lifts your mood in a contagious way — making you laugh out loud along with him.

“You’ll  be fine, ____. Really.” A tear finally drops down your face. This is why you love Yoongi, and why you’d been friends with him almost your entire life. He’s someone you can trust, always having been there for you. It didn’t matter the distance you were from each other, or how long it had been since you contacted one another, you both would pick up right where you left off.

“Goodnight, Yoongs. Love you.” His gummy smile appears as he replies, “Love you too, ____. Goodnight.”

After hanging up with Yoongi and having your belly full enough of strawberries and wine, your thoughts continuously play over the events of today, making you realize how drained you are. Then the image of the runner from earlier crosses your mind. God, was he the hottest man you’ve seen in awhile, at least from what you could see due to his mask covering most of his face. But his lengthy strands paired with his toned biceps and tall, lean figure are what got you. The sun bounced perfectly on his tanned, body, displaying a gorgeous shimmer of sweat he was drenched in, kind of reminded you of your fave Krispy Kreme glazed doughnuts.

His eyes were bright and beautiful, and you’ll never forget the way he was startled when you approached him — like a deer in headlights. You wonder what else was “hot” about him that you didn’t get a chance to see. Okay, maybe it’s just the wine talking. Some part of you wished you could have at least asked what his name was, but he wasted no time in evading you. Even though you felt a slight sting  in your heart, you couldn’t blame him for leaving. After all, you’re a cop and he’s a runner. Of course he’d “run” from you.

Hoseok is sound asleep until an alarming tone from his cell phone startles him from his slumber.

— Yoongi Hyung [Incoming Call]

“Shit.” Hoseok lets out a frustrated sigh before answering. His tired, raspy voice is heard from the other side of the line. “Hyung, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know you tell me.” Yoongi deadpans.

Hoseok sighs in response. Pulling away from his phone to read the time: 12:42 AM. He clenches his fist and runs his fingers through his messy mane.

“What do you want, Yoongi?”

“I need you to look into someone for me. Get ____ on the case,” Yoongi demands with a slight hint of desperation.

Seething, Hoseok retorts, “Fucking hell. Why couldn’t you wait until the morning to tell me?”

“It is morning, and before you step into the station I need to make sure it’s the first thing on your agenda. I need this done asap.”

Hoseok remains his composure on the outside but is internally screaming.

“I don’t know, Hyung. I can’t guarantee it. I have ____ on the Jungkook Jeon case, and I may have her finally close it. Hopefully-” Yoongi scoffs, on the other side, clearly not happy.

Hoseok adds, “What’s this all about anyway? And what do I get for it?”

“Did you forget who’s the eldest here?” A moment of silence falls into the phone.

“Didn’t think so,” Yoongi continues. Hoseok feels small. He always does when being confronted by Yoongi.

“I’ve cut a deal with Cobra Enterprises. The company will have a meeting tomorrow with PPD about a new project to take place. I want you to look into a guy. I’m sure you remember him. Namjoon Kim.” The youngest sighs yet again. He remembered Namjoon from his rookie days, and he also recalled Yoongi had failed to go through with the set-up.

“Press ____ to look into his file and continue there. Drop her from the Jungkook Jeon case.” Hoseok’s mouth flies open in shock at Yoongi’s request.

“Are you fucking kidding me? How the hell am I supposed to-”

“Do not try me! Now, you’ll do as I say without giving me any shit, understand?” Yoongi retorts, his voice now at a higher volume than before. His deep violet-haired, skinny stature dressed in a purple v-neck, paired with a black leather jacket and leather jeans. He paces back and forth, flipping a pen between his slender fingers. The visible ink of his black, circuit board tattoo trails from his neck down to his right shoulder and ends at his wrist.

“Yes, Hyung,” Hoseok states, his voice barely above a whisper now.

“Get her on the case for Namjoon and find out where he is! Tell her he goes by the name Thunderbird. These rooftops are massive. Viper and I cannot find him alone. Having her would help tremendously. Besides… she’s smart, and I’m sure she’d be able to get to him before I do,” he continues while staring at the view of the city from his hideout.

Hoseok lets out with a tinge of annoyance in his reply, “Fine, fine. Alright!”

“Don’t do this, and I will tell ____ about our little secret. I’m sure she wouldn’t be too happy about that either. Especially not now.”

“You better not say shit to her, you hear me?” Hoseok works up.

“Get the job done, Hobi.” Yoongi ends the call.

No, you could not find out. At least not like that. Hoseok doesn’t want you to know about the little fling with his hyung. He knows Yoongi would do anything to destroy the side thing Hoseok has with you, since he’s jealous. He wants Hoseok all to himself.

The ringing of your cell frightens you out of your sleep. Your eyes land onto your clock placed beside you on your nightstand. You silently curse whoever dares to awaken you at this ungodly hour of 3:18 AM. Surely it was none other than Hoseok Jung. You dared to not answer, but part of you needed to if you wanted to keep your job. You were slightly worried his calling may be job-related anyway. At least you hope it is, because you can’t think about how he’d hurt you the previous day. Your exhausted form answers the call with a swipe.

“Hello?”

“I’m here.” Your eyebrows furrow as you scan your bedroom in the moonlight. Your right hand finds it’s way to rub your eyes.

“What?”

“Just open the door. I’m here.”

You stay on the line, and groggily drag yourself out of bed to head beeline for the front door of your apartment. Through the peephole, there stands Hoseok with his iPhone to his ear and his head hanging low. You unlock the door and tiredly pull it open to finally meet eyes with the bastard. Yesterday’s events flash through your memory, and you’re drawn back into the mood you were in before you knocked out for what seemed like only ten minutes.

With furrowed brows you question, “Hoseok what do y-”

His lips crash with yours, cutting you off completely. Your hand that once held your phone, now wraps around his neck, easing him closer to you. His firm hands now grip your hips, flushing you to his body entirely. His plushy lips play with yours, naturally gliding and smoothing against their own accord. The bitter taste of coffee lingers on his lips, to what you assumed he more than likely had a cup of Joe before arriving to your apartment. He breaks the kiss to stare into your eyes, caressing your cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that to you,” he pauses for a beat, “It was wrong. I was wrong.”

A low sigh escapes your lips. Hoseok cups your cheeks, and gives you a small peck. You pull away to take hold of his hand and lead him into your apartment, closing the door behind the two of you. You find yourself sitting on the side of your bed, with Hoseok joining you. He rests his cool palm on your warm, exposed thigh, courtesy of your pajama shorts. Your fingers find placement on top of his hand. He stares into your gaze, guilt settling deep within his gut. Part of the reason he’d always treated you like nothing is due to his feelings for Yoongi. He likes this thing with you: being able to have you whenever he wants, do whatever he wants to you, and treat you how he wants.

It’s almost like he owns you, except he doesn’t. But he likes the complacency of the situation, knowing that you’ll always be there when he needs you. Yet he knows it’s selfish and such a narcissistic quality about himself, but he wants what he wants and cannot stop his actions. It’s this never-ending dilemma he’s stuck in of leading you on or admitting his feelings for you. Because all in all, Hoseok wants to “have his cake and eat it too.” On the other hand, Yoongi stands on the sidelines — waiting for the day he & Hoseok could be together. And now it’s worse since you’ve poured your feelings out to him. Although for Yoongi, it’s everything he’s ever wished for.

The luminance from the moonlight glows throughout the space that’s your room. Hoseok shivers slightly from your touch, the warmth of your fingers encases his cold, slender ones. You both sit in silence for a moment, just taking in each others presence. You attempt to gather your own thoughts of why Hoseok couldn’t wait to apologize until the next day you both work.

“Hoseok.” You let out, a yawn following afterwards.

“Hm?” He responds while glancing into your eyes with those gorgeous brown   eyes, his strands gracefully dressing his forehead in that familiar middle-part style.

“Cuddle?” You ask sheepishly why reaching your arms out towards him, offering your warmest embrace. His lips curl up into that stunning smile, making his eyes shut instinctively. He removes his bomber jacket and shoes, then climbs into the opposite side of your bed. You follow suit and pull your duvet over the two of you. Your arms naturally wrap around his abdomen, and  you curl up into his chest. Admiring the familiar scent of Hoseok’s  fresh, linen garments with a hint of some expensive cologne. He smells so clean, as a man should. It sends you into a trance. Your ear rests on top of his chest, growing familiar with the rhythm of his heartbeat. And it’s just enough to put you to rest.

—

The sun peaks from the skyline, beginning its journey to  rise. Deep orange and yellow hues paint the sky. A gleaming ray of light shoots throughout the hideout the three men share together. Namjoon is the first to awaken, his beach-sand colored hair ruffled in a slight mess. With a bare upper body and boxer briefs, he slips from his mattress on the ground to head for the washroom — his disheveled state still working to fully awaken. After finishing up his morning routine of brushing his teeth, washing his face, and grooming his hair, he slips on black nylon sweatpants and a red fitted tank, displaying his black, circuit board ink on his left forearm snaking up to his left shoulder and neck. He stares at his own figure in the mirror, silently hating himself for letting Yoongi talk him into getting a matching tattoo.

If only he’d knew where Yoongi’s loyalty really lied, he’d  never would have given in to him. A slight pang in Namjoon’s chest  resurfaces. He missed Yoongi, a lot more than he wanted to. Because it was more than “friendship” with him. He loved Yoongi and wanted to confess his feelings for him, but he was afraid his confession would lead to corruption of their friendship. He was also afraid of Yoongi’s “distant” personality. He was for sure it would have ruined them, even if their friendship blossomed into something more. Unfortunately, after Yoongi became a traitor in Namjoon’s eyes, he couldn’t stop the feelings he had for him and continues to have. It was  ever since that one night they’d both had a little too much soju that things led from one thing to another. He relishes in the memory of Yoongi’s lips pressed against his.

The lingering, sweet taste of alcohol on his lips is the fondest moment Namjoon has of Yoongi. He had never been more aroused by anyone else ever, and Yoongi had just that effect on him. One thing led to another, and before he could process what had happened, the next morning he’d awaken to the sight of Yoongi naked and wrapped around his chest. Ever since, the entire dynamic of their friendship had changed. Yoongi hadn’t spoken of the previous night, and neither had Namjoon. He’d never thought that a week later, he would have had no other choice but to kick out the one person he had grown to trust for so long. He never forgets the look in Yoongi’s eyes. Puffy, red, and swollen from the tears he’d cried.

Namjoon  had never seen him this shaken up before, considering his inability to show his feelings. But he believed Yoongi had done all of this to  silently punish him for sleeping with him. Liquid forms in Namjoon’s  eyes as his mind goes in circles consistently, playing the events over and over in his mind — reminiscing on the presence of who he thought would have eventually been his lover. While brewing a cup of coffee, Namjoon readies himself for the day. Upon arrival to the coms room, he seats himself at his desk, an arrange of five monitors on display. The longer one in the middle is the portal to log into Thunder, a tracking software he’d created, with Yoongi, that’s designed specifically to pinpoint a runners’ location. Of course, he had re-programmed said software to track Jungkook and Jimin’s location whenever they’d go out on a run, which is why they use an earpiece that has a tracker installed.

For safety purposes, he’d also designed it to detect when other runners are nearby while also detecting blue lights in the surrounding area. Each runner is part of a team that is represented by a color on the “rainbow spectrum,” and each color has a leader. Namjoon being the leader of Red, and along with Jimin and Jungkook representing the color. Although, the only colors from the spectrum that have been confirmed are: Orange, Yellow, and Green — while Blue and Violet have yet to be discovered. In the meantime, Jimin tosses in his sleep as though he’s experiencing a nightmare. Something within his slumber startling enough to jerk him awake, his eyes blown wide and his lips parted dramatically. His chest rising up and down as he trails his fingers through his onyx strands that fall back  onto his forehead. His arms find their way up to block the sunlight from his window that forces to blind his eyes.

His body is warm, and after sitting up completely, he realizes his white tank is soaked in perspiration. Jimin snarks at the cold sweat clinging to his upper body. Rolling out of bed, the cool tile below him makes his body shiver. He pulls his top over his head and off, flinging it to the corner of his room. His toned upper body glistens with sweat, covered with the tattoo “Nevermind” on the left side of his abdomen. Jimin rushes to the washroom to start up the glass shower.

He hops in immediately; cool streams of water race down his fit figure, drenching his black strands and gradually decreasing his body temperature. He runs his index finger across the inside of his wrist where another tattoo is displayed: 13. A small grin crosses his face, thinking of the  time he’d met Jungkook when he was 13, how they’d instantly bonded, and how far they’ve come in their lives. The number also resembling the day of his own birth. But Jimin’s smile fades, after realizing the dream he had. He knew something was wrong, because for weeks now he’d been having these nightmares that something bad would happen; everything would change, yet he wasn’t 100% sure how. Even though things were okay now, but he couldn’t help the thought that maybe his gut instinct was trying to warn him.

Knock x2.

Jimin jumps slightly at the sudden knock, and his gaze snaps up to the bathroom door, “Dude… Gotta pee,” Jungkook’s tired form slips. Outside the door, he can barely keep his eyes open — having almost pulled an all-nighter, listening to music and lifting weights in his room. Jimin swings the door open, with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Scared the shit out of me, you know?” Namjoon arrives in the hallway.

“Morning, boys! We’ve got a long day ahead of us. So, get some breakfast and meet me in the coms room when you’re done.” Jimin nods and adds coyly, “Ay ay, captain!” Jungkook groans in response. On the other side of the city, the smell of eggs and bacon sizzling in a pan acts as a cue for Hoseok’s awakening. His arms stretch out, releasing  the tension that’s settled in them. He checks his phone for the time  only to find missed calls and texts, from none other than his hyung.

— Yoongi Hyung [5:02 AM] just wait till u come home. u will fucking get it!!!

— Yoongi Hyung [4:59 AM] are u fucking kidding me… i come here for dick and this is what i get? where tf are u???

— Yoongi Hyung [4:57 AM] whatever. coming in with the spare key u gave me.

— Yoongi Hyung [4:56 AM] u ass. i’ve rung the doorbell a thousand times already. are u that asleep?

— Yoongi Hyung [4:54 AM] Missed Call (x2)

Shit.

“Good morning sleepy head!” Hoseok jumps slightly at your cheeky greeting of you standing at the doorway of your room.

“I made breakfast if you’re hungry. I’ll be heading out in a few to   follow  up on any leads I can get with the Jungkook Jeon case.” Hoseok takes a huge gulp before spilling, “Yeah… About that.” He drags, while slipping out of bed. His hands find purchase on your waist, pulling you closer.

“I uh-” He pauses for a moment, remembering the threat Yoongi had given him. You stand there, all eyes on him, waiting for him to continue.

“I’m dropping you from the Jungkook Jeon case,” he states rapidly. Your eyebrows furrow, “Why would you do that?” Hoseok sighs, thinking of anything off the top of his head to lie.

“Just-  Leave it to me. I did some digging when you left the station yesterday,”  He continues while slipping his shoes on.

“I want you to look into something else,” You nod for him continue.

“Namjoon Kim. Known as Thunderbird. He’s got a record, but he’s also  been reported as missing just like Jungkook.” Hoseok breaks away from  your gaze for a moment, internally hating himself for doing this to you. He knows he’s no good for you.

“Do you still have that list of coordinates I gave you?” He inquires, while simultaneously looking up at you and tying his shoes.

“Mmmhmm,” you simply mutter, watching his form in silence. It is clear that he’s about to leave but you waited  for him to say so. Hoseok grabs his jacket and notices you’re still standing in the doorway. He pauses to slip, “I should get going. I have some errands to run-”

“It’s fine.” You cut him off, the tone in your voice clearly revealing that  no it is not “fine.” You’re slightly upset really, but part of you expected Hoseok to not stay around since you’re convinced that the only reason he’d came to apologize to you was to clear his conscious. And  because, well, he was alone and wanted some form of companionship. Typical, right? Another part of you cringed at the thought you assumed  he’d treat you as if you’re both together, even though you’re not. So, it isn’t abnormal for him to just leave. It’s not like he’s committed to you. Except your heart tells you it’s just not fair. Hoseok doesn’t miss the look of disarray that spreads across your face, due to  his departure. He looks to you before leaving your apartment.

“Maybe I can come by later?” You internally cringe at his request whilst trying to not get your hopes up.

“It’s not a big deal, only if you can! Don’t go out of your way for me. Besides, I’m sure you’re busy.” He hesitates for a brief moment, then awkwardly nods as if slowly trying to process what you said. A feeling deep inside tells him that you know he’s full of shit. Maybe it’s his guilty conscious, but that makes him feel even worse for leaving you on his off day, just to be with Yoongi. The instant you shut the door behind Hoseok, your heart broke. You want to regret getting into this thing with him, but you know it was something you wanted at one point.

Jungkook attired himself in his usual pieces. Black ink tattoos of an  “X” covers just below both of his elbows. His signature three, silver hoops dangle within both of his ears, as he deliberately munches on a protein bar, while standing in the coms room.

“I specifically asked you both to come once you were DONE with breakfast,” Namjoon retorts indirectly towards Jungkook, who is undoubtedly dropping crumbs on the ground.

“Hey, don’t look at me.” Jimin throws his hands up and shakes his head as if to surrender, his jet-black strands swaying about in front of his eyes.

“As I was saying…” Namjoon continues, “I have different tasks for you both.” Jungkook’s eyes stay glued on the eldest. Jimin’s toned arms are crossed, tilting his head to the side.

“Phoenix,” Namjoon tosses a wireless earpiece to Jimin. “I want you to head over to the docks. I’ve been picking up high blue light activity lately in that area.” Namjoon gropes his chin, as if in deep thought. “Check it out and see if there’s anything you could find that’ll tell us why they’ve been so trigger happy lately.”

Jungkook abruptly stops chewing and tunes out after hearing Namjoon’s request. That is why he felt different about you. You didn’t hurt him like most blue lights would hurt runners if they’d ever been caught. That’s the difference.

“Falcon!”

The slight ringing in Jungkook’s ears immensely fades away after he realizes Namjoon is talking to him. His eyebrows rise up, as if silently asking him What? Namjoon removes a black messenger bag he has around himself and tosses it to Jungkook, who almost didn’t catch it due to the crumpled granola wrapper still in his hand and Namjoon’s sudden reflexes.

“Since your little encounter” Namjoon makes the quotation marks gesture with his fingers. “I’m sending you on a fast cash mission. You know the rules.”

Namjoon quirks his eyebrows, as if to emphasize his point. “I’ll be guiding you, but keep your eyes peeled. Your name isn’t Falcon for nothing.” Jungkook shrugs at the audacity.

“When you reach the location, there will be a runner by the name of  Viper waiting there for you. Give him the bag, and safely return back to the hideout without being detected by any blue lights.”

“Copy that.”

Namjoon nods in response, “Oh. Before I forget.” Namjoon reaches toward his glass desk to pull out a black, wireless earpiece.

“I know you’ve been borrowing Jimin’s earpiece since yours broke. So, I made a new one.” Namjoon extends his hand out to Jungkook then snaps away.

“Try not to break it this time, huh? Materials are kind of… limited.”

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow and obtains the piece to delicately place in his ear. He places the bag over his head and lets the strap rest on his shoulder, adjusting it to his liking — making sure it’s tight around his torso. Jimin follows and pushes his earpiece in.

Namjoon makes an overly-dramatic clap noise with his hands. “Alright, boys. Let’s get to work!” On their way from the hideout, Jimin stops Jungkook before they proceed to go on their separate ways.

“Hey,” Jimin spills, his eyes now crescent, moon-shaped due to the sizzling sun displayed brightly in the sky. Jungkook replies, “Yeah?”

“Just, uh…” Jimin lingers on for a moment, observing the ambience as if he’s searching  for something. His eyes land back on the youngest, admiring how innocent he is. Jimin loved Jungkook as his own brother, and he’d do anything to protect him. He’s convinced he’d do more than Namjoon.

“Be  careful. Okay?” A tinge of worry oozes from Jimin’s command. He wishes he could just tell Jungkook the dreams he’d been having lately, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to upset him, yet he knows he’d have to tell him sooner or later. Because recurring nightmares that Jimin has are always to some extent: true. It’s been that way for as long as he could remember. The first time he’d experienced it was when he was seven years old. He dreamt the same dream during that time, that his father was caught in a rainstorm and passed away due to a car collision.

The first night he experienced the nightmare, he was afraid; and although he’d warn his parents, all else failed. They thought it was just another bad dream that would pass. A few weeks later, his father passed away due to a DUI car accident. Jimin was devastated, and although he was right all along, he hated when the same dreams occurred because he knew eventually it would no longer be a nightmare — instead a reality.

“Always,” Jungkook answers, while turning around to jog in the opposite direction. Completely unaware of Jimin who’s still left behind and laying eyes on him. An ounce of worry overtakes him, that he misses Namjoon’s calling of his name.

“Phoenix, do you copy?” Jimin snaps back from his daydream,

“Y-yeah. I mean- Copy that. I’m here.” Namjoon keeps track of Jungkook’s location and notices Jimin’s stillness.

“Alright, let’s head west and take it from there. It’s a straight shot.” Jimin starts his run, climbing over fences, sliding under pipes, and running on walls. Namjoon uses the digital map to pinpoint the intended location.

“Looks like the docks will be on the west side of the Cobra Enterprises building.

“Copy that.” Namjoon takes a sip of his now lukewarm, medium, roast coffee.

“Switching to channel two, be right back.” Jungkook sits on the edge of a building, looking below his feet where the grand city of Python seems so tiny. Pedestrians look like ants from his perspective. Moving vehicles give the appearance of toy cars kids play with. The sound of a deep voice keys into Jungkook’s earpiece.

“Thunderbird for Falcon.” Jungkook swings his feet playfully, enjoying the summer weather, “Go for Falcon.”

“You’ll be heading east to The Echidna. Viper will be there waiting for you. Deliver the package to him, and make it back safely. Remember, no blue lights.”

Hoseok turns the key to open the door of his apartment. The sound of the front door closing startles a naked Yoongi, who steps foot into Hoseok’s room with a towel wrapped around him. His soaked, purple strands dripping with water. Hoseok shuffles his jacket and shoes off, yet notices the penthouse is filled with silence. He’d hoped Yoongi had just given up for now and left, but he knew him. He wasn’t going to leave until he got what he wanted.

His fingers glide through his own soft waves, and he treads upstairs to his room. His heart suddenly pumps faster when his eyes land on the back side of Yoongi, who has removed his towel to dry his hair. His pale, porcelain skin glowing and glistening with water and sunshine. Hoseok takes a thick gulp and clears his throat. Yoongi finds Hoseok behind him and gives his signature smirk, “Good morning.” Yoongi drops his towel on the ground and gestures a “come here” motion with his finger, and Hoseok follows.

“Missed me? I know I missed you,” Yoongi caresses Hoseok’s cheek, gazing into his brown irises, his bed-hair adding a nice final touch.

“I’m sorry, I-” Hoseok is cut off by Yoongi’s index finger placed on his lips. He commands, “Just shut up and fucking kiss me already. You owe me. Big time.” Hoseok chuckles before leaning in to wrap his arms around Yoongi, placing his hands along his back, pulling Yoongi flush to his body.

Before heading out to investigate the supposed “Namjoon Kim” case Hoseok urged you earlier to begin, you chose to pay a visit to your favorite chocolatier in the mall, the one that sells your favorite chocolate-covered strawberries. The fresh, cool breeze of the air conditioner blows through your hair as you strut through the front entrance of The Echidna. The chocolate shop wasn’t far from the main entrance, on the entry level so you decided to take your time, casually strolling through the mall. The smell of pretzels, pizza, and other delicious foods filled your senses as you passed by the food court. After a minute more of walking, you reach the shop and realize they are running a promotion: Buy one dozen of chocolate-covered strawberries, get another half off.

Just in time.

On the rooftops, Jungkook blasts over buildings and latches onto pipes, ladders, and other obstacles that help him navigate throughout the environment.

“Thunderbird for Phoenix.” Jimin keys back into Namjoon while taking a break from running.

“Go for Phoenix.” Namjoon tracks Jimin’s location, and notes how far he is from the intended location.

“Good job. You’re on the right path. You should be able to see the front side of the Cobra Enterprises building from where you are.” Jimin scans his surroundings on the east side, and notes the building with a golden, cobra snake symbol. “Yeah, I see it.”

“Good. Continue your normal path and you’ll notice the building will then be on the east side of you.” Jimin nods in approval, “Copy that.”

Yoongi and Hoseok lie in bed together, wrapped in each other’s embrace. Hoseok rests on Yoongi’s chest, drawing circles on his chest with Yoongi’s fingers laced in his strands.

“So,” Yoongi breaks the silence. “So?” Hoseok questions, admiring the soft supple skin under his fingertips.

“Gonna tell me where you were last night?” Just as Hoseok gathered up the courage to respond, Yoongi cuts him off.

“No, wait! Let me guess. With ____,” he states with a dry tone. A tinge of jealousy behind his words. Hoseok turns his head around, facing Yoongi.

“Are we really doing this again?” Yoongi rolls his eyes, pushing Hoseok off of his chest. Hoseok’s eyebrows naturally crease in response.

“Yoongi, seriously?” The eldest says nothing, his back now turned to the youngest, having flipped over on his side.

“What fucking more do you want?!” Hoseok runs his fingers through his hair, his strands falling back onto his forehead. Yoongi keys in on him, with a furious gaze. “Us!” He exclaims, sitting up and easing his way out of bed to slip on his jeans.

“I fucking want us,” He continues, more-so demanding rather than stating. Hoseok takes a deep breath. “You know that I’m working on that-”

Yoongi seethes. “Yeah, and for how long?!” His voice raising with fists clenched on his jeans, zipping them up. “Don’t you fucking get it?” He adds, slipping on his signature, purple v-neck.

“____ is in love with you. How do you just “work on that?” He emphasizes with air quotation marks. Hoseok struggles to answer, leaving his lips parted slightly. A moment of silence falls between the two. Yoongi takes this as a cue of defeat — slipping on his leather jacket.

“Exactly.” He exits the bedroom, leaving Hoseok to ponder in his thoughts, while left in bed naked, regret filling him completely.

Yoongi saunters downstairs and slips on his boots, departing from Hoseok’s loft. He runs his fingers through his hair, while marching down the hallway of the complex. His mind continues to race many miles per hour. His finger presses the button to signal the elevator, and to his surprise, the doors open quicker than he’d expected. He takes a deep breath while stepping in and recounting the moment he’d had with Hoseok.

He hates himself for getting caught up in this situation with him, and now with you involved made matters worse. His heart aches at the thought of what things would be like if he hadn’t traded Namjoon out. Yoongi misses him, but he knows he’d never accept him for who he is and he wouldn’t ever forgive him for what he’d done. A pang in his chest approaches, knowing that he and Namjoon’s future was now long gone, and merely nothing but a dream now. It hurts, and he’s hurt. Which is why he’d pressed Hoseok to get you to look into his case in the first place. He needed this. Needed closure. He misses Namjoon, and there isn’t a day that passes when he doesn’t think of him. He needs him.

You’d chosen the dozen of half milk-chocolate strawberries and half white-chocolate covered strawberries. For both sets. The cashier carefully hands you the paper bag, with two gorgeous arrangements of twelve strawberries in each box. You gracefully exit the chocolatier with the brightest smile on your face, strutting toward the entrance of The Echidna to make your departure from the mall. Jungkook awaits on the rooftops, peering at his surroundings to ensure no one is in sight. And by no one, he specifically means blue lights. His tired being squats down, seating himself on the ground, nearby one of many dome-shaped, skylights that sit behind him. The sun toasting his skin causes him to wipe away the perspiration from his forehead, for what feels like the hundredth time.

Namjoon scans the time on the Thunder portal, noting that the runner should have arrived by now.

“Viper should be within your perimeter. Do you see him?” Jungkook scans his peripheral, but there is no sight of said runner. “No, he’s not here.”

Namjoon’s eyebrows furrow, as he doesn’t see any hint of a runner nearby the mall. The only indicator visible is Jungkook’s location. A red, blinking dot on the map.

“Something’s not right,” He says to himself, shaking his head.

Jungkook feels a presence behind him and just before he could turn around to say something, a deep, baritone voice speaks out.

“Thanks for meeting me here, this was a great spot.” But when Jungkook’s eyes landed on the tall, slender form, his mouth flew agape.

Violet. One of the colors on the spectrum that hadn’t been discovered yet.

There was no way, he thought. No way it was possible. And then the eldest spoke again, realizing Jungkook’s expression.

“Hey. Red, huh? Wait-” He pauses, Jungkook clenches the bag’s strap tightly. “That’s the color where- What’s that leaders name?” His finger taps his chin as if thinking. “It’s right at the tip of my tongue… Sounds like a month?”

Jungkook stops dead in his tracks, his eyes widening. How did he know Thunderbird’s real name?

“How do you know his name?” Kook questions, gripping onto the bag tighter.

“It’s Joon, right? Namjoon! There it is.” Namjoon keys in to double-check on the youngest.

“Falcon, has he arrived yet? I’m still not able to see him.” Namjoon grows hesitant from not receiving a response.

Jungkook abruptly throws the bag at the man standing in front of him and darts in the opposite direction. Viper sprints behind him and tackles the youngest down onto one of the skylights, their figures thumping and sliding against the glass. Viper bangs Jungkook’s head into the glass. Jungkook throws a harsh punch straight to Viper’s nose and tackles him down, his body now caging him in.

“Who the hell are you?!” Jungkook seethes.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Viper grins with a mischievous expression. Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow at his coy remark. His hands grip around his neck, applying pressure with much force.

“Falcon?” Namjoon keys in yet again. Growing suspicious, he continues to scan the area and notes a blinking, blue light that appears to be moving. His assumption is that whoever it is may be inside the mall. “Fuck.”

A tinge of venom seeps from Viper’s words, “Tell that leader of yours, that Firebird is looking for him-” He chokes, Jungkook applying more pressure.

“He better- get ready.. for him too.” He adds with a menacing laugh. Jungkook releases his neck and throws another punch to his face, his knuckles aching as a result. Viper continues to laugh, and manhandles Jungkook. His back falls back onto the delicate material below them. He drives his foot against the side of Jungkook’s abdomen repeatedly.

“Ahhh, fuck!” Jungkook groans, his fists clenching from the pain.

Jungkook forces a kick straight to Viper’s face, grazing his nose with his shoe, causing drips of blood to spill. Jungkook clenches his teeth and tackles Viper down again, and then suddenly.

Crack.

The two men gaze down below them, and witness cracks scattering along the glass of the skylight.

“Shit,” Jungkook slips.

“Falcon!” Namjoon yells into his earpiece.

Viper watches Jungkook’s expression with wide eyes, his lips parting in shock. Jungkook slowly stands on his two feet, removing himself from on top of the eldest and attempts to escape, but with the added weight of being on his feet, the glass shatters into pieces, Viper’s form falls through the skylight, en route to the interior of the mall. Jungkook trips, losing his grip on the edge, his veins popping out as he forces his body back up onto the rooftop.

You fumble in the pockets of your leather jacket to obtain your car keys. Until the sudden sound of shattering glass startles you and out of the blue, an intense cracking, thud-like sound follows by a body falling splat onto the ground level of the mall. The contents in your hands drop in response, and the only melody filling your ears is the screams throughout the entire atmosphere, civilians pushing their way to the nearest exit. A thumping beat resides in your chest, and it’s as if your heart pounds so loud you that the noise suffocates your hearing above everything else. Your mouth falls open, and your instincts tell you to examine from above, where the body initially came from. And then your eyes meet a familiar face; to say you were shocked was an understatement.

There he was. Again. The man you’d seen yesterday. You knew it was him because you remember those eyes, his hair, and that black mask. After locking eyes with you, he immediately vanishes. You glare at the body that lies on the ground, slowly inching toward the male. With shaky hands, you kneel down to feel his pulse under his neck and there’s nothing.

Jungkook charges off the rooftops of The Echidna, adrenaline pumping through his veins like never before. The last thing he needed was for blue lights on his tail. And he saw you. He fucked up again. You saw him, and now there’s nothing he can do to un-do what happened. The sound of Namjoon’s voice resonates within Jungkook’s earpiece. “Falcon! What the hell happened? Did you deliver the package?” Jungkook says nothing, instead, he runs.

Namjoon sighs in frustration.

“I’m here,” Jimin keys in. Namjoon locates Jimin’s location.

“Fuck,” Namjoon replies.

Jimin asks with a hint of confusion, “Did I do something wrong?” Namjoon sighs.

“No, Phoenix. You’ve made it to the destination. I haven’t heard from Jungkook since he arrived at The Echidna, and he isn’t responding.” Jimin’s eyes widen. Oh no, had something happened to him? What if… the dream?

“Wait what? Do you need me to head over there?” Namjoon shakes his head, as if he could see him.

“No! Stay where you are. Just find out what you can find, and I’ll be here. I’ll handle it. Over and out.”

Jimin’s heart drops. He hoped Jungkook was okay, for his own sake. He couldn’t lose another person close to his heart.

Namjoon locates Jungkook’s location, and he’s storming like a lightning bolt. He removes his headset to meet with the youngest. Jungkook pants, his chest rising and falling.

“Falcon, what the hell? How many times do I-” Namjoon is cut off by the expression on Jungkook’s face. He stops in his tracks and notices his mask is already off, with tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. His hands are shaking, and his heart is beating rapidly.

“Jungkook?”

Jungkook begins rambling, “I-I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck just happened!” Tears stream down his cheeks, he feels like he’s on fire, his chest continues to gasp for air. He feels like he’s about to have a panic attack.

“I-It all j-just happened s-so fast, I don’t know what to do.” Namjoon notes his trembling hands; he’d never seen him so worked up before.

“He- he came. And then I saw his purple shirt a-and I panicked, I didn’t know what the fuck to do! I-” Jungkook sobs with an aching pain on his side. “I didn’t know what to do!”

“Okay, Kook just calm down. Follow me into the coms room.” Upon arrival, Namjoon processes what had been said and his eyebrows furrow in reply. “Wait… His shirt? It was what?”

Jungkook makes an attempt to calm himself down, his rosy-tinted cheeks stained with wet tears. “Violet. It’s the last color on the spectrum.”

Namjoon shakes his head, now pacing back and forth. “This could only mean one thing…” He trails off, pondering the fact he discovered a new color on the spectrum. He scrolls through the portal and peers at the map, finding the different colors of the spectrum scattered across the city of Python. Every color except Violet.

“That’s why Thunder couldn’t pinpoint his location. Violet isn’t yet programmed into the software. Which means-”

“Firebird.” Jungkook slips.

Namjoon’s gaze snaps toward him with wide eyes, “Where did you get that name?”

“Viper said it. Firebird is looking for you.” He pauses, to let in a deep breath, “And you’d better get ready.” Jungkook groans in discomfort, a sharp shock of pain shooting through his side. He watches Namjoon’s figure, noticing the startled expression on his face.

No, it can’t be. There’s no way he was looking for him. Even if he was, why? After all this time, why now? And what was it that Namjoon had to prepare for?

And then everything came crashing down. “Shit,” Namjoon spills.

“Who is Firebird, anyway?” Jungkook questions with curiosity. A distinct chattering sound can be heard from Namjoon’s headset.

“Phoenix for Thunderbird! Do you copy?” Jimin chimes in with a slight tinge of frustration and worry clouding his being.

Ignoring Jungkook’s question, Namjoon places his headset back on.

“Go for Thunderbird.”

Jimin sighs in relief, “Oh, fuck. I thought I lost you for a sec.”

Namjoon shakes his head, “What’s going on?”

With a heaving, sweaty chest Jimin states, “We have a problem. A really, fucking, big one.” — his eyes keyed in and widening at the sight of what’s happening at the docks.

#bts smut #jungkook smut #hyunglinenetwork #btsguild #btsgoldnet #bangtanarmynet #bangtanhq #houseofddaeng #btswritingcafe #mikrogalaxynet #ficswithluv #minthlynet #jeon jungkook #kim namjoon #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #bts fluff #jungkook fluff

[marauders-venting]

Heather

pairing: wolfstar (remus x sirius), remadora (remus x tonks)

genre: fluff & angst

warnings: mentions of child ab*se

words: 1736

note: based on the song Heather by Conan Gray

a/n: originally, this was just a remadora fic but i don’t actually ship remadora (this song just reminded me of it and i was like well why not write something) and writing it made me so sad that i wrote a fluffy wolfstar ending for all the people who think wolfstar was endgame. so yeah, if you think wolfstar is endgame, I’m making a little fluffy epilogue bonus post tomorrow so dont be too sad

I still remember, third of December, me in your sweater, you said it looked better on me than it did you, only if you knew how much I liked you. 

Sirius was standing on the altar, the crowd chattering in front of him, the sunlight spilling in through the windows, the excitement in the air. And right beside was Remus, beaming. He glances back at Sirius, his eyes bright with joy. Sirius smiled warmly back but his smile had never felt more forced. Thankfully, though, Remus didn’t notice. Remus never seemed to notice how much Sirius liked him, although Sirius knew that there were times when he was terrible at hiding it.

Sirius still remembered the night he realised he was in love with Remus.

Earlier that day, a letter from his mum had come in the post. It was a needless reminder of how worthless and disgraceful he was as if he hadn’t heard it enough before he ran away.

It came as no surprise to Sirius that he had a nightmare about his family later that night. He woke up drenched in cold sweat, shaking, tears streaming down his face. Remus had taken him by the hand and led him to the common room, Sirius shivering the whole way. Even when they sat by the fire he couldn’t stop shaking. So Remus had given Sirius his sweater. And its effect on Sirius was immediate. It smelt like Remus. Like hot chocolate on a frosty winter night, like fresh air, the kind that you only get after it rains when beams of sunshine break through clouds.

“Thanks,” Sirius said, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand.

“Of course,” Remus said. “Do you wanna talk about it?” Sirius shrugged. He didn’t really know what he wanted. No, that’s a lie. He wanted Remus. He still wants Remus.

Remus puts his arm around Sirius and Sirius doesn't hesitate to lean into Remus, letting the tears fall.

“Mum sent me a letter today,” he said, finally. “She said that I shouldn’t bother coming back and that they’ve already burned me off the family tapestry. As if I care about that. I chose to leave. They didn’t disown me, I ran away. There’s a difference. I never wanted to be on their stupid tapestry in the first place.” Remus nodded.

“Was that what the dream was about?” Remus asked. “Being burnt off the tapestry?” Sirius frowned.

“Not exactly. It was like she actually burnt me. Not the tapestry. I don’t know why it bothers me so much. It’s not like I want to go back. I really don’t. I hated it there. And I love being at the Potters’. It’s stupid that I feel like this.”

“It’s not stupid,” Remus said. “It’s not stupid at all, Sirius. It’s natural. They treated you horribly. Nobody should treat their kids like that. Hell, nobody should treat another human being like that. You have every right to hate them and not care about them but also be hurt by what they did to you.”

“It just doesn’t make sense though.”

“So what? Nothing makes sense. Literally all of my feelings contradict each other. It doesn’t make your feelings any less real or any less valid.” They sat in silence for a little while after that. Sirius let Remus’ words hang in the air, willing himself to believe they were true.

Remus yawned, his chest rising and falling.

“You don’t have to be here, you know,” Sirius said, pulling away from Remus and looking at his hands. “You can go back to bed. I’m sorry I woke you up. I’ll cast a silencing charm around my bed next time so I don’t bother you guys.”

“Sirius, you have nothing to be sorry about,” Remus said. “You do this for me all the time, every full moon. And don’t cast a silencing charm. You shouldn’t have to deal with this alone. This is what I’m here for. You’re my best friend, Sirius.” Sirius said nothing. He just kept staring at his hands.

“Sirius,” Remus said softly. “Look at me.” Sirius did. And when their eyes met, Sirius allowed himself to consider what he had always seen as an impossibility. That maybe Remus could love him. “I will always be here for you, okay? Whatever you need, whenever you need it. I don’t care if it’s in the dead of night or the middle of the day. I’ll be here. Okay?”

“Okay,” Sirius nodded, offering Remus a small smile. Remus smiled back and hugged him tightly. Suddenly, Sirius realised that this was all he’d ever wanted. Remus. Remus was all that he wanted and all that he needed. He’s in love with Remus Lupin. And at that moment Sirius really, genuinely believed that he had a chance. But if Remus had ever felt anything for Sirius, it was surely gone now.

But I watch your eyes as she walks by, what a sight for sore eyes, brighter than a blue sky. she’s got you mesmerised, while I die.

Now Sirius’ eyes skate over Remus in a stunning, black tux, wishing, wishing. Wishing for what? Remus is getting married today. And not to Sirius. And of course, Sirius is Remus’ best man because they’d been best friends forever. But that was all. Best friends. Nothing more. And Sirius wants so much more.

The music starts to play and the crowd rises to its feet as Tonks walks down the aisle. She’s beautiful, radiant, her white dress glimmering in the daylight, her pink hair standing out, bubbly and bright as ever but nothing is brighter than her smile.

Sirius glances over at Remus. He looks so happy. Happier than Sirius had seen him in years. His smile grew twice as wide when Tonks walked into the room. A smile that reaches his eyes. The kind of smile that he used to give Sirius when they were still at Hogwarts before everything went to hell. But this smile isn’t for Sirius. It’s for Tonks. And Sirius feels himself die inside as he hands Remus the ring to place on Tonks' finger.

Why would you ever kiss me? I’m not even half as pretty, you gave her your sweater, it’s just polyester, but you like her better. Wish I were Heather. Watch as she stands with her holding your hand, put an arm ‘round her shoulder, now I’m getting colder.

It’s been several weeks since the wedding. Remus and Tonks are back from their honeymoon and Remus’ gorgeous tan is not making anything easier for Sirius. Sirius swirls around the wine in his glass and tries not to look at Remus too much.

Remus and Tonks had invited a few friends over tonight, including Sirius. He hadn’t wanted to come but Remus had asked and Sirius just couldn’t refuse.

“Come on, Pads, please,” Remus had said. “It’ll be boring without you.”

“Who else is going?” Sirius asked.

“Some of Dora’s auror friends that I don’t know. Please come. You know I’m hopelessly awkward around people I don’t know. I need my emotional support dog. Please?” Remus said. Sirius rolled his eyes and turned into a dog. Remus laughed and crouched down, scratching behind Sirius’ ears as Sirius barked happily at him. “So will you come?” Sirius transformed back so he was sitting on the floor in front of Remus. He looked Remus in the eyes, those fiery-bright amber eyes flecked with brown that he knew so well, and Sirius knew that he couldn’t refuse.

“Fine,” he said.

They’re all around the table in Remus and Tonks’ house now, laughing, drinking. All except Sirius, who was sneaking envious glances over at Remus and Tonks, unable to pay attention to the conversation because, well… Remus.

Remus has an arm slung around Tonks. She’s wearing Remus’ sweater. Sirius watches them and wonders how he ever thought that he could hope for anything to happen with Remus. Tonks is far prettier than he is. At least, Remus certainly thinks so. And it was her that Remus gave his sweater to now. It's just a sweater, he reminds himself, trying to look away from the soft lines of Remus’ face, the curves of his lips, just a piece of clothing. But even without the sweater, it doesn’t change the fact that Remus is in love with Tonks. He likes her more than he likes Sirius.

Sirius sees the way that Remus looks at Tonks. He sees how happy Remus looks. And Sirius wants Remus to be happy. He really, really does. Remus deserves it. He deserves the whole fucking world. But despite this, Sirius still finds himself wishing that he was sitting there, the weight of Remus’ arm on his shoulders rather than Tonks’. It would be his lips that Remus turned to kiss, his waist that Remus tugged closer, his fingers that Remus held in his hand. He wishes. Sirius shivers slightly when Remus calls his name, snapping him back into reality. He turns and smiles at Remus, talking to Remus as though he hadn’t just been imagining the feeling of his lips on Sirius’ skin.

But how could I hate her? She’s such an angel, but then again, kinda wish she were dead.

Sirius might have found it easier to cope with his feelings for Remus if there had been someone to blame, preferably Tonks. But how could he hate Tonks? Even Sirius had to admit that she was incredible. She was pretty, smart, loyal, fierce and a badass. And she was kind too. She invited Sirius over to her and Remus’ house loads of times because she knew (Remus must have told her) that Sirius hated being alone. She was fun, she made good jokes. She seemed like a good friend. A good wife. But there was a part of Sirius, a part that he hated but couldn’t get rid of, that fantasized about her not existing. About Tonks being completely out of the picture. He couldn't help but wonder if things would have turned out differently for him and Remus if Tonks hadn’t been here? Sirius was glad he didn’t know the answer to that question. It might drive him insane not knowing what could’ve been between him and Remus had he only had the courage to ask sooner, but it would be worse, far worse if he knew that something could’ve happened if Tonks wasn’t an option.

#sirius black #sirius black angst #remus lupin #remus lupin angst #moony #padfoot #wolfstar #wolfstar angst #wolfstar fanfic #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar oneshot #remus x sirius #sirius x remus #nymphadora tonks #remadora #remus x tonks #tonks x remus #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders oneshot

[aka-ashi-keiji]

Shinsou’s Safe Place ☔️

( this is a headcanon based on an oc designed by @kiyozichan on tiktok, shes awesome and her content makes me super happy! she gave me permission to use her oc for a this headcanon. go follow her for Haikyuu and My Hero Academia content!!! First is an overview of the oc and then we’ll get into the headcanon. enjoy lovies )

Kiyozi kai (aizawa’s adopted daughter) (shinsou’s gf) 

quirk: magnification through whistle and transfer whistle to head (causes victim to pass out)  

drawback: extreme drowsiness that can lead to sleep induced comas

costume: black  pants w dark wine red belt buckle , black shirt, dark wine red  thigh harnesses, aizawa’s binders,dark wine red ballet shoes, forest green fingerless gloves. 

Physical features: aizawa hair w/ platinum highlights, cut above shoulders

personality: introverted mainly, until she gets comfortable. Closed off because of trauma, very good at comebacks, especially with bakugou. Connects to shoto through quietness, good friends with deku. Part of bakusquad, not as loud as them but eventually gets to their level. 

Plot: Shinsou’s reaction after she falls into a really deep sleep because she over used her quirk. 

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

(Outside Pov)

- Kai has been going at this for hours, literal hours. 

- Her breath was uneven and rigid in a sense, she could feel her chest shake as she breathed in through her mouth

- lips cracked from the use of her quirk, Aizawa could see she was nearing her end. But  he knew she needed to do this. 

- Today class 1-A was given the gym to develop ultimate moves. however, kai’s quirk being slightly physical but mostly mental, she had struggled all throughout the training course. 

- The rest of the students had been sat  outside to wait for Aizawa and Kai. Aizawa thought maybe being by herself would allow her to unleash the power she had felt she needed to hold back. 

- He watched carefully as she brought her left leg back, and planted the right hard into the ground.

- Kai’s hands came up to a fighting stance and curled in her pinky and ring fingers, leaving her hands in gun shapes. 

- she focuses on the air flow around her and how it enters her own oxygen supply. 

- She feels every molecule enter her system and leave with a single breath. 

- Kai breathes deep into the bottom of her diaphragm, one last breath before she pushes her quirk to the very limit just to get this ultimate move. Just once. 

-  She feels that air flow start to increase into her lungs, and her whistle starts at a pitch so low, she can barely hear it. 

- Kiyozi can make objects float towards her with her whistle by going from a high pitch, to a low pitch. And she can make things repel from her doing vice versa. 

- She slowly works up her whistles pitch to an frequency that she can now hear, and so could aizawa. It was close to an uncomfortable ring, but it wasn’t anything unbearable. 

- Kai began to move her hands in circles to help he feel the air flow better, with this the frequency only increased. 

- Aizawa watched carefully, ready to stop her quirk if he saw any true signs she was at her end, and he could sense she was. But, he still waited. 

- The way Kiyozi’s ultimate move works is that she bring her whistle up to half her power then drops to the lowest frequency to draw air towards her. But, after she instantly brings her whistle back up to it’s highest frequency which causes the air to be propelled away from her. This causes a form of hurricane. 

- Kiyozi had reached half her maximum power, and she could see her hands start to shake, and her flow of air started to waver. 

- Drowsiness was starting to fog her brain. 

- she knew that if she pushed any harder, her quirk would get pushed over the edge. Aizawa knew this as well. 

- She had to do this, she had to. She was so close to mastering it, and there was no way she was going to let the rest of the class get ahead. 

- she quietly damned herself for being one of the only hero students with a mental quirk. 

- Kai lowered her whistle quickly, but kept the stream of air steady. It was right there, she could feel it.

- Right as she started to raise the frequency, she heard her dad’s voice scream through the intercom

- “Kai stop! You’re at your end!” Aizawa screamed

- he didn’t activate his quirk fast enough as you unleashed the hurricane from your lips and blew over the towering rock formation within the arena. 

- Once it had stopped, Kiyozi felt the darkness engulf her vision and her body. 

- Last thing she remembers is seeing aizawa running towards in what seems like slow motion as a could of smoke clouds her vision.

{ time skip like 10 minutes lmao }

- aizawa had rushed down to the arena and lifted kiyozi into his arms.

- he carefully examined her as he rushed her out of the arena, towards the rest of the students outside.

- he noticed blood dripping from her head, that wasn’t good at all. especially since she was asleep, that was a sign of a concussion.

- he came outside and all of 1-a stopped their rough housing to try and comprehend the situation.

- shinsou was the first to rush over and take her from aizawa’s arms.

- “what the hell happened! you said you wouldn’t let her get to this point!” he spoke roughly, but still trying to keep his composure in fear of getting expelled for disrespecting a teacher.

- bakugou was the next to move, he was her best friend after all. katsuki would never admit it, but seeing her hurt and lifeless like that crushed his soul.

- he made his way over to the three of them with fire raging through his eyes, down his arms and into his hands.

- he tried to get closer to kai to see her, but shinsou stepped back far enough to keep her out of reach.

- “what the fuck bushy hair?!!! let me see her”

- “you’ll just hurt her more, you’re steaming bakugou”

- “i don’t give a shit, i need to make sure she’s fucking alive”

- at this point bakugou was ready to blast shinsou’s head clean off his shoulders, that was until aizawa stepped between them.

- “bakugou, i can assure you she’s fine. she has a head injury but other than that this is just a minor coma. this is her drawback from overusing her quirk. however, it would be nice for you two to stop yelling so we can get her proper medical help” aizawa said this all with his voice low and unbothered.

- however, if you listened closely, you could hear his voice shake in the slightest bit.

- bakugou grumbled and slowly backed up so aizawa could lead shinsou with kiyozi back to the main building.

- aizawa was walking faster than usual and shinsou was having a hard time carrying kai as she was entirely limp in his arms.

- he watched as her head lolled against his chest, he noticed how lifeless she truly looked.

- this was the first time shinsou had seen kai use her quirk far enough to put her out of commission. it scared the living shit out of him seeing her like this.

- kiyozi and shinsou had been dating for around 3 months now. no one knew except for aizawa.

- everyone just assumed you guys were close because aizawa trained shinsou separately, and aizawa was your dad.

- shinsou, kai, and aizawa hurried into recovery girls office and shinsou gently placed her down on the table.

- recovery girl slowly made her way in and asked for the full story.

- shinsou was usually good at handling his nerves, but as aizawa explained what happened during training. he couldn’t get his hands to stop shaking.

- he heard the sound of what would have been kissing and turned to see recovery girl healing kiyozi’s head

- “she has minor cuts along her head but no internal damage, her quirk drawback will continue as usual. she should be awake in a few hours. watch her closely though, you guys know how those mental quirks can be” recovery girl said as she helped aizawa lift her carefully over his shoulder.

- they walked out and around the building aizawa’s car. he carefully placed kiyozi across the backseat as shinsou took the front.

- aizawa got behind the wheel and started to back out and headed towards his house.

- shinsou’s leg was shaking purfusely, he tried to ease it by watching the trees pass behind them as they drove.

- aizawa reached over a placed a hand on his shoulder, gentle but there. just letting his student know he’s there.

- “she’s gonna be alright. i’ve seen it worse than this. i know this is new to you but i assure you she will come to soon” shinsou just nodded his head, but at that his leg has calmed a bit.

- the rest of the ride was filled with silence and shinsou craning his neck to see kai sprawled across the back seat, face still holding that lifeless expression.

-they arrived at aizawa’s house and he asked shinsou to carry her inside, which shinsou gladly did

- he slid her out the car and back into his arms. he kicked the car door shut and held her under her thighs as her upper half rested against his chest and shoulders.

- he leaned forward and pressed a kiss into kai’s shoulder and whispered

- “you gotta be alright flower, i’ll make sure of it”

{ timeskip 5 hours }

- kai woke with a gasp and grunt escaping her. she’s had sleep apnea since she was a child along with insomnia. (father like daughter)

- but, sleep apnea causes a person to stop breathing in their sleep. so when kiyozi does, her nervous system wakes her and she gasps for air when she does come to.

- she scanned her surroundings, trying to figure where the hell she was and how she got there.

- kiyozi’s vision was still incredibly fuzzy so details about where she was were barely visible

- she kicked off her blanket and noticed she wasn’t in hero costume anymore, but back in the shirt she wore to bed the night before.

- kai heard running down the hall and expected to see her dad, but then she remembered he wouldn’t run inside of the house.

- the door creeks open and shinsou’s head pops in, looking more timid than anyone would’ve expected.

- “shinsou! what are you doing here? it’s like 8pm” kai exclaimed as she tried to cover her lower half back up, the thought dawning on her that she wasn’t wearing pants

- “ oh right, i should’ve knocked. i’m sorry zi, i can go get your dad instead. he’s asleep on the couch” shinsou said as he entered her room, but kept close to the door frame.

- kiyozi put her hands up and waved them in time with shaking her head. “no it’s okay i promise, come in. i need catching up on everything, my memory is a little foggy”

- she laughed as she said it, but shinsou’s expression as he sat beside her gave it away that it wasn’t a laughing matter.

- kiyozi laid her head on shinsou’s strong shoulder, the stray pieces of purple hair tickling her cheek.

- shinsou let out a long shakey sigh that made kai look up at him, except when she did her heart broke.

- a single year rolled down his face and he reached over to hold her hand.

- kiyozi sat up and looked directly at his side profile, waiting for him to follow her actions.

- “shinsou, hun are you okay? did i say something wrong?”

- shinsou shook his head and turned to face you.

- shinsou wasn’t the biggest fan of physical contact, even if kai was his girlfriend. they would occasionally hug and steal a kiss from each other but other than that it was just some hand holding. nothing too clingy.

- so when he turned and grabbed the sides of kai’s face and pressed her to his chest, she was so surprised she had to hold her breath to keep her from gasping.

- she felt his chest shake as he let another broken cry, kissing the top of her head over and over, muttering something kai couldn’t exactly hear.

- she tried to pull away to hug him properly but he shook his head hard and pushed her head farther into his chest.

- it took time, but kai finally understood why shinsou was so upset. he was scared she was going to leave.

- kiyozi took his hand from her head and wrapped his arms around her waist, she then took his head pressed it to her chest. right where her heart was so that he could hear that she was still there.

- when they finally both stilled, shinsou let out the loudest and most broken sob kai had every heard.

- she brushed her fingers through his hair as she shushed him.

- he squeezed her tighter as he spoke into her shirt.

- “i- i thought you were going to be gone, i thought you were gonna leave me for good. i didn’t think i would ever get to hold you like this again. i can’t lose you zi, i really can’t. i can’t lose the one person that actually made me feel worthy of being here.”

- zi took her hands and placed them on his shoulders as he pulled away to look her in the eyes, his eyes pink and puffy.

- “i’m not gonna leave you, id never do anything that would put us in a situation to be separated forever. my dad wouldn’t let that happen. he’s there to make sure i don’t get to this point during real fights. i promised you i’d be here forever, and i meant it.”

- kai took her hand and placed it on shinsou’s cheek.

- “sweetheart, you don’t ever have to worry about me walking out. i’m here for good. i’m here for you, forever”

- and with that being said, kai leaned forward and connected her lips to his gently.

- shinsou leaned into the kiss, trying to burn the feeling of it into his brain. he’d never say this to her out loud, but her kisses melted him down to the core.

- when they pulled away, shinsou hugged around kais shoudlers and she hugged his waist, burying her face into the scent of his shirt.

- ‘he smells like my house’ she thought.

- but then again. shinsou always did to her. because he was zi’s forever home.

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

[ this was rough but i tried my hardest, i hope you liked it zi! you are one of my greatest forms of comedic relief and i love you, thank you so much❤️ ]

@yamshoe

#my hero academia #boku no hero headcanons #bnha bakugou #comfort character #bakugou katsuki #mha #mha bakugou #mha shinsou #shinsou imagine #shinsou headcanons #shinsou hitoshi #not my oc #oc tag #mha aizawa #bnha shouta aizawa #aizawa headcanons

[peachyteabuck]

enemy of my enemy is my lover

summary: you planned on just going to a meeting with an adversary, hoping to gain more territory in the process. you left with something much, much better. 

pairing: mobster!bucky barnes x mobster!reader

words: 3,226

trigger warnings: smut (oral - f recieving and vaginal sex), mob dynamics

notes/other: this was inspired by ask received by @bucky-plums-barnes a long, long time ago about a mobster!bucky headcanon that describes the plot to this fic. while i could not find the exact ask (trust me, i tried), i credit the anonymous genius & gen heavily for inspiring this. thank you both!

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Each step you make is loud, sharp; the sound of heels clicking against the cold, cracked cement of New York City. It’s something, one of the things, that makes you powerful – sends this thick feeling of invulnerability through your veins, as if you’re some deity returning to her alter.

That feeling – one of untouchable power – has always been…sort of…hard for you to conjure. It’s not like you’re not not powerful in this world absent your fantasies. You run the second most powerful mob in the country! You’ve got a large pull in international trade! You’ve got major influence in congress and almost every state senate! You’ve got money, a smoking hot and super amazing boyfriend, and loyal coworkers. What else do you need?

Regardless of all that, roaming the streets at night never fails to send a special kind of shiver crawling across your skin. It’s a particular type of fear, one that makes you pull your steel grey coat closer to you as you roam the street, makes your hand cling tighter to the .45 in your deep, righthand pocket.

As you reach the alley where the deal you’re brokering is supposed to take place, your phone buzzes a few times in a row. You have an urge to check it, to make sure the man you love is okay, but letting your guard down now wouldn’t be wise. You’ve got to keep a keen mental sharpness about you to make sure no one kidnaps you (or worse) or fucks you over at your own deal, but still, the only person who would be texting you at this godforsaken hour is the man you left at home, and in this business you can never be too careful about the ones you care deeply about…

Your thoughts are interrupted (quite rudely, you might add), by the sound of a thick winter coat shuffling – as if someone were to be rolling their sleeves up. The noise of the fabric gets louder as the person – a man, you soon realize – steps closer. A man with sharp cheekbones and a dark beard and beautiful, pillowy lips.

His gaze, even under the dark baseball cap that lacks insignia, seems hauntingly familiar. You can’t place it, and it seems rude to ask if you’ve met before, given the circumstances. Still…something seems…recognizable about this mystery man.

You don’t realize it, though, until the man opens his mouth and asks about the new baby seal in the San Francisco zoo. It’s the right code, that’s not what throws you. Rather, it’s the gravely voice of the man you’ve been dating for years that stops you in your tracks.

“Bucky!?” you call out, completely confused and abandoning the correct coded response. “Why are you out here?”

Bucky, now meeting your eyes, seems just as bewildered as you are. “I, uh…I’m….what, what are you doing here?”

You have no idea how to respond, mind too baffled to form words. “Wh…what…”

You step closer, carefully – as if he was some rabid cat you found behind your apartment building. His beautiful baby blues are wide, eyes narrowed – you gasp when you get close enough to smell the cologne, his cologne, the exact scent you bought him for Christmas the year previous. “Are…are you…you’re…are you the White Wolf?”

Bucky visibly steps back at the mention of the street name – the street name of the guy who runs the mob that (similar to yours) is based in New York and works in black market goods. He tries to hide his shock, just in case what he thinks is happening definitely isn’t happening. In all honesty, Bucky can’t tell which one would be worse. “And, you’re uh. You’re…um…are you….are you She-Devil?”

If you were disoriented before, you have no word to describe how much your brain is short-circuiting at the thought that this man – the man you love, has secretly been running not only a mob, but a rival mob, this entire time.

“Do…wait,” you shake your head to try and collect your exceptionally scattered thoughts. “Are you the guy who wanted to negotiate territory with me?”

Bucky hesitates for a second, body tense and reluctant to say anything. You’re both still, not daring move a muscle and the both of you stare each other down. It feels like an eternity before he does anything, your surprise only growing as a massive, shit-eating grin spreads across his gorgeous, scruffy face.

It’s a look you know well, one you’ve come to both love and despise. It’s the same look he gave you when he told you he wanted to build (not pay someone else to build, build himself) a deck in a house you moved out of two months later, when he almost got a face tattoo, when he sold your house (you know, the one he wanted to build a deck for) to buy one three streets away. That’s the look he get when some grand idea that will probably turn out to be a disaster – the look that says “this may be a disaster, but the only way to see if it is will be to try it.”

In an instant, Bucky closes the gap between you and presses his lips to yours. As he arms wrap around you, you can feel him rub at the small of your back, just as he always does when he’s trying to keep you calm. “Yeah, babygirl. That’s me. I’m the White Wolf.”

You press your face in the warm embrace of his coat, muffling your speech. “But why didn’t you tell me?”

Bucky shrugs as he answers. “Didn’t want you to feel unsafe, I guess. Didn’t want you to worry about me.” He presses a kid to the top of your head. “Better question, why didn’t you tell me?”

You sigh, your small voice becoming even tinier. “I dunno…same reasons as you, I guess. Felt like I’d be dragging you into something you wouldn’t want to deal with.”

Bucky barks a laugh into the night, the sound reverberating off the tall buildings. “Seems reasonable.”

You pull away but refuse to make eye contact as tears well in your eyes and cloud your vision. For a mob leader, you’re very emotional. “Baby, are you sure? Like, are you sure this is okay? I mean, we kept this major part of our lives from each for literal years…like, does that say something about us as a couple? And we’re, like, rivals, we’re supposed to be competing against each other for money and goods and ports and clients and-“

Bucky cuts into your anxious ramblings by pulling you back into a tight bug. “Hey, hey! Baby, listen. This is a good thing! A great one, if you want it to be!”

You wipe at your nose with your hand. “Are you…what do you, are you sure? What do you mean?”

Bucky nods, eyes ablaze with excitement for the future. “Of course, baby, listen. Separate, our mobs are both powerful, right? We can agree on that. But together? With the territory, the influence, us...together, we could rule the fucking world.”

Technically, he isn’t wrong; with your strategy and Bucky’s brutal execution, your combined business could easily become the apex predator of the mob scene within the Western hemisphere. What Bucky had, you lacked, and vice versa. You’d studied his…business…for years (before you knew it was Bucky who ran the Pack, of course) as you climbed the ranks of your own mob. You know they have hands in several international black markets, have relationships with lots of lots of rich people who do lots and lots of bad things and pay lots and lots of money for those bad things.

Oh God, you’d never think being power-hungry and love drunk could feel so good. Your mind fogs over with all the things you could do if you had Bucky and his gang by your side, you could do anything. Simply by territory you’d be outgunning Hydra, let alone the combined wealth and human capital. You’ve never felt this exhilarated before in your life, the freezing night air electrifying your rib cage and-

Bucky and you grin madly. Wordlessly, you clasp hands and walk back to your shared apartment halfway across town. Both of you are silent until you’re safely inside your secured home. As you pull your hair up into a messy ponytail, Bucky began grabbing bowls for dinner.

“You know-” he said as he ladled soup out of the deep red Crock Pot. “Now that we aren’t desperately trying to hide our occupations from each other, we can move into a bigger house?’ Bucky says it like a question, but you know better.

Normally you’d tell him “no, of course we can’t do that, we can’t afford it.” But now that you both know that you’re each hiding hundreds of millions of dollars in offshore accounts, slush funds, and dummy corporations throughout the world…

“Sure,” you shrug. “Why not.”

Bucky grins like a child on Christmas. “If we’re gonna rule, we need the proper palace.”

You forego giving into Bucky’s terrible, awful joke to hang up your studded coat, to take off your business casual navy-blue pants and black button-up in, and change into a pair of workout shorts and some tie-dye hoodie you thrifted about ten years ago. Bucky calls them your “thinking clothes,” attire you wear specifically to center yourself, to clear your mind of everything except the task at hand.

During dinner, you and Bucky begin to plan how you can consolidate assets, personnel, jobs, and everything that comes with heading mobs. It’s a long talk, one that lasts long into the night and ends with hastily-drawn diagrams and maps strewn around your living room.

It takes hours and way too many pots of coffee, but eventually the plan for the merger is laid out in front of you – all the graphs and math and official language handwritten in your neat cursive (along with a few notes scrawled by Bucky) on over twenty sheets of pristine printer paper.

Bucky sighs happily when he sees it all finished. He’s standing, desperate for a bird’s eye view of the entire thing.

You, on the other hand, are much too tired to stand. You settle for, “How does it look, babe?” as you draw two lines for each of your signatures below both of your full names.

When you look up, you see Bucky – eyes twinkling with joy. “It looks…,” he sighs, happily. “Amazing. I love you so much.”

You giggle, drawing lines for a few witnesses (you’ll make a few of your associates sign tomorrow). “I love you, too, babe. Now, you still got that champagne from our visit to France?”

Somewhere between the front room and the wine fridge, Bucky had you pinned against the wall and was cupping your clothed pussy.

“While I think you look great,” Bucky murmurs against the hot skin of your neck. “You’re wearing just a little too much for me.”

In an instant he tears the skimpy shorts from your body, the sound of ripping fabric making you moan;

“Fuck,” you gasp as one digit, then another enters you. “Holy shit that feels good.”

Bucky pulls away enough to look you in the eyes, smiling as he watches your jaw slacken from the pleasure. “Yeah? You like that?”

If you could speak you would, but each word just comes out as a breathy moans. Your first orgasm hits you like a wave, Bucky pulling it from you with crooked fingers and his lips on yours.

When you come down Bucky carries you to the bed, undressing himself as you do the same.

He pulls you to the end of the bed by your ankles, pushing your legs up to your chest. He enters you easily – bottoming out within a few thrusts.

You and Bucky moan into each other’s mouths as he fucks into you.

“Oh God,” he groans, moving to kiss at your neck. “Holy shit!”

He rubs at your clit with the thumb of one hand as he bites bruises in your collarbones, desperate to hear the symphony of sweet sighs and deep moans as you near another peak.

“Come on baby,” Bucky murmurs into your lips. “Come on, cum around my cock for me.”

It doesn’t take much after that – a few more circles around your clit in time with his thrusts and soon you’re scream and nearly tears the sheets from how tight you’re gripping them and your whole body convulses from pleasure.

Bucky finishes himself onto your stomach, head thrown back in pleasure as he does so.

He takes a minute to collect himself, still panting as he grabs a tissue to clean you off.

After water and a snack (two granola bars you had stuffed into your bedside drawer an unknowable amount of months ago), you curl into Bucky’s chest, tracing the litany of tattoos there. “Weren’t we supposed to drink to celebrate?”

Bucky lets out a full belly laugh. “Probably. But the alcohol is all the way downstairs. Plus, I know something else I can drink to celebrate?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Only you? Why don’t I get to get drunk?”

Bucky just smirks, moving you off of him. You’re about to protest but begin to understand once he pushes the covers off the both you to make room for himself between your legs.

“Trust me,” he tells you, leaving kisses on your skin between every few words. “You’ll love this a lot more than any old champagne.”

And, of course, he was right.

The next day, you meet with your closest adversaries. While you two wait in the conference room in the building Bucky took over after it was condemned a couple years back, you can feel your heart ram into your ribcage. It’s less from anxiety and more from anticipation, knowing you might face major backlash from the people you trust the most.

The first to arrive is the woman you trust the most in this world: Natasha. She doesn’t move towards the table, simply stands just inside the doorway while staring you down. She doesn’t recognize Bucky, but doesn’t enjoy being below the eyeline of a man she’s never seen before.

“Natasha,” you say, desperate to remain calm. “This is Bucky. We’ve been together for five years. And he’s the leader of the Pack.”

In a fashion much atypical for Natasha Romanoff, her eyes widen slightly. “Oh…” she says after a long while. “Okay then.”

She promptly sits down with no further questions.

As with many business, heads and second-in-commands of mobs rarely come face to face. They have goons, messengers that do their footwork. Descriptions of the faces belonging those in charge pass around akin to rumors, only whispered quieter.

Which is why, when Steve comes in, he has no idea what to think until Bucky introduces you and Natasha.

By the time Bucky’s finished talking, Steve’s beat red. “Buck, what the fuck is this.”

“Just,” Bucky sighs, worried about his phrasing and angering his best friend on the face of the planet (whether that be Steve, for reasons that feel obvious, or you, for reasons that feel even more obvious). “Sit down. We’ll explain-“

“’We’ll!’” Steve nearly screams.

Bucky is the only one who flinches at the sudden loud noise. You finish his sentence for him. “Yes. Bucky and I will explain.”

Steve doesn’t like it, doesn’t like taking orders from a rival. Still, he sits at the large, oval conference table opposite Natasha.

The last two people to come in are the head of you and Bucky’s legal departments. Wanda gives you a single nod before sitting next to Natasha, a man Bucky addresses as “Tony” sits next to Steve.

You exhale deeply once the metaphorical dust settles, encouraging Bucky to begin the spiel he had prepared last night been orgasms four and five.

“Alright. We have,” he sighs. “We have decided to combine our two…”  Bucky struggles to find the right word. He worries for bugs and secret agents and misunderstandings, brain always struggling to remember that this is sacred, secret business. Any crack in any of the numerous protective facades could mean its downfall, along with the loss of billions of dollars and his life.

“Entrepreneurial endeavors,” you finish for him.

You hear Natasha snort, amused by the avoidance of saying gang and mob and illegal distributor of goods. The rest of your cohort are silent, unsure of what to say next.

Each beat of verbal inaction leaves you more fearful than the last, your heart getting louder and louder in your ears.

For what feels like forever, no one says anything.

Though, with the pounding of blood in your ears, they could be screaming obscenities at you and you wouldn’t be able to hear them.

The only thing that seems able to quiet the noise is Bucky’s fingers intertwining with yours.

Only then do you hear Wanda speak, her accent tinging each word. It’s comforting, to hear something so familiar.

“I assume you both have drawn up something that,” she eyes the man across from her with a look dusted with disdain. “Tony and I can look at.”

Bucky slides the thick document, held together in a beat-up binder you found under a bookshelf, across the table. Wanda is the one who stops it and looks into it first.

She says nothing, holding her tongue as she allows Tony to eye the document. He’s wearing dark sunglasses and pushes them to the corner of his nose as thumbs through it, looking bored and tired.

“Yeah, this shit looks good,” Tony says quickly, shoving the dark glasses back over his eyes. “Can we leave now?”

The resounding silence continues until you break it yourself, attempting to detail for Steve and Natasha what it all means. They listen diligently and sign where needed, Natasha being decided on as the most likely to type it up into an official document and send it to the necessary parties.

Once it’s all over, you and Bucky ride down in the big, glass elevator together – excitement electric in the air.

“How’re you feeling?” Bucky asks. It doesn’t seem to be out of concern, even if tears of happiness are pricking at your eyes.

“God,” you tell him, voice breathy and ecstatic. “I don’t even know how to describe it. I just, I don’t know. I’ve been so terrified I’d have to hide this forever – or that you’d find out, or that someone would figure out who you were. And now…I just,” you wipe at your eyes, and Bucky pulls you into his chest. “I don’t have to worry about that anymore. I know you’re protected. And I don’t have to hide this from you. And I’m so fucking happy about it.”

Bucky kisses the top of your head, tucking you under his chin. “Oh, baby. Darling I’m so sorry you had to go through all that.”

The two of you stand in silence, holding each other until you have to exit. Neither of you say anything until you’re both in the car, safely on your way back to your shared home.

“We’re in this together right?” you ask, looking at Bucky as he keeps his dark eyes on the road.

Regardless he smiles, moving his right hand from the wheel to rest on your knee. “Always, baby. Always.”

#mobster!bucky barnes #mobster bucky barnes au #winter solider #bucky barnes x reader #mobster bucky barnes x reader #lukis writes things #fun fact this drafts is almost 2 years old #and i kinda hate it but listen its done and its on the internet now

[zuffer-weird-girl]

There was literally more than ten people asking for this, holy shit. I just didn't take a screenshot because my cellphone wouldn't allow it for some whatever reason

You blinked before rubbing your eyes to see if what you just saw wasn't just a illusion or some mind trick. But when you opened your eyes again the same image was still there.

On Chrono's shoulder. A tiny little black bird with a cute as fuck jacket similiar with your boyfriend's and the same haircut as well... and eyes...

"Kurono-kun..." you mumbled worriedly while he only sighed with a hand on the back of his neck.

"Yeah. Exactly what you're thinking of- MOTHER FUCKER!" He let out a shout when he felt a painful sting on his neck, accidentally letting Chisaki, whose indeed was in a bird form, fall from his shoulder.

Luckily you had catched him with both of your hands in time. Now analyzing closer, he still carried the same stoic expression as always... even as a bird.

"First, is not my fucking fault." He hissed in pain with a hand on the place where Chisaki had hurted him, you noticing how chisaki glared at him from your hands "Second, (Y/n), it might not take long for him to get back... I hope." He looked down at your hands and accidentally let out a snicker escape his mouth at seing Overhaul in such a form.

"Pi!" He chirped angrily, making you awe and gasp at his cuteness and Chrono laugh.

"I'm sorry Kai, I can't take you seriously like this-!" He laughed even more, making Chisaki's feathers ruffle up in anger and embarrassment due to your reaction.

"Pi! Pi! Pi!" Your giggles weren't even hidded anymore as you still had your careful and gentle hands supporting him while Chrono was almost falling in the floor due to his laughter.

"Ne ne Kai." You cooed, patting his little head with one finger while he huffed and glared at you instead "Calm down love, when you get back you can teach Chrono a lesson." Hari immediately stopped laughing and gulped down at hearing your words. Chisaki's scoffing mentally and already planning Chrono's death as he tried to not to just... melt by those touches.

Wait. Did you even washed your hands?

He squirmed a bit away from your finger immediately, you giggled in response before walking away from Chrono through the halls.

"Right right. Where do you want to stay them? On my shoulder like Kurono's?"

"Pi." He shook his head, staring up at you with boredoom eyes. Glaring when you muffled your giggled at hearing him chirp.

"Ok then? Where?" You paused in your walking as you brought him close to your face a bit, giggling at the way he averted his eyes away from you as his feathers ruffle in embarrassment at you being so close to him.

He suddenly looked up and chirped again. You, getting the message, placed him on the top of your head with the extreme care and gentle way you could.

"My hair is a nest now?" You let out a yelp when he pecked your head repeatedly "ouch ouch! Ok I take it back Kai! Please enough!"

He huffed again and just let himself relax a bit, scenting your perfume that shampoo of yours made your hair be like it is... soft and clean.

You started to walk again with a smile before he pecked your head again.

"OW! What is it?!" You exclaimed before he took a few steps in your head indicating the bathroom on the top of your head.

"Pi!"

"... you're joking right?" He pecked your head again "Ok ok! Im going geez!"

Demanding birdy we have here...

Chisaki continued on his chirping, clearly monitoring how you washed your hands and even dared to peck your hand hard when you threatened to get out without placing some alcohol gel.

In revenge though you splashed some drops of water on him... he glared daggers at you before shaking a bit and the way his black feathers standed up was juST TOO CUTE-!

He although pecked your hand again when you tried to get your cellphone...

He went back to your head, signalizing for you to go to his office as he nestled himself on the top of your head.

"Enjoying yourself?" You giggled while opening the door.

"Pi..." this one was slightly sleepy than the others you heard today, making you smile warmly at the sound and feel butterflies on your stomach.

"So whacha you want love?" He chirped again, hesitantly getting out of your head to nestle himself on your shoulder, pointing with his tiny beak at his shelf. "Ah, reading a book?"

"Pi."

"Distraction huh?" You smiled before slidding your fingers through the shelf until you grazed one and he started flaping his tiny wings a bit.

"Pi! Pi Pi! Pi!" You snickered and even felt a bit ticklish at hearing the chirps so close to your ear and his movements.

"Ok, this one." You grabbed and made your way to you huys shared bedroom.

He stayed like that for hours, jumping as he read it the pages and chirping at you for you to turn the page whenever it was necessary.

You were starting to get pretty bored and sleepy, before he jumped in your lap, making you open your eyes to look down at Chisaki staring you up.

"Something wrong?" You asked while tilting your head.

"Pi!" He flapped his wings a bit, deadpanning when your confused face got worse.

He thought for a minute before he jumped out of your lap to go back to his book, pointing with his tiny feet at certain letters, hoping that you would get the message.

"H.." he nodded before going into another "U... N.. G.. Ah! Got it!" You lifted yourself from the bed to go to the kitchen. "Be right back!"

He nodded and settle himself for reading the next page... only looking up and widening his eyes a bit at seing Pops entering the room with a confused as fuck face.

"...what the-?"

"Pi." Great. Pops saw him. Just great.

He chuckled a bit before getting closer to the bed with a unamused expression and crossed arms.

"Did (Y/n) brought you here little one? My boy will be pretty unhappy of knowing your existence inside this house."

"Pi.." indeed.

You got back with a few crumbs of bread, praying mentally to god that Chisaki didn't take this personally, before deparing with Pops.

"Ah, my dear (Y/n). Mind me explaining this?" He pointed at Chisaki who only glared back at you.

"Sorry hon. Pops, that is actually Chisaki." Your boyfriend chirped like crazy after this and you only giggled, acustomized with his pecking already.

When you explained the situation Pops succumbed into laughter, Chisaki merely deciding to hide between the crook of your neck and hair... despite you being a brat, you always did somehow bringed comfort to him.

"Gosh my boy, you dont have much luck!" He laughed before standing up and patting your head "Take care of my bird son for me will ya my dear?"

"Sure!" You giggled, watching the laughing elder getting out of the room. "You're still hungry?" He chirped, making it sound more like a growl than anything.

You sighed with a smile, lifting your hand up to your shoulder for him to step on and showing it to him the crumbs after.

He glared at you and you only smiled apologetically.

"Im sorry my devil, but I think that if you eat another thing, it might not end up being good for you right now..." he huffed while sitting on your hand, glaring at the crumbs of bread.

"Pi.." you tilted your head with a 'huh?' before he looked up at you with irritated eyes "Pi!"

"You want feeding?" His feathers ruffled at the words and you cooed adorably "Aww! You want!" He pecked your palm, silently demanding that you shutted uo already and ended this at once.

So humiliating...

After what seemed like a lifetime, he was at least satisfied... but another problem soon came...

When the hell he felt this sleepy before?

"Pi.." he lowered his tiny head on your tummy, while you stared down, blushing and screaming internally at such precious sign.

"If you want to sleep you can." You offered while carresing a bit with your index and middle finger the top of his head gently... he started to roo at such affection and just nestled himself onto you... falling into a quite fast sleep shortly after.

"That fast?" You whispered before carefully picking him up in your hands to bring him to your face to give a kiss on him "Sleep well my beautifil bird."

You layed down and placed him right on your side on his pillow, carresing his feathers untio you fall asleep.

~

You woke up with a groan and immediately smiled at seing normal AND HUMAN golden eyes staring back at you... still a bit clouded with sleep.

"Kai..!" You exclaimed wuietly in happiness as he rolled his eyes before dropping his arms on your waist "Morning my birdy..." you scratched a bit his scalp, shivering at his growls on your neck.

He separated a bit to pick your hand in his before he brought closer to his lips to... bite it.

Yes, he just bitted/nibble on your hand

You yelped while he scoffed a smirk, closing his eyes to lay back with you on his warmth and naked chest.

"Thanks I guess..." he muttered befofe nuzzling his face on your hair.

Uh... certain things didn't changed.

#overhaul x reader #overhaul scenario #fanfic overhaul #overhaul #birdhaul #kai chisaki x reader #chisaki kai x reader #chisaki kai imagine scenario #kai chisaki #chisaki kai #bnha imagine #bnha x reader #bnha characters #bnha villains #bnha #my writing #zuffer writings

[a-detraque-barista]

Chocolate Strawberry Milkshake

Yandere Killer Jungkook x Reader

Genre: yandere, graphic, gore

Word Count: 5k

WARNINGS: masturbation, detailed murders, soft but also sexy Jungkook, the word slut

A/N: If you don’t like reading about this then don’t. But I hope you guys like it and let me know what you think. And my inbox is always open so send me something, a request, a question, or even something random 💜💜. 

Part 2 

Summary:  Jungkook is one of the most infamous killers that you’ve taken an interest in. You just don’t know your new friend is that killer and he’s very subtle about being obsessed with you.

The bass in the speakers shook the table and the booth you sat at. As your friends danced with strangers, you sat alone at the table, only taking small sips of your drink.

Obviously, you didn’t want to be here. The loud music made your migraine worse, something you got often. Your drink dulled some of the pain but your brain still thudded against your skull. The flashing lights didn’t help either.

Scanning the room for the 100th time, you see guys and girls looking your way. You ignored all of them, finding your friends to make sure they’re all right. You’ve been paranoid ever since there’ve been recent murders in the area.

The police and feds have no leads. All they knew was that the killer was smart, experienced, normal. And those are the reasons why they couldn’t catch him. He blended into society, making it hard to find him. 

He had a routine. First, he would charm, seduce the victim to get invited into their home. Then, he gets them into bed but doesn’t have sex with them, at all.

The only reason you knew all this was because one of your friends was an officer assigned to the case. He showed you all the photos and told you everything they knew. Which wasn’t much.

The killer was violent and angry. It showed in his brutal way of effortlessly killing people. Well, that’s what the feds thought. You’ve read enough books and watched countless shows to know that it takes a lot out of someone to tear a person apart, physically. Mentally, it didn’t affect much on the mind of a psychotic killer. But, as fucked up as it sounds, there’s a reason why the killer does what he does. Something or someone made him into the violent murderer he is. 

You weren’t worried about you becoming his next target, you were worried about your friends. You didn’t think the killer would ever go for someone as average looking as you. But your friends were a great possibility of becoming a pile of blood, bones, and torn up organs.

There were seventeen known victims. Who knows if there were more that can’t be found.

You were so busy thinking about the killer, that you couldn’t help but be fascinated by, you didn’t notice the intrigued eyes that have been looking your way for almost an hour.

He just couldn’t take his eyes off of you. At first, he didn’t think much of you, when he saw you laughing with your friends. He figured you were just another slut looking for someone to warm your bed for a few hours.

Later, when he brought his uninterested gaze back to you, you were alone. So he couldn’t help but wonder if you’re actually a wallflower, ready to be plucked. Too self-effacing to be noticed easily. You were clearly thinking about something, he pondered about what it could be that had your head in the clouds.

He wanted to pick your brain. Not literally, well, not yet. 

The tall man walked over to the table you sat at. Standing there, he waited for you to notice him. But you never did. Your eyes stayed on your glass containing red soda and strawberry vodka. 

He was almost offended, but then he felt even more intrigued. Sitting down he introduced himself, “I’m Jungkook.”

You looked up, startled. You didn’t even realize someone sat down. Yelling would make your migraine worse so you waved a little and mouthed hi.

Jungkook was kind of disappointed by how little you reacted to him. He shook it off and gave you a stunning smile.

“You wanna go somewhere quieter?” he shouted over the noise.

You hesitated. He was attractive and charming. Maybe he was the killer. But you thought again and reminded yourself that someone that good-looking would never go for you. So you wondered what this man’s intentions were. Hoping he didn’t just want sex you nodded.

He stood up and held his hand for you to grab to help you stand. You took it shyly and Jungkook’s breath hitched. Your hand felt so small in his. Yours felt so soft against his calloused one.

Leading you outside by the front entrance he leads you to a small diner that was open 24 hours. He stood there looking for a good booth to sit at when you began pulling him to your favorite booth that sat in the corner at the front. It gave you a great view as your friends gossiped about people you didn’t know or care about.

Jungkook was surprised how you tugged him into the seat you wanted. You seemed too timid to do that. He saw how relaxed you became when you sat down and looked out the window, “You know this place.”

Glancing at him from the side, you quietly confirmed. The well-known waiter that worked at the diner every day of the week walked over.

“The regular for the cutie and what can I get you, sir?” he was writing down in his notepad as he spoke.

You saw Jungkook was caught off guard, “The milkshakes here are the best you’ll ever find. I suggest the cookies & cream or the chocolate strawberry.”

“I’ll go with cookies & cream,” Jungkook decided.

The waiter nodded and winked at you as he always did. Jungkook couldn’t help but notice. The waiter obviously liked you but you never returned the flirtation.

“I always get the chocolate strawberry shake. At first, I was a little skeptical but after I tried it, it’s the only thing I get here now. Unless I’m in the mood for fries,” you took glances at the man across from you.

His ink colored hair went past his dark eyes that studied you like an unknown specimen that he discovered. He wore a black button-up with black leather pants. Some of his collarbones were showing and his neck was on full display.

You may not respond to people’s pick up lines and advances but that doesn’t mean you don’t have dirty thoughts.

“I’ll have to try it sometime,” Jungkook smiled as he rested his head in his hand. “I never got your name.”

“Y/n,” you subconsciously traced the pattern on the wooden table. Honestly, you didn’t know why you agreed to come. You were supposed to be looking out for your friends but you thought again. Not once did they look for you. They were too busy grinding on strangers so you shouldn’t feel bad. And the man across from you was much more interesting than sitting there, staring at your drink.

A sudden pressure was felt in your head. Oh yeah, you still had a migraine. You rubbed your temples, trying to relieve some of the pain. 

Jungkook became concerned, “What’s the matter?”

“It’s nothing, I’ve just had a migraine since the ride to the club. I get them a lot.”

“So do I. I have to have a bottle of those migraine pills at home all the time,” Jungkook was surprised to know you had migraines as he did.

“Me too,” then the waiter brought the two milkshakes and sat them down gently. “Thank you.”

“Thanks,” Jungkook said shortly as he slid the glass closer to him. For some reason, Jungkook didn’t like this waiter. He didn’t know why. Bringing his thoughts back to the milkshake he had to admit, it looked good. There was just enough whipped cream and a perfect cherry to top it off.

Jungkook looked up to see you practically bouncing in your seat. He couldn’t help but smile that turned into a chuckle. He hasn’t laughed like that in, he didn’t even know how long.

“What’s so funny?” you asked.

“You’re too cute,” Jungkook took a drink of his milkshake.

_______________________________________

You and Jungkook swapped phone numbers so, during the following days, the two of you could keep in touch. And every day, both of you texted any time you could. And every week, more dead bodies showed up. 

Jungkook was over at your place when your police friend brought over new evidence and photos.

“He almost completely changed his m.o. which doesn’t make any sense. He’s not luring men and women to get into their houses. The killer is using force to enter and still brutally murdering the victims. It makes no sense,” you rambled as you studied the photos and notes taken.

Jungkook’s ego shot through the roof. You’re breaking down every little thing he did. You were trying to figure out why he killed. He was ecstatic knowing how much interest you had for him. Jungkook even decided to help you through your thinking.

“What if he found someone he’s devoted to and doesn’t want to feel like they’re being wronged by him?” he suggested.

You stopped pacing, “Holy fuck, that makes sense bUT, killers aren’t able to feel emotions like love or anything like that. So it would have to be obsession.”

All Jungkook did was shrug, he didn’t want to argue because then that would make him seem suspicious. But now he also knew what the cops did and didn’t know. They had no idea where to start looking for their suspect that was standing right there.

Jungkook didn’t lie about becoming devoted to someone. Ever since he met you, he doesn’t like deceiving people by flirting with them anymore. He doesn’t want to flirt with anyone except you. Call it what you will, obsession or love, you’re the only person in this world who he wants.

“This stuff really interests you, huh?” Jungkook sat down on your couch.

“Yeah, I find this fascinating,” you sat down next to him and laid back. “I wonder if they’ll ever catch this guy.”

“You don’t think they will?”

“I don’t know. He’s smart and clever. He’s been able to murder twenty people, maybe more, without getting caught.”

“Wow, thanks for believing in us,” your friend’s voice was clearly sarcastic but you said nothing as he walked out the door.

You had a tendency to say the truth without sugarcoating it.  

“Maybe you should spend the night tonight,” you said quietly.

“Why? You think the killer is gonna come after you?” Jungkook questioned.

“No, I’m scared he’s gonna go after you.”

“Aw, you’re so sweet,” he pat your head. “Alright, I’ll stay so you won’t worry about me.”

“Thank you. Now,” you got up and stretched. “Let’s go make dinner. I’m starving.”

Jungkook was pleased to know that the images of the bodies did nothing to interfere with your appetite. It just proves you were meant to be his. Originally, Jungkook thought you were the purest thing in the world. Until he learned about this interest of yours, but still he thought you were the most innocent human in this world. He may not be the first and only killer to fascinate you but, he will be the last. No one can ever compare to Jungkook and his ways. He will get away and he’s taking you with him.

The raven-haired killer stood up and followed you to the kitchen. He leaned against the counter when he got an idea, “Actually, I’m kinda in the mood for a milkshake.”

“Me too,” you stopped looking through the fridge to look at him. “They also have some good burgers and fries.”

“Well then, let’s go,” Jungkook pulled on your arm like a child on Christmas morning.

You laughed as you tried to get your shoes on. He pulled you to his car. Once the two of you got in the car, he drove to the diner. Just like the first night you met Jungkook, you pulled him to your favorite seat. But unlike that night, you weren’t wary of Jungkook and both of you were in normal clothes.

Soon after sitting down the waiter came over, “The usual?”

“Yeah but can I also get a burger and fries please?” you kept your eyes down like you always did.

“Of course, and you?”

“Same thing, even the shake,” Jungkook looked at you the same time you looked at him.

The waiter reluctantly walked away to put your order in. You crack a small smile, “You wanna try it?”

“I mean why not? It sounds good,” Jungkook crossed his arms and laid them on the table. “It seems that guy really likes you.”

“Jooheon? He’s a people-pleaser. I tried to go on a date with him once but I ended up having to change my clothes and not say anything ‘weird’ around his friends so they would like me. I have no interest in him,” you mirrored Jungkook’s movements and laid your arms on the table.

“I don’t blame you,” Jungkook thought for a minute. “Are your friends that were with you that night people-pleasers too?” He knew that they were alive. He hadn’t killed them, yet.

“They’re not my friends anymore, I guess.”

“How come?”

“After I left with you, not one of them texted or called me to check up on me. And when I texted them, I got no response. I know they’re not dead. It would’ve been in the police reports from the case. So we’re not friends anymore,” you explained and Jungkook could hear the hurt in your voice.

“Fuck ‘em. You don’t need them. You got me,” he took your hands into his. “I’m here for you,” his smile always took your worries away.

Just then Jooheon placed the glasses containing the amazing milkshakes and the hot plates full of food right between you two. And he walked away without saying a word.

You looked at Jungkook expectantly with a smile. He raised a brow.

“I’m waiting for you to try it. I wanna know what you think of it.”

Jungkook chuckled a bit before he took a sip out of the large straw. His eyes widened at the fresh taste of strawberry mixed with chocolate ice cream. It was a perfect consistency. There were no large chunks of fruit and was all together smooth. He couldn’t help but take another drink.

“It’s good right?” you laughed. “Hey, hey, slow down. We still gotta eat food.”

Still sucking on the straw he looked up at you with wide eyes causing you to laugh again. Jungkook slid the cup aside and began to eat the food in front of him.  You took a few sips of your shake before eating your food as well.

About twenty minutes later, Jooheon brought the check and gave you a folded piece of paper as he looked Jungkook in the eye. Giving you one last glance, he walked away.

You unfolded it and skimmed what Jooheon had written. Jungkook couldn’t tell what you were thinking. Once you finished you folded it back up, left money on the table, and grabbed Jungkook’s arm to pull him out of the diner.

Jooheon watched with jealousy and irritation but did nothing. Jungkook didn’t really know what was going on but he could tell you were upset. He waited to ask until you got back to your apartment.

Jungkook stood in the living room doorway watching as you paced back and forth. You began to mutter under your breath about how you shouldn’t get so worked up about what he said.

A hand on your arm stopped your pacing and you felt Jungkook’s chest against your back. He wrapped his strong arms above your shoulders and around your neck to fold them right above your collarbones, “What did the note say?”

“It said, ‘You ignore me for this average, poverty-stricken, lowlife? I’ll be waiting for when you realize you should be dating me.’ I mean, who the fuck does he think he is?” you were starting to get wound up again.

Jungkook held you tighter to calm you and him down. Sure, Jungkook was pissed. The fact that he was called a lowlife and that same guy tried to convince the one person he finds interesting to leave him, had him livid. But he also had to calm you down. He hated to see you anything but happy. Even if Jungkook was a little content with how you reacted to the waiter’s advance. 

Jungkook found you so pure even after learning about your humor and your little hobby of studying serial killers. And he wanted nothing more than to corrupt and break you.

Strangely, his mind went to what you would look like strapped to a chair, crying. He immediately got rid of the image. He could never do that to you. But every now and then he would get the urge to make you cry by hurting you physically. However, he could never bring himself to do it. So he did it to other people and now, their bodies are being put together the best they could for the funerals.

“Don’t worry about him, my little strawberry,” Jungkook kissed the crown of your head. “Now, let’s put on a movie, lay down on the couch, and forget about him.”

“That’s a new name. Where’d you get that?” you giggled.

“Well, your face is always red and you’re sweet. And I think it’s cute. You don’t?” he squeezed you tighter.

“I do, actually, smartass.”

The two of you had just gotten comfortable as the first scene played on the screen. The blanket that covered you also reached over to lay across Jungkook’s upper body. Your focus is solely on the t.v.

Your phone rings and interrupts the action-packed film. You and Jungkook look at each other and shrug. Reaching out from under the warm blanket, you grab your phone quickly to pull your arm back under the warmth. The lit-up screen showed the name Yoongi, making you sigh.

“Hello?” you answered.

Jungkook paused the movie as he tried to listen to what Yoongi was saying.

“I’m not doing any more favors.”

“Why? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because of the last time I did. Ya know, when I couldn’t see out of my swollen black eye,” you raised your voice at the end.

… 

“I said no,” with that you hung up and tossed your phone on the coffee table that held yours and Jungkook’s drinks. 

You glanced at your drink and snatched it off the glass table. Aggressively taking a drink, you almost choked on your sugary soda.

Jungkook laughed as he rubbed your back while you coughed up the liquid intruding your lungs. You tried to scold him in between coughs which just made him laugh louder.

“Take another drink,” Jungkook picked up your soda bottle and gave it to you. “Let’s finish the movie so we can go to bed.”

All you said was, “Okay,” before laying your head on his shoulder.

As the movie finished you had calmed down and growled when Jungkook told you to go to bed. He ended up carrying your limp body to your room. You had tried not to laugh, acting like you were dead.

“You’re not really making this easy,” Jungkook dropped you on your bed causing you to laugh when you bounced.

“I’m dead. Respect my dead body,” you said in a fake stern voice.

Jungkook just jumped onto the empty space next to you, “Go to sleep. I have plans for us tomorrow.”

“What kind of plans?”

“You’ll see.”

You were fast asleep when Jungkook sneaked out to head to the diner. Not for a milkshake but to ask the owner where Jooheon lived. It was hard to convince the dumb overweight but kind man to give up his address. Jungkook succeeded nonetheless. He wasn’t going to hurt the waiter, he was going to do much more.

Jungkook had a couple more people he wanted to tear apart for bothering you but he didn’t have the time. It took time to break into people’s homes, torture them for however long he pleased, and finally tear up all the body parts he wanted. So the other targets are going to have to wait for their turns.

Jungkook gently pushed the screen of the open window out and caught it before it hit the tile floor. He quietly set the screen down on the kitchen counter and slipped through the opening.

He held his breath to hear any indications that Jooheon was awake. When he heard a familiar theme song from a popular kdrama he made his way to the bedroom. Creeping down the hallway, Jungkook began to lower his body to the floor and peeked into the room. He saw Jooheon laying on his side, facing the door. It was a good thing Jungkook was laying down, otherwise, he would’ve been spotted already.

Jungkook needed to get ready before he could deal with Jooheon. Sneaking to the bathroom he took down the shower curtain and folded it neatly before placing it on the sink.

He always got in trouble for not being neat when he was a child. That’s how he rebelled in a way, even if their deaths were years ago. Making a mess of blood and insides without cleaning it up. The last time he got hit for making a mess was the day his parents ended up dead together on their bed.

Jungkook smiled, remembering that day.

He made his way out of the bathroom. He turned into the hallway to bump into the surprised waiter.

“What the fuck?!” Jooheon attempted to plant a right hook to Jungkook’s face but failed as Jungkook ducked.

Landing a solid blow to the waiter’s gut, Jungkook straightened his legs and back to land another to Jooheon’s temple.

It didn’t completely knock him out but it caused stars to cloud his vision. Jungkook grabbed his ankles to drag him into the bathroom. Pulling Jooheon up by his hair, he slammed his head into the porcelain of the sink.

That didn’t necessarily go as planned. At least Jungkook was quick to act, or else he would’ve had to explain to you where he got the bruises when he was supposed to be asleep next to you. 

The onyx haired murderer pulled out his favorite knife. It was convenient because it easily fit in the hidden breast pocket inside his jacket. The pocket was a favorable size so don’t think the knife was some tiny, hunting toothpick. The knife was 13 inches (33.02 cm). It’s what helped him tear up all those bodies.

Jungkook kneeled down onto the floor and began moving the knife across the waiter’s skin as if he were doodling on a piece of paper when bored. Instead of pictures, he wrote words BASTARD, SHES MINE, ARROGANT.

He was content with what he did. It might mean he can’t rip his abdomen apart but it’s where he carved the most important one, ‘She’s mine’.

The waiter groaned as he began to regain consciousness. And even louder when he felt the pain where the knife marked his skin.

“You’re no fun. You didn’t wake up screaming as I carved into you. I wanted screams. I wanted terror written all over that ugly face of yours,” Jungkook’s expression turned sour as he spoke. “I would take my time with you. Drag out your death as long as possible. But I have to get back to my little strawberry.”

As Jungkook raised the knife in his hand Jooheon tried to distract him, “Wait until Y/n finds out about this. She’ll run away screaming.”

“Oh really? Last time I checked, she’s fascinated by the crimes I committed. She’ll be filled with joy when she hears that not only were you killed but also because you were killed by her favorite murderer. And I can’t wait to see the look on her face.”

The knife slid through Jooheon’s neck with ease.

Blood splattered everywhere, Jungkook felt amazing just like he always did after a kill, but this was different. This feeling was much stronger and deeper than the other times. He figured it was the fact that he got rid of a weak threat so quickly.

Speaking of which, he better get back to you. He wanted to get enough sleep for his special plans.

Making sure he didn’t leave anything, especially his knife, he slipped back out of the window and through the streets. Of course, he dropped off his bloody clothes and changed into the set he had before he left your apartment, at his usual spot. 

As he walked down your street he took in a deep breath of the brisk air. Jungkook was pleased with what he did that night. The waiter won’t bother you anymore.

Just as he left you, you were still sleeping as if nothing changed. Jungkook tried not to move the bed so much as to wake you, then he wrapped his arm around your torso.

You shifted before you questioned him in a gravelly voice, “Where’d you go?”

“Just to get some water. Sorry for waking you,” he kissed your head and laid back down.

“It’s okay.”

Jungkook woke up to you missing. As he was gradually waking up he heard pots and pans clash together. He smiled, feeling like you were kind of his wife.

His head drifted into the clouds, daydreaming about your life together. Cooking together, being able to kiss you every day, taking showers and baths with each other. The thought of seeing you naked had him panting. God, the image of you on his bare cock had him the hardest he’s ever been.

Jungkook would pound you for hours, biting and marking every inch he could reach, and shooting his cum into your hot cunt.

“Oh, you’re awake,” you peeked through the opening of the doorway.

Jungkook rolled onto his stomach so you wouldn’t see the tent in his shorts and hide the red hue that covered his cheeks, “Yeah, just woke up.”

“Come on, breakfast is ready,” he could see your breasts sway from under your shirt as you turned around.

He nodded and waited until you left to lean over your side of the bed to find your bra on the floor. He would’ve preferred your panties over your bra, but it’ll do. The black lace covering the black cloth had his underwear get damp with precum. Grabbing it, he made his way to the bathroom. He had to take care of this.

With the help of your undergarment, Jungkook was hunched and holding on to the sink as he furiously pumped his cock. It took seconds to reach his orgasm. His cum shot into the sink and his cock pulsed. He tried to come down from his high quickly so you wouldn’t come looking for him. Once he was able to see straight again he cleaned up all the cum that didn’t make it into the sink before rinsing it all down the drain.

Jungkook splashed cold water on his face as he thought of how quickly he came from just your bra. How long would he last when you want to fuck him as much as he wants to fuck you? He’ll have to build up more tolerance.

For now, he’ll act like nothing happened and head to the kitchen after tossing your bra back where he found it.

“Did you sleep well?” Jungkook sat down across from you at the table where both plates of food were set.

“Yeah, I did. Wasn’t the same for you I suppose?” you had already begun to eat before Jungkook came but you didn’t feel guilty.

“Just excited for today is all,” he started to eat.

After taking the first bite his mind went back to the thought of you being his wife someday.

“Well, I was thinking we could go on a road trip,” Jungkook watched your face for a reaction.

You couldn’t remember the last time you went on a road trip very well. Your bank account was never spontaneous-field trip-friendly. 

“I know an abandoned prison we can go to just outside of a beautiful city,” Jungkook added.

He could see the interest on your face.

“I’m gonna be livin’ that broke life after this.”

Jungkook was paying for everything. He wouldn’t let you pay for anything. You don’t even know where he works to get that kind of money.

The drive was over four hours so you took turns driving. You guys decided to go to the prison tonight and tomorrow you would explore the city.

“Let’s drop off our stuff at the hotel room,” you said as you turned the wheel to enter the parking garage.

“Sounds good.”

You thought the room would be smaller with one or two queen-sized beds. No, it was a very expensive suit. A king-sized bed, mini-fridge, microwave, a huge flatscreen tv, couch, and a great view of the city.

“Jungkook we’re staying here for two nights. And where do you work to be able to pay for this?” you interrogated him as you looked out of the large windows.

Jungkook set his bag down before pressing his front to your back to embrace you, “I just wanted to make sure you would be comfortable. I’m a lawyer.”

“A lawyer? That’s pretty cool.”

“Not really,” Jungkook chuckled. “Let’s take a nap before we eat dinner and then go to the prison. Okay?” 

“Okay,” you pulled away from him, much to Jungkook’s dismay, to lay directly in the middle of the bed.

“Hey, make room for me!” Jungkook raised his voice causing you to growl at him. “Don’t growl at me.”

You growled again as you spread out even more. Jungkook thought of what to do when a great idea popped into his head. Smirking, he shuffled away to make you think he gave up. Once you relaxed, he began to run toward the bed. You didn’t register the sound of his footsteps growing louder until he had already gone airborne.

When he landed he held out his hands and knees so he wouldn’t hurt you. Jungkook bounced and flattened out to lay on you completely.

Both of you laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe. You were making wheezing sounds and you couldn’t hear Jungkook at all anymore.

It took fifteen minutes to stop laughing and another five to catch your breath. Jungkook had rolled to the side while the two of you were laughing. He didn’t like not having physical contact with you so, he decided to roll back over on top of you.

He also did it because you were warm and he was getting cold. Nuzzling his head into your neck, he couldn’t hold himself back from placing soft kisses onto your smooth skin. And you loved it.

#jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jeongguk #bts jungkook #bts jeon jungkook #yandere bts #bts one shot #yandere jungkook #yandere jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #bts request #bts smut ish #yandere bts x reader #bts x reader #bts yandere #yandere!bts #yandere!jungkook #jungkook

[randomfandomimagine]

We’re Even (John x Reader)

Character: John Wick

Fandom: John Wick

Categories: Reader Insert, Female!Reader, Assasin!Reader

Title: We’re Even

READ IT ON AO3!

Summary: Y/N his forced to go for John for help despite their complicated relationship. 

 I couldn’t believe I was doing this. Even as I clutched my side, which was gushing blood and threatened to kill me. Even when it was my only option because not even the Continental was a safe place anymore, knowing them to have broken the rules before. Even then, I couldn’t believe I was standing there at the front door.

I rose my arm, my knuckles hovering over the door as I hesitated to knock. Our relationship was too complicated, what if he refused to help me? What if he told me on everyone? Even worse, what if he finished the job? He probably held grudges for what I did, even if I had tried to undo those mistakes.

My frantic train of thought was interrupted when a loud groan escaped my lips as the pain from my gunshot wound suddenly worsened by ten times. My vision became blurry and I limply fell against the door, struggling to stay on my feet and gaping for air.

The soft thud of my body hitting the door brought attention to my presence, as a barking started inside the house. I grit my teeth and straightened up as much as I could, forsaking the support that the door provided me with and instead having to hold my own weight, even if my legs threatened to buckle underneath me.

“What’s wrong?” A voice said from inside the house, causing me to swear under my breath. Footsteps grew closer as I spotted a figure through the glass.

The front door opened just as I noticed I had stained it with a bloody handprint.

“Hey” I breathed out, gulping while I swayed in place. “Long time no see”

There he was, just as I remembered him. Tall and handsome. The same longish black hair that framed his stern brown eyes. His jaw still covered in dark stubble. Same old John Wick. Except for the fact that, unlike the black suit I usually same him wearing, he was now wearing a casual white T-shirt and a pair of gray sweat pants.

I stupidly grinned at the realization that I just saw the Boogeyman in his pijamas. Maybe it was just the blood loss, that was making me delirious.

Noticing John’s silence, I forced myself to say something. My mind worked slowly, but I managed to blurt out some sort of apology to lighten up the mood and hopefully ease his vexation.

“Sorry to disturb your peace and quiet, John” I breathed out, still clutching the bleeding wound in my side. “I didn’t know where else to go” 

“Y/N” John gulped and clenched his jaw. “What happened?” 

I took my time to answer, trying to regain my breath and focusing all my strength in staying conscious. Everything seemed too bright, but I couldn’t tell if it was because all the walls were white and contrasted with the darkness of the night or because of my feverish state.

“Business gone… wrong…” My knees finally buckled, but John was ready and he caught me in his arms before I could hit the floor. 

I frowned, helplessly leaning against his chest and trying to hold on to his shoulders for support. I opened my mouth to speak but found that I had no strength to speak not a single world. John piped up anyhow.

“Are you being followed?” He brought me inside the house and kicked the door so it would close behind him.

“N-No” I managed through grit teeth, now struggling to stay awake. “I made… sure…” 

My strength failed me once more and John decided to completely scoop my form into the safety of his arms. It was a great relief not to have to stand on my own.

I hadn’t noticed there was another presence there, but the barking from before continued as John carried me further into his home. Two pair of paws followed after us as John hurried into the bedroom.

I closed my eyes, tiredly leaning my head against his shoulder. It seemed to somewhat stabilize me and stop everything from spinning around me. Despite our history, I felt incredible safe at that moment, his very presence being like a silent promise that everything would be okay now.

When he gingerly lay me on the bed, the thought that I would get blood everywhere popped up in my head. I was most definitely delirious, worrying about his sheets while I was literally bleeding out.

“Don’t move, I’ll be right back” John squeezed my shoulder before rushing off, allegedly to get a first aid kit. I immediately missed his comforting presence, but was too exhausted to call him back to me.

I got slightly startled when a soft weight fell on the bed and I looked to see the pitbull, cautiously moving closer to me. He whimpered, watching me writhing in pain and groaning, and licked my face. Somewhat endeared at such pure gesture, I smiled, although I softly pushed the animal away.

John returned, his bare feet thumping against the wooden floor. Noticing my eyes were closed in exhaustion, I opened them to see him scattering the contents of the first aid kit across the bed.

Through heavy-lid eyes I watched him move, calm and efficient, as he pushed my hands aside to take a look at my wound. My hand heavily fell on his shoulder, earning a glance and a raised eyebrow from him.

“I… wasn’t sure… if you’d…” My eyes closed again, but I felt him tapping my cheek.

“Hey, stay awake” His deep voice seemed to echo around the room as he broke his silence. “If I’d what?”

It took me a few seconds to figure out he was going back to what I had just said. It was so hard to focus, and sleeping seemed so cozy at that moment. I was so very tired and just wanted the excruciating pain to stop.

“That you would… help me” I breathed out, wincing when he pressed something against my wound that stung like hell.

“Why not?” I tried to find any emotions in his voice –concern, anger, pity, contempt, fear –but it was flat and neutral.

“I tried to kill you” I replied with an attempt of a sarcastic smile.

“And you didn’t” His eyes briefly met with mine, but he quickly resumed his task.

I couldn’t help a chuckle despite my pain and weakness. I still wasn’t sure if that was the right call or if it was a mistake. But if it was the reason why I didn’t get John Wick against me and instead led me to that moment, maybe it was a good decision.

“You were shot?” He suddenly asked me, and it took me a bit again to comprehend the words again.

“I…” I gasped, feeling that speaking was exhausting. “O-Out”

John gave me a nod, and I was glad to see understood what I meant. I shut my eyes tight, though, when I realized that it also meant that he needed to stitch it since I had pulled the bullet out.

“You really meant it then” I hissed when I felt the cold needle piercing my skin. “W-We’re… even” 

“In fact, I owed you one” I could have sworn there was a hint of playfulness in his voice.

“That’s right, I forgot…” My eyes closed themselves once more, and I decided to rest them for a bit. “History repeats itself, huh”

“In this world, it often does” He suddenly sounded so far away, his voice fading out into the void. “Y/N? Shit, stay awake!”

I wanted to do what he said, but I was too comfortable in the painless pit of darkness that was engulfing me.

*

I was surrounded by red. My heart beat quickly, pumping blood so violently that it resonated against my ears. My fingers pulled the trigger, and the sound was so loud that each time it felt like I was hitting a drum, but maybe that was my heart thumping in my chest still. Pure adrenaline traveled through my veins, clouding my thoughts and replacing them with pure instinct and muscle memory. Like an animal, like a predator.

I cringed, tensing up and jolting up at the sound of screaming. It was all I could fathom now. Screaming, gunshots. Fear, pain. Blood.

I gasped, startling myself awake, unable to breathe. I opened my eyes to be received with brown eyes laced with alarm, framed by a curtain of dark hair. I breathed in relief when I recognized his face.

“It’s okay, you’re safe” John whispered softly, even if his hands were tightly wrapped around my wrists. Assuming I jolted awake and squirmed, I lightly tugged at his grip and he released me.

It took me a moment to recall the latest events and understand what happened and where I was, but as soon as I did, a wave of relief washed through me.

“Oh, fuck…” I breathed out, finding myself extremely weak and my head spinning.

“You alright?” He asked, sitting at the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving me.

“Y-Yeah, I think so…” I lifted the hem of my shirt to reveal the bullet wound in my side, now clean and stitched closed. It still throbbed, but at least it wasn’t bleeding anymore.

“I healed your arm too” At first, I frowned at John’s words, but then I remembered that I got stabbed there. Craning my neck to look at the wound in my arm, I saw that it was bandaged too.

I was still full of bruises everywhere, and my face felt a bit swollen near the temple. But I felt much better now that my stab wound and my bullet wound were taken care of. I felt a tightness in my face that told me he covered the cuts in my cheek and eyebrow too.

“Thanks, John” I told him, pouring as much honesty on my words as I could. “Really, thank you”

I watched him carefully, wondering why he allowed me in and even went through all the trouble to treat the wounds for me. Even though I had done the same thing for him once.

“I didn’t mean to bring you into this” I muttered, seeing as he was quiet and refused eye contact now, despite my staring.

“I can handle it” 

“I know you can” 

“Good”

Uncomfortable with his silence, I slowly sat up. I knew John was a man of few words, but I was so puzzled and intrigued by his behavior that I wanted some sort of explanation. A clear sign that he didn’t hold grudges against me, that he didn’t feel obligated to help me and it was a decision based on his opinion on me. On his… feelings.

“Rest” He softly pushed me back against the pillows, placing one strong hand on the side of my head in what I thought was a comforting gesture. “You’re safe here”

I wanted to tell him that I didn’t want to impose, that I was better and I could leave already. That I didn’t want to take up his bed and be an unwanted presence in his house. However, I pursed my lips when I recognized that harshness in his eyes that admitted no argument.

Satisfied when I didn’t try to sit up again, John nodded and stood from the edge of the bed.

“John” I held him by the hand before he could leave. He looked me over his shoulder. “Why did you help me?”

“I told you, I owed you” Any warmth that might have been present in his voice when he told me to rest was now gone. “Now we’re even”

I let out a sarcastic chuckle to hide how much the impact and bluntness of his words hurt.

“So that’s why” I angrily let go of him. “It’s nice to see where we stand”

John turned around, completely facing me, and towered over me. He observed me for a moment, the dark harshness in his glance softening slightly.

“How did this happen?”

“I got confident and cocky” I gulped at the memory of the confrontation. “And kind of angry…”

“You’re better than that”

“No, I’m not”

Another silence settled in the room, and I stirred in the spot until he spoke up again.

“What I meant is…” He averted his eyes for a moment, I couldn’t tell if in annoyance or resignation. However, I did know he pretended he didn’t hear me. “Who did this to you?”

“You don’t want to know” I closed my eyes and heaved a sigh, utterly exhausted. “You’re involved enough already”

“That’s cute” John chuckled, surprising me so much that I opened my eyes to look at him. He bore a sarcastic expression.

I sat up again and supported my weight in my elbow even if my arm was shaking and begging me to lie down again. Despite the icy glare he threw me, I maintained eye contact.

“I know you can handle it, Boogeyman” I poured venom in my words, offended by his patronizing demeanor. “That doesn’t mean I want to drag your ass into something that’s not your fucking business”

His glare only hardened at my words and my tone, but I held his gaze. I expected anger from him, but he just lingered in the tense silence.

Noticing I had used my bad arm to lean on the bed, a strangled grunt of pain tore my throat and I collapsed back on the bed, breathing heavily from that needless effort.

“Rest” John repeated sternly, covering me with a blanket. “I don’t want to see you up”

With that, he walked away, leaving me with the only company of his pitbull, who sat at the feet of the bed. I suppressed the urge to call out for John and ask him to stay with me, to provide me with his protective company. But I doubted he would even glance back at me if I did. And I… I didn’t want him to stay with me anyway.

*

I didn’t know how long it had passed or when did I fall asleep –I didn’t even remember going to sleep, I must have been too exhausted –but when I next awoke, it was almost bright outside. The sun was high, illuminating the room through the glass.

The house was quiet except for the distant sound of oil splattering and dishes clinging. John must have been in the kitchen, so I decided to go and meet with him despite his wishes.

Hoping he wouldn’t lecture me for it, I sat up. I took my time, taking a few deep breaths, to swing my legs over the bed and stand up. I was instantly received with a head rush, and a barking sound close to me informed me of the dog’s concern for my wellbeing when I dangerously swayed.

“I’m okay, buddy” Still recovering from the dizziness, I blindly moved my hand to pet his head. “I’m fine”

Patiently waiting until I felt stable again, I patted my side and my arm to analyze the evolution of my wounds. I was profoundly relieved to find no blood in my palm upon touching them. I hadn’t bled through the bandages.

Following the delicious aroma of eggs and bacon, I headed into the kitchen, where John was just finishing serving the breakfast in two plates. He didn’t look at me, but his shoulders tensed ever so slightly at my presence.

“I told you I didn’t want to see you up” He said, still not making eye contact.

“That’s too bad” I sarcastically replied, subtly eyeing the food. “I have no intention on lying down again”

He turned his head to finally look at me and pursed his lips a little. He leaned both hands on the counter, watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite decipher.

“They’re still after you, and now you’re injured” He paused, almost waiting for me to object. “You can just stay here”

“You already paid your debt” Unable to ignore my groaning stomach, I grabbed two pieces of bacon off the plate for later, earning the smallest of smirks to show up on his face. “Besides, I’m no John Wick, but I can handle it”

That said, I wanted nothing more to do with him. I wanted to stay, I really did, but I wouldn’t. I refused his charity, it made me feel like he was reluctant to help me. Like after all we had been through together, he only saw me as pending business.

I had truly believed that sweet John Wick that comforted me that time was still somewhere in there, that he had a tender side no one knew about and that I had been lucky enough to get a peek of. And when he didn’t think twice to help me, basically saving my life, and healing my wounds and letting me rest in the safety of his home… I thought he was allowing that side of him to shine because of our history. It all crumbled when he said ‘I owed you’, however.

Finding it too painful to meet with his eyes again, I began walking to the front door. Before I could, though, a hand firmly clasped around my upper arm, stopping me in my tracks. John was suddenly very close to me, breathing heavily.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Y/N” Were his only words, he knew I was too stubborn to stay. “You’re better than that”

He spoke slowly, wanting every word to sink in. The intensity of his glance only backed up their importance.

I showed him a sad smile, thinking back to a conversation we once had. He thought he knew me better than anyone, and maybe that was the problem. Maybe that was what bothered me so much, the possibility that he did, that he saw through me.

“Maybe I’m not” I broke free from his grasp, sending him an intense glance in return.

I walked to the door with determination, feeling his eyes burning holes in my nape. I opened it and turned around to look at him one last time. My chest tightened thinking that I might never see John again, but things were too complicated to stay.

“Don’t worry, John” I said, stepping outside. “If I get hurt, I won’t be bothering you again”

He tilted his head to the side in some sort of warning, but I continued talking when he opened his mouth to reply, interrupting him before he could start speaking.

“We’re even now, aren’t we?” I bitterly smiled at him, waving goodbye.

“Y/N…” John clicked his tongue, taking a few steps forward.

I shut the door loudly, already walking away from the house and noticing an emptiness filling my chest.

“Y/N!” I heard him calling me, stubborn, from inside the house. But I was already gone.

EDIT: If you liked this, I’m working on a series based around this imagine, check it out here!

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