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floralseokjin · 5 years

Text

;club zombie (m)

In a world overrun by zombies, you’d think everyone was a goner, but the reality is much different. A steady diet of brains lets a zombie exist as a fully functioning human. Just ignore the part where they’re technically dead… In fact, these days, the amount of zombies outweigh the humans. A lot jump at the chance to be turned. Beg for it.

Kim Seokjin controls the underground of Seoul. No one would dare cross him. That’s how most of the world goes these days. You wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of a zombie now, would you? However, you don’t quite see it like that. Spending most nights dancing at the club he owns, you catch his eye. It’s never the wrong side if you’re underneath him, right…?

pairing; kim seokjin x reader genre/warnings; zombie! seokjin, mafia boss! seokjin, smut, oc has a ring kink (relatable), gets angsty two thirds in, some type of romance bc of course it gets fluffy towards the end lol words; 17,113

listen to; friction // 555

⇢ Part of the Deadly Intentions collaboration. With @btssmutgalore, @kpopfanfictrash, @underthejoon, @lamourche , @prolixitae and @taetaetrashhh, who organised the whole thing and created the moodboard!

Please forget everything you’ve ever known about most zombie portrayals in books, movies and tv series, because this is totally different. The idea and inspiration came from the television adaptation of iZombie. If you’ve watched it then you have a better vision of how the zombies in my story are portrayed. If not, then please just give it a go lol. It may sound wacky, but it’s Halloween! So here’s to the 🧟🍆!! I hope you enjoy!

You could hear Seokjin’s footsteps, boots clanking up the wooden stairs, and your stomach lurched in anticipation. He’d made you wait two frustratingly long hours, which was hell considering you hadn’t had time to be alone together all week. You were beyond excited for him to finally get his hands on you. Your body had long got used to craving him down to the very bone.

He came into sight, the image of you draped along his bed rooting him in his tracks. Your robe barely covered your modesty. Nipples visibly hard against the silk. Sometimes there was no need for underwear. Not when it got torn off most of the time. He needn’t waste his money anymore. You let a slow smirk stretch across your face. “How do you want me tonight, Sir?”

No need to greet him with a hello neither. What was the point? He’d told you to be in his home ready for him when he got back. Bedroom. He’d made that very specific. There was no need for pleasantries. Not when you knew greater ways to please him.

Him.

Kim Seokjin.

How did you get here again? So easily. So willingly. Like you’d wanted such a thing from the moment you’d laid your eyes on him. You had. Seokjin wasn’t your husband, nor boyfriend. He wasn’t even a casual hook up. In some ways he was more than any of the above. In others, he was less. It was an arrangement. The most simplest kind. Sex. With the city’s most dangerous man.

No one in Seoul would dare cross him. Hell, this whole country. Maybe it ran deeper than even that. No, what were you saying? It definitely did. You just didn’t want to know. You didn’t want to know the details. You didn’t even want to think about what they could be. To you, the man you shared yourself so openly with could never be what they all described him as. Not when he’d shared so much with you too. It was puzzling to think people actually feared him. He had never frightened you. In fact, you’d only ever known him as gentle. Even when he had his icy cold hands wrapped around your throat, fucking into you so hard his bed, amongst other things, were fit to break.

Yeah. This wasn’t the turn you thought your life would take. But then again, this world wasn’t exactly the same place it had been four years ago. The human race had to grow a thicker skin. Most changed completely. See, Seokjin wasn’t just your average crime lord. He was a rotter. So was over half the population.

Dead and rotten on the inside. Cold and smooth on the outside. The correct scientific term was Undead, but in simpler, more familiar terms, they were zombies. Not your average text fiction kind though. No flesh rots. No foul smell. No incoherent noises, that sent a bolt of terror and dread through your body. No, the undead were able to live as fully functioning humans for the most part. A reality that took a little while to make sense of, but as it did, the world everyone had known began to change. Drastically.

Unsure how it all started, although known to have been caused by some crazy scientist type, the disease, as it was called—now more of a lifestyle—had swept through most of America before their government and medicals could get to grips with it. It was as it was known in fiction. A zombie apocalypse. The whole world went into lockdown, flown into madness. Panic and strife were universal. The infected were destroyed and the potentially infected were quarantined. It was there they began to understand the infection.

The virus still burning through the veins of the innocent would be extremely difficult to handle. The were, by lack of knowledge back then, your “cannon” zombie. Unable to speak, unable to think, and their eyes sunken, black and lifeless. If given the chance, and some had been, they would tear at the flesh of the uninfected, feast on their brains. However, kept under a close eye, locked and controlled in a box room where they couldn’t see out but an array of people could see in, medicals soon discovered there were ways to quell the deep, ravenous need they had inside them. Portions. That was the key. Starved or gorged of human brain just turned them frenzied. The need as a fresh, baby zombie was insatiable but with a controlled diet the world became a little more normal again.

If you could ever call it normal. Human greed was at an all-time high. Who didn’t find it amazing that you could be a certified zombie while also retaining your human life? Who wouldn’t want to be dangerous? Feared? Who wouldn’t want to live potentially forever? The list went on, and that didn’t include countless governments’ motives. Soon the infection had spread willingly throughout the world. It caused fresh havoc. Some countries who hadn’t even wanted to get caught up in the mess, perished because they were too small or undeveloped. But most were smart, scheming. Here in the East a plan was concocted.

Somehow they found the individual who created the virus. Whether they went willingly or were forced no one would ever know. Their identity still remained a mystery even after all these years. Together some of the countries’ top scientists helped mutate the sickness into something “better”. Injected straight into the veins, there was no longer a fear of the infected losing control. The Undead were created. Just another form of human, but with a hunger for brains. It took a total of eighteen months for the world to be okay again.

Now that was all just a memory. Zombies were considered the norm, accepted into society long ago. A recent consensus found that just under 60% of the world’s population were undead. Humans the minority. They lived like humans, worked like humans and had families like humans. Although not in the traditional sense. The undead could still have sex. The men could still cum, by some grace of god, lucky them, but they were infertile. Women too. Reproductive system dead like the rest of them.

Of course, just because there were a lot of humane rotters, didn’t mean there weren’t bad ones amongst the mix. Like you said, humans were greedy. Mostly for power, and being a rotter in the right place, right time gave people tonnes of that. They weren’t truly immortal though. That was well known. A shot to their rotten brain would kill them. Nothing else. That’s where the infection resided.

To be turned there was a system. Applications, interviews, contracts…a waiting list for the injection that would alter your life forever. However, it didn’t work like that most of the time. The world wasn’t so perfect. Corrupt would be a better description. There were other, more simple, ways of turning. A bite or a scratch. Or even sexually transmitted within the first year of infection. There was nothing the government could do about it, and there were many illegal zombies rooming the country. And try all they might, no matter how many times, scientists couldn’t change the way infection took place.

They also couldn’t change the compulsion for brains. Yes, there was no lost control in the beginning, but starved of brains for too long, devolved them into the “cannon” zombie once again. It would take months of starvation, but after the deed was done, it was impossible to be reverted back. Thus they were destroyed. As you could guess, crime levels had not lowered. They had only gotten worse due to gluttony.

Donors now offered their brains up once dead, in a bid to keep portions up. There was complete control when it came to that, but again, that didn’t stop some rotters. Over the years, a lot more murder victims had been found missing a brain. But you digressed. It wasn’t all bad for the undead. They didn’t starve. They could still eat normal food, just oddly needed some extra spice. Their tastebuds has pretty much been destroyed after the turn, so hot sauce was their best friend. Scientists had also created “fake” brain. Think of it along the same vein as fake meat for vegetarians. A substitute. It didn’t give complete satisfaction, but it helped. In fact, they had quite an array of foods now, sold at any local convenience and grocery stores. For some reason brain sushi always made you laugh when you saw it. Surreal. Fast food stores had also caught on. Yes, Big Brain Mac was a thing now… What more did they want? As long as they had the real thing each month, life went on as normal.

They looked normal too. You’d forgotten to mention that one. Sometimes, with the help of hair dye and fake tan, they looked just like their past selves. There were a couple of giveaways though. If they weren’t high maintenance. Their eyes had changed an ice grey after the virus had taken hold, skin pale and cold, and hair turning white. Sometimes fully, but more often than not streaks or wisps of it. Oh, and their heart rate was ten beats per minute. They were dead after all. Pretty much. It was only when they lost themselves, did they turn into something horrific. Eyes black, sunken into their skull, cheeks gaunt, close to rotting. You’d heard they could also fall into a zombie trance when experiencing intense emotions. Depending on the situation it had different levels of severe. You had never seen this though. You knew very well, that was a benefit for certain zombies. A scare factor. Intimation factor. Like you said, there were many who used their rotter status for evil and crime…

Which put Seokjin in a very grey area.

He controlled the underground of this city. You hated using the word mafia, naïve to it all. Something fictional to you, but that’s exactly what was going on. An organised crime syndicate. The oldest son of a wealthy and corrupt family, Seokjin was always heir to the blood soaked throne. He was extremely powerful, even more so than the city’s law enforcement. Actually, you knew for a fact he worked side by side with them a lot of time. Probably called most of the shots. He’d been human in the beginning, when he’d first become in charge, not long before the virus began spreading, but of course that had soon changed. You’d heard stories of how his turn came to be, but you took those with a grain of salt. They were hearsay in your eyes. You’d never been one for rumours and gossip.

As it would have it, you’d only ever known him as undead. You started working at his club just over a year ago. How you got there wasn’t important, you just liked to dance, and dancing was a must at Club Zombie. Cheesy name, but it got the custom. It was almost a sort of tourist attraction. An after dark one. Humans and zombies alike. The dancers were both too. It could be a seedy place sometimes, but you didn’t mind dancing around a pole for men when their money was involved. The day was yours, the night was easy; just dancing, putting on a show. Besides, you were safe. Seokjin never let anything happen to the women that worked for him.

This was the place you could find him at the most, although strictly professional he never brought danger here. The rumours surrounding him were probably what made the club so popular to begin with. He wasn’t stupid. A zombie mob boss, what fiction was made of. Everyone lapped it up. Some nights he sat right up front, quite literally a throne on a podium, surveying the bar and dance platforms. It helped that he was extremely good looking. Got the humans with a kink all riled up. Such soft, movie star looks when you truly studied him. Jarring in a way. A white streak running along the front of his dark hair, parted at the forehead reminded you of what he was. That and his cold, grey eyes.

It was working at Club Zombie where he soon began to take an interest in you. It was glances your way at first. When you made your way to the dressing rooms, or more often than not, when your eyes met as you danced and twisted around the pole. You wouldn’t admit it back then, but it did send a thrill up your spine, fresh confidence washing over you. Even more so when the glances turned to smiles. They could be better described as flirtatious smirks if you didn’t know any better. Because why would anyone like Seokjin want you? He had this whole city at his feet. You were a no one. No, you were imagining the signs. He might’ve not even been looking at you.

But he was. Or course he was. You just couldn’t believe it. Not until one night when he’d asked you to join him for a drink. Halloween night, to be precise. Not that you cared for the holiday. It was just another day.

You were the last one to leave the club. Usually the first, you’d misplaced your cell phone. Took you twenty minutes to find it, fallen behind one of the sofas in the dressing room when you’d flung your jacket down in a hurry not a few hours ago. You were in a hurry when you made your way across the bar, heading for the exit, hand in your purse trying to now find your car keys. You didn’t want to keep Yunho, the barman, waiting any longer. But he wasn’t the one left.

Seokjin was stood behind the bar when you looked up at the call of your name. A peculiar sight. In all the time you’d been here you hadn’t once seen that. The fact he knew your name was even more mindboggling. You opened your mouth to apologise to him, presuming that was why he was asking for your attention, but you got no where. Not when the question he asked stunned you to silence.

“Care to join me for night cap?”

You weren’t one for drinking, never had been funnily enough, but you ended up agreeing. You told yourself it was because he was the boss. You couldn’t say no to him, but the racing of your heart as you sat down argued it was something different.

He drank straight whisky, poured you a glass of rosé you didn’t request. Did he see you as that kind of drinker? Classy. Unless it wasn’t classy at all because you knew nothing about alcohol. You thought he’d stay behind the bar, lord of the house, but to your surprise he came out to meet you. You heart beat even faster when he sat on the stool next to you. You prayed hard that rotters didn’t have an acute sense of hearing. Your knowledge was failing you, but logically, going by that dumb fucking fiction, you’d have to assume they did. He knew you were nervous mess right now. How embarrassing.

He bared his teeth and made a wincing sound as he took a swig of his drink. It was nice to know the burn still affected him, and you watched him tilt the tumbler this way and that, staring at the swirling amber liquid as he did so. Maybe he was giving you time to relax. Maybe he just wanted to sit in silence. Who knew. His rings clanked against the crystallised glass. He always wore them. Large silver bands, dark coloured jewels encased in the centre. He had beautiful hands now that you saw them up close. Wrists too. His shirt sleeves rolled up to the middle of his veiny forearms. The watch he wore was more expensive than anything you’d earn in five years. Maybe a lifetime. You were clueless.

Momentarily distracted, it took you those five minutes to realise you’d never so much as had one conversation with him. He was mostly the untouchable boss who was more like a statue to awe over than a person to share friendlies with. There were other men who worked closely for him here, woman too. Those were who you went to if there was a problem. A drunken customer. A shift you couldn’t make. An emergency you had to leave early for. In fact, even when you had gotten this job it wasn’t by his judgement. So this made the exchange even more awkward considering you’d never said so much as two words to him. You sipped on your wine for something to do. The taste wasn’t all that bad actually.

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

You had been so used to the silence you jumped a little from your seat at the sound of his voice. He sounded curious, and you glanced his way to see him giving you his full attention now. Body angled to you; eyes so intense they made you a little unnerved. Fuck. He’d definitely heard the racing of your heart then. Mistaken it for something else.

“Afraid? No.” You decided to be honest. Or at least as honest as you could be. He didn’t need to know you were even more unsteady now than you had been not ten minutes ago. All because of…thoughts, that had entered your mind upon noticing his long, deft fingers. Not that you knew they were skilled, but it was just a hunch. You shrugged in what you hoped was a casual manner. Voice straining to be very much the same. “My nail technician is a zombie. My running buddy at the gym. My doctor.”

To your surprise he chuckled. Deeply amused by something. “I didn’t mean that.” Oh. Had you misunderstood? How embarrassing. “Are you afraid of me because of who I am?”

You blinked slowly. His status. That was what he was referring to. You slowly shook your head, making sure to hold his gaze as you replied. “No.” You shocked even yourself, because you really did mean it. Maybe you were reckless. Your parents had always said such words. You were drawn to the unknown. The excitement got you giddy, but this—he—was something new.

Your idea of living life on the edge was dancing in hardly anything, not warming to a man who discussed crime over breakfast like it was nothing. Did God knows what when he wasn’t sitting in this club.

He nodded in almost confirmation. “Thought not. Just wanted to be sure.” He spoke with a certainty. Like he already knew this information before you did. What vibes were you giving off here? Or was he always this confident and sure when it came to assuming others’ thoughts and feelings…

“Why?” It came out slightly more accusing than you meant it to.

It took him a moment to answer, taking a swig of his whiskey again. You thought he was going to ignore it all together. In a way he did. “Did you know that any human who fucks a rotter in the first year of their transformation gets infected too?”

You took a moment to let that sink in. The casualness of his tone cut with the crude language took you by surprise. You swallowed. “I did.” Everyone did. It was the largest cause of illegal turning. Even a condom wouldn’t save you.

He scoffed in amazement. “It’s amazing how biology works, even for someone dead like me.”

When someone described themselves as dead it never ceased to blow your mind. It was hard to believe that someone as handsome as Seokjin was rotten to the core on the inside. Black and decaying. You let a wry smile play at the corners of your mouth, replying before you took another mouthful of your drink. “This world isn’t what it used to be.”

He didn’t bother to agree, instead taking a moment of silence before he hit you with another question. “Did you also know that we don’t have any sexual urges for a while after we’ve been turned?”

This time it took you everything to hold it together. The shock close to becoming visible on your face. You suddenly thought of every time he had glanced your way in the past few weeks. Each smile he had given you. Just like the one he was giving you now as he waited for your reply. “I heard it varies from r-zombie to zombie.”

You stopped yourself at the R for Rotter. Yes, he had used the word not moments before, but it was always such a grey area. Mostly used as a derogatory term, by humans—usually the older generation—who couldn’t get their small, little brains around the reality of the world today, it had become increasingly popular over the past couple of years. Now, it was just accepted. Like everything else this day and age.

“Correct.” He continued to smile. If he noticed your slip-up he didn’t care to mention it. “This may be TMI but mine’s only recently appeared again.” Something squeezed in your gut. “A few months ago. Maybe longer. I don’t know. With work and the stress I think I ignored it for longer than I should have.”

“Oh.” That was… Yes, it was fact all sexual desire left when first turned. Most for a couple of months, maybe a little longer. You didn’t know the ins and outs, but three years seemed steep. He was a busy man, it made sense, but… Fuck. Who were you kidding? You were just distracting yourself with nonsense now. Anything to not have to acknowledge what was really going on here. But you had to. “Not to be rude Mr. Kim, but why are you telling me this?”

No one, and you mean no one, called him by his first name. Not anyone you knew anyway. It was easy to see him as none other than Seokjin, your Seokjin, now thinking back, but a few months ago he was just your boss with the intimating aura. The one who wouldn’t dare be interested in you. That all changed that fateful night.

His lips curled. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to be friendly or if he was greatly amused. Maybe both. “Seokjin. Call me Seokjin.”

You swallowed. His name felt foreign on your tongue, but you needed to press on. You needed him to confirm the hunch now coiled in your chest. “Seokjin, why are you telling this?”

A beat of silence followed. He actually glanced away from you as he went to speak. “I’m incredibly attracted to you.” You let out a shaky breath, unsure you could say anything back even if you tried. He chuckled awkwardly. Such a human reaction. You found your heart warming. “Forgive me. I’m rusty at this.”

He sounded way out of his depth, which was incredibly amusing for someone like him. You wondered how long he had been thinking of confessing this. How long he’d been trying… He’d taken his chance tonight.

“You’ve noticed me staring a lot?” His eyes were back on you now. You didn’t know if you were imagining it, but the harshness of the grey had begun to soften. The coldness, warming up.

“Yes,” you murmured. Your throat felt dry. You wouldn’t have described it as staring, but to say you hadn’t noticed would be an outright lie.

“I just can’t take my eyes off you,” he admitted with a slight sigh. “I love watching you dance because it’s the only form of interaction I have with you.” Without realising, you squeezed your legs together. Your face was flushing, you could feel the heat prickle your skin.

“My view gets obstructed a lot of the time, or my attention is needed elsewhere but I always try...” He cleared his throat. “I always try to admire you.”

His words bloomed against your skin, sending a warmth all over you. Call you weak, it didn’t matter. An attractive man was complimenting you. You did not question him. He was short and to the point with his words. No sugar-coating. You admired that.

You smirked his way, confidence washing over you. In a way, you felt like you had the upper hand here. He was the one who had confessed in uncertainty. “You should get better seats for the show.”

His eyes widened a little in shock at your brazenness. You’d surprised him, and his mouth stretched into a grin, a bewildered laugh leaving him as his browline furrowed. It was a glorious sound. “I really don’t scare you? Disgust you?”

“Of course not.” You replied so surely it would be difficult to doubt you. Maybe you were stupid. Maybe this was all part of his masterplan, but there was a small self-destructive part of you that didn’t even care. “Would I be working here otherwise?”

“You got me there,” he silked. Gaze holding yours.

The most deepest of desires began to come alive inside of you. Swirling around in your gut. Desires you’d held at bay because it was laughable to think you’d ever be in with a chance with someone like him. And perhaps a larger part of you was ashamed by your longings. Kim Seokjin was a bad person by definition. It didn’t matter how charming he was. How potentially misunderstood he was, or how secretly sensitive he was. Romanticised theories that should make you sick at yourself. This was wrong, a small voice whispered furiously in the back of your head, but when had that ever stopped you?

You hesitated but went for it anyway. It was too late. You’d made your decision. “If we’re confessing things... You’re way too pretty to be as dangerous as you are.” Half a glass of wine and you were already losing yourself.

He cocked a black, perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Pretty? That’s a new one.” He chuckled quietly before making a joke. “These genes come from my mom.” Such a normal thing to say. You wanted to believe he was just like anyone else. Or maybe you truly didn’t care…

“Mr. K–Seokjin,” you corrected yourself quickly. The concept of being on first name terms would take a while to get used to. You took a breath and went for it, fingers reaching for his hand that held his whiskey. What did you have to lose? His lust for you was real. The ball was in your court.

You circled patterns against the skin between his thumb and index finger. It was stone cold. A sensation you were still not too used to, or maybe it was because this touch meant so much more. Despite the ice, he was marble smooth. You looked at his face. True beauty. He was staring right back at you, holding his breath, waiting for you. Hunger roared inside your body now. You tried your best to keep it under control.

“I know it’s out of hours and I’m not really dressed for it anymore but... I could dance for you right now if you like?”

You tilted your head to match your question. He copied, giving you a small smile, tone teasing when he spoke. Low and oddly soothing. “Private dances aren’t allowed.”

“You’re the boss. You make the rules.” You watched him hesitate, mulling your suggestion over in his head. It was actually kind of cute. Had he not expected you to accept his advances so easily?

He pulled his hand from the tumbler, his fingers gingerly reaching for yours and you clasped onto them. “Mm?” You prodded, watching him all the way. He gave you a tight nod, and that was all you needed to continue.

Rising up from your seat and leaving your purse at the foot of the stool, he followed you as you guided him by the hand to a set of centre red plush sofas. They curled around a small table, in perfect view of the largest stage. Not two hours ago this place had been filled to the brim, this section worth a hell of a lot of money considering where it was placed, but now his club was empty, safe for you and him. The reminder sent a thrill up you.

You slowly pushed him down to sit, hand on his chest before you let go and stood over him. A grin on your face. “Best seat in the house. No obstructed view.”

He didn’t reply, but the look on his face was almost giddy. You spun on your feet, back to him as you slinked away, towards the centre pole, kicking off your shoes. You didn’t get much of a chance to dance with it, this place saved for the ones who had been here longer. So this was an added excitement.

“This would be highly unprofessional in business hours,” he called after you. His laughter fizzling off when you began to lift your sweater over your head. “What are you doing?”

You turned back to him, a shy smile on your face. “I can’t entertain you in this.” You threw the mustard knit to the floor. “Will it do?”

He scoffed. Eyes a little wide, pupils starting to blow out. “You could be in anything. I wouldn’t mind.”

You appreciated the sentiment, but you didn’t know if you agreed. You’d removed the showy lingerie you’d been wearing tonight in favour of something more comfortable; a black cotton bralette, and you still had your leggings on as you gripped the pole with both hands. It wasn’t your best outfit, but you hoped it sufficed.

How odd it was to swing and grind in front of your boss. A man you hadn’t had anything to do with until tonight. Dancing to no music was strange, too. You had to imagine the beats and sounds in your head, praying you didn’t look too wooden, but somehow it began to feel increasingly intimate. Seokjin was a silent spectator, but it didn’t bring you a sense of unease. Excitement coursed through your veins, but you didn’t dare look at him while you moved. This was a reality you still couldn’t get your head around.

You didn’t know how long you were at it for, lost to the soundless rhythm, but soon enough you needed to catch your breath. He was still sat where you placed him but his eyes were fully black now, trained on your figure. As if in a trance It took a moment for him to notice you had stopped. His legs were spread open, giving you a very great eyeful of his crotch. A couple of buttons on his dress shirt lied open that weren’t before. It gave him an almost bedraggled look. You say almost, because his hair was still perfectly parted at his forehead. You suddenly had the mental image of your fingers running through it, tugging at the ends as he fucked you into the very sofa he sat on. You blinked away the dirty thought, taking a few deep breaths.

He also blinked, albeit slowly, outstretching one hand to beckon you. “Come here.” He croaked; voice thick with something that made you burn up.

You smirked. “That’s against the rules.” Private dances were strictly forbidden.

“Am I not the boss?” That was so. You laughed, and obeyed instantly, descending the metal steps to make your way to him. “You move exquisitely,” he complimented as you did so. His voice a little more human now. His eyes however, were anything but. Close now, inches apart, you saw the light grey that ringed the dilated pupils. It made him look unreal. Showed him for he really was. Undead. However, fear was the last thing on your mind.

“Can I touch you?”

“I thought you made the rules?” This back and fore only thickened the desire in the room, but you truly did appreciate his manners. That, and you really wanted him to touch you. You wanted to touch him too.

Straddling him slowly, your knees pressing into the soft velvet of the sofa, his cold hands met your waist and you jumped in shock, giggling in reaction. He did nothing but hold on as you attempted to dance atop of him. You say attempted, because you were basically grinding on him by now. You wrapped your arms around his neck, loving the way his breathing was laboured. Chest rising and falling visibly.

You felt his erection quickly begin to from under you, and it wasn’t long before he acknowledged it. In his own way, of course. “Forgive me for being inappropriate.” He apologised in advance. You held your breath in curiosity. “But have you ever fucked a rotter?”

With a lack of oxygen you replied instantly. “No.”

He swallowed. His dick twitched in his expensive slacks. “Are you opposed to it?”

You replied with only truth, confidence and desire. “Not if you’re the one in question.”

The noise that tore from his throat was nothing you’d ever heard before. A man starved, finally given the chance of relief. He flew at your mouth, movements hasty and rough. You gladly matched them. Everything was cold, something you weren’t used to at all. Not like this anyway. His tongue like ice ran along your own, both wet but drastic in temperature. It was a contrast that sent your nerves into overdrive. Sensitivity at its highest peak. You clung to his shoulders, rolling your palms over the thick flesh and muscle, as you moaned quite shamelessly into his mouth.

His hands found your face, gripping you tight as he continued to kiss you furiously. You were close to burning up, heart pounding in your chest at your new reality. A groan from him puzzled your mind as he tore away. “Not here. Not yet,” he rasped, lips wet because of you. He tried to keep him distance but failed, falling into your mouth once again to taste you. “I won’t fuck you in a place like this. You deserve better than that.”

You clung to him now, deflation beginning to drop to your gut. You were riled up, ready for him, he couldn’t take it away now. Not when he was solid between your spread legs. You gasped when he took your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging it carefully. Everyone knew the dangers of a zombies’ teeth. One false move and it was game over. The risk just seemed to turn you on all the more. You were sick. Sick for him.

“But I want you so bad. I want to make you feel all the pleasure in the world,” he divulged. He sounded so passionate, so desperate, fresh waves of longing and need flooded your body. Heat pooled against his cock. “Will you let me do that right now? Just a little bit?”

“Yes,” you practically exclaimed. Overcome and out of breath. You didn’t know what that request pertained but you would take anything for even the slightest bit of relief.

You had a better understanding once you found yourself under his large, solid body. Spread out on the velvet like your tainted mind had imagined not fifteen minutes previous. He kissed down your neck, lapping at the skin like you could fill him up. A sensation that had your eyes closing, feeling powerless but loving it. Even more so when you felt him between your breasts. It was a wonderful fusion; to be boiling hot but feel his cool, marble touch all over your body. His hands roamed you, familiarising himself with the woman’s body. Every bump, curve and dip, your soft moans encouraging him, until he couldn’t take anymore.

You pulsed when you felt his long fingers curl behind the waistband of your leggings. “Can I take these off?” He looked you straight in the eyes as he spoke, as if he was reading your face for any hesitation. There was none. You nodded firmly, a trembled ‘yes’ leaving your throat.

He pulled you forward in one swift motion, propping you up against the plush backrests. He was out of breath, jaw slack and eyes still practically black as he crouched, beginning to tug down the black fabric, your legs thrown over one of his shoulders. You didn’t realise he’d strip you of your underwear too. You were very naked, very quickly. Your bra the only thing left.

“Beautiful.” He uttered, eyes between your legs before he looked up at you. “You’re beautiful.”

You smiled at him, something he couldn’t seem to be able to bear, because he was on your mouth again in a flash. He kissed you greedily, low moans escaping him in regular sequence. Spoiled, he made his way down your chest, finding the swell of your breasts to flirt between. It wasn’t long before the fabric was pulled down, one nipple in his mouth while he rubbed the other with the pad of his thumb. That had you moaning, your legs wrapping around his hips to keep him latched to you. Cramped on the sofa, cramped under his body, but loving it. Pleasure swirled and grew heavy in your stomach. Arousal beginning to pool between your legs. It wasn’t long before you were grinding yourself against his body uncontrollably, desperate for some relief down south.

He pulled away when you began whining, teeth lightly grazing the flushed peak as he went. You gasped. Maybe it really was the danger that turned you wanton. Seokjin grinned your way as he sunk to his knees on the floor. He knew it too. He was already learning. You watched with bated breath as he spread your legs, giving him a very intimate view. You’d be self-conscious by now, maybe even uncomfortable, but not tonight. Not with him.

You pulsed against his thumb as he touched you, and all you could do was watch as he carefully began to rub at your clitoris, feeling it engorge beneath his cold touch. You moaned softly, hips circling ever so slightly, enjoying the almost cruel pleasure. Your arousal spread, wet noises squelching under his skin, lewd in your ears.

He looked up at you, eyes black, ringed silver grey. They made you shiver. So did his words. “Can I taste you?” His hair had become out of place, finally, falling in his eyes, and you reached for it, running the white and black strands through your fingers before nodding.

He dived straight in, those plump, almost blue-red lips encompassing your clit. You gasped as he sucked, pushing into him and clutching his hair in your fist. His cool tongue laved you almost hesitantly at first, searching for what you liked and what made you moan, until he grew confidence. You forgot he was familiarising himself again after so long. Hazy with lust, his movements weren’t calculated. They were made with haste and a fervent urge; hands wrapping around the underside of your thighs to hold them and pull you closer. Letting him feast until his heart content.

He only pulled away to catch his breath, minutes later, face from the nose down shining with a colourless substance. The same substance coated the heat between your legs and apex of your thighs. Probably stained the sofas too. You were sticky and burning up. Not even the the touch of his cool finger could control it as he ran the digit down your folds. He stopped at your entrance, tip pushing in slowly. You throbbed around nothing, desperate to be filled. He noticed of course, and he made to remove his rings.

You stopped him. “Keep them on.” You’d already felt the cool metal of his rings against the inside of your thigh when he’d been enamoured with your centre and everything it had to offer. You wanted more. A hell of a lot more.

He raised his brows in surprise, pausing before shrugging. “Anything for you.” You tried to suppress your moan as he pushed his index finger inside you, palm up, cold metal pressed against your swollen folds. He shifted closer, curling the digit against your velvet-like walls. He seemed to like the feeling, humming to himself, before he studied your face closely. “When was the last time someone had you like this?”

You cocked an eyebrow, smirking. “What? Like this specifically? In this bar, spread out naked on the VIP suite? Never.”

He gave a low chuckle. It shot through your body. “You think you’re funny.” You tried snarking him back but he slipped a second finger inside you, straightening them as he went. “No but,” he began, slowing thrusting them in and out. Your jaw grew slack as you watched him, the quietest of strained moans leaving you. “I just want to know how many people I have to contend with.”

That made you laugh. But fine, if he was so curious. “It’s been a while. Nearly a year.” You’d been single since then, your last relationship ending badly, and hook up culture wasn’t what it was since the virus. You smirked his way. “So, no one at all.”

“That’s great for me then.” He laughed heartily, almost as if he wasn’t three knuckles deeps inside you, and wasting no time getting intimate between your legs again.

You came hard. Shaking all over when he finally relented his tongue. Covered in a sheen of sweat and out of breath. He continued the movement of his fingers at his leisure, looking up between your body. The tips of his hair were wet and clung together. It wasn’t him—the undead incapable of sweating—but your arousal, which he seemed to be unable to get enough of. In all honesty, it seemed it he was unable to get enough of you full stop. Still determined to please you.

He shot his fingers deep, ripping a moan from your chest as your back curled. “You’re still sucking me in. What a greedy cunt you have.” Your burned at his crude words, squeezing around his fingers. “Do you consider yourself greedy?” He spoke low and calm, but you could hear the slight quiver to his voice. It made you feel powerful. You hated that word. Greed. But for him… It was different.

“If it’s for a pleasure like that, then yes,” you laughed breathlessly.

He tutted, curling his fingers along the ridges of your insides. Coaxing you. Enjoying the way your lower body contorted. “You flatter me. I would say I’ve reverted to novice status again after all these years.”

You didn’t think so. Unless that was the reality of someone like Kim Seokjin between your legs. He got you coming so good, better than you had in a long time, so maybe it was both options shared. “Somethings you never forget,” you told him simply.

He didn’t reply, instead rising up, kneeling on the edge of the sofa instead. You lifted your legs to accommodate him. His fingers got deeper and you tightened around them again. “I’m greedy too, you know?” He almost warned, his free hand gripping the back of your neck to tilt your head. Ice. He was speaking as he held his breath, moaning slightly when you did. “I want you to cum again. Please.” He always remembered his manners, even when impatient.

You faltered. You didn’t know if you could. Yes, it still felt good to have him inside of you, but you were too exhausted to go again surely. He leant over your body, caging you with his solid one as he murmured into your ear. “I want the visual ingrained in my mind forever.” He snapped his wrist hard against you. The pleasure made your eyes roll back.

“O-kay–!” You gasped out, nodding your head eagerly, gripping onto his shoulders. It was a big fuck you to the exhaustion. You wanted to cum again too.

Your body withstood his vicious pace, walls clamping down on him every time he thrusted into you. You were hot and sweaty again, held down by his large build, which only added to your delight. You imagined he was fucking you. Desperate for the real thing.

“You trust me a lot,” he mused, your hands in his hair now. It was surprising to you that he let you touch it like this. You looked at him curiously, wondering what he could mean, and felt his movements slow. You realised just how hard you’d been holding your breath, gasping for it at the tiniest of reprieve. “One accidental scratch and that’s it, game over. You’re one of me.” He spoke in an almost disarming whisper. It did not frighten you.

You moaned at the dragging of his fingers, before smiling lazily. “You’re not so foolish.” You’d already taken note that his fingernails were perfectly trimmed when you’d admired his hands at the bar.

“Maybe not. But in other ways…” he drawled off, lips millimetres from yours. You wanted him to kiss you so bad. “I enjoyed being a fool between your legs. On my knees…” You moaned softly, enjoying his words, eyes still glued to his mouth. It moved away; your chest grew heavy in disappointment.

“Would you get on your knees for me?”

His question had you squeezing again. The smirk told you he felt it. “Right now?” You asked, maybe a little too eager.

“No.” He laughed. “Not right now. Tonight is about you. But next time...”

You took a shaky breath and nodded. “Gladly.”

“Good girl,” he smiled at you. The praise went to your head, somewhere else too, and he let go of your neck, readjusting himself to begin picking up the pace again. You watched down your body, lifting your folded legs nearer your chest so you could have a better look at his hand as it pleasured you. His veiny forearm tensing with the force of his thrusts. You were so wet you glistened in the overhead lighting—so did the dark jewel on one of his rings—and you squelched noisily around his fingers, sucking him in over and over again. Greedy, you were.

“Fuck.” Seokjin cursed under his breath, distracting you, and you found his eyes were locked between your legs too. Mesmerised. “Delectable, as ripe as a peach…” It didn’t take you much longer to cum again. You felt sorry to whoever would sit in the VIP lounge tomorrow night.

Afterwards, once you’d both calmed down—you, dressed but still quite shaky, and he, now composed but hair still in disarray—he asked if you’d accompany him for dinner at his house next time he was free. You agreed quite instantly. You knew what it meant, and you needed it. Needed him. You also agreed when he insisted he’d arrange for a car to take you home that night. You had your own, but you’d had something to drink, regardless how small, and that just didn’t sit right with him. He’d get someone to drop off your vehicle the next morning.

Before you left, he bid you goodnight with a kiss to the cheek and thanked you for a lovely night, emphasising just how much he was looking forward to dinner with you soon. Just the thought had you up for hours when you found yourself in bed, alone, but still warm and sated from your two orgasms.

Seokjin’s house was stunning. A far cry from from your dingy apartment on the tenth floor of an ancient tower block. You were used to it now, but back then you had felt very out of place in such a beautiful home. He arranged for a car to pick you up, very much like the one that had dropped you off home four nights ago. A sleek black thing, with darkened windows. You didn’t know the name, a car was a car, but again, way out of your league. Four days was a short time in someone else’s perspective, but to you it had dragged by. Especially having to see him every night since while you danced in the club. Glances and knowing smirks just made it harder. You understood though, he was a busy man. He called you in the morning, apologising for the short notice, but he’d found a break in his schedule. If you agreed not to be at the club tonight, he could arrange dinner at his place.

You hadn’t hesitated. Had been preparing all day. The longest soak in the bath you could manage without turning into udon. You even brought the wax strips out. Found the most elegant dress you owned in the back of your closet. A blood red, floor length piece.

His phone call had felt very formal, but that was him all over, you had only just started finding out. You weren’t 100% sure, but the 0.1% didn’t matter… You were going to have sex together tonight. The thought made you giddy. It was only the shock of his house that distracted you as you stepped inside. Large and elegantly decorated, it did not look at all like you’d imagined. Not that you’d tried to. It was impossible to wonder what an undead mobster’s home would look like, but as a bachelor, it definitely wasn’t this. It almost seemed lonely to have just one person living here. You kept those thoughts to yourself though and let him lead you into the lounge, where, and you assumed this, a butler of some kind handed you a glass of champagne. This was not your world.

He even had members of staff to cook for him. Food you knew for a fact belonged in michelin starred restaurants. His dining room was grand, the beautifully carved mahogany table able to fit six people. Perhaps this place was once his family home. It made sense. He sat at the head, while you were placed directly opposite him. The distance was a little unnerving, but he was able to converse in small talk exceptionally well. It was lighthearted and casual, and soon eased you up.

You found it intriguing when he doused everything he ate in hot sauce, unable to stop yourself from giggling and he looked up, confusion etched in his features before he realised what had amused you so. You had no idea the need was that bad.

“Nothing tastes good without a little kick,” he explained, putting the bottle down. “Even the brains.”

You laughed. “You must go through hot sauce by the gallon.”

He smiled before reaching for his glass of red wine. “Me being a rotter really doesn’t phase you, does it?” He still seemed to be unable to get over the surprise.

You gave him a small shrug, picking up your cutlery. “It’s the world we live in now.” You sounded like a broken record. That was your explanation for everything.

You waited for him to continue the conversation. There was a pause and then– “Thanks to your father.”

You froze, an instant sense of dread filling you at the casual remark. You swallowed, looking across at Seokjin. “H-how did you know?”

He raised a perfect eyebrow as he brought the glass to his mouth. You watched half the red liquid disappear. The clank as he put it down on the wood made you flinch, and your heart thudded as you waited for his reply. He gave you smile. It didn’t seem fully loaded. “Is that you undermining my power?”

Whatever his intentions were you panicked regardless. “No, I just–”

“Don’t worry, this isn’t some kind of trick. Some kind of revenge...” He interrupted with a quick chuckle. Relief flooded you. Not that you had thought such things explicitly, but Seokjin was the man he was… Your lust hadn’t made you forget that much. He had found out what you’d spent the last three years or so trying to hide after all…

“I have brought you here to fuck.” Despite your alarm, something squeezed in your gut and pulsed between your legs at his frankness. “I’m just curious... You hide it well. Why?”

Unsure what to do, you took a mouthful of food. The chewing letting you think for a moment. Did you really want to divulge your family affairs with him? He was a man of few words and considering what he was—dangerous and undead—you couldn’t be sure to trust his intentions. Maybe you’d made a mistake coming here. Letting his words and actions cajole you.

“Good?” He asked, watching you eat.

You looked at him and nodded. Wiping your face with the napkin placed on your lap you decided to give him some of the details. Not all. “It’s not something I want to be associated with.”

Seokjin frowned. “You don’t agree?”

You shook your head. That had come out wrong. “I don’t agree with my parents’ greed.”

When the zombie virus had hit four years ago your father, a highly gifted scientist, had been one of the first to try and recreate it. To produce something better. For what, you didn’t quite understand. He had no desire to turn himself or his family. No, you guessed it was for the fame, the money…the glory… In the end, it took a number of people to create such a thing, but yes, he’d been one of them… Your mother had been so proud. Sick. That was still what you thought now. Turning the world into undead creatures who needed human brains to survive seemed utterly bizarre. Disturbing… But like you said, the glory seemed to be their fuel…

You hadn’t spoke to either of them in two years and prior to that, conversations were few and far between. To cut them out of your life hadn’t been a sudden decision though. Your whole life you’d always felt like you didn’t belong. Born to the wrong family. Maybe that was a problem with you. An issue you didn’t want to give much thought about, but one thing was for certain, you didn’t think anything like them. You’d spend most of your life rebelling. Maybe you were still doing so… The club you worked at would see them foaming at the mouth. You, surrounded by the people your father helped create. And Seokjin… Seokjin was a man your parents would be horrified to see you with. That thought brought you great pleasure.

“You don’t get along?” You shook you head in reply. Surprisingly it was enough for him. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.” Or maybe he already knew that… He probably knew everything about you. He’d been humouring you all this time. For some reason that didn’t scare you like it should’ve. It was quite reassuring to know that despite everything, you were the one he wanted. Maybe your self esteem was shot to pieces. Maybe you were just an idiot.

You smiled. “Thanks.”

He jerked his head towards the direction of your plate. “Let’s not get distracted for too long. Dinner is getting cold.”

You ate with more small talk. He asked if you’d ever been out the country and when you’d replied yes, he insisted that you tell him all about Japan, like he’d never been there before. Maybe he hadn’t… You didn’t ask. In all honestly, you were positive he was trying his best to relax you again after his slight interrogation. It was endearing.

Once dinner was done and his staff had taken the used dishes away, you suddenly remembered what was to come next. You began to feel a little out of your depth. The night at the club had happened out of the blue, but this was pre-planned. Nerves itched at your skin, just wondering how this would go down now, but that didn’t mean you weren’t excited. Giddy.

“You really do look so beautiful tonight.” He praised quietly, admiring you from across the table. He had already told you that when he’d greeted you at his door, but you would never get enough. “I feel a little underdressed.”

You scoffed. “You look perfect. As always.” He was always found in a suit, so his attire for tonight was nothing new. Apart from the velvet suit jacket he wore. It was fancy, something you could never imagine him gracing the club with, and the cream embroidered shirt underneath suited him beautifully. His hair tonight was swept above his forehead, accentuating his breath-taking bone structure.

He closed his eyes as he smiled in silent thanks. When they opened you noticed they were getting darker, grey almost unnoticeable from where you sat. You suddenly thought about him between your legs. You squeezed them together under the table, trying to quell your dirty thoughts. You think he noticed, or maybe he was remembering back too.

“I’m surprised you can’t feel it,” he mused on cue.

“Feel what?” You sounded slightly shaky. Out of breath.

“My need for you is practically raging from my body,” he explained simply.

Something heavy dropped into your gut. Confidence began to wash over you again. It was nice to feel this powerful. “You hide it well.”

“Do I?” He laughed. “I must have more self control than I give myself credit for. I’ve been agitated ever since that night… Unable to stop imagining getting my hands on you again.”

You let out a tremble of a breath. More images flew around the forefront of your mind. The coldness of his hands caressing your body. The ice of his tongue inside your mouth, against your skin, laving against your… You closed your eyes, unable to cope. He murmured your name softly. As if he was desperate for you to look his way again. You obeyed. “I’m so incredibly attracted to you.”

You could hear your heart thudding against your ribcage. It almost felt strange, like it didn’t belong to you. When you chuckled, it didn’t sound like you either. Your lust for him was taking over. Time was nearing. “You already said, Seokjin.” You liked the sound of his name as it curled off your tongue.

He chuckled back. “Am I boring you? I thought flattery would be first protocol.”

You continued to laugh at his choice of words, shaking your head. “There’s no need. I’m here, aren’t I?”

He held your stare. It was almost like he was staring inside of you. “That you are.” He sounded like he still couldn’t believe his luck. He rolled his shoulders. “Well. I can still say what I like. It’s all true. I’m not trying to manipulate you here.” You chose to believe him. “Although... You don’t look like someone who falls victim to such things.” You shrugged, playing it casual. Maybe he was correct. You’d long stopped giving men the power to get inside your mind. You hoped it would hold with Seokjin.

“I’ll cut to the chase then.” He continued, realising you weren’t going to divulge anything that could confirm his assumptions. “One night won’t be enough. I want to enter a sexual relationship with you.”

Your eyes widened. Surprise visible on your face no doubt. Call you naïve, maybe clueless, but that possibility hadn’t crossed your mind. A one off was all you’d imagined. Seokjin had thirsted after you for months now, it seemed. Until he couldn’t ignore it any longer. In your head, one night would have been enough for him. What was so special about you? It seemed ludicrous he’d want something permanent. Taken aback, all you could do was listen to him.

“These,” he paused, “urges I have, they’ve been suppressed for far too long. I have curiosities. Maybe they’ve always been there, morphing with the passing months...years.” He shrugged, and you wondered why he had stifled himself for so long. You also wondered why you. Why were you so special? “It wasn’t until I noticed you that these thoughts...fantasies, became unbearable.”

You took his words like they were information at a business meeting. In fact, he was talking to you like such. It was strange. He was talking about imagining fucking you most probably, and here you were just nodding your head. You squeezed your legs under the table again. You were hot. Your excitement was building again and you were trying your best to control yourself. This wasn’t normal. You shouldn’t be here, but your desire for him seemed to have crept up and snaked its way around your throat.

“I don’t want to overwhelm you but I need things to be in black and white.”

“I understand.”

“You do?” He raised both eyebrows in surprise. You felt powerful with the knowledge you kept proving him wrong. “Your pleasure is my utmost importance. All of my fantasies include you enjoying yourself. Rest assured. However,” he looked down at the table. Was he flustered? Feeling awkward? How unusual. “There are some things I want to indulge in that aren’t to everyone’s taste. I do not wish to trap or force you into anything. If you don’t agree, then that’s that. No hard feelings. This isn’t a sweet or romantic joining. I don’t know if I’m truly capable of that…”

You puzzled in your head. What an odd thing to say. You hadn’t so much as thought about this being anything about romance. You knew where you stood. You hoped he wasn’t assuming that’s what you thought. You’d given up on love and romance a long fucking time ago. “I don’t expect it to be,” you added, wanting it to be clear.

He paused, smiled slightly and then chucked. “Then you understand I have this animalistic need to take you any which way I’m allowed.” He made sure your eyes were locked when he spoke. So he could see your reaction. It was hard tying to keep your expression neutral as you imagined just as he’d said. The corner of your mouth definitely twitched. Of course he saw. You could tell by the way he tried to suppress his smirk.

“I can be patient if you need more time.” He continued. “I am very much insistent that it’s you—there is no one else—however, if you disagree or discover I bring you no joy, I expect one day I’ll find another.” You admired his honesty. “Also. Selfish of me I know, but if you agree then there must be no other sexual partners during our attachment. Please.” “Seokjin...” You began, guessing he’d finished his proposition of sorts.

“I know.” He interrupted before you could say anything. “This is a lot to take in. You’re overwhelmed.”

“No,” you insisted. “I agree. I’m willing to give this a chance.”

He let your words marinate before swallowing. “What I’ve said doesn’t scare you?”

You scoffed. “No.” You’d already knew sex with him wouldn’t be conventional. You’d found that out from his very brazen attitude and mouth the night you were spread against the club’s VIP sofa. Your only mistake had been thinking it would be just once. You felt giddy knowing there would now be endless encounters. You craved him just like he craved you. It was a new sensation, something that had only been been simmering since you caught his eyes on you as you danced, but it was powerful and steadfast, and needed to be sated. Tonight.

He nodded to himself, seemingly deciding then and there to start taking action. “We’ll take it slow. Learn from one another.”

“That sounds good,” you agreed, unconsciously sitting up straighter, leaning in almost eagerly.

“Tonight,” he hushed. “Tonight I just want to feel you. Pleasure you. To become accustomed with your body and what you like.”

You let out a shaky breath. You could almost feel the impending pleasure running through your veins. You’d had a taste of it a few nights ago. “I feel very much the same. Tonight is just the beginning.”

He exhaled through his nose, jaw tensed before he looked you straight in the eyes. Raising his hand he beckoned you. “Come.” You were beginning to see a pattern, and just like that you obeyed. His tastes were of the dominate kind. You would gladly listen.

Rounding the corner you made your way over and stopped right in front of him. He scraped his chair back, making room between him and the table, and motioned you to slot in between.

“When you said you’d get on your knees for me…” He reminded you. A suggestion of sorts. Maybe it was put that way to soften the order.

Your eyes widened, looking at the door that lead into the kitchen. “Here?”

“Don’t worry.” He smiled, taking your hands. “No one will will come in. They shall be leaving soon anyway. They won’t interrupt us.”

You listened, finding yourself in his lap, dress crumpled around your middle, creasing to no end, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. Not when you could feel his erection pressing into you. You took initiative. Rising up to let your palm caress him. You’d been dying to get your hands on him ever since the night at the club. To feel him full and thick and long between your fist, in your mouth, in your– You reached to kiss him. He slipped his tongue inside your mouth like he’d been waiting for it, grunting when you gave his dick one quick squeeze.

“Seokjin,” you breathed, lips sticky as you pulled away. “Forgive my manners. I never confessed my attraction towards you too the other night.” It was easy to let him do all the talking, but you wanted to let him know you were 100% into this because you wanted him too. It didn’t go one way. You weren’t just agreeing to this for the hell of it.

He reached for your face, rubbing the apples of your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “No need to flatter me,” he smiled, dropping one thumb to the edge of your mouth. He tugged your bottom lip down slightly and met the tip of your tongue. “I guess my tongue did the persuading, mm?”

You swiped across the cool flesh and pulled away with a grin. “Trust me, if there was no attraction that wouldn’t have happened.”

He laughed, genuinely amused, before grabbing you by the hips, pulling you into his chest. “Enough chit chat. I thought you were supposed to be sucking my dick?”

Just like the rest of him, his cock was cool. Something you had never experienced before. It was swollen, filled with blood, but ice cold. Impossible, yet here you were. Knelt between his spread legs, laving him against your tongue. You had the intense urge to please him as best you could. Show him what he’d been missing all this time and just worship the beautiful, pretty gift between his thighs. He seemed to be unable to get used to the hot, wet velvet of your mouth, eyes glued to you, watching every move you made with soundless gasps. His hands gripped the arms of the chair at first, knuckles purple, until he decided he couldn’t hold back any longer. Taking your hair in his fists, his rings cold against your scalp, he held on tight, finally letting himself moan when you slackened your jaw and slid him down your throat as far as you could take him.

He liked it when you choked on his dick. He froze every time, digging his fingers into your scalp. He liked when you slicked him with your fist, thumb circling the sensitive slit that pooled drops of precum all over the place. He really had fought off all sexual urges for so long it seemed. You wondered if he’d even attempted to pleasure himself? It wasn’t something you were brave enough to ask, but you were brave enough for other things…

You wanted him to experience all the pleasure he’d been missing over the years, tongue pointing and going south, licking thin but long lines up and across his scrotum. He gasped, the noise choking in his throat as he jerked, chair legs screeching against the tiled floor. You shuffled closer on your knees, holding his cock tall in your hand so you could slowly suck one of his balls into your mouth, softly caressing the cool encasing with your tongue. You made sure to look him in the eyes as you did so, feeding of the reactions he gave you. His mouth fallen open in a soundless groan.

You smirked as you pulled away, pleased with yourself, and began kissing up his length, swirling your tongue across the cool marble, pressing your plush lips in the flesh; getting him obscenely wet. His fingers found their way around the back of your neck, holding you firmly as you popped him back into your mouth, sucking intently on the head of his cock, your fist working the base of him, slick noises filling the air, mixed with his low, staccato moans.

When you began getting lower, hallowing your cheeks to accommodate him, your tongue tracing patterns along the underside of his thickness, his hands flew to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair to stop you. You pulled back instantly, waiting for some kind of response from him. He was close. Dangerously close. You understood that.

“I want –” He cut himself short, voice gruff, and cleared his throat, hips jumping when you kissed the tip of his cock. He tried again, taking one hand to caress your face. “I want to cum on your face.” Your legs squeezed together. Excitement overcoming you. “Please.” He added that as an afterthought, forgetting his manners with the urge to cum.

You smiled, slowly taking his hand from your cheek to guide it to the base of his cock, exchanging yours with his. He gripped himself tightly, and you squeezed your palm over his fist. Giving him permission with a sordid whisper. “Be my guest.”

You waited for it on your knees, between his spread legs and watched as he raked his beautiful hand over his equally as beautiful cock. Slowly at first, exploring the pleasure and then he sped up, jerking the top in tight, quick motions, chair legs screeching across the floor again as raised up, tightening his hold on your head to keep you in place. His breathing laboured before a strangled roar left him.

You prepared yourself, closing your eyes as you felt the first spurt hit your nose and drip down your top lip. The second flew across your left cheek. Unlike the rest of him, this substance was searing hot, shocking you so much you gasped. The third spurt, stronger, landed in your mouth. You swallowed and savoured the taste. It wasn’t over. It just kept coming, coating your face and congealing in the air, as Seokjin furiously tried to get every last drop out. Savouring the pleasure, moaning in sweet relief until he grew weak from exertion, collapsing into his seat.

You peeled your eyes open, cum glooping from your right eyebrow and onto your eyelid and watched him with awe. All that filled the dining room was his rough breaths as he tried to get a hold of himself. He ran his clean hand through his hair, strands of white falling down, and finally took a look at you. He was silent for a long time, eyes still black, the crescents of silver sending a shiver up your spine. He leaned over, pulling some of your hair behind your ear, saving it from the mess that coated your face. He looked at you with wonder and amazement in his eyes, like he was trying to retain the image of you like this forever.

When he spoke, his voice sounded different. Softer, warmer. Weaker… “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on…” Two of his fingers ran along your bottom lip, spreading some of his cum along the way. “Like this…” He awed. “It takes my breath away.”

He reached behind you, his embroidered napkin coming into view. The set was probably more expensive than your outfit. He began cleaning your face up, and you let him obediently, still kneeling on the hard floor. It was all worth it though. For him. For what was to come.

When he was done, he threw the soiled cloth to the table. There was still some cum on his fingers, where he’d rubbed your lip, and he opened your mouth, dotting your tongue with the fluid before he stuck two fingers inside, holding the muscle down before he prodded you to suck them. You did so, mimicking how you had pleasured his cock, letting your tongue trail along the expanse of his rings. He groaned, the other hand cupping your face to make you look at him. He opened his mouth, sounded beside himself. “The things I want to do to you...”

You got no sleep that night. Fucking one another until the sun began to shine through his drapes, and then some more, letting him enjoy getting familiar with the sensation again, but also feeling a pleasure like no other yourself. No man you’d ever been with had been into sex this much, and his stamina, his strength, was like nothing you’d ever experienced before. He fucked you, quite literally, to glorious, pleasure-soaked tears. Three years really hadn’t hindered his skill at all, but he blamed it on his greed, incapable of taking a compliment. Nonsense, but you soon got used to that charming personality trait…

The weeks had rolled into months, and you continued just like that. Meeting and fucking any chance you got. It was him who called the shots. He was a busy man after all. You worked to his schedule. Fucked to his schedule, and luckily for you, you were in a position to drop work every time he called. Direct permission from the boss.

True to his word, you took it slow. Going further and further each time until your body was trained to him. His was trained to you too. What he liked, how he liked it and when to do it. You knew how to read his moods and work with it each time you met up for sex. There was a mutual trust between the two of you, and you would give your all if it meant pleasing him, because it brought you pleasure too.

Sex had always been just something you’d done. The guys got their rocks off and maybe if you were lucky, you’d get one orgasm, probably gifted by your own hands. Even when in love, sex hadn’t been this enjoyable nor exciting. It was all new with Seokjin. You lived for pushing yourself to the limit, finding something new and trying it. Greedy. Maybe that was the correct word, Seokjin had been right. You were greedy for one another. You’d be dammed. The desire and the pleasure you just knew you couldn’t get from anyone else. The chemistry was on a totally different level, and it just kept getting stronger.

Seokjin did have a softer appetite though. It wasn’t all hard and extreme. That was the beauty of it. He wasn’t a one-sided dom who used you as some kind of sex toy. He was gentle and caring, even when he had you tied to his bed, blindfolded and at his mercy. Sometimes he just wanted you. Raw and passionate. An unspoken vulnerable. You think in a way, even though you would never say it to his face, he sought comfort in you. On days when he was tired or stressed, he wanted you. Only you. There was a comfort there. And you gladly obeyed. How could you not? You were flattered he chose you to share this with. Touched, in a way.

Your bond only grew, until any awkwardness was a thing of the past. You could tease one another, joke around. It was surprising at first to find out someone like him could become embarrassed and shy when provoked about certain things. Like how he had been so formal in the beginning. He insisted it was because he was so awkward about his extended inexperience fighting head to head with the raging desire he had for you… It had sent him frenzied, until he had to do something about it. You were so glad he had…

Your relationship for the most part was left undetected. It was chosen that way, to keep things strictly professional at work, but also you suspected it was something more. He requested for you not to tell your friends or family, and the only one who knew about your arrangement on his side, was the driver who took you to and from his home. Seokjin’s line of work came with danger, and even though you didn’t voice it, you guessed that danger spread to anyone he was involved with; family, friends, lovers…

You say mostly undetected because of course there had been a slip up somewhere along the line. Working in such close proximity, perhaps you had been foolish. The club was always packed, someone was bound to pick up on it, and unluckily for you, it happened. Give you a major reality check to go with it.

You had been involved with Seokjin for near to three months when it did, juggling nights at work and nights spent with him. More often than not, both at the same time. That night wasn’t one though. He was away from the club altogether, so you got changed at your usual pace, surrounded by the rest of the human girls as they chatted. That night rotter talk filled the dressing room. There had been one watching one of the girls, Jaeha, dancing. He’d taken a shine to her and asked her out for dinner at closing time. She’d agreed, but now she was getting doubts, some of the other girls laying uncertainties in her head. Of course the conversation had turned to sex. It always did where men were concerned. But this was different. They were talking about having sex with a zombie. It was times like these you were thankful there was separate dressing rooms for the human and undead girls. Although some would probably still carry on the conversation regardless.

“What about you?”

You looked up, realising that Jaeha was directing the question your way. “Hm?” You played dumb, even though you had been listening to every word of the conversation. You just didn’t want to answer.

“What would you imagine it feels like being with a rotter?”

You gave a small shrug, realising you had no choice now and turned away as you replied. “I don’t know.”

“Wait. What was that?” She exclaimed excitedly and you inwardly sighed. You guess something about your body language hadn’t been believable. “You have?!” You gave another shrug but she wasn’t having any of it. “Look me in the eyes and say you haven’t!”

You faced her again, defeated, realising you had about half a dozen other pairs of eyes looking at you too. “Fine. I have.”

A couple others squealed. Maybe it was an age thing. You were a few years older than a handful of the girls. At twenty-two you had probably been easily excitable and naïve too. Scrap that. You definitely had been.

“Who?!”

Shit. She really wasn’t going to drop this, was she? You were hoping admitting to it would have been enough. You did up your jeans as you dismissed her. “It doesn’t matter who. It’s just sex. No different.”

“No different? But they’re cold,” she whined, shuddering at the thought. “Doesn’t that feel weird?”

You opened your mouth but found yourself stuck. This conversation was making you feel uncomfortable. Thankfully, a voice came to your rescue.

“You just get used to it.” You looked to your left to see Yeeun coming into view behind

the group of girls. She’d been here nearly the longest, your age, maybe a year older. She kept herself to herself most of the time, but you guessed she wanted to put this conversation to rest. That, and maybe put you out of your misery.

Jaeha turned and opened her mouth to ask more questions, but Yeeun spoke over her. “Jaeha, just make sure to be careful if you decide to go for dinner with that guy, yeah? Undead doesn’t mean he’s inherently bad but coming to a place like this should make you think. Keep your wits about you.”

Just like she’d wanted (and you) the conversation died. Everyone left soon after that, you close behind, but Yeeun was still getting changed, distracted by her phone. You stopped by the door as an afterthought, wanting to say something to her. “Thanks,” you called, waiting for her acknowledgment.

She slowly turned and smiled. “No problem.” You watched as she shoved her cell into her jacket pocket. “Um, you got a minute?”

You nodded, unable to guess what she wanted. She sighed, almost like she was psyching herself up. “First, this isn’t me trying to get up all in your business, alright?” You nodded again, slower this time. A sicky feeling in your stomach. “Everyone else may be clueless when it comes to who you’re fucking, but I’m not.”

You tensed. Maybe you’d misinterpreted her motives. She was trying to put you out of your misery yes, but it ran deeper than that. She was trying to save your skin. She knew. How? You were always careful to never talk in public with Seokjin. Yet… maybe your reluctance to leave early like you used to do roused suspicion from her. Maybe she’d seen you both leave together… Foolish. You panicked, played stupid. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She stared at you, calling your bluff. “Be careful, okay? You’re an adult, you can do whatever the hell you like, but just don’t forget who he is.” You kept quiet. There was no point denying it. “And I’m not on about him being undead. He’s...” She hesitated before deciding to go for it. “Just don’t forget he’s responsible for a lot of this city’s darkness.”

Unexplainable anger filled you. You didn’t like being judged, but more than that, the idea of someone judging Seokjin made your blood boil. She didn’t know him like you did. How kind he was when you were alone, how gentle… He wasn’t what people described him as behind closed doors. But what was the point? You knew you couldn’t tell her that. She’d just laugh at you, tell you how deluded you were. Maybe that’s what you were scared of... That you really were deluded. In over your head…

You watched her shrug on her jacket, her mind at ease now that she’d warned you. “You don’t have a problem working in his club though?”

She froze before pulling out a cigarette from her pocket and chuckling. “It’s money, babe.” She placed the rolled tube in between her lips and spoke through it. “We all need it, and at the end of the day, I’m not the one fucking him.” She finished with a casual shrug. As if she had no worries. You had plenty.

You swallowed, careful to keep your voice steady. “Well thanks for your concern. I’ll bear it in mind.” And the you left, wiping away a stray tear from your left eye.

You didn’t tell Seokjin about what happened that night, certain that Yeeun didn’t care enough to tell anyone. She wasn’t like that, hated gossip like you. You were also worried that if he found out, he’d do something. You didn’t want her to get fired. She said she’d needed the money after all. Maybe your worry went even further than that… You didn’t know. If Seokjin was as bad as everyone seemed to think, you really didn’t know…

So you kept it to yourself. But you couldn’t shake the exchange. Seokjin noticed there was something wrong with you instantly. You saw him two nights afterwards, seeking distraction in the only way you knew with him. Sex. He was tired after his “business trip” and you went along with it, using it as a way to explain your unusual behaviour, so the sex was quick but indulgent. Definitely needed. You clung to him because you’d missed him. You clung to him because you were beside yourself. Torn and unable to truly feel fine. You’d thought being reunited again would reassure you. But it didn’t.

“Smoking again?” You asked him after you were done, watching him reach for the pack of cigarettes he kept on the nightstand.

He chuckled, knowing you hated the dirty habit. The addiction. Maybe in a way you were a hypocrite. “My insides are rotten anyway. What can it do to me?” He was correct you supposed. Rotten to the core. He was untouchable.

However, to your surprise he put them back, wrapping his arm around you like it had been. Your head on his chest, protected from the chill by a fur blanket. His temperature always seemed to get you after sex, your own levelling out. Plus with the winter months now it was harder. He wasn’t the best to cuddle with after sex, an activity that seemed to be happening more often, so you had to separate your bodies with warmth. You let silence spread over you both, lost in your own head with a whirlwind of thoughts.

“Hey,” he prodded gently after a little while, wanting you to look at him. “You’re lying to me. You’re not tired.” You didn’t bother to deny it. He sounded hesitant when he carried on. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

You stayed silent for a moment. unsure how to begin, but you knew you couldn’t continue like this. You needed some type of reassurance from his mouth. Selfishly, you needed your conscience eased. You explained with a question, at least you hoped you did. “Do you like being who you are?”

Seokjin tensed under you, his expression becoming guarded and you instantly feared you’d crossed a line. He knew you were referring to his status, not his being. Something pretty much off limits. Discussed vaguely in the beginning, your joining was never about that. Now it seemed like a forbidden subject. You understood Seokjin saw you as an escape. He didn’t want to discuss work, and you didn’t want to hear it. Yet, it was looming over you, like an ominous presence. You needed something. You could live with who he was if he was as unsure of it as you were. You were positive. He just needed to be honest with you.

You waited patiently, and just as you resigned yourself to stone cold silence, he spoke.

“It was handed to me. I don’t particularly have a choice. It’s all I’ve ever known.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that was bitterness in his tone. “My father is frail now. I don’t know how long he has left. I want to make him proud, regardless of how stupid it sounds. It’s fucked up, I know that. Especially with life as it is now.”

You’d long given up trying to make your father proud, but you understood. Seokjin’s experiences were vastly different to yours, but you understood. His was a matter of life or death, you were sure of it. Yours was just the gradual estrangement from the people who had raised you. He confirmed the seriousness of his detriment in his next sentence.

“There’s nothing I can do about it. It’s my life. It’s expected of me. If I refused, said no... Ran away like a coward... God knows what would happen to me.”

Cruel of you maybe, but it was warming, reassuring to know he’d had such thoughts. Soothing to know in a lot of ways, he didn’t want this life. Selfish of you like you’d known. Trying to ease your own conscience, but here in his arms perhaps you really didn’t care. You didn’t care what Yeeun thought, what others would think if they ever found out. Your parents… None of it mattered because you knew that deep down, in his core, Seokjin was a good man. Rotten or not. He was good to you, and all that mattered. Yes, you were selfish, but you didn’t care.

“Fuck.” He cursed quietly, voice thick with emotion before he laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. “What a world we live in. When being a motherfucking zombie is considered normal and the least of your problems.”

You didn’t laugh along but kissed him softly. You think it stunned him, shutting him up instantly when you pulled away, until he exhaled, pulling you into another, longer, even sweeter kiss. He wrapped you in his arms tightly and you’d never felt safer. He got you onto your back, rolling on top of you, the fur separating your bodies, just, and your need for him burnt away inside your chest.

But he pulled away before you could do anything about it, opening his mouth to say something, expression hesitant. You cupped his cold face, trying your hardest to spread some of your warmth through his body, silently encouraging him to speak. He smiled thankfully. “I didn’t choose that either, by the way. This rotter body.”

Your forehead furrowed, trying to make sense of his words. “That shocks you,” he noted. “I know why. You think I wanted this, just like everyone else.” You opened your mouth to deny it, but what was the point? You hated gossip, like you’d said so many time before, never listened to it, but you had let it sink it’s way into your mind without realising.

Greed. You thought he was like all the rest. Seeking power. Your attraction to him overshot your distaste for the ghastly act of will, but maybe deep down, you’d hoped it wasn’t true.

“It’s okay,” he reassured, twisting slightly to kiss the palm of your hand. Then the tips of your fingers as you sought the touch. “I know what people say about me. They’re wrong though.”

“What happened?” You were whispering, asking without thinking. You didn’t want to pry but Seokjin had never shared this much before. You didn’t think he’d ever shared this much before. To anyone.

“A miscellaneous deal gone wrong. I won’t bore you with the details, but I was scratched.” Your eyes widened, heart ached for him. How wrong people were. How wrong you were. “I took it in my stride, still do. I guess in some ways it helped me, in others not so much... But,” he stopped himself, letting his eyes close as he kissed your fingertips again. When he opened them the grey looked sadder than usual. “Who will follow after me? The family name gone. Although maybe that isn’t a bad thing.” He added with an afterthought, chuckling humourlessly. “I would want no kid of mine doing this. I don’t know. What I’m trying to say is, if there was ever a cure, I’d take it in a heartbeat.” Your own heart beat loudly in your chest. “Wishful thinking, right?”

You were stunned to silence now, trying to make sense of everything. You wanted to reassure him. There was adoption, he needn’t have to dwell, but then it seemed like such a human, vulnerable thing to get hurt over. It made your throat tighten, eyes well up. You had never imagined his anguish over being undead. He always seemed so casual, so put together. His human life was stolen from him cruelly and he was just left to deal with it, alone. You didn’t care if that was his by choice or not. It made sense now, that in ways he had hidden from himself, and why. He was ashamed. He wasn’t greedy, he was lost.

“I don’t think so,” you murmured, caressing his face. “If they can mutate the disease and inject people with it, they can find an antidote.”

He smiled sadly. “Do you think they want that? This world is a corrupt place. Everyone has their own selfish reason’s for letting this disease take over.” He was correct. A cure would never be made by any official. But there could be other options. One day. Hope wasn’t lost.

“You can still live a normal life,” you insisted.

“I can never age. Who would want that? Amongst other things. I have everything against me.”

Something strong tore through your chest. It almost took your breath away, but you couldn’t voice it. You were too afraid. “I don’t think so.” You replied instead. It was hard to keep your voice stable. “What’s inside is more important.”

He chuckled sadly. “Angel, I’m rotten on the inside. Maybe on the outside too.”

His pet name warmed your heart, always did, but his words made it weep. You swallowed, coating your dry mouth and squeezed his face, clinging to him, hoping he’d understand what you were trying to say. “Not to me.”

He smiled, his eyes warming up and leant down to kiss you. “Thank you.” You held him close, sinking into his mouth. The cold was unnoticeable. He did understand. You could feel it in his kiss, taste it on his tongue.

He drew back slowly, just before he lost himself entirely. He had more to say before then. “I have never felt more comfortable with anyone than I have with you. More human...” He trailed off and laughed quietly. “Even when I was one.” He kissed you once more. Like he couldn’t keep away. Hands holding the sides of your face, he lingered, your breaths mingling.

“You care for me without judgement. That’s never happened before. I’ve never had that feeling.”

You squeezed his wrists in silent understanding, eyes glassy. You couldn’t speak if you tried. Couldn’t let him know you felt exactly the same, in fear of bursting into tears. He understood though. Of course he did.

And that’s where you were now. This present moment. The aftermath of such a confession only bringing you closer together. There were silent boundaries that had been made that night. Seokjin did not wish to go into detail about his days, nor did you want him to. You were at ease now, knowing you had been right about him, the others wrong. Yes, he wasn’t perfect. No one was. Yes, maybe if you knew the cold, hard facts, you wouldn’t be able to bear it, but you were happy being ignorant to that. It wasn’t greed that drove you, for Seokjin and all the pleasure he could give you. He had been wrong. You made him see that. It was a selfishness, and that was okay. It had to be. They were two different things. You were selfish for the happiness he made you feel, and likewise for him.

For the first time in your life, you were truly happy. Felt truly understood and not judged, and so did Seokjin. Despite your different life experiences, you were the same in your hearts; yours alive, his rotten, but it didn’t matter—and that’s why you’d been so drawn to him. Twin flames in this dark, overbearing world. You knew the weight of such words, but you didn’t care. Not when you had something good, something pure, and you were clinging to it with all your might.

As much as you had put him on a pedestal in the beginning, not quite believing he’d chosen you, wanted you. Potentially put your worth on his choice, it didn’t matter. Because he had done and felt the same. He had always been thankful you’d made the decision that you had. He was thankful that you wanted him. Still, even now. In ways, you had given him certain confidence and esteem that he’d been lacking. Similar to how he helped bloom yours too. Made you feel beautiful, sexy. It was not one sided with you two. It was real, and pure, and shared. Your admiration for one another. Your love…

Yes, this had been a simple arrangement. Sex. But it wasn’t so simple anymore. You both understood that. There would come a day when you’d have to acknowledge it, your feelings… It was potentially soon, or you could just keep hiding for a little while longer, but it would happen. Seokjin didn’t think he was capable of love after his turn. You remembered him saying something similar the first night you spent together, about romance. You knew now it was because he hated what he was. Undead. He had already lost so much of himself over the years, and to become infected only tore away more. But he was wrong. He was capable. You felt the love he gave you every day. Even if it was the silent kind. It shone from him, warmed you up when you clung to his ice cold flesh.

So yes, you were selfish, so was he. But you didn’t care. Not when you had one another to hide behind.

“How do you want me, Sir?” You silked the words, excitement bubbling away in the pit of your stomach. That was your little thing. What you called him sometimes. When he was in the mood for it.

He smiled at you, but it didn’t seem to reach his eyes. You tensed, studying him almost intently now. Maybe there had been a reason he was delayed. You opened your mouth to ask if everything was okay, but he beat you to it.

“No need for that tonight.” He sounded exhausted, beaten. You realised how terribly you’d misread the signs, feeling a little guilty as you sat up, tightening your gown over your chest. He walked over to his bureau, steps heavy on the wooden floor. Long ago had you come to accept his insistence on wearing shoes indoors, but you watched him step out of his boots now. Loosening the red tie around his neck before removing it completely.

You waited politely for him to continue in some way. Not wanting to push an explanation for his depleted mood. He removed his rings one by one, dropping them into a glass bowl. That’s where he spoke to. “Today’s been hard. I–“ He stopped himself, unable or unwilling to go on. You wondered if you should press him. You realised keeping things bottled up like he did wasn’t good. But you were scared. Scared it could ruin things. You bit on your bottom lip, hard, stifling yourself.

He turned to you then, a longing in his eyes. You knew that look very well. It was a yearning for you. “I just need some solace.”

You nodded slowly, outstretching your arms for him to meet you. He rounded the corner of the bed in a few, quick strides and dove into you. His mouth finding yours in a deep, intense kiss. You wrapped your arms tightly around his shoulders, feeling him squeeze his around your chest, like he needed to make sure you were really there. He spoke no more and that was okay.

His mouth and tongue found your neck, kissing the skin like it could kiss back, until he ceased and held his face in the crook, hugging you tightly. You ran your fingers through his hair, unsure what else you could do. Your chest felt sad and heavy, his mood affecting you immediately. But you needed to be strong. You kissed at whatever part of his face you could reach, your turn to make him feel good. Make him feel loved.

Somehow your lips met again, tongues slipping together, going from slow to fast. His anguish over what was unknown to you, turned into an urge to forget. An urge to bury himself so deep inside you, he’d forget the outside world. If not just for tonight. You would gladly give him that. Give yourself that.

Your hands ran along the tops of his arms, squeezing the muscles as you went, moaning softly when his tongue slipped into your ear, the coolness sending a shiver up your spine. You quickly found the buttons of his shirt, undoing them in equal haste, revealing the expanse of his chest. His hands tugged at the tie of your gown, getting it to fall open and reveal your chest. He cupped your breasts softly, like you would break if he tried any harder and slowly got you onto your back. Your gown slipped open fully, rendering you bare to his eyes, and he let out a sweet sound of awe. He loved your body. Always had. Always would.

You tugged where his shirt tucked into his slacks, and he ripped it from his body, desperate to get as naked as you. It wasn’t long before he was, lying atop your body, staring into your eyes as he caressed your face. His heart was beating a little faster than usual, like it did when he was aroused, yet still not that of a human heart. It never would, but it had become oddly soothing these days.

“Not too cold?” He asked, voice thick with something that had you reaching for him, holding him close.

You smiled. “No. I like it.”

He returned the action, rubbing your noses together affectionately. Your heart swelled in your chest. Fit to burst. You closed your eyes and let yourself sink when his mouth began travelling your body. Your chest rising and falling visibly as he found his way between your legs, making love with his mouth.

In fact, out of the hundreds of times you’d had sex, tonight was the closest you’d ever gotten to such an act. It just felt different. More vulnerable than ever before. Sweeter. It filled your hole body, elevated you. Took you to places you’d never been before.

He pushed inside you slowly, indulging in your velvet warmth, and when he began to thrust it was to a tantric rhythm. Your back arched, your toes curled and all that you felt was warmth. No matter how cold his flesh was, his glow engulfed your body. You wanted it to never stop.

“Tell me you’ll always want me,” he rasped into your ear. Silver and black eyes burning into yours when he pulled back to view you. It was the most defenceless thing he’d ever requested of you. Exposed in the darkness, you shone, giving him the confidence to plead for such a thing.

You held his face tight, voice a hushed whisper, but it didn’t make it any less true. You didn’t know what the future held, nor what would unfold. But you were sure of one thing. There would never be a time when you didn’t want him. You were his, and he was yours.

“Always.”

#seokjin smut #bts smut #jin smut #bts fic #jin fic #fic:club zombie #floralseokjin:writings

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merakiui · 4 years

Note

Wow! An imagines blog for afterlife! First one as far as I can see... I wish you lots of fun with this! I wonder what your favourite characters from the game are? For me it's going to be Sian and Quincy (I first think I was going to hate this little devil brat but here I am XD). If you don't mind you can do relationship hc's with them and characters of your choice if you don't mind. I don't really have anything specific in mind, just something fluffy, sorry for that! Welcome and have a nice day!

(Is it really the first? Whoa! My favorites so far would have to be Ell and Verine! There’s something refreshing about Ell’s optimistic energy, and Verine seems so soft uwu But Sian and Quincy are also growing on me too. Either way, you’ve got good taste~ Please enjoy these hcs and thank you for being the first request, anon! :D)

Relationship HCs (Sian, Quincy, Ell, and Verine)

🎤 Sian 🎤

He refuses to admit to his feelings in the beginning. Why, you may ask? Simple: It’s embarrassing.

So he does what any normal tsundere would do in that sort of situation. He pushes you away by feigning his disinterest.

Naturally, his behavior comes off as rude and abrupt, but you’re able to see past that cold exterior.

Whenever you send a smile his way or compliment him for his good work, he’s quick to deny it. Though the bright blush on his cheeks always contradicts whatever he might say.

Sometimes he thinks you just enjoy messing with him, if only to see him turn red. It’s quite cute, and you can’t help but giggle when he starts to yell.

“It’s not adorable, so stop laughing! And don’t call me cute either!”

Once you’re together, Sian drops his rude act and becomes very affectionate. He still gets shy over small aspects of your relationship, such as holding hands in public or even mustering the courage to kiss you whenever he feels like it.

Kati will definitely tease Sian whenever he talks about his wonderful, loving manager, and Cyrille will provide him with all sorts of scientific facts about the prospect of being in love, how long it exactly lasts, and why relationships are so important in terms of social interaction.

Sian does his best to ignore them, but he always finds himself getting embarrassed. “Stay out of my personal life! I don’t need your help!” Yes, he’s also blushing while he says this.

Underneath that tsundere behavior is a sweet boy who does his best to give you a perfect relationship.

He’ll take you to his favorite places to eat, claiming that you have to try some of the foods he normally gets. In return, you’ll open his horizons to the things you enjoy eating.

Definitely goes to karaoke with you! The two of you sing to your hearts’ content, sharing a few laughs at the impossible-to-hit high notes. Sian manages to surprise you the first time you hear him sing, and when you make a comment he gets extremely flustered.

On days where the weather isn’t the best, the two of you might stay inside to play card games, making small bets every now and then. Most of these bets are about the number of kisses or hugs the other will receive, and when that’s on the line Sian plays exceptionally better.

He’s written songs before, and now that the two of you are in a relationship some of these are about you. You wouldn’t have known about this had you not found a journal detailing different lyrics and song titles.

Waiting for a Sian x [insert utaite name here] collaboration.

When you confronted Sian about it, he became a mess.

Sian’s never let anyone see any of his creative work before, so this was enough to bring him close to tearing up out of pure embarrassment. He feels as though he could just die on the spot.

You understand his reaction, so you’re quick to close the journal, assuring him that you won’t pry further unless he willingly tells you more.

It takes a bit before he’s confident to actually show you and explain his thought process behind certain lyrics, but he trusts you enough and he knows you won’t laugh at him.

You’re his biggest muse when it comes to songwriting. (You’re also his biggest supporter.)

You’ll catch him humming under his breath to certain songs, and he’ll even start to mumble lyrics he’s made up on the spot. You’ll chime in with your own input, and he’ll be quick to write it down if it strikes a chord in his inspiration.

Unfortunately, his memory isn’t the best, so he often forgets things like anniversaries and special dates. He’ll always apologize with his head bowed whenever this happens, but you never seem too bothered. How can you be upset with someone as affectionate and caring as him?

In times of need, he’ll be there to assist you, as he doesn’t want you to stress yourself out. After all, it isn’t fair for his precious lover to carry overwhelming burdens all on their own.

You’ll always find yourself waking up beside the best boyfriend in the world, who will do absolutely anything for you. At the start of the relationship, he tried to do so many things to impress you. He cooked, cleaned, and made sure to always message you when you’re apart. Eventually, you had to tell him to just be himself and to stop taking advice from relationship blogs.

Please give this boy all the love in the world, and he’ll return it tenfold—albeit with a flustered stutter and pink cheeks.

🔥 Quincy 🔥

As the future Lord of the Underworld, Quincy’s quick to let others know of his position as a devil. Bow before him because it’s either his way or the highway.

He has high hopes for you and even higher hopes for himself.

Quincy will be especially impressed if you’re forward and confident in the relationship, but if you’re not that’s fine. It just means he’ll have to take the lead, which is obviously the best course of action, right? His judgement is flawless!

Just know that if anyone messes with his beloved manager, he’ll have no problem putting a curse on the unfortunate soul who decided to bother you. It’s all in good fun, so don’t worry about those silly humans who are now suffering under the weight of a heavy enchantment.

“Looks like my finger slipped. Guess you’ll have to use your puny brain to figure a way out of that. Hmph!” (Based on that cocky smirk, you’d say he’s quite satisfied with his work.)

He may even teach you a few things about the different types of magic, as he wants you to be as good as he is. Oh, but not too good! Quincy prides himself on his skills far too much to let anyone surpass him.

Every now and then, he’ll tease you about anything and everything—no matter how insignificant it is. Maybe you were late to clock in and Nyang Lead Manager scolded you, or perhaps you accidentally forget your lunch. Either way, he’s going to poke fun at those mishaps.

“Ehh? How could you forget when I reminded you earlier? Well, I suppose you can have some of my lunch. ...If you can handle it, that is.”

Spicy food is his life. He probably participates in those challenges at restaurants just to prove that he can absolutely own the competition.

Petition to get Quincy on Hot Ones.

If you’re also a fan of spicy things, it’ll be a contest to see who can handle the most spice. He ends up winning most of the time, but that’s mainly just because he’s a devil who’s used to scorching heat.

If you aren’t, he’ll be pleased to hold the title as someone who can handle extreme foods really well.

Quincy doesn’t like wasting his time on anything small, so there will always be a purpose behind what he does.

Your dates are quite the colorful variety, ranging from spending the day mixing up new elixirs to sharing stories about the Underworld. One day he’d like to show you around if you’re up for it, but the scenery might take some getting used to.

He’ll ensure that you’re never bored by dragging you around to do whatever the two of you deem exciting. When you get to relax from purifying vengeful spirits, you might find yourselves in the human world disguised under the deceptive properties of Humanizer to visit amusement parks, food vendors, and even occult shops.

The relationship is upbeat, and it keeps you on your toes. You’re never going to feel bored again with Quincy around.

Despite his teasing remarks and overflowing pride, Quincy values you a lot, and when it’s just the two of you he’ll be very endearing. It tends to catch you off guard; one minute he’s laughing about messing with Sian and the next he’s moving in to steal a quick kiss.

You’ll have to deal with any reptiles or insects that happen to cross his path, as he can’t stand them. But if you can’t handle them either, then you’ll seek out Jamie. At least he can keep them safe from Kirr and Aitachi. And from your spooked boyfriend, who wants those critters out of his sight.

Quincy will remind you to come to him if you’re ever worried over something. His advice may not be the most ground-breaking, but it’s the thought that counts. He’s willing to spend hours giving you a friendly pep-talk, and you’re bound to come out of your gloom with a fresh perspective.

☀️ Ell ☀️

He’s a ball of energetic sunshine, so be ready for a very fun, joyful relationship!

Ell always puts you first, ensuring your happiness and well-being.

Honesty is key in this relationship, and that’s mainly because he can’t lie due to his constant sneezing.

And that’s okay because he has nothing to lie about anyways! He doesn’t want to hide anything from you; he’d rather you know than try to keep it a secret.

Imagine all of the cute dates! The both of you could go to bakeries and and sweet shops to try all sorts of delicious treats. Ell would be fond of anything sugary, insisting on playfully feeding you while you’re out in public. Or the two of you could visit craft stores so he can get more supplies for his needle felting.

He’s very big on PDA. Expect lots of hand-holding, random hugs, and kisses on the cheek—even around others when you least expect it. He’ll always smile at you, commenting on how charming you look when you blush at his sudden displays of affection.

Though he’ll try his best to tone it down if Nyang Lead Manager says something about it during work hours. He’ll quietly whine and protest as he tries to explain that it’s hard to resist. He just loves you so much! His complaints tend to get cut off once he starts to sneeze, though.

Along with gifting you his needle felting creations, he’ll also play the lyre for you. He’d be so excited to show you all of the beautiful music it can make. Sometimes he’ll play a few soothing melodies if you have trouble falling asleep.

Speaking of sleep, he adores cuddling. You’ll probably wake up each morning with him clinging to you, the blanket cast aside.

If you’re fond of taking photos, he’ll let you use the light from his halo to brighten the pictures. It makes for a perfect ring light, and he doesn’t mind others wanting to use it. After all, Licht and Kati like to use it for their SNS, so you should too.

If you’re ever having a bad day, Ell will be there to make it better. He’ll do all sorts of things for you, hearing you out when you vent to him about what’s bothering you and even attempting to make a few tiny miracles happen. Anything for his favorite person in the world!

There are times when he feels down as well, but it’s not for long. You’ll always be there to cheer him up. He’s fortunate that you have the patience to help him put his negative emotions into words, and you’ll even sit through all of the times he sneezes. For that, he’s very grateful.

His heart beats faster and he gets bashful when you praise him, but he’ll always fire back with plenty of genuine compliments so you won’t feel left out. There’s lots of love to go around.

Overall, the relationship is so sweet and enjoyable. Ell makes sure there’s never a dull moment when you’re with him, and he truly believes that the two of you will be together for a long time.

He loves you with all of his angelic heart.

“I wish we could spend more time together, but Nyang Lead Manager is giving us so much work. It’s really not—achoo!”

💊 Verine 💊

At first, Verine wonders if the reason you chose to be near him is because of the desire to protect such a sickly Soul Reaper. It bothers him to no end, as he does his best to stay strong despite always having to take different medicines and vitamins.

Once he realizes that you’re not there to pester him about his health, he’s pleasantly surprised. He’s used to others giving him looks of pity, so when you offer your support he can’t help but feel warm inside.

It actually takes him quite a while to confess; the stress of it all was like attempting to find the correct medicine for a specific ailment.

Still, he manages to push his self-consciousness aside in favor of his heart’s wishes, and it succeeds! Luckily for him, since Verine believed his chances were very slim.

While Mori considers him to be a paper doll, you think the opposite. Your boyfriend may be physically weak, but he’s got a strong will and is incredibly gentle with you.

Even if he acts like the presences of others disturbs him, he’s actually quite happy to be near the Soul Reapers. He’s always interacting with the Reapers in Diluculo, but he finds that your company is by far the best.

Most of your dates consist of staying indoors, since Verine doesn’t like the overwhelming temperatures of the outside world. (Occasionally, he’ll sacrifice his comfort so that you can enjoy the outdoors every now and then.)

However, the two of you still find plenty of things to do while inside. From watching your favorite films to assisting Verine with his medicinal herb garden, a lot of these cozy dates are quite serene.

He loves it when you cook his favorite foods. Any meal prepared by your loving hands is a gift he treasures—so much so that he thoroughly believes it’ll heal his aches and pains. Sometimes he doesn’t know how to return the gesture, so you’ll have to reassure him that you don’t need anything. Just his love is enough, and that makes him smile a bit.

Verine is touch-starved since most of his living life was spent in a hospital bed and the only contact he ever received was from doctors checking his vitals. So he’s always eager to let you hug and kiss him.

He might not be into cuddling at first only because he’s afraid his constant coughing will disrupt the calm atmosphere, but once you explain that that doesn’t bother you he’s willing to give it a try. He ends up liking it more than he thought he would, which results in lazy days where the two of you just nap in each other’s arms.

He’ll always be there for you no matter what, and he checks to make sure you’re healthy. Your physical and mental health is very important to him.

If the the two of you ever get into a disagreement, he may bottle up his true feelings for the sake of pacifying you. In the end, both of you talk through it, and this allows Verine to slowly but surely open up about how he really feels.

Verine might keep a lot of his emotions to himself when around the others, but with you he doesn’t have to.

“Ah, I must’ve fainted again. I really am useless.”

When he gets like that, just tell this sweetheart he’s in no way useless. He’s perfect in your eyes, even with his coughing and eternal illnesses, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

#afterl!fe #after l!fe #afterl!fe sian #afterl!fe quincy #afterl!fe ell #afterl!fe verine #relationship headcanons #afterl!fe x reader #afterl!fe headcanons #afterl!fe hcs #afterl!fe the sacred kaleidoscope #sian #quincy #ell #verine #afterl!fe sian x reader #afterl!fe quincy x reader #afterl!fe verine x reader #afterl!fe ell x reader

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sweetwritertanya · 4 years

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Little Girl In A Pink Dress

Summary: Things around your house start getting strange right after a disastrous fire that happened and you don’t believe it is just your imagination.

Warnings: None, this is just soft HORROR. Nothing violent or graphic in any way, just a spooky tale I always wanted to write. If you read it, thank you so much in advance. I really appreciate it!

Word Count: 1299

It is strange, how suddenly houses can get haunted by the unseen spirits. A normal house, with no background of anything unusual happening before, can become a beacon for the paranormal overnight.

In your house’s case, it happened after a massive fire. An electrical issue made your home catch on fire during a summer night and you had to watch as the firefighters put out the flames and, later on, how the constructers rebuild from the ashes.

You thought it was just an unfortunate event, that it was over now and that you could be at peace once more in your newly rebuilt house, where you had lived for over ten years now. But after you moved back in, strange things started to occur.

It started simple, like your keys not being where you remembered putting them. Or a glass of water on the counter that you don’t remember being there when you left the kitchen. The creak of wood, as if a footstep when you lived alone.

Even so, these were all things you could look past, turn a blind eye on. Explainable, in one way or another. You were getting older, so maybe your memory wasn’t as reliable. Maybe you’re still stressed about the fire and your brain got a bit unfocused while doing mundane things. Maybe you were just imagining things.

A dog appeared in your backyard one afternoon. It was a big golden retriever, with kind chocolate eyes and a clean fur, so you doubted it was a stray dog. He looked at you with a curious stare and never wondered off your lawn, so you decided to just keep feeding it until it either ran away again or someone came and found him. He never allowed you to pet him though, which meant that maybe his previous owner wasn’t caring enough to look for him in the first place.

Turns out he became a much-needed distraction for when things got weird. But even he couldn’t help you when things got positively worse. You would be walking down your hallway in silent until you noticed the faint voices in the background, whispers like a conversation in another room. Of course, no one was there. Occasionally, you would open up a door or a cabinet and hear like a gasp or squeak.

One day, you were trying to sleep early in bed when the TV on your living room turned on by itself. Frustrated about all of this, you raged out of your bed, screaming to whatever was in the house to knock it off and turned off the screen. Only to in response hear screams mixing with the autumn wind outside. The dog barked alarmingly loud, a mix of scared and protective. Whatever it was, it did not like being challenged like that and you got a bad feeling.

Your house became like a prison. You started to question your every move, if anything would upset the entity residing with you. The town’s church was unwilling to help you, ignoring all your stories and refusing to acknowledge your situation. So, you had started to do research on it yourself. You started investigating, trying to figure out if this was just a ghost, a poltergeist or worst… a demon.

During a sunny afternoon in the midst of October, while you were at your computer trying to do some research, you looked out the window with the expectation of finding the golden retriever playing alone, like he usually did and you always found it funny to watch. But today he was not alone. There was a little girl in a pink dress playing with him.

Shocked, you stood up from your chair and run downstairs to your backyard, wondering where this little girl just came from.

“H-Hello?” you call to the little girl when you step into the lawn, going in the direction she and the dog were sitting at.

She looks up with bright vivid green eyes, a pale freckled skin and caramel blonde hair falling to her shoulders. The girl was a small infant, no older than four or five years old. Your maternal instinct kicked in and you looked around to see who she was with. But you saw no one.

“I’m playing with Chester” she says in a sweet voice.

“Oh? And who is that?” you ask, squatting down to her height next to her.

“Chester the cat” she responds, with a pat on the golden retriever’s head.

“You mean him?” You chuckle despite your worry and the smile stays as you speak. “He is not a cat, he is a dog. They’re very different.”

“Oh.” The kid simply says, almost indifferent as she keeps petting him. “My mom don’t want pets. But my uncle has a… a dog!” she giggles innocently as the dog licks her tiny hand.

“That’s nice. So… where is your mom?” you try and gather information.

“She has work today. So I stay with my aunt.”

“I see. And, can you tell me where your aunt is? I can take you to her, if you want” you offer, already looking around the street again and not seeing anyone.

“My aunt and uncle don’t like you much” she states with frowned eyebrows.

“Oh? Do I know them?” you get confused.

“I don’t know. They know you, but my aunt don’t like you.”

Something doesn’t feel right. Your heart starts pounding and you feel like the rug is slowly being pulled from under your feet. With a dry mouth, you keep questioning the young girl.

“Why? I’m a nice person, I think” you say, hesitant. “My name is Y/N, by the way. What’s your name?”

Instead of an answer from her, you hear a faint voice call out. The same faint voice you heard sometimes in whispers around the house, a female voice searching for someone and you can almost figure out what she was saying. When the girl gets up to her feet and runs towards your house, the dog following suit, you stand up and see it at last.

A young woman coming out of your house. Dark hair but light eyes, dressed casually and picking up the girl in her arms.

“Amy! What are you doing here? Playing with Chester?” she asks, her voice now crystal-clear in your ears. You feel like throwing up.

“Yes, aunty! And her!”

The kid points her index finger to your paralyzed form. You watch the woman’s eyes glance up your way with no recognition whatsoever behind them. They just look right past you.

“Who, baby?”

“The nice lady. Her name is Y/N, aunty. Why don’t you like her?”

The woman gets visibly shaken and shifts the conversation completely as she goes back into the house. Your house.

Your feet start moving even though your brain is still unable to work. You look at the dog, Chester it seems, and he looks at you just fine. Like he always did. The kid from inside waves at you before the woman puts her in a feeding chair.

Walking in, you follow the woman to the corridor as she takes her phone from her back pocket and makes a call, feet restless as she paces left and right. She is biting her nail before the person on the other side answer.

“Phil? Phil, hey, I think we need to move out.” A pause as the man speaks on the other side. “No, no, you don’t get it. Your niece just said she spoke to her. She even said her name, Phil! How could she know her name, we never spoke of it!”

Another pause. The world around you feels like its crumbling and the next line from this woman shatters it completely.

“Yes, Y/N. The woman who died in that fire a year ago.”

#halloween special #13 stories for halloween #halloween #original story #original fiction #reader pov #horror #horror story #horror one-shot #spooky season #haunted house

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lisatelramor · 4 years

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Be a Better Me

Hi, I’m back with angst fic. >_>

So with COVID19 going on I 1) had more time to write + 2) have had a bit more background anxiety with the world, and stress + time = angstfic for me most of the time. So this got written in about a month. Instead of any of my WIPs =_=;;;;; Hope other people are up for some angst. Either way I'm being sent back to work next week so I'm glad it chose to finish when it did.

This was 100% inspired by @ickaimp's Robo!Kaito fic and has probably low key kicked around my brain for years since I read it back in like 2011.

Chapter 1

His arm aches. Kaito flexes his hand, blood running down from the bullet graze that feels like fire. The robot that impersonated him is wires and synthetic skin smoking in a pile. He feels sick in his stomach, both from almost dying after a few days trapped in a lab and because he’d just seen something that had run around with his face blow its own head off.

It’s just a robot, but it’d thought it was human. It’d thought it was him, had seen his memories, just hadn’t quite been human enough to understand life, death, or morals. What kind of sick fuck made something like that?

Kaito shudders. His hand flexes again. Bandages. He needs bandages, and maybe stitches, or maybe to just. Go lie down.

His skin doesn’t feel quite right but that’s the shock probably. A lot’s happened in a couple days’ time. Like finding out someone with his face killed someone. A creepy scientist who also kidnapped Kaito, but yeah. How anything that had Kaito’s memories and personality could do that… He shudders again.

Kaito isn’t a megalomaniac in disguise right? He has lines and morals and things he’d never do in a million years, even if some of his morals are grayer than others. He doesn’t hurt people. Not physically permanent. And not any other way if he can help it.

Blood drips from his fingertips.

There’s a laboratory burning down with a corpse of a man who tried to make a man from metal out there and Kaito doesn’t want anything more to do with it.

He turns away. He has a gem to return and a budding reputation to save.

o*O*o

He feels weird for a while after that. It’s the trauma probably. Kaito can’t say his life has ever been normal. His father was a stage magician, both his parents turned out to be thieves, and he puts on a white suit to stir up shadows to try and find out why his father was murdered. That’s hardly the sort of thing a teenager usually goes through, but killer robots and kidnapping were new. His balance a bit off for a day? He spent two days strapped to a table. His arm took a bit to work right? He did get grazed by a bullet. Swimming takes a bit more effort than the last time he did it? Not weird since he generally avoids swimming in the ocean if he can. Aoko’s mop swings seem a little slower? He’s kind of hyper aware of attacks lately, so he’s just paying more attention.

Things are different but not that different so it’s just his head being weird about it all. Life goes on, he stops feeling a bit off and he keeps on going as usual. Bait Aoko, play like a good student, perform magic, and pull of the next heist. Simple.

But then there’s suddenly a magic wielding witch and a detective trying to sniff him out, and life just keeps getting weirder. He doesn’t remember it being this strange before he became Kid, but it must have been at least a little weird. It’s just that practicing magic and acrobatics with Aoko and actual magic and jumping off buildings are very different things. It’s a miracle he’s managed not to break anything. What with the roller coaster, or jumping off buildings, or getting shot at, or ghost(?) pirates, or being attacked by a hoard of hairy rats… Yeah. Life is weird.

So if Kaito’s a little weird in it, well, he fits right in, now doesn’t he?

o*O*o

Kaito’s chest is aching and there’s a nasty bruise forming. He supposes that’s what happens when a gem blocks a bullet. It’s yet another miracle the sapphire didn’t shatter let alone that the bullet hit it instead of him at all. Aoko liked her birthday gift but it had taken all Kaito had to set that up for her and he’s dead on his feet now.

He might have a cracked rib too. He winces, easing off the costume. It has a hole—two really where the bullet deflected—that will need patched and the usual bleach treatments to keep it white. White is the worst color for climbing around rooftops and crawlspaces. He’d change it if it wasn’t for the fact that it’s one of Kid’s signature identifiers at this point. Thanks, Oyaji.

The bruise is worse than he first thought when he gets his shirt off. Mottled purple all along the left side of his chest. Like someone took a wooden mallet to him.

Thankfully there’s an x-ray machine down in Kid’s hideaway. It’s old and definitely not something he’s going to ever use much because, well, radiation, but he’d rather know if he’s managed to break a rib or not so he knows how much acrobatics he can get away with.

It takes a bit to set up and a bit longer to figure out how to get everything to work, but fifteen minutes later he’s got x-ray film developing in a little darkroom off to the side because apparently his dad had a little bit of everything thought out down here. He loves and hates it in equal measures sometimes.

He sighs, feeling the deep breathing ache, and looks at the forming image. And frowns.

He’s not a medical expert, far from it, but he has a general run down of the human body and has seen x-rays before. What Kaito’s looking at? Not what he’d expect to see. There’s ribs, yes, but they’re not quite right, and too dark. Then there’s all the metal. It’s like his nervous system is registering as wires, radiating out like something from one of his textbooks, same with the circulatory system that’s a bit too dark on the film. Should he even be seeing that? Heart, maybe, but branching signs of the rest of his veins and arteries? His lungs aren’t the right shape. The vague shadows of organs aren’t right either. And there’s… there’s the shadow of screws and pins and mechanical bits that shouldn’t be there. There’s wires instead of tendons that shouldn’t be showing and he has to stare.

His chest throbs and he looks down at it. Bruising. At the film. Barely resembling something human. He hurts. Aches. Yet there in front of him is mechanical parts.

Feeling like he’s floating, or maybe sinking, Kaito plucks one of his razor cards from its deck. He slides it along his finger. Skin parts, blood wells up, pain registers dimly.

But is it blood?

It drips, just a few drops, already clotting as he stares. It’s red as any blood he’s seen. The pain is real. And yet. He looks at the film.

Kaito hasn’t thought about the robot in months. Why would he? It’s over and done. He’d read a police report about the lab in the paper. About the body found and the equipment sitting in police evidence for ages as the murder case went cold. They didn’t know to look for a robot. And the robot had been left for scrap. Kaito doesn’t know what had happened to its remains.

There hadn’t been a second body found.

He looks back at his hand and finds it shaking.

The robot’s face had peeled off, but when he tugs at his cheek he just feels pain. Same with his hair. He feels. He eats and shits and sleeps and bleeds. His breath is coming too fast and it hurts.

It’s a mistake, right? He could take another scan and it’d be normal. Human. He could scan his hand and it would be bone and tendons and the ghost of muscle, not wire and metal joints that would make a prosthetic expert weep. Not too-dark veins and tendrils of nerves that shouldn’t be visible.

His lungs were the wrong shape, he couldn’t breathe.

“Shit.”

He’s Kaito, right? Just a normal teenager with an abnormal life. Just a normal, human teenager.

The robot thought it was human.

The robot thought it was Kaito.

Kaito doesn’t remember being taken, he just remembers waking up strapped down. But the robot barely passed as human. But Kaito has wires in his chest.

He looks at the film again. “Well. No cracked rib.” He laughs. It’s not funny at all. He can’t breathe. “What do I do?”

The empty basement hideaway his father left him has no answers at all.

Like usual, it’s just Kaito facing crisis alone.

He’s never felt worse.

o*O*o

Eventually, he picks himself off the floor. Eventually he changes into new clothes. Eventually he slides into bed and sleeps, terribly, but sleeps. He sees his face melting in his dreams, a broken metallic skull leaking fluid and smoke and blank mechanical eyes staring at him. His skin peeling away to show metal bones and wires as everyone he loves stares in horror.

Kaito wakes up feeling like he’s going to throw up, in a cold sweat. He can dream and sweat and feel sickening terror, surely he’s wrong. Surely.

But the x-ray is the same damning image this morning as it was last night.

Kaito’s hands start shaking again.

If he goes into class, Hakuba will take one look at him and know something’s up. Hell, Aoko will notice. He laces his fingers together. Poker face. Poker face. Whatever is going on, he’s still been Kaito for months without noticing anything wrong so. So maybe he’s… a cyborg or something. A robot wouldn’t be having a panic attack about being a robot. Who would want to make a robot capable of having a panic attack in the first place?

He doesn’t know what the hell is going on, but he needs answers before he can do anything else.

Kaito calls in sick, leaves Aoko a message so she doesn’t show up demanding he get ready for school. Eats plain toast without tasting it—how can he taste it?—and slides on his shoes. His chest is a mass of dark bruises just like a human body that had a bullet deflected should be. But nothing under his skin is apparently human.

It’s easy to slip into the police record room with a borrowed face, and a matter of minutes to seek out the mad doctor’s case record. His charred remains are photographed in gristly glory front and center, but his cause of death isn’t fire. Kaito knows his hands don’t have the sort of strength to do what that file describes.

He almost throws up looking at it.

There’s lab equipment listed off, melted computers and bits of paper files to survive the destruction kept in evidence files. Kaito might need to come back and see what he can salvage from them. If he’s… not fully human, he might need some of the doctor’s research no matter how much the thought makes his skin crawl. There’s nothing in the file about the robot, but there is notes about unfinished pieces parts sifted from the wreckage. Police notes only speculate what they thought was going on in the labs.

The file doesn’t mention another body.

Kaito does a quick look into active unidentified male bodies found in the last few months, but none of them are young enough to be him. None of them recognizable. It should be a good thing.

It should be.

Instead it has Kaito’s breathing tight again because what if he died and no one ever found the body? What if he rots somewhere and no one will ever know he’s not. That’s Kaito’s not.

He leaves the police station.

There’s a disconnect between his self and emotions and it’s something he’s done before, but rarely outside of a heist. His poker face, most of the time, is an act. This is different. This is shutting bits of himself away because otherwise he couldn’t function. This is putting off a breakdown knowing it’ll be that much worse later. This is shutting a door knowing it’s going to open later and drown him.

He heads for the lab. It’s the only place he can think to go.

o*O*o

The building is condemned. It’s a burnt husk of a thing and a surprise that it hasn’t been torn down yet. Perhaps the doctor had owned it and it’s in the air what to do with it. Either way, Kaito approaches with detached caution.

He can remember leaving here in a rush, the explosion that followed not long after he made it out. He can remember the sickening glimpse of a body on his way out, trying not to look too hard and knowing it’d haunt his nightmares. Kaito steps inside and pinpoints the twisted metal that was once where he was strapped down, the shattered remains of the memory transfer machines still imbedded into the wall behind it.

The police had removed a lot of things, but they couldn’t remove the scorch marks on the walls and floor or the dark bloodstains in the corner. He shivers.

What is he doing here? The scene was gone over by police. It’s not like he’s going to find something they didn’t, and it’s not like he’s going to know what any of the machine bits left can do beyond the memory transfer one.

It’s damp and drafty inside. It smells like wet ashes and chemicals and he wants to turn around and leave, especially when he sees a metal start of a skeleton still bolted to the back wall. How many had this guy made? How many robot failures before the one that Kaito fought? How many thought they were human? How many other people were kidnapped in the process of building these things?

Things. Robots were things. And Kaito was…

The wall had collapsed along one side, and no one had bothered to clear the rubble. If Kaito was a crazy robot building scientist that kidnapped teenagers, what would he do with them? Ok, he’d been strapped down to the memory machine. But if he built a robot and implanted memories in it, he’d want to compare, right? He’d want to prove that he’d done the transfer right, so he wouldn’t just get rid of the teenager. The robot Kaito faced had transferred memories fine, but the emotional and moral processes hadn’t been right. The doctor had been basing it off Kaito and if Kaito was. If he was then that meant the transfer had worked right on Kaito. Probably. And maybe the scientist had been trying to duplicate whatever happened with Kaito or maybe they’d been two different models for different purposes. Who the hell knew at this point? Certainly not Kaito.

Kaito prods at rubble. If there’s one thing he’s learned about people who have secrets to hide, things aren’t as they appear. This is a lab, but it’s missing living space. It’s missing storage and a metal foundry. The pieces that built the robots are too specialized to not be custom made. The cabinets that had existed had to have been full of wires and polymers and the fine details bits that you’d want a nice open workspace to better work with, but there had to be a place the doctor had done the base work and he’s not seeing any sign of it here. Just the start of the skeleton on the wall that’s missing its head and lower half.

He can’t look at it. It’s somewhere in between the scan Kaito took of his chest and the metal chassis from the robot he fought, its skin peeling back and—

There had to be a basement. Still is a basement probably. But the door is either hidden or buried, and Kaito’s not sure what to do first. Test the shattered remains of cabinet bases? Try scrounging through rubble? See if anything still hooked into the wall shifts and shows a hidden room like his painting at home?

The basement wouldn’t have been legally added or the police would have its existence on file for the building blueprints. But most of this place can’t have been legally built. Not with the amount of equipment secreted away. People would have asked questions. So. Hidden door.

Kaito estimates wall thicknesses versus the interior versus how dangerous it is to get close to places where the ceiling and walls are still crumbling bit by bit.

There’s a cabinet with shattered glass cases and medical supplies that have all been taken away as evidence. Kaito vaguely remembers it before the explosion. Despite half a roof caving in around it, it’s still in one piece structurally and that means it’s built stronger than a cabinet should be.

It takes twenty minutes of careful prodding and digging and tugging to get it to budge and when it does it shrieks like rusted hinges. But Kaito keeps pulling and gets a space big enough for him to crawl through, stairs traveling down.

It’s dark and even mustier than above. The floor must have cracked or the foundations, and it’s growing mold, but Kaito’s surprised to find it isn’t completely dark. Somehow there’s still power running here, probably underground. The overhead lights are shattered but in the gloom are a few red blinking lights of appliances.

Kaito wants to turn back but he’s never been one to shy away from the truth.

Glass crunches under his shoes as his small pocket flashlight illuminates fragments of the dark. A table. A kitchen. A bed, all in the first room, but heavy metal doors beyond. They’re warped though, and the ceiling sags ominously where a support beam crumpled slightly from the explosion above. Kaito has no idea how it didn’t get destroyed with the rest of the place, but it had to have been the placement of explosives.

He creeps further, leaving the eerily normal living area for one of the metal doors. It’s stuck, but he gets it to move enough to squeeze past, his ribs protesting the movement. It’s fine. It’s not important. The room is the metal foundry he’d expected, casts and tools and carefully disguised air vents branching off. It’s heavily reinforced, probably also muffled so the metalwork didn’t make too much noise. He sees finished metal bones, all sorted neatly into labeled bins and racks of molds. There’s a half-finished skull just sitting there on a work bench, empty eye sockets unnerving.

Kaito wrenching his eyes away from it. There’s papers and diagrams, documents on the doctor’s research about how the robotic body comes together, about alloys and density and weights that Kaito should keep if it ever becomes something he needs—He drops the thought into that emotional void growing in his head.

If he needs anything from here, he will take it. And will not think about what it means.

The documents about the muscular, nervous, circulatory and digestive systems aren’t here. Might not even exist anymore. But there had been a personal computer in the living space and it had glass littering it like the floor, but it wasn’t destroyed. It was one of the blinking red lights, so maybe…

Kaito’s taking that when he leaves.

The other metal door is warped worse than the foundry. Kaito has to go and get a metal femur to lever the gap wide enough to pass through and he’s surprised to find the inside almost fully intact.

One light flickers on, the only bulb not destroyed. He’s not sure at first what the room is. There’s a filing cabinet by the door, sure, but also a chest freezer and something that looks like an opaque glass case except there are wires running to it and an electric hum that’s louder than the freezer. Something in his instincts prickle and Kaito can’t explain the heavy terrified feeling bubbling in his gut the longer he stares at the simple room in the dim, flicker light.

Glass crunches and he tugs the freezer lid up. He’s half expecting to find a dismembered corpse in there. There’s not a corpse but there is vial after vial of dark liquids with strings of numbers on them and containers labeled ‘skin’ with numbers after them. The liquid looks a lot like blood. Kaito’s stomach lurches. The other containers are opaque and thankfully impossible to tell the contents of, though they could be organs, real or synthetic. Kaito really hopes the skin is synthetic.

He lets the lid close and tugs the file cabinet drawers. Locked, but he can easily get in them later. That leaves the glass case.

It has a computerized box attached to the front with strings of numbers displayed that mean absolutely nothing to Kaito. There’s controls too, but the only one he cares about is the one that opens the glass case. It unlocks with a pneumatic hiss, like its contents were under pressure and Kaito swings the glass up.

And stares down at his face.

Peaceful. Like it’s asleep. He’s asleep. But his lips are bluish and his skin is pale and, when Kaito reaches out with a shaking hand, he’s cold to the touch.

The police never found a second body.

The room goes a little sideways and dark and Kaito realizes only after his face is mashed against the metal edge of the glass case that he’s hyperventilating.

“Shit,” he hisses through chattering teeth. “Shit.” His hair’s standing on end and his whole body is shaking and he’s having a panic attack next to his own corpse. “Shit.” It shouldn’t be possible to have a panic attack when he isn’t even real.

The room keeps spinning and blinking bright and dark as he tries to control his breathing. Shit, how can he hyperventilate when he doesn’t have real lungs and maybe not even a real brain—unless. He pops back up like a man drowning and scrabbles for the case.

He tilts Kai—the body’s head one way or another, but there’s no sign of it being cut open. The hair’s the same wiry texture he feels when he touches his head and there’s no injury he can feel. The knobs of its spine along the neck are intact. There’s wires, now that he’s looking, glued at the temples, but they’re not going in the body. There’s wires other places too and he has a stupid, fleeting moment of gratitude that at least the sick fuck that did this left Kaito’s underwear on. The body’s. Shit. There’s no marks and no indication of what happened, but the body isn’t breathing and there’s no pulse at its throat and it’s Kaito’s body right there.

It’s him but it’s not because Kaito isn’t.

He has to let go of the body and take three steps away to empty the meager contents of his stomach on the glass-littered floor. Stomach bile burns his throat. Is it even stomach acid? Is it even—how is he digesting if he’s wires and not-quite-organs? What is he?

He’s crying and hiccupping and he can’t quite seem to stop, the sour taste in his mouth and the smell of mold in his nose. What was the point in making a robot so close to human it can’t tell the difference between flesh and machine? What’s the point of a machine that can cry and vomit and panic like a real person? What’s the point of killing a teenager to replace him with a machine?

He crouches for an unknown period of time until the panic sort of flat lines and his tears dry. His hands stop shaking and his throat is raw, each breath a rasp. He bleeds and feels pain and emotions and—

Kaito goes back to the body. His body. Say the memory transfer worked. Say that Kaito in his entirety went from human flesh and bone to this. Intact. Say that the process fried Kaito’s brain and the doctor was left with a comatose teenager and a robot that didn’t know it was a robot. What would the doctor do with his mistake? Was the case to preserve the corpse? To keep the body as reference or had there been another purpose?

Or maybe the process hadn’t fried Kaito’s brain. Maybe the real Kaito had looked at his double. At the other Kaito and tried to break free. Maybe he’d been sedated or something else went wrong. But maybe that Kaito had died in terror and left an imposter in his place.

Kaito will never know.

There is no sign of decomposition. No sign of the body going through rigor mortis or any kind of trauma. Like he’s just sleeping. Like a few tiny stimuli could open the hidden blue eyes and the body would rise up and express how frigging cold it is in the case.

Maybe, for a scientist playing god, that had been the intent. Make a man from scratch achieved, next step bring back the dead. The first person to successfully revive a cryo patient.

Kaito closes his eyes, then closes the glass case. He can’t look at his own body anymore. He can’t. It seals with another hiss, preserving the body for however long the machine keeps running.

What the hell is he supposed to do?

He presses the heels of his hands against his swollen eyes. It’s not right to leave this here. It’s not right for any of this to be left here. It’s not right for Kaito to take the place of the real Kaito either but he doesn’t know what the hell to do. He’s been taking his place for months now; what else is there for him?

Is it better or worse if he is, in fact, a complete imprint of Kaito’s brain? Would he even know the difference if something is missing?

Worst of all, no one noticed. Not Aoko. Not Kaito or Jii. Not Kaito’s own mother. No one.

Kaito died alone. And no one noticed.

He’s crying again, not sure if it’s for himself or for the body at his back. Months. Months.

The overhead light flickers out and all at once Kaito can’t stay here. It’s like he’s the one in the box, trapped and slowly running out of air, and he squeezes out the door and up the stairs before he can even process moving. He doesn’t stop until he’s up a tree and breathing smoke and mold free air and trying to stop trembling. ‘What now?’ his mind asks. ‘What now, what now, what now?’

It’s night when he finally moves. He doesn’t know how long he sat up a tree, can’t remember the sun going down, only knowing that his body aches everywhere from stillness and unforgiving solid tree limbs beneath his ass. He makes a call. “Jii?”

He doesn’t know what his voice sounds like, couldn’t pick up his poker face if he tried right now.

It must be horrible though because Jii’s voice comes through the line sharp and worried. “What’s happened?” he asks.

There’s no way to start, no words to draw on to explain the mess that this is. How does someone say that they’re dead? That they’re dead and not, human and not, all at the same time?

“Kaito-bocchama?” Jii says sharper.

“How good,” Kaito says, voice gone all wobbly and out of control, “is that friend of yours with robotics?”

“…Kaito-bocchama?” Jii says a lot more dubiously.

Kaito licks his lips with a dry tongue. Dry mouth. Probably dehydrated and doesn’t that make no sense for a robot to have that feature. “There’s a problem. And I don’t know what to do,” he admits.

He can’t say it. How can he say to Jii that Kaito’s dead, like Toichi is dead, to Kaito’s mom that he’s dead and there’s just this remnant body of wires and meat-mimicking mess wearing his face left? How can he do that?

“Where are you?” Jii says, the sound of him getting clothing, maybe or a coat in the background.

Kaito hesitates, but gives the address of the burned down lab. “How good is your friend with robotics?” he asks again.

“…It isn’t his specialty,” Jii says after a long moment.

“Ah.” Too much to hope for. Still, maybe this mysterious friend Jii gets the occasional gadget from will know how to read the research notes better than Kaito would. Keys jingle as Jii locks his front door. “Jii?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry, in advance,” Kaito says knowing it’s not enough. He hangs up before Jii can say anything in response and doesn’t pick up the return call. Instead he stuffs his phone in a pocket and covers his face with his hands and just breathes. If nothing else makes sense, at least he can do that.

#magic kaito #detective conan #robot kaito #fanfiction #my writing #not really shippy this time guys #but there's a lot of skirting the lines later #and much friendship #you know #between the angst moments

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jademight · 4 years

Note

What does it *feel* like for Bruce, sharing space with another consciousness? Does he feel like the Hulk is a part of him that has been separated/exacerbated, or does he feel like an entirely separate entity within Bruce?

Character development time! Give me some interesting questions about my character and I will answer.

This is a great question and I’m going to split it into three chunks. One, what Bruce thinks about the Hulk, and two, what Hulk is in relation to Bruce and three, how it Feels on a given day.

Massive wall of text below lmfao.

So Bruce’s views on the Hulk and their relationship changes and varies extremely over the years, so I’m going to break this into yearly chunks.

PART ONE: BANNER V HULK.

The First Two Years- Early Days and On The Run

So, in the early days, Bruce’s views on the Hulk are....really not kind. For the first two years, really up until the end of The Incredible Hulk movie, Bruce considers Hulk a foreign entity. A monster that was unleashed in the wake of the Gamma Bomb, a genie that Bruce had to actively work on keeping in the bottle. Bruce was genuinely afraid of the Hulk and did all he could to not cause a trigger. Only after being told of Hulk’s interactions with Betty and his discovery that he can ‘aim’ the Hulk, he started to somewhat see It in a different light.

Yes, It, because for a while Bruce didn’t consider the Hulk an individual.

Year Three - Avengers Days

So this is the period of time when Bruce really starts to make a concentrated effort at trying to understand the Hulk and what it-- he is. He starts to key into the fact that Hulk isn’t an entirely foreign entity, and that there is a deeper connection between the two of them. There is a part of him that suspects the DID diagnosis deep down, but he absolutely denies it and goes to the conclusion of ‘Hm, maybe it was a buried part of my subconsciousness, the Freudian ID to my Ego.’

So while Bruce no longer sees the Hulk as an altogether foreign entity, he still feels like he is merely a fragment, base thoughts and desires given green form. Something that can be kept at an arm’s length but still something he’d rather avoid. ( Hence, his aversion to Code Green.)

Year Four. - Planet Hulk

This is when shit gets complicated.

So Hulk gets sucked up through the portal and ends up in Sakaar. Initially he is still operating on survival instincts, fronting for days on end so Bruce doesn’t get hurt. But then days become weeks, weeks become months. And Hulk starts...having a kind of a life there. A life where he is not seen as The Green Monster but rather someone people cheer on, and he really likes that. So he shuts Bruce out, on purpose. Bruce, in the aftermath of AoU and being forced to go on a rampage, is emotionally shut down, so he doesn’t put up much of a ‘fight’, as it were. And as a result Hulk remains Hulked out for a whole year until Thor comes and manages to switch him back to Banner. (In my canon it’s not a recording of Nat but probably a recording or a picture of Betty or something along those lines.)

However, once Bruce comes to and realizes what has happened, he can no longer deny that Hulk is a person wholly his own and not merely a fragment. After Sakaar, Bruce has to admit to himself that he has some form of an identity disorder.

Year Five - Just A Man and his Green Friend

They get back on Earth, and at this point Hulk is no longer operating on childlike survival instincts, he is fully cognizant and has a full vocabulary. Both of them have a somewhat contentious relationship because Bruce is back to being afraid and apprehensive of the Hulk, so he’d rather avoid a full transformation. But he now recognizes Hulk is not a Thing he can ignore now, so they are attempting to communicate and reach some form of common ground.

PART TWO: WHAT IS A HULK ANYWAY?

Though Bruce tried his best to deny it, Hulk is absolutely a separate individual within Bruce’s mind. He was ‘created’, as you will, during Bruce’s childhood, when his young brain couldn’t handle the verbal and physical abuse at the hands of Brian and function as a normal kid so his brain created a separate individual who could endure the blows, someone who could take in all of Bruce’s rage and anger and fear and hold onto it for him. Once Brian was institutionalized and was no longer a factor in Bruce’s mind, this personality went dormant.

Until the Gamma Bomb.

So up until the Avengers, a.k.a. when Bruce made the conscious effort to ‘reach out’ to the Hulk, every time he surfaced, he existed within the moment of trauma, of being caught up in all the anger and fear and thus living in a state of perpetual Fight or Flight. This is why the Hulk we see in the early days have the vocabulary of a child and exists purely on instinctual reactions. Once he gets to Sakaar and he has the opportunity to calm down and exist outside the moment of trauma, the actual personality buried underneath all the emotions start to come out, and he becomes more verbal and has a more extensive vocabulary. (It’s not babyfied like Ragnarok, but he nevertheless likes to stick to short and to the point sentences). He is still a being of emotion and will revert back to that anger and rage when sufficiently distressed, but he is more cognizant overall.

I do want to make a point to say that even though Hulk can be really annoyed by Bruce and his attitude towards him, he is ultimately there to protect Bruce from harm and be the Caring Grown Up figure he never had. But there is also that push and pull of wanting to have his own life but also being part of Bruce and sharing the body. So it’s a complicated issue they have to get through. (Is integration into one cohesive mind possible? Sure, but they have a LOT of work to do before they can get anywhere near it. And whether or not they want to integrate into one mind is a different question entirely. The fact that Endagme did all this off-screen pisses me off to no end.)

Another point I want to make is comics delve into Bruce’s DID way more than I am. There is a massive sprawling system of alters within comic Bruce’s system (Joe Fixit Hulk is the Teenager Bruce never got to be, Savage / Childish Hulk is the repressed rage, Devil Hulk is the Protective Father etc. There are literally hundreds of Hulk alters.) I am very much compositing Savage Hulk and Devil Hulk into one figure and making him the only alter in the system for convenience’s sake and to make Hulk a more defined character rather than the mess of trauma and psychological issues that he is in the comics. (Of all the alters Joe has the most probability of making it to the blog eventually but not anytime soon.)

PART THREE - WHAT IT FEELS LIKE

The analogy I’ve grown attached to is the imagery of a door. All the abuse Bruce endured and the memories and the pain got put inside The Room Behind That Door, and Hulk was inside keeping it all locked in. The door was always there, but beyond Bruce’s ‘gaze’. When the Gamma Bomb went off, the door became ajar and Hulk was out. In the first two years, when Bruce has not much of an understanding of the Hulk, he feels like a ticking time bomb, like a dynamite with its fuse lit that’s going to go off at any moment. In year three, once he has more of an understanding, he starts becoming more cognizant of the proverbial door and starts getting more of a ‘feel’ of it, like a subtle pressure at the base of his skull. Year Four, the roles are reversed and Bruce is the one locked behind the door, but Hulk is fully cognizant of the fact and is actively keeping it locked until he Can’t. Year Five, aka the Current Status Quo, Bruce feels the Hulk as that pressure at the back of his skull that intensifies if he is feeling some kind of way. Sometimes, more often than not really, he will see the Hulk as his reflection instead of his ‘own’ face. They are also becoming more prone to ‘talking’ in the Inner World should they need to communicate, but Hulk usually prefers to give Bruce a ‘sense’ rather than a full blown conversation.

God this has been a wall of text I hope this makes sense and answers the question lmao.

#beckybxrnes #; I've got so many questions ( ask )#gosh this is SUCH a good question thank you so much #; the mind can go in a thousand directions. with each step the wind blows. with each step a flower blooms. ( headcanon. )#; this shaking keeps me steady I should know. what falls away is always and is near. I wake to sleep and take my waking slow. ( about. )#this got LONG #I have a lot of scattered thoughts about it so this really helped pool it all in one place

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fingerguneds · 4 years

Note

Stozier + going to the movies

im like one hundred percent sure this is not what you wanted and it turns out i dont know what a drabble is so it’s 4.4k long but um..yeah hope you like it

Richie is tired. Okay, “tired” is actually a litotes — he’s fucking exhausted. Two weeks of pre-holiday classes — two weeks of deadlines, exams and final test, two weeks of nervous breakdowns and panic attacks for all students, and for him, probably the biggest procrastinator in their year, it was a hell ride. Sugar-high, coffee-flavoured satanic ritual.

But in the end, he finished up good, of course he did, because not only he’s a phenomenal fuckup of a person with a pathological time-management crisis, he’s also a smart fucking guy. And now, after his last French exam, it’s only fair that he goes home and tries to recover from his two weeks long sleep deficit, but…no.

The problem is, he promised Bill to accompany him to the new Star Wars film premiere, they got the tickets days ago, and even though Richie feels like throwing up and lying in his puke for a month and crying helplessly about of it, he promised. And it’s not just someone, it’s Bill, his best friend, and the newest part of Star Wars! And maybe, if three Red Bulls and two strawberry-flavoured Fantas didn’t make his heart stop, another large-sized slushie won’t either. His heart’s a strong one, it’s been to hell and back and he can show you vouchers — his student’s record book, thank you very much.

“You’re gonna have diabetes,” Eddie, Bill’s boyfriend, intones, when Richie arrives to their apartment to pick up Bill with a venti gingerbread latte in his right hand. “Feed him something or come up with a good eulogy,” he tells Bill, standing on tiptoe to leave a quick peck on his cheek.

“But your mom told me I shouldn’t ever force myself to eat—” Richie tries, but Bill pushes him out of the apartment with a sigh and closes the door, leaving Eddie’s pink-cheeked and ready-to-fight face behind it.

“Sure you’re not hungry?”

“It’s always like that when you miss a night of your beauty sleep,” Richie grimaces as they get into the elevator. “But we still can grab something to go.”

“McDonalds?”

Richie chuckles. As kids, they always went to McDonalds before films, hiding burgers and fries in their little hats in winter or bringing a special backpack “for illegal purposes only” in summer so the cinema boys wouldn’t kick them out, or worse — make them throw everything away. Now, no one cares whether you bring your own snacks or not, and they actually finish their food while driving, but there’s still a lingering touch of nostalgia to the whole process.

They’re barely on time, because Richie insisted on buying a goddamn slushie, although the line was fucking enormous, and yet they take their seats exactly one minute before upcoming film trailers begin. They’re both excited as hell, the slushie tastes amazing after the first proper meal he’s had since yesterday’s evening (yes, fries, nuggets and a Big Mac is a meal, unlike two Kit Kats and a bag of Doritos), and yet…nothing goes as planned.

After fifteen minutes of the film, Richie starts to zone the fuck out. The food is still warm in his belly, his winter scarf he didn’t pull off is soft and comfortable under his crooked neck, his eyelids feel like the only thing heavier than them is his head. He tries, he really does, he clears his glasses twice, he finishes his slushie with the largest gulps to wake up, he bites the insides of his cheeks, but it’s all pointless.

Thirty minutes into the film, and Richie’s gone.

***

“Richie! Richie, wuw-wake up! Oh my guh-god, I’m so suh-sorry, he—Richie!“

Bill sounds nervous. His childhood stutter comes back when he is. There’s a tug at Richie’s hand he barely registers.

“It’s okay,” someone chuckles curtly right above Richie’s ear. “At least his hair is clean.”

Um, rude.

Well, maybe in a different situation, Richie wouldn’t have thought that it’s rude. Like, it’s always nice when people have clean hair. Yes.

But.

He’s diabolically tired. His nerves are nothing but a strained, stiff line that is in an alarming danger to snap and slap you in the face, his mind is dangerously aggressive, meeting every single thing with feverish hostility, and Richie doesn’t even wonder if it’s him the voice is talking about. Even if it’s not, it’s still rude. He tries to remember when he last washed his hair — this morning, to not die before emerging from his flat. And his shampoo is nice too, it’s his mom’s shampoo, because he has her curls and—

“Richie!”

He straightens up abruptly, as if someone just kicked him in the balls, eyes still blurry, like a newborn bird’s.

“Ye.”

Someone starts laughing.

“He sounds like that vine.”

Richie blinks and turns to his left, still not quite conscious of the situation, yet quite aware that this someone’s laughing at him.

The first boy he sees sits one seat away from Richie, but he’s leaning forward, elbows on knees, face on the palms of his hands. He’s the one who said about the vine (Richie’s almost one hundred percent sure he knows which vine), and although Richie feels very attacked, he has to admit, the boy’s cute. He has dark skin, dark eyes, jawline to kill (and to die) for, and his smile is so wide and genuinely nice that it would be a shame to get mad at the owner.

Fuck this guy, he’s educated on vines and he’s hot. If it wasn’t for the “basically a ray of sunshine” part, Richie would fall.

And then there’s the asshole. He opens his mouth again.

“The peanut baby vine?” Richie looks at the mop of curly dark-blond hair, currently hiding the said asshole’s face as he turns to look at the first guy, and Richie’s offended diva is back. He may be a fuckup, but no one has a right to say anything about his hair with a voice like this. Even if it’s greasy as fuck, knotty and smells like used oil, like everyone’s hair smells after visiting places where kitchens are inside the main room and they just keep frying the shit out of food right in front of you; even then, no one can say shit about his hair, even—

“Yeah, that one,” the dark-skinned guy laughs again, and the curly asshole turns to face Richie.

No one can say shit about Richie’s hair, even if they own Cupid’s face. No joke, the guy—pardon, the motherfucker looks like an epitome of Cupid from the Psyche myth (not the fat winged baby). Richie quickly gets mad at himself for paying this much attention to the guy, but know your enemy, right? Know your enemy — their hair dark blond hair, like fields of rye in November, their plump pale lips and pale, although with a warm undertone, skin with an almost invisible constellation of freckles on the wings of his nose, their eyes and their dark, muddy colour Richie can’t really identify in the poor lighting of the auditorium. They’re bright with joy and fox-like curiosity, yet insolent and a little arrogant; daring.

Seriously, do people have to be this pretty? One is hot, like an Abercrombie model you see once and think of for days, the second one is not hot but really, really attractive, like someone who would make a fortune with this intense stare, peeling you off right there, where you’ve had a misfortune to capitulate.

“Rich,” he feels Bill’s large hand on his shoulder, still participating in this ugly staring competition with the curly one. “Guys, we’re sorry ag-again, huh-he’s really tired and doesn’t cuh-control himself.”

Richie blinks and frowns, ready to explode right into Bill’s face, but he cuts him off.

“Come on, Richie, we gotta go.”

They stand up, Richie taking his empty slurpie glass in one hand and looking at the guys again. Everything feels like a dream, his brain is too heavy, his legs disobey, his hands don’t feel like they belong to him.

“ ‘s alright, no big deal,” the first boy says again with the gentlest glimmer to his eyes and the loveliest smile, but Richie…Richie’s tired and bitter and…stupid.

“Yeah, you’re probably used to people leaving after waking up with you,” he says, looking directly into the curly one’s eyes. “Not you, you’re cool,” he winks quickly at his friend, as Bill starts swearing quietly and pulling Richie towards the door.

“Dude,” he says, when they both emerge from the cinema doors, a cig already in his fingers. He offers his pack to Richie without a word.

They smoke in silence, walking towards Richie’s car, and Richie is the one to break it.

“Did I really fall asleep on him?”

Bill chuckles and rolls his eyes.

“Yes you did. I didn’t notice until the lights were on.”

“Surprised he didn’t say anything,” Richie mutters, turning the car key.

“You’re too hard on the guy,” Bill huffs out, lips still wearing a lopsided grin. “He didn’t say anything—“

“Yes he did, I heard what he said about my hair, it’s—“

“Rich,” Bill sighs, but he’s not in the least bit mad or disapproving. Bill has always been a keeper of the wonderful gift of understanding. “He said you weren’t a bother and that he’s glad your hair’s not greasy. This is a perfectly normal thing to say, you’re just tired and tensed, and take things too personally. You just need a rest. C’mon, want me to drive you home? I’ll catch a bus to mine, no problem.”

***

The next four days Richie spends at home, sleeping and eating. Sleeping, eating, watching Netflix, thinking about the curly boy, sometimes. Actually, the memory of that day quickly turns into something embarrassing for Richie, something he knows that will make his cheeks grow hot and pink even years later. He was really, really rude to the guy, rude for nothing, and the worst part of the situation is — he can’t apologize. And! The worst-worst part is that the second-to-worst part is — the boy was absolutely gorg dot com. What an unfortunate turn of events: Richie can’t even suck his dick as an apology. Or just suck his dick. Whatever, he’d find a way to make it up to the boy, he’s talented with all parts of his body.

But it’s like falling in love with someone you saw on a train or in line at grocery store. Or maybe slightly worse, because Richie manage to fall fucking asleep on the guy, but still — a crush, doomed to picturesque longing and a quiet little death. It’s all about the masochistic nature of humankind — Richie concludes bitterly to himself, because although he’s a certificated Trashmouth, there’s a pathologically romanticistic heart under all these layers of shit.

No, seriously. He’s too much for everyone, even for himself. Especially for himself.

But enough with this shit, Richie decides the moment next, because his mood swings are the only thing wilder than his imagination. C’est la vie, you fuck up and you keep going until you fuck up again. Maybe there is a lesson he can learn, like to keep his mouth shut when he’s tired or, um, to do his homework in time and not traumatize himself…but it’s Richie. He never learns.

He falls asleep on his couch again, trying to decide what he wants to eat after waking up. God only knows why his actual last thought is so, what the curly boy smelled like?

***

Richie doesn’t remember the last time he’s been to a library. He’s always felt that a book should belong to him for being able to read it comfortably, but when you’re assigned to write a research on Andrei Tarkovskiy’s connection with slavic symbolism…not many books you can find in a regular American bookshop down the street.

The library is huge. The entrance is decorated with ionic columns and the door is so massive Richie barely manages to open it. Inside, it’s just as impressive, with the highest ceilings he’s ever seen and beautiful bookcases and tables of dark wood, situated under big thick windows. Richie undoes his scarf and immediately walks towards the service desk, knowing for sure there’s no way he’ll manage to find anything without help. His steps are loud in the monumental silence of this place.

“Uh, hi?” he says, as quietly as he can, and the boy behind the desk looks up at him and smiles politely.

“Good afternoon. How can I help you?”

“Well,” Richie chuckles, trying to hope for the best. “Do you happen to know any books related to slavic symbolism in Soviet cinematography, Andrei Tarkovskiy’s specifically?”

The boy arches his eyebrows. Richie smiles unsurely and gets ready to shrug it off and maybe convince his lecturer to change his topic of research.

“I’ll have to be honest, I have no idea how to help you, sir, but my colleague, who is currently in the section number eight is probably more educated on this matter.”

“Oh, okay,” Richie nods, considering to leave the place right now, but the boy’s softest, a little apologetic smile decide for him.

“It’s to the left, straight up until you see the number.”

“Thank you very much,” Richie tells him and turns towards the rows of bookcases.

12, 11, 10, 9…here it is.

The amount of books is almost frightening. The bookshelves are no less than two and a half meters tall, and Richie immediately imagines one of these things crashing epically right on his head. He licks his lips and takes a deep breath, then turns behind the number Eight.

Five or more bookcases, forming some kind of a wall. In a couple of steps from where Richie’s standing, leaning on one of them, there’s a ladder, and on the ladder, one and a half meters above the floor, there’s a boy with a couple of books in his hands. Richie, even in glasses, can’t really see his face, because the light doesn’t reach it.

“Hi,” the boy speaks up first, although Richie decides to wait until he’s finished. It’s like, dangerous. The whole construction looks…unsafe. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, hello, uh, the boy at the desk told me you could help me to find some resources on slavic symbolism in Andrei Tarkovskiy’s films?”

Richie doesn’t notice that he’s holding his breath. The boy’s hands don’t stop, they don’t even flinch, he surely keeps placing the books one by one to where they belong. They’re both silent for a long minute.

“I’m not sure I can help you to find something with both Andrei Tarkovskiy and slavic symbolism, but you could look through slavic symbolism analysis in Russian art in general and the language of Andrei Tarkovskiy’s separately.”

Motherfucker.

“Oh wow, that would actually—“

“Also on the Internet there are a lot of articles on what inspired Tarkovskiy’s methods, if I were you I’d check them out as well.”

The last two books stay tucked under his arm, and that is when he begins to climb down.

“God, lemme help you,” Richie’s heart trembles and starts beating faster at the sight of how tremendously dangerous the boy’s position looks, and he rushes towards the ladder.

“I’m alri—“ the boy turns his head to look at Richie, and when their eyes meet and the spark of recognition explodes between them, two things happen at once: first, Richie’s heart stops, and second, the boy falls down the ladder.

“Bloody fuck,” Richie breathes out, already on his knees beside the boy’s sprawled body. It’s him, of course it’s him, his curly hair, pale freckles on heart-shaped face, but now it’s all red, wearing a grimace of breathless pain. Richie’s so shocked he doesn’t know what to do. The boy turns to lay on his back and a hard moan escapes his lips.

“Oh God, oh fuck, what the—“

“Shut up,” the boy manages to say, chest trembling from the efforts to control his breath. “Shut up and call the—“

“Stan! Jesus, what happened!?”

The other boy is now here too, Richie sees him with the corner of his eye. He looks back though, quickly inspecting the boy’s—Stan’s body.

“What does it look like,” he mocks, cheeks darker than a pomegranate. If Richie wasn’t so terrified, he would appreciate this. Like, a lot. “Call an ambulance, quick, I think my collarbone is broken.”

“Oh my God,” Richie and the other boy mutter in unison, and Stan rolls his eyes.

“Well unfortunately, it’s not my fucking neck, so I’m kind of in pain right now and would really appreciate—“

“God, yes, sorry, yes.”

Richie too pulls out his phone, hands shaking, while Stan closes his eyes and tries to remain unmoving. There’s not much Richie can do, but it’s still something. The other boy’s panicked voice is explaining something in the background. Every ring lasts forever, and when Eddie finally picks the phone, Richie’s sure he almost had a heart attack. Twice.

“Eds? Hi, listen, what do I do if someone breaks their collarbone?”

He accidentally catches Stan’s unreadable stare and looks away, heart already on fire.

“What? Richie, what the fuck, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m just—“

“Did anyone break their collarbone?”

“Well it looks like this, yeah.”

“Did you call—“

“Yeah, but—“

“Okay, fuck, okay, most importantly, do not try to move the body until they arrive, it’s really fucking important, got it? Let them stay where they are, immobilize the shoulders completely, also—do you have ice there?”

“Do you—“ Richie turns to the other boy, but he’s still on the phone, so he has to ask Stan. “Do you have ice?”

Stan blinks, and for the first time, Richie notices that he’s balancing his head above the floor. It’s clear lowering it hurts him. Oh, and his pride is too hard-to-swallow to ask for help. It’s hot.

“Yes, I think we do.”

“Yeah, we do,” Richie repeats and moves awkwardly on his knees to help Stan keep his head up. Stan freezes for a second, but then blinks and relaxes into Richie’s hands.

“Use it for pain, you can give them an ibuprofen too, but don’t let them move, Richie, okay!? Now tell me what the fuck—“

“Later, Eds, thanks a lot, bye,” Richie breaths out as fast as he can and focuses on Stan.

Even upside down, he looks pretty.

Fuck.

Richie, shut the hell up, you’ll think about this later, you sick fuck.

Stan looks him in the eye, and Richie sees that those irises are brown. They’re bright with accidental tears, framed with dark thick lashes, and the colour is not exactly brown, more like greenish-brown, like pine tree needles three weeks after Christmas.

“You shouldn’t move,” Richie says, back to reality. “You shouldn’t move, we need ice and you’re allowed to take an ibuprofen.”

“They’re gonna be here in ten minutes,” the other boy finally joins them, face as red as Stan’s. Actually, even worse: red is his neck and probably his shoulders are too.

“Could you bring me some ice? And a glass of water with an ibuprofen?” Stan asks him, and Richie’s finally calmed down enough to notice how calm Stan is, although the situation is…literally the craziest he’s ever been in. He moves his leg to support his arm holding Stan’s head. Fuck, those curls are soft. Not like Richie’s, Richie’s are soft too, but Stan’s are in thicker rings, curling tenderly around Richie’s pale fingers, licking the boy’s unhealthily pale sweaty forehead.

“Like what you see?” Richie hears Stan’s voice and meets his intense gaze again. There is this daring glimmer to his eyes again, and Richie willingly accepts it.

“Dude, stop,” he chuckles weakly, licking his lips. “ You know I’m already in love.”

Despite their position, Stan huffs, but then his face skews of pain.

“Shh,” Richie winces and moves his fingers in an instinctive soothing motion. “You’re gonna be fine soon.”

“It’s not that bad, just a collarbone. Happens to people all the time.”

“At least it didn’t break through your skin,” Richie blurts out and regrets it immediately, cheeks flaming up.

But then, Stan chuckles. There’s a dimple in one of his cheeks, the left one. Richie’s almost sure his eyes are fully heart-shaped by now.

“Here,” the other librarian boy rushes up to them with what looks like a towel, stuffed with ice cubes, and a glass of water.

He puts a pill in Stan’s lips and lets him drink carefully, then passes Richie the towel.

“Tell me where,” Richie murmurs, and despite how fucked up the situation actually is, this feels oddly intimate. He lowers the towel and feels how more tensed Stan grows.

“A bit—yeah,” he breathes out, and Richie presses down a little.

“Told you you should’ve taken a lunch break,” the librarian guy mumbles softly, and for a moment Richie thinks he’s gonna cry.

Stan rolls his eyes. Richie keeps holding. Somewhere near the door bursts open.

***

“This shit’s surreal,” Bill says after a long pause, when Richie calls him from the hospital an hour later. “I don’t believe this.”

“Fair enough,” Richie nods to himself, inspecting his shoes. “And yet.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Probably something stupid,” Richie hears Eddie’s voice and grins.

“You’re absolutely correct, Edward.”

“You scared the shit out of me,” comes an answer, and Richie thanks him once again for helping out.

“Trust me, I was ten times worse.”

“It’s actually unbelievable,” Bill says again, and Richie knows the face he’s probably wearing at the moment: blue eyes wide, eyebrows furrowed in the slightest bit, one corner of his lips crooked a little. “If it’s not fate, I don’t know what it is.”

“Ooooow,” Richie and Eddie fondly mock him in unison, and Richie knows for sure someone’s gonna get some when he hangs up. “Don’t get too emotional, Big Bill, Edster likes it rough, just like his mom.”

“Oh for fuck’s—“ Eddie’s scandalized howl is the last thing he hears before the line goes silent, and he’s alone again, with the most shit-eating smirk on his face.

The other librarian boy — Ben, he learned when the ambulance arrived — stayed at the library, and Richie was secretly happy to accompany Stan to the hospital alone, although he insisted a couple of times that Richie doesn’t need to.

Richie’s stomach growls and he needs a fag asap, but there’s no way he’s missing Stan. God only knows when he’s at the library again, and Richie needs…Richie needs to talk.

And when Stan, with a sling supporting his hand, walks out of the emergency room, Richie stands up, not being able to help a smile forming on his face.

“Don’t you have other things to do?” Stan asks him, but he’s not annoyed. He looks tired and disheveled, but still calm, and Richie notices that they’re both the same height. Stan’s all legs though, all legs and curls.

“You’re the most important one on the list,” Richie answers automatically, and Stan purses his lips, clearly unimpressed. His eyes glimmer brighter, though. “Hungry?”

Stan graciously arches his dark eyebrow.

“Are you—“ he cuts himself off, clearly thinking it’s a bad idea, but when Richie keeps waiting (politely, although he’s nervous as fuck, because hello to today’s third heart attack), he licks his lips and starts again. “Are you trying to ask me out?”

“Maybe?” thank God his voice sounds much, much more confident than he, in fact, is.

Richie probably needs to get comfortable with Stan needing a moment of silence to think good. Unlike other people that start…to ramble.

“Sorry, I’m just used to people leaving after waking up with me.”

Richie’s jaw hits the floor harder than that meteor hit the Earth and fucked up the dinosaurs. Go off, Stan the Man, go the fuck off.

And he doesn’t even look proud of himself. It’s as casual for him as it is for Richie to tell your dad a mom joke. For Heaven’s sake, who is this guy?

“Well,” Richie squeaks, feeling that his body is on again, as if something blew his fuse for a moment. “It’s not happening any time soon, pretty boy,” he points at Stan’s sling, “so I thought maybe I could try something different.”

“Like what?” he’s smiling now. Legit.

“A dinner? A couple of them? Maybe films? Although I’ll have to be careful with this one, your shoulders are fragile now.”

Stan’s smile becomes even wider as Richie continues to ramble, and although it’s not the brightest and sunniest smile he’s ever seen, it sure feels like the most precious one. It feels like a reward.

It still feels like the most precious reward, weeks later, when they finally wake up together and Richie only leaves to pee and to make them a coffee. Months later, when Richie lets his hand slide down Stan’s shoulder and feels the slightest crook to his collarbone with the tips of his fingers. Years later, after some shitty horror film about some monster clown who eats kids, when he proposes in that empty cinema auditorium, in those exact seats.

Stan still needs a minute to think good, but his burning, incandescent smile says everything Richie needs to know.

#i hope this is believably unbelievable though #stozier #kaspbrough #drabble #okay we concluded its not a drabble #ficlet #...i guess?#stanley uris #richie tozier #mine

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citrinekay · 4 years

Note

this may be a long shot and don’t do it if your uncomfortable doing it but i love the headcanon that Holden has autism so could you possibly write one where Holden gets overwhelmed and starts dissociating and bill has to help comfort him and such love ur writing ❤️❤️❤️

So I don’t have autism, and I don’t know anyone who has autism so this was definitely a challenge - but I like a good challenge! I read a couple of articles and forums online from people who do have autism, and I hope this is as accurate and respectful as possible. Thanks for the prompt ❤

It starts with an empty gallon of milk in the refrigerator.

Holden awakes that morning at exactly 7am with the same amount of anxiety he usually does - distinct, yet tolerable. He gets up, goes to the bathroom, and washes his face. So far so good. Then he goes into the kitchen to get a bowl of cereal for breakfast, the next step in his routine.

The gallon has a few dregs of milk left sloshing at the bottom. He doesn’t remember using the last of the milk, but his memory can be untrustworthy at times. It doesn’t matter if and when he was responsible for the lack of milk; the disruption has already unraveled the rest of his morning.

He eats the cereal dry because it’s the only option he can think of, and gets dressed in a scattered hurry. After leaving the house and driving several miles down the road, he realizes that the milk fiasco had caused him to forget a few vital steps. Firstly, he can’t recall if he took his medications with breakfast, and second, he isn’t sure whether he locked the door behind him.

Paralyzed by a sudden wave of anxiety, he drives the rest of the way to work on autopilot without considering turning back. As he speeds through the last intersection on the way to Quantico, the light flashes from yellow to red, and it seems like a bad omen.

***

When Holden was about twelve, his mother bought him a Rubik’s cube. She thought it might help with his fidgeting and restless hands. For months, he was fixated on solving it, relying on his own prowess rather than hints from online or outside sources to assist him.

He finally cracked it four months later. After that, he could solve the cube to infinity. He played it so many times that he could memorize the pattern, and he’d learned something about himself inside of the puzzle.

He needs a pattern, one that never varies. At this point in his life, that pattern begins with a gallon of milk, and today, the Rubik’s cube just keeps spinning out in his head.

He’s been living with autism long enough to realize when he’s headed into input overload, and that he should probably stop stimulating himself before everything boils over like a pot of water left on a high. That was fine when he was in high school and he could lock himself in his room to get away. It was fine when he attended university, and his roommate stayed out late most nights, leaving the dorm peacefully quiet. It was even fine when he was sequestered in the basement of the BSU, content to objectively look at police reports and crime scene photographs - information that he could easily put down at a moment’s notice.

Not anymore. He’d assured Ted that he can go out into the field now and do interviews. He can handle it. He can handle his stress. He can deal with the lights, and sounds, and smells of the outside world which had once crippled him to the point of immobility. He’s trained himself to pass as just as neurotypical as everyone else.

He has to go to work.

***

The interview is local, giving Holden the opportunity to breathe and prepare himself for the inside of the correctional facility on the drive over.

Bill is driving, letting the radio play from one muted love song to the next. He doesn’t try to pressure Holden into conversation, which is nice.

“Mind if I smoke?” Bill asks, pulling Holden from his thoughts.

“Roll down the window.” Holden says, reminding himself to add, “Please.”

Bill cranks down the window and lights up. He knows Holden dislikes the smell just like Holden knows Bill can’t live without the damn things.

When they were first assigned as partners, Holden wasn’t quite sure the arrangement would work out. Bill seemed like the typical abrasive, macho g-man who wouldn’t give two shits about Holden’s autism. He looked like the kind of people who had bullied Holden in school for being “weird” and “different.” Everything Holden knew and had learned about “normal” human behavior through extensive self-training told him that the relationship would end in disharmonious friction and more than a few hurt feelings; but, he’d apparently not yet studied enough.

The second day they worked together, Holden nearly had a meltdown over whether or not he had locked his front door, a recurring anxiety which has plagued him since he’d come home to a break-in several years back when living in D.C. Bill didn’t dismiss his worries or try to placate him with logical suggestions. He grabbed his keys, and said he would drive them back over to Holden’s apartment immediately just be certain.

The stupid door was locked just as it always is because he’s turns the handle no less than three times just be certain every morning, but Bill hadn’t seemed concerned with the wasted trip only pleased that the positive discovery eased Holden’s panic.

Then, a few months ago, Bill had casually referred to Holden as “his friend.”

“Are we friends?” Holden had asked, uncertain.

“Yes, Holden, we’re friends.”

He supposes they could have gone another six months with him thinking they were only co-workers if Bill hadn’t made the remark. It’s nice to know he has friends, but sometimes he worries that Bill will get tired of him and his peculiar behaviors eventually. They can go days without speaking or exchanging a text, and it’s always his fault.

As they pull up to the front of the correctional facility, Holden flinches at the sound of the gate lifting to let them through.

Bill parks, and turns to Holden. “You good?”

“Good.” Holden echoes. “Yeah, sure.”

Bill frowns, softly, but nods for Holden to follow him inside. “All right then, let’s go.”

***

The inside of a correctional facility is the very definition of sensory overload - bright lights, loud buzzers, and prisoners shouting. Holden counts to ten in his head while they make their way down the dank, narrow corridors to the private room reserved for the interview.

Their subject, Hank Graham, is waiting for them just beyond a heavy, steel door. The man killed three women, and cut off various body parts. This information doesn’t bother Holden. He’s been studying psychology and murder for many years, and it’s what fascinates him.

The part that bothers him about Hank Graham is how willing the man is to lean into his personal space and try to touch him. Holden doesn’t know what all that is about. He’s good at looking at crimes from a three-dimensional perspective, picking apart it’s pieces, and coming to a natural conclusion of what occurred. He’s still in the learning curve of the “why” part.

Bill usually takes over once Holden gets past the questions about the process of the murders. He asks the men what they were thinking and feeling during the crimes, a perspective Holden isn’t good at relating to.

He tries to stick to his portion of the questions as strictly as possible, but Graham continues leaning closer. He slaps Holden on the arm when he starts laughing about how he cut the breasts off one of his victims.

Holden leaps up out of his chair, his whole body revolting against the contact. There it goes - the boiling water overflowing.

Bill gets him out of the correctional facility as quickly as possible. They emerge into the muggy summer air, and he stands back while Holden paces, shaking his hands in a desperate attempt to work through the panicked scream in the back of his mind.

When he calms down, Bill’s brow is set in a scowl. Holden has seen this mood on him enough times to understand that it’s more grave concern rather than anger. He’d spent months trying to figure out the difference on Bill, but now he wishes he could go back to thinking Bill was simply upset with him for his failure.

“Stop worrying about me.” Holden says, “I have enough anxiety for the both of us.”

Bill scoffs, and tosses the last of his cigarette to the ground. “I do worry, Holden. With good cause.”

“I had it under control.”

“Fine, if you say so.” Bill scowls, and motions for Holden to follow him to the car. Let’s go home.”

***

Holden wakes up the following day with what he mentally refers to as a “sensory hangover.” After pushing himself too hard yesterday, he’s all but maxed himself out on new input. And there still isn’t milk in the damn fridge because he’d forgotten about the oversight after his mini-panic attack at the correctional facility.

Everything feels numb and flat as he gets ready for work, trying to focus on his pattern. He puts on mismatched socks, but doesn’t feel like digging his dresser drawer for a complete set. He remembers to take his medication, and assure himself that the door is locked.

He’s still functioning as well as he can, but by the time he gets to work, the distance between his brain and reality is starting to grow dangerously long.

Sitting down at his desk, he tries to focus on the tasks at hand. He barely notices when Bill comes out of his office to get a cup of coffee.

“Good morning.” Bill says.

Holden doesn’t look up as he boots up his laptop, and opens a new document to start typing up his notes from the Graham meeting yesterday. The task is going reasonably well when Gregg’s telephone starts ringing.

Gregg isn’t at his desk. The phone just keeps ringing.

Holden presses his eyes shut, trying to block out the disruptive noise. His tenuous grip on his senses loosens with every shrill ring of the phone, but he’s motionless in his seat, unable to enact a plan to make it stop.

The phone stops ringing for the space of what feels like seconds before it starts up again.

Finally, Holden stands abruptly from his chair. “Where the fuck is Gregg?”

Bill gazes at him from across the bullpen. He has that look again. The worried one.

Suddenly, Holden realizes that everything has gone blank, a mass of sensation and sound that he can no longer differentiate from one thing to the next. It’s as if someone turned on ten radios at once inside his brain, and tuned every single one to a different channel.

He feels himself walking away from his desk and toward the door of the basement. He opens the door, walks out into the hall. He knows where he’s standing, but the hallway feels incredibly long and it could have gone on forever for all he knew. It doesn’t feel real as if it’s just an image projecting to infinity inside his brain.

He doesn’t move until Bill’s hand on his elbow pulls him around. He focuses hazily on Bill’s mouth, forming the syllables of his name and a deliberate, “Are you okay?”

“Are you … are you … are you here?” Holden says, the words struggling languidly from his throat.

Bill says, “Yes, Holden, I’m right here.”

Holden looks down, and Bill is holding his hand, only it doesn’t feel real. It’s just a dream. But that can’t be right because he’d come into work today, and he saw Bill in the office. Bill followed him into the empty hallway. Bill isn’t dissociating the way Holden is.

“Stay.” Holden whispers, his voice sounding far away and detached from the static inside his brain. “Stay. Stay.”

“It’s okay, I’m staying.” Bill says.

He must be squeezing Holden’s hand, rubbing his arm. Bill is tactile and warm like that, and Holden wishes he could feel it right this second. But everything is a blur, a dark room where the light used to be, a fog of noise and sensation that just won’t lift.

***

Holden comes back to reality after what feels like five seconds. He opens his eyes, and he and Bill are sitting on the floor in the hallway just outside the BSU door.

“You’re back.” Bill whispers.

Holden blinks at him, bewildered by the faint smile on Bill’s mouth and the misty gleam in his eyes. Happy or upset? Why do normal people cry over so many different things? Wait, is Bill crying?

“How long was it?”

Bill checks his watch. “Ten minutes. You’ve never done it for that long before.”

“Not at work.” Holden says, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t apologize.”

Bill frowns as Holden gets his feet under himself, and stands with a grunt. His backside hurts from sitting on the tile floor. He wonders how far into the episode Bill made him sit down, but he can’t remember anything beyond the telephone ringing and running out of the office.

“We should get back to work.” Holden says, abruptly.

He marches toward the door, but Bill clambers to his feet with a quiet protest. “Wait, Holden. Are you okay? Do you need a minute?”

“I’m fine.” Holden says, briskly, yanking the door open.

He pauses just across the threshold. His brain is still fuzzy, but he has to at least remember his manners. Besides, Bill had been so kind to sit with him. Maybe they really are friends.

He turns slowly to see Bill gazing at him with a strange look in his eyes. Holden has never seen this look before. He quietly tries to catalogue it in the back of his mind for further inspection later.

“Thank you.” He says.

Bill nods. “Yeah, of course.”

Holden goes back to his desk, and sits down in front of his laptop. The last few sentences he’d written are riddled with grammatical errors and misspellings. He draws in a deep breath, and begins again.

#bill x holden #mindhunter #my writing #Anonymous

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swellwriting · 5 years

Text

Lover Part 2/18

- Cruel Summer -

Bucky x Reader/ The Winter Soldier x Reader

Summary: “So there's you, you remember everything from the moment you met Winter until now. And then there is this Bucky person, and he remembers everything in his life except for the parts involving you. Like someone had gone inside his brain like hacking a computer and digitally removed you from every frame of his mind. It’s a lot to accept and it’s a lot to try to understand.”

A/N: This chapter is a long one, I had to set up some of the Winter/Spring stuff to get the story going via flashback lucid dream. Let me know if anything is confusing! I really like this chapter :))

Word Count: 5.5k Part 1 Series Masterlist Part 3

Warning: Just a bit of violence.

You lay awake in that same hospital bed in the otherwise empty medical ward at the Avengers compound, chained down because they don't trust you, because the man you love doesn't trust you or even know you.

If you open your eyes you are forced to look at blank white walls, cold metal technology, bleeping monitors. But if you close your eyes all you can see behind your eyelids is him, the way he looked at you like he’s never even seen you before, like everything that you two had shared, everything you both had gone through was gone. It was all your burden to bear.

You wouldn't be able to wipe the memories either, you had tried that before but they always came back, you assumed it was because they were so important, they made you so much of who you were. If he hadn’t remembered you yet maybe it’s because in his mind you weren't important, all he cared about, all he needed he already had. Maybe he had no time for love.

It was clear that you showing up out of nowhere had startled him to say the least. He thought he was finally a complete man, that he owned all of his memories again, that the only person inside his head was himself, that he had gained control over himself again. And for someone to show up, begging him to remember them, telling him that they knew him would be a total mind fuck.

Here is where you and Winter differ, Winter when you first met him had no memory of his past, he was entirely The Winter Soldier. When he was freshly brainwashed, when he saw you straight after the chair he always remembered you, remembered Hydra, remembered his missions and his place in everything. Sometimes after a visit to the chair, he acted colder towards you, took a day or two to get back to normal, or whatever your normal was. But he was still the Winter you knew and loved, the Winter that loved you. You were the same way, you had no memory of a past life, your memories started and ended with Winter, with Hydra.

But this new Winter was a whole different person, he looked and sounded like the Winter you knew, especially the one that only you knew, the softer side of the cold soldier. But he had this whole past life he remembered, he mentioned this Steve person, he mentioned the war before Hydra had captured him, he remembered his whole life but somehow not you.

And it makes sense sort of, brainwashing science isn't perfect, some bits get lost forever, some memories buried more deeply than others, the Avengers probably had something to do with him retrieving all these old memories Hydra had tried so hard to bury deep. Maybe they could help you too. Though you aren’t sure if they’d want to.

So there's you, you remember everything from the moment you met Winter until now. And then there is this Bucky person, and he remembers everything in his life except for the parts involving you. Like someone had gone inside his brain like hacking a computer and digitally removed you from every frame of his mind. It’s a lot to accept and it’s a lot to try to understand.

Perhaps this was better, better than him remembering you and then choosing not to love you, remembering all the trouble and pain and still deciding that it all was worthless in the end. That the love that bloomed in such a cold dark violent place could never blossom in the sunshine of his today, and maybe you would have to accept that too.

But he looks at you like you are a stranger he is seeing for the first time, just passing through his life. You remember the first time you ever saw him, you remember it like it was yesterday, instead of many years and lives and deaths and lost loves away.

As if your body was actively trying to block out the medications you finally let yourself relax, let them take over, let them numb your brain, perhaps whatever fever dream that your mind creates from being high on the medications they were pumping into your system will be better than your overactive thoughts. You feel these chills run through you, the familiar feeling of pain being numbed by high-strength medications. Your skin goes clammy as you close your eyes, sweat drips down your forehead, your breath gets slower, you fall asleep as the pain fades...

The last time you had felt that, felt such severe pain like your body was breaking and rebuilding itself, was when you had been given the serum, back when they strapped you down, stuck needles into your arms, taped your mouth shut.

You can picture the room in your sleepy lucid state, it was dark and dingey and wet like a damp basement, there was no sunlight or warmth. You remember the pain, and then it fading, and then before falling asleep you heard someone speak.

“If she survives the night she will do.” He said coldly and then left the room, left you with the doctors.

It felt like it was slowly killing you and then putting you back together all at once.

And it's cruel, he's cruel.

You didn't have a face or name to the voice at the time, but you came to know him after, you tried not to hold the cold words you first heard him say at you, against him. According to the doctors, nobody had ever survived the procedure before aside from him. Maybe it was easier for him to not think of you as a real person, just a test and some numbers, the beeping of your heartbeat just another machine.

When you survive the night he is given the task of making you better, sure your body accepted the serum, part of the process that everyone else had died in before but he had to make you into a weapon, you needed skills to survive this job, this life, if you could even call it that.

It’d be easier if they hadn't picked the most handsome person in this stupid underground base.

His beautiful face, the shape of his body, the feeling you got, like an electric shock when his skin brushed yours, whether he's grabbing your hand and helping you up or punching you pushing you down, it's all cruel.

He looks so pretty like a devil too. Gun in his hands and blood on his face, all he’s missing is his horns. It's hard though, extremely difficult to view him in the way you view everyone else you meet through Hydra, with blind hatred, and concrete opinions. Winter was different. He could be cold and strict, he always followed orders, he did his job and put it over everything. But he had weaknesses, you saw him fall and fail and hurt and sweat just like you did. You often thought about what you would want to be seen as, the next person who came here, if there ever was a new asset you had to train, you wouldn’t want them to hate you...

Because in your mind you were innocent, at first at least, you didn't ask for any of this, you didn't ask to have your life stolen and be tortured and tested on. Because everything before Hydra was blank, but maybe you were wrong to assume you were a good person before all of this happened.

Maybe innocent was a bad word to define it, you were under pressure sure, brainwashed yes, and so was he, fighting to stay alive, following orders, but at the end of the day, what made your life more valuable than the people you killed? You tried not to think about it. Tried not to put the blame on yourself.

After you had survived the Serum, they ran tests on you for days, they fed you so little, not certain yet if they should waste resources on you. These people had stolen you, tortured you and then had to audacity to not even like you, not be proud that you had survived, not admire the way you handled pain, no comforting words of goodnight as they would turn off the light in the lab and leave you strapped into that god awful chair until morning.

Eventually, they give you your own room, it’s three concrete walls and then a thick glass door and a thick glass window on the fourth, not looking out to anything nice, not there for your enjoyment, but so people can watch you, like a caged animal. You’re sat on your bed, knees pulled to your chest as you try to comfort yourself. You look up to see a man standing at the door, you don't know how long he has silently been there, he has a blank expression, messy long dark hair, and a shiny metal arm. He keys in a code to your room and then enters without asking.

“We need to train, let’s go.”

“Train? You expect me to be able to do anything? I'm covered in bandaid residue and needle marks, I haven’t eaten a proper meal in maybe three days? I don’t know I’ve lost count because they had me strapped into a chair night and day. I haven’t showered in who knows how long, I don't even know my name, I don't even know how I know anything. My mind is like a black hole.”

And he should be stern, he shouldn’t feel sorry for you. He doesn't have compassion, he’s told not too, he’s shot girls in the face prettier than you, smaller than you, weaker than you. But somehow there’s a pang in his chest, a voice in his head screams that you look just like he did. He knows exactly how you feel too.

“I know, but we have to train,” he insists, he has orders to follow here.

You’re scared of him, as pretty of a face as he has he is still a big man with wide shoulders and his eyes are dark and mysterious. And you feel so weak that you just give in, you offer him a weak nod and try to stand but your knees turn to jelly and you fall, palms hitting the cold cement hard.

He flinches and catches himself before he goes to help you. It’s so unlike him to feel the need to help.

“I’ll go get you some lunch from the cafeteria, there’s a bathroom behind that door, shower and there should be clothes in that dresser, be quick,” he offers and it’s the smallest amount of kindness and compassion you have seen in a week so you smile and nod quickly picking yourself up with as much strength as you can muster, you don’t even remember what a shower feels like but you crave it nonetheless.

The door closes and he’s gone like a whisper in the wind. The bathroom is nice, like a clean public bathroom, smooth stainless steel metal, a sink, a mirror, a bathtub with a shower, clean towels hanging on the rack and a laundry bag with a note taped on the wall about the laundry schedule. You peel your clothes from your body and go to lock the bathroom door but it doesn't lock, typical.

The hot water is nice, you use your nails to scrub the sticky residue from that clear medical tape they used all over you, you gently clean the needle marks with your thumb and watch as they basically disappear. You wash your hair, comb through it with your fingers, clean your ears, scrub your face. You feel clean, it’s nice.

When you dry off you look through your room for clothes in the dresser in the corner, they are all very plain, black white grey, a bit of red here and there. You grab leggings, cotton underwear, a sports bra and a red t-shirt. The socks you grab are thin and slippery on the floor, you grab a sweater and then go to the bathroom to get some sort of privacy while you change.

You hear the door unlock and click open so you move quickly, combing your hair and then braiding it out of the way.

He places a grey metal tray on your bed, a sandwich a drink and a mix of fruit and vegetables atop it. Such simple food has never looked so good.

You sit down and start eating, the man stands there, awkwardly as he waits for you, following orders.

You speak as you munch on some cold carrots. “ So what’s your name?” You ask and he looks at you.

“We don't really get names, I used to be called the asset, but now there are two of us, so I’m asset number one, and you are asset number two,” he says and he sounds like a machine spitting out scripted answers.

“Asset,” you say, feeling the word on your tongue.

“Some people call me The Winter Soldier too. Its more of a code name though, for missions.”

“The Winter Soldier,” you mimic his words for the second time and he almost thinks it’s cute for a moment. Socializing is so weird, he hasn’t just talked to someone in so long, someone not superior or below him, someone who is supposed to be his equal. “Do I get a codename?” You ask and he nods.

“Yeah, I’m not sure if they decided on Summer or Spring yet, but for simplicity, it will be another season, like mine.”

“The Summer Soldier? The Spring Soldier?” You repeat as you swallow the rest of your drink.

You look up at him for a minute, he looks as if he’s about to say something so you don't dare interrupt him, curious to hear his next words.

“It feels strange doesn't it,” he asks, finally having someone to talk to about this.

“What does?” You ask, unsure because everything feels strange right now.

“Your brain, you know things, a lot of things, but at the same time, you feel like you know nothing. You know what a name is, you know you should have one but you can’t remember your name, your nicknames, other people’s names. It’s strange.”

“That’s exactly it. Like when I showered I was excited like I could remember that a shower is nice and feels good on your skin but I can’t remember ever having a shower before today. Like a black hole.”

He just nods, satisfied with your answer, happy but not showing it on his face that you understand him. “Okay, we better go now.”

On the first day of training he went easy on you, just basic workouts, building your strength which came all too easy now that the serum was flowing through you. He brought you to a part of the underground compound that had a computer type room with tons of technology, a room filled with books and tables, a gym-type room with a small room attached with training versions of any weapon you could ever need.

He said he would show you the rest tomorrow, he gave you a couple of books to keep in your room, language books, basic coding books, self-defence books and a few care guides to some basic guns. He assured you not to try to read them all tonight.

He showed you where the cafeteria was, it was small, it had two tables and a small service counter where they gave you whatever it was that they were making that day. He said you could go there anytime you were hungry, super-soldiers need a little more food to fule.

Night crept closer and he encouraged you to get some sleep, he leaned against the door frame and entered your code letting you in. When it opened you hesitated before walking in.

“Thanks, see you in the morning,” you said quietly, still unsure fo what sort of dynamic there should be between the two of you. He nodded, and awkwardly gestured to the room next to yours.

“I'm right next door if you need anything just knock on the wall or something. I'm sure they will give you your lock code soon enough.”

“Thanks,” you repeated again and then entered the room, you watched as he entered the code in again and locked you inside. You wondered how many people knew that code or if it was just him and whoever was in charge.

Things continued on like that for a while. Winter would come to your room in the morning, you would already be ready, waiting for him like he said you should be. You were quick to fall into line, to listen to the rules and paid good attention to everything he told you. This one on one time was nice, Winter was a strict teacher, he taught at a fast pace but he was also very hands-on. If he gave you a book to read he would always make sure you understood it, when it came to safety he was very thorough, relentlessly going over gun safety and making sure you knew your gun better than you knew yourself. Which wasn’t really that hard.

You were like a sponge, absorbing every word out of his mouth, following him around the base like a puppy dog. He never got upset with you, never got mad when you failed, or annoyed at your pestering. Everyone else seemed to hate you though and you weren’t sure why. There were very few females in the base, and they were never inherently mean to you, except the cafeteria cooks who weren’t pleased about having to cook for another super-soldier.

All the lab rats, all the officers, technicians, the people who you didn’t even know what their job title was, they resented you, they scowled at you in the hallway they pushed past you, ignored your existence.

They didn’t seem to like Winter that much either but they never stepped out of line with him, maybe fear was his secret. But these men would never fear you, why should they? Because you can load a shotgun faster than they could tie their shoe? Maybe one day you will show them. Earn their respect.

“Winter can we go over Ap4’s again today before we do combat?” You ask quietly.

‘Winter?” he asks and he tries to hide a bit of a bemused smile. It’s the first time you ever use that nickname with him and he likes it. There is no soldier attached to it, nothing objectifying him.

“Yeah, you like your new nickname?” You tease as he silently walks down a different hallway to the gunroom, abiding by your request.

“It has a nice ring to it,” he says back, almost a teasing tone to his voice as well and then he pauses as he opens the door, gesturing you to enter the room, “after you, Spring.”

And they are just nicknames, simply shortened names, but hearing him call you something so sweet makes your knees buckle as you walk past him.

The computer room is warm, the amount of running technology in here makes it that way. You told Winter that this is your favourite room to read in and ever since he hasn’t asked you to read or study anywhere else. The table in the middle of the room is wide and you sit on opposite sides as you both read things together.

Winter has a mission coming up, something secretive but he told you he needs to know some more advanced coding stuff to complete it, he’s been reading these books for weeks.

You’re across from him, studying your french books, taking notes, rewriting words, mouthing the words silently to practise. You pause and stare at him a little, mind wandering to other things. He can feel your eyes on him so he stops reading.

“Can I help you?” He asks as he perks an eyebrow, lip curling to a one-sided smile. It makes your heart beat a little faster. He warms up to you more and more each day.

“Oh I, nothing,” you try to explain why you were staring at him but nothing comes to mind.

He puts his book down flat and turns it for you to read the page he’s on, he takes his time and explains it to you, and that’s not why you were starring, now you’re faking interest just to hear his voice talk softly at you.

He says explaining things to you sometimes helps him learn himself, you like it when he does this. It makes him more appear more human, less perfect.

He grabs your pencil from your hand and your fingers touch momentarily, there a slight shock on your skin from the interaction. He continues explaining and writing things down for ten minutes, but all you can focus on is the tingling in your hand where he touched you.

Something went wrong on his mission, something he didn’t cause. He apparently managed to salvage the mission, complete it as per usual but he must have done things he wasn't meant to. Killed people who weren’t supposed to be involved.

His eyes are vacant the next day, he’s cold towards you, not in the mood for conversation, mind too numb to retain any information.

You know they put him in the chair. You heard it happen from the next room and you felt helpless. But now as he sits across from you at breakfast, silent, eyebrows knitted, you wish you could help him again, but you don't know how to.

He doesn't eat a bite of his breakfast. Once he sees you’re finished he stands up and grabs your hand, pulling you down the hallway, he’s extra gentle as his metal fingers wrap around yours, walking fast through the empty hallways.

He brings you to a room you’ve never seen before, the door is locked and he punches in the code and then quickly pulls you in, locking the door behind you. Your jaw drops when you take the room in, its got a slanted glass ceiling. Snow is falling from the sky and falling on the glass, then sliding down. You can see the details of the snowflakes, the way they melt and trickle down in patterned streams.

He realizes he is still holding your hand and he drops it, he lies down on the cement ground, places his hands under his head and stares up at the ceiling. You follow him, lie a good distance apart and stare up in silence too. He wishes you were close enough to hold his hand again and he wishes he didn’t crave your touch, even if he is so sensitive, so unloved and beaten that such a soft gentle touch, just consciously holding hands with you, would probably send his body into shock.

But it is still comforting having you here. You don’t understand what it’s like to kill yet, but soon you will and he will be there for you too, to lie with you a few meters apart on the cold concrete ground as snow melts on the glass ceiling above, a silent understanding, a touchless comfort. And if your partnership never grows beyond this, he won’t mind; for it is leagues better than his life before you. Better than his winter, before spring.

Your first mission with Winter went ...well it was a trainwreck. You got separated, they gave you a faulty com device, you panicked without Winter there to guide you, help you. You found yourself alone in a room with the target, you tried to question him but he had a gun, you shot his arm and tried to disarm him but as he fell to the ground he grabbed his gun again, you pushed his hand away from you and he shot himself in the head.

When Winter came in after following the sound of the gunshots he saw you, straddling this man with his brains splattered against the walls. Winter searched him, helped you up and basically dragged your shaking body away.

This man wasn't technically your first kill, but you did push his hand, you put him in that position and his blood and brains were on your tac suit, on your hands.

Winter was nice about it too, he drove you both out of there, he talked you down, reassured you. Not that it wasn't your fault but that you would get better, it would become easier. And that he shouldn’t have lost track of you.

When you got back to the base they didn't have the same opinion, they didn't believe you or trust you, they thought you were holding back information, even though Winter adamantly assured them that you weren’t, you had no reason to lie to them.

But they were smart, though evil people they had brains and they could tell that there was something deep inside, something in your eyes that you were holding back; a secret, no matter how big or small or unrelated, they were going to get you to spill it. No matter how much blood had to spill first.

They drag you to that chair and you put up a fight, you didn't want to be wiped, only bad things, painful things happened in that chair.

They strap you in and say teasing words, “you’ll grow to like the chair,” “be a good girl and sit down nicely, stop putting up a fuss.” They whisper and Winter stands idly in the background, not helping but also not stopping them.

They start pumping drugs into your arm after hitting you a few times to get you locked in, it stings under your skin and your mouth goes fuzzy, your vision blurs a little and you feel tired tired... tired and the room spins.

“I feel dizzy,” you whisper slumped in your chair as Winter walks up to you. The lab rats and soldiers leave the room, giving time for the drug to kick in. It's not a truth serum per se, but it does make anyone more...compliable.

“Look Spring, I believe you, I don't think your lying, but if there is anything you are holding back I need you to tell me, tell me what your hiding from them.”

He pleads and you see a bit of fear in his eyes, as if he is scared for you, perhaps growing attached to you. But all you can do is giggle in his face loudly, your nose brushes his cheek. “You really wanna know?” You ask and you have this childishly wide smile across your face and it'd be cute and wholesome if there wasn't blood between your teeth and smeared across your face.

“Please tell me,” he almost begs and you fold for him, abiding by his every request as per usual, as you were taught.

“I love you,” you gulp and then giggle, “ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?” You admit to him finally and then pass out from the beating and the high amount of drugs.

And as the drugs kick in in your dream, the ones in your current system do the same, the dream world behind your eyelids fades into black nothingness. The room is filled with a steady calm heartbeat as you lay sleeping in the bed. The nurse finally walks in, scared to visit you while awake and makes notes on your vitals and recovery, changing your stitching and pulling your blanket up to your chin.

You look like a little girl when you sleep, too young to be such a feared weapon. Only if she ignores the bloody gauze in the garbage beside your bed or the stories she’s heard about you.

Tony walks down the almost empty hallway, everyone in the tower should be asleep, there are no current missions in progress. A rare moment of downtime for the busy superheroes.

He leans against the door as the nurse stands above you, tucking your messy hair behind your ear, she feels bad, she’s caring, it’ in her nature as a nurse.

“Think she deserves a better room?” Tony asks and startles the nurse who quickly pulls her hands away. She looks at Tony for a moment before he continues explaining himself.

“We don't have any missions coming up soon, one of the nicer rooms we have here reserved for us will do her fine I think. Nicer bed, tv, it’s like a small apartment.”

“With a two-way mirror across the wall and video surveillance.” She adds.

“Exactly, we both win, she gets a nicer comfier stay and we get to keep a nice close eye on her.”

“You really think she is up to something bad?” The nurse asks, taking another look at your peaceful expression.

“I don't know what to think,” Tony admits as he leaves the room, texting Bruce to come to the medical ward as well.

“I’ll get the room ready Mr. Stark. The sweet nurse says and then scurries to the opposite end of the hallway.

Tony and Bruce whisper in the hallway as they watch you through the two-way mirror, now that the nurse has moved you. They don’t need to whisper though, they have drugged you up well enough that they could set off a nuke in the hallway and you wouldn't hear a thing.

They discuss how to handle your treatment, whether they should continue to keep you in chains, whether they should try to help you as they did Bucky.

Down the hall and around the corner Bucky is making his way back to your room, he finds it empty and his heart drops, he holds his breath and he goes into defensive mode, ready to attack because he is scared of you, he doesn't trust you.

He turns in a slow panicked circle, looking over the room and then he quickly rushes out the door, knocking the small nurse to the ground in haste.

He apologizes over and over again as he helps her to her feet.

“Were you looking for the girl?” She asks, a little bite to her voice clearly annoyed at the tumble.

“What no, I was just walking, down the hall, to the uh,” he freezes, he never usually walks down here.

“You were taking a 1 Am stroll through the medical ward?” She questions again.

“Yeah, I do that...sometimes.”

“The medical ward is usually empty and locked at this time.” She disproves his lie and the panic is still painted on his face. She gives him a knowing look as she points down the hall.

“She’s moved to one of the nicer rooms, the one on the very end. Don't disturb her though, I won’t be here if she wakes up, and tell Mr. Stark I’ll be late tomorrow.” She is clearly unhappy with the entire situation, her medical ward filled with nosey people and Tony and Bruce making changes when she should have gone home hours ago.

Bucky waits for her to leave and then makes his way down the hall meeting Tony and Bruce.

“Hey Winter,” Tony teases, switching out his usual nickname for the one you had mentioned earlier, “here to see your little girlfriend?” He teases and Bruce looks worried that Tony is pushing Bucky too far.

“She is not my girlfriend. What are you doing here?” Bucky asks.

“I should ask you the same thing?” Tony continues and Bucky learned from his last failed attempt at a lie and chooses silence instead.

“We just decided we are going to help your friend here,” Bruce says to change the subject off of Bucky.

“She isn’t my friend either, I don't know her.”

“Well, that’s exactly what we are going to find out!” Tony says, excitement in his eyes.

“She isn’t your experiment either,” Bucky says as he pushes past them and walks down the hall, tired of this interaction.

Tony yells at him down the hall, knowing you are too drugged up to be woken by the noise.

“Isn’t she though?” Bruce bites on his finger nervously, tired of being caught up in Tony’s schemes but being torn by wanting to help you.

Bucky wishes none of this was happening, he wishes he could go back in time, to a few days ago when he was at a bar with Sam and Steve, playing Pool with Nat and getting his ass kicked, he can taste the cheap beer on his tongue for a moment. If only.

Part 3

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spaceskam · 4 years

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7, 28, 37

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

What a very difficult question! I think I’m going to settle on this paragraph from Knowledge is Power:

As a child, she had a sight she wasn’t supposed to. Her mother told her to hide it, to ignore it, to never tell anyone about the things she saw in her mind for knowledge was power and people feared power. It was hard for her to keep at bay, though, and more often than not, thoughts of memories and the future--which happened to be the same thing in different colors--would encompass her mind.

I’m proud of this because it’s just fun to read, I think. It’s very twisty (I think) and it’s almost repetitive but just enough to make your brain read over it again to make sure it’s not.

28. Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

Only three?! Okay. I can try!

@lire-casander is one of my favorites for obvious reasons if you’ve read anything she’s written. Literally she such a distinct, poetic voice in her writing that I sort of have to dedicate all my attention to it (which is sometimes hard for me to do, hence the lack of freaking COMMENTING I’M THE WORST) but it’s just so good

@daffietjuh Pretty much every time she uploads something, I click on it immediately. Again, I’ve been shit at commenting, but I love it. It’s always so easily digestible and the BANTER is phenomenal

@haloud literally everything I’ve read by them is pure gold. I don’t know a better way to say it other than gold. I’m so bad at expressing myself, it just big good.

OTHER PEOPLE YOU SHOULD GO READ EVERYTHING BY INCLUDE molly who asked this, @bellakitse, @beamirang, @aewriting, @andrea-lyn, @emma-arthur, @irolltwenties, @caitlesshea AND I’M FORGETTING SO MANY PEOPLE BUT MY BRAIN ONLY WORKS A LITTLE BIT

37. Talk about your current wips.

Bold of you to ask this when you know I’m pure chaos.

1. The one I should be posting soon is one that takes place in high school and Alex has selective mutism due to massive social anxiety and Michael dedicates months and months to trying to make him feel comfortable enough around him to possibly speak. I have yet to decide if he’s actually going to speak or not or if it’s going to be an acceptance “one day” thing

2. Another one is the two of them going to Ireland to spread Jesse’s ashes after he dies after not speaking for years. This one was inspired by a conversation me and my friend had. Our “conversations” are usually just elaborate hypotheticals and we were discussing how we should have a falling out and then years in the future after my grandmother dies, I ask him to come to Ireland with me and we go and spread her ashes and then we get drunk and rehash an argument and go our seperate ways for the night and he meets a romantic love interest who shows him how communication is good and I find a book and both of these situations are paralleled as if they’re on par becuase my love interest is a book because I’m aroace and then we reconcile because it was a massive misunderstanding and I’m like hey I’m gonna write that. Yes that is a normal conversation for us.

3. I read this book on wattpad (I know) like 3 years ago and I’ve read it multiple times and I still think about it all the time and it’s basically girl finds werewolf and protects him and stuff and I basically wanna write a malex version just... a lot different.

4. There’s one I have that literally them both being princes of their respective kingdoms and they have a secret love affair that they barely classify as a love affair because they only speak to each other like twice a year but they’re low key obsessed

5. I’ve had a sick!fic in the works for literal months where Michael’s alien sickness causes him to change the temperature of the entire room he’s in. Like if he has a fever, the room is a fucking sauna.

6. ALEX MANES IS A PROLIFIC ANGRY PIRATE AND MICHAEL IS A SWEET LITTLE ORPHAN BOY STUCK AT SEA heavily inspired by the vampirates book series that I read in middle school that has fucking burned itself into my brain

7. AU where Michael goes away after the events of season 1 and basically finds himself and learns to make decisions on his own rather than every choice he makes depending on someone else and it’s literally just a fic of him pacing and monologuing about how he never got to choose anything but now that he has, he just wants to choose Alex

8. High School Musical 3 Rooftop Lunch Scene

ANd others those are just ones I’ve started and I remember

THANKS FOR ASKING!

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agameofme · 5 years

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Living in Grievance, Living in Gratitude

The other day I was walking down Shattuck in Berkeley. Ahead of me, two people were strolling very slowly and talking to each other. One of them caught sight of me behind him out of the corner of his eye, stopped walking and started rapidly repeating a rhythmic three-syllable phrase that at first I didn’t even understand. Then my brain made sense of it: “Come on, sir! Come on, sir! Come on, sir!” he said. “I see you straggling.” He had stopped to insist that I pass, and my soul curled up a little tighter inside me as I did. Finally turning to face me fully, he offered up an awkward correction. “Or ma’am, whatever.”

When I’m misgendered, which I am all the time, I retreat from the world, even as I am out in it. My spirit tightens into a little ball and hides somewhere deep in the core of me, leaving my body a kind of ghost ship, navigating physical space but not really inhabiting it. You could say that I take this approach to every aspect of life. My birthday was earlier this month. I turned 43. But I don’t like to call attention to my birthday. In my darkest, most self-pitying moments, the voice in my head says things like, “Another lonely, empty year. Toss it on the pile with all the others.” It was definitely a year in which I felt the lack of what Bresson called “the bonds that beings and things are waiting for in order to live.” There were few new memories made, no close connections, no seeing and being seen, no knowing and being known, no intimacy, no touch, no affection, no warmth, no love. Will 43 be the year that my life starts? Only time will tell. Maybe the key at this point is to find a kind of meaning that isn’t rooted in close connection with others. But what would that even look like? For me, right now, love is all that matters.

So: I’m extremely guarded against the world largely because I don’t feel seen by it. But the one thing I need more than anything else in order to feel like my life has meaning is close connections with others. I hope you can see my dilemma.

When the pain is at its worst, it sometimes seems to me that there is a choice I have to make between anguish and anger. The anger is much easier. It’s more seductive. It feels more powerful. The anguish leaves me open, aching, yearning, wanting, needing. It hurts like hell sometimes. But in the anguish, there is still the possibility for connection, for salvation. The anger cuts me off. It puts me at odds with the world, with other people. The anguish is better, infinitely better, I assure you. On the final page of Donna Tartt’s novel The Goldfinch, there is this:

Maybe even if we’re not always so glad to be here, it’s our task to immerse ourselves anyway: wade straight through it, right through the cesspool, while keeping eyes and hearts open.

And the thing is that at times, in fleeting moments here and there, I am still so fucking grateful to be alive, even though I’m most definitely not always “so glad to be here,” because though I truly do seek to be free of the loneliness and alienation and anguish in my life, I can sometimes see a strange kind of beauty even in my own spectacular failure of a life.

I found The Goldfinch frustrating for the ways in which it was entirely about whiteness and wealth and privilege but didn’t seem to know in the least that it was entirely about these things, a novel that had the privilege of passing off its experiences and insights and truths as universal when in truth so few of us get to live lives unfettered enough that we can reach for such truths the way Theo Decker does, flying from posh hotel to posh hotel, never really acknowledging that the people behind the counters of those hotels have inner worlds as worthy and wondrous as his own, that they, too, live lives worthy of Pulitzer Prize-winning novels. And yet, I adored it in the end. In the novel’s final moments, as Theo reflects on everything he’s been through and the now that all of that has brought him to, I finally understood where the word “breathtaking” comes from when critics use it as a superlative to describe the impact of a work of art. Sitting outside the little neighborhood coffee stand that is part of my daily routine, I felt my breathing shift, so awestruck and exhilarated was I by the truths Tartt was holding up to the light.

In the closing pages of the book, Theo says,

...I’m hoping there’s some larger truth about suffering here, or at least my understanding of it--although I’ve come to realize that the only truths that matter to me are the ones I don’t, and can’t, understand. What’s mysterious, ambiguous, inexplicable. What doesn’t fit into a story, what doesn’t have a story. Glint of brightness on a barely-there chain. Patch of sunlight on a yellow wall. The loneliness that separates every living creature from every other living creature. Sorrow inseparable from joy.

Yes. Yes. Those are the truths that matter to me, too. After finishing the book, my brain and spirit buzzing from its ending, I walked into a Target, and my phone shuffled up the song “Pobody’s Nerfect” by Wolf Parade. As with so much of Wolf Parade’s music, there’s a point in the song when the sound just gets so vast, it encompasses cities and mountains and forests and starry night skies and also the most intimate truths, the look in the eyes of a trusted friend, the lowering of defenses between people, the past, the future, a freedom from crushing expectations, all of it, all of it at once, and I felt my soul, normally so very small within my body, so guarded, so tense, so vigilant, sweep out to fill the Target and the town and the universe and I thought, that’s it, that’s where it is, that’s why I’m here, the mysterious, ambiguous, inexplicable truth that is microscopic and cosmic all at once and that I will never be able to hold in my hands but will never, ever stop grasping for.

Here’s the thing: My life is so fucking small, just me, here, alone, in this little studio apartment, the solitude stretching like a gray gelatinous blob from day to day to day to week to week to week to week to year to year to year to year to year, and yes, I’ve built a fortress around my heart because I feel besieged in the world, and yes, there’s only very few who can breach it, people who bring my guard down, who make me feel safe and seen and free from expectations that I can never hope to meet. Isn’t it strange how living with the fear of failure, the fear of being deemed too much of a fuckup and cast aside as a hopeless case, has done nothing to motivate me to change, has succeeded only in turning me inward with shame, yet the absence of that fear is what I know could motivate me to change? I’ve lived with the fear my whole life. It doesn’t make me a better person. But love? Yes. Love could do that.

On very rare occasions people try to claw their way into my life but they’re all wrong to me. They’re people who have me raising the drawbridge, flooding the battlements with archers. Then someone strolls by for whom the drawbridge lowers itself, someone who carries the password to bypass all the magical fortifications our enchanters can devise, and they don’t even wish to enter. So it goes, for what’s true for me is as true for them. Again, from the final pages of The Goldfinch: “We can’t choose what we want and don’t want and that’s the hard lonely truth.”

But if at some point the drawbridge lowers and someone enters and we come to some sort of understanding, both of us clear that though there are limits to how well we can know ourselves, much less each other, we’re willing to live together in the full wondrous ambiguity of that, appreciating the beautiful inexplicability of it all together, I will be so grateful, and so glad I lived long enough for that to finally happen in my life. And if it never does, and if I live out the remainder of my years as lonely as the last many years have been, well, it won’t remotely be the life I want for myself, but even that, I suppose, will be inexplicably beautiful in its own way.

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honeypiehotchner · 5 years

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Trust -- part thirteen

This one is a bit shorter for ~dramatics~

Warnings: Grieving, I guess. Implied drug usage, but it’s not explicit or anything. I also am not an addict (lol) nor have I ever used any drugs in my life, so if anything is wildly inaccurate (I love that I’m assuming you guys would know), don’t come for me. I’m trying my best lol

When are you most vulnerable?

A daunting question to even ask yourself, for sure, but even more daunting is perhaps how quick you know the answer.

“I want you to promise me something.”

You smirk, not even aware of what you’re doing. Morphine is good. Real good. “I don’t make promises.”

“Well, you’re gonna start.”

Oh, Tony. “Bossy tonight, are we?”

That earns a small chuckle from him, his fingers squeezing your hand before he gets his thoughts back. “Promise me something.”

You groan, half from a sudden jolt of pain and half from his insistence. One terrible thing about using morphine to get high is that your body builds up a bit of a tolerance. And that’s awful when you really need the morphine to do its job. “What is it?”

“Promise me,” he pauses, taking in a shaking breath as he moves the sheet back to run his fingertips over the marks in your arms. The scars lining your veins. “Promise me you’ll stop this.”

“What for?”

“The mission is over,” he reminds you. He’s had to remind you a lot in the past hour. The drugs have you thinking you’re somewhere you’re not. “We finished it. And you’re gonna get better.”

“What for?”

“For me.”

When are you most vulnerable?

When were you the most vulnerable? That one is easier. When was the last time you felt the most vulnerable? Easy. In Tony’s presence. In that hospital bed, and the days after that you spent with him. You were such a guarded woman when he met you, and despite those guards, he managed to make you feel vulnerable. But within that, he made you feel secure. Protected.

With him gone, you’re already vulnerable, but not in the same way. His protection is no longer here. And it’s hard to run from yourself when yourself is who you most need protecting from.

When are you most vulnerable? You’ve thought about it a few times since being in London. Before Tony was even found, actually. Old habits die hard.

The day that you met John Watson and Sherlock Holmes – more like the day they were following you around – you had already planned to go searching the streets that night. But meeting them, and the offer of a place to stay, changed your plans. Suddenly sleeping in a warm flat on a surface not made of concrete changed your mind entirely.

You know if you had met them a year earlier, that would not have changed your mind.

You credit Tony with most of the strength you have. The resistance you have built and the willpower to tell yourself no that you have gained.

It feels wrong to even act on this idea – experiment? Maybe if you call this an experiment, it’ll make you feel less guilty.

You still apologize to Tony’s ghost, spirit, whatever it is, as you put on a big hoodie and a pair of sweatpants.

You haven’t worn a look like this in, well, years. It almost feels like a costume now, hanging off your body. It doesn’t represent you anymore, and yet here you are, walking right back through the door you promised Tony you had closed for good.

You stuff your keys in your pocket as you head for the door, freezing when you hear footsteps echo on the floor above you.

Damn it. He’s up, of course he’s up. Sherlock Holmes, who never sleeps, never eats, never speaks—

You shake your head. That strange frustration you’re still harboring has got to leave. It’s childish. And you need to move on.

Maybe a walk in the night air will do you some good.

But you’re not leaving through the front door. You know Sherlock well enough to know he’ll hear you and follow you.

So, like a normal human, you exit your flat through the window, leaving it cracked just enough that it looks closed, but you can still get back inside later – whenever you come back home.

Where are you the most vulnerable? Here. On the sidewalk, the moon rising in the sky, hiding behind the clouds. You nearly glare at the sky for making that kind of metaphor. If there ever was a higher power up there, you’d be cursing them right now. Because you get it. The façade is a cloud moving fast, a rug that will soon be yanked out from beneath your feet. You get it.

When are you most vulnerable? Here. With your thoughts echoing in your mind. The voice of Tony.

“For me.”

“I’m sorry again,” you say aloud, but softly, almost as if you’re speaking to the wind, which you might as well be.

You like to think Tony would be here with you, walking beside you. That he’d be just as pissed that The Congregation isn’t over with like you both had thought. Thinking that he would be on your side makes this walk easier.

But you know that even if he was on your side specifically, he wouldn’t agree with this option. He’d swear there was a different way to figure this thing out, to get rid of Gidon for good.

And you would have to tell him what you told him before.

“There isn’t another way!” You scream. “If you see one, please enlighten me!”

“You don’t see it because you aren’t fucking looking for it!”

“And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re so desperate to meet death halfway that you can’t stop to look past the option that has you ending up in the fucking grave,” he fires back. “I can’t keep doing this.”

“Oh, for God’s—Doing what?”

“Saving you,” he replies with a small, sad shake of his head, the tears welling in his eyes. “Because one day I won’t be able to.”

“I’ve never asked you to save me.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry,” you say aloud again, taking a turn down to what you know is the “bad area.” You’ve been here many times before. You’ve walked– stumbled through these streets.

It gives you chills this time. Not from the cold air, but from the memories. The bad nights. Some of these nights were…bad. Awful. Horrific. Some you’re surprised you even survived.

That’s your vow. That’s the vow you’re going to make. Not to let it go as far as it used to.

This is an experiment. This is for the case. This is you, chasing down a lead. This is to find Gidon.

And nothing beyond that.

~~~

Mycroft rubs his forehead worriedly when the update of your location crosses his desk.

He knew you would end up there. It was only a matter of time, truly. But he knows something is different this time, or so he hopes.

He hopes you have been smart enough to piece together where Gidon would be. He knows you are clever.

This is the ultimate test.

~~~

You crawl back through your window sometime the next morning, a little before five. You hadn’t planned on doing anything – more or less treating the walk as…as research. To scope the area and find where you would go, to see if that old place was even still there and not shut down by the cops – because you had a few scares before, one of which did involve Lestrade snooping around. But then again, you never plan on doing anything. It always just…happens.

Heading straight for the shower, you grab a random jumper to change into afterward. John should be leaving for work soon – he’s finally working again – so you need to be back in bed by the time he leaves.

Which isn’t a hard task to complete. You swear your body works at a lightning speed when you’re high, but then again, honestly, it could be the drugs.

It’s definitely the drugs. You’re not making any sense.

You’re snuggled underneath your blankets by the time you hear John bouncing down the stairs – yes, he bounces. He skips stairs and sometimes he goes down them at such a rhythm that he bounces.

The thought makes you smirk. An image of John bouncing down the stairs on a pogo stick floods your brain before you drift off.

#sherlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock x reader #john watson #mycroft holmes #sibling!reader #half-sibling!reader #grieving #implied drug usage #Trust

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its-love-u-asshole · 6 years

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Let My Love [Ch. 12]

Pairings: Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei

Summary: For Kuroo, finding love was all about patience. He had no problem with waiting for the right person to come along, no matter how many awkward dinners or weddings he had to endure as a single man until they did. Regardless, meeting Tsukishima was something he’d never been prepared for. The feelings were overwhelming and intoxicating, ones he was sure he’d do anything for. However, it seemed his endless waiting wasn’t over.

Rating: T

Note: Guys I can't believe we're this close to the end, I've been waiting so long to write the end of this chapter (and name drop the source of the fic's title lmao but that's not as huge...). Thanks so much to everyone who has followed this fic and commented, your support means everything and is one of the only reasons I've made it to the end. Thanks so much @emeraldwaves for reading this over! Also be sure to check out some art for this fic here, here, and here <3

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On their first date, Yuuji had insisted they go to some fancy restaurant uptown on the busiest night of the week. It wasn't for the sake of good food or even a good time, Yuuji had never been there either, and Tsukishima would've been fine with anything that involved semi-decent cake at the end. For someone with such previously high standards, he didn't mind being lazy around Yuuji.

They were fast friends, Tsukishima could say that honestly, no hesitation.

But Yuuji hadn't attempted a long-term relationship in years, and he'd insisted on doing things the 'traditional' way.

"This is how it goes right? Fancy dinner, mood lighting..." That's what he'd gone on about, dragging Tsukishima down crowded city streets with a suggestive twinkle in his eyes. Never mind the fact they'd already skipped much of the traditional courting phases Yuuji seemed to be so obsessed with.

The effort still warmed his heart, and Tsukishima didn't bring it up. He'd been having fun. Even through the ridiculousness of it all. Of course they were supposed to have a reservation, and of course Yuuji wouldn't take that as anything other than a challenge, despite Tsukishima's reassurances the place next door was just as good.

But no, when Yuuji got something in his head, there was no stopping him.

Madness and fake proposal scam aside, Tsukishima certainly hadn't complained when they'd been seated shortly after, half their bill sliced in half in 'celebration.'

Another story to tell on their drinking nights.

It was then he learned of Yuuji's spontaneity, his excitement, the overabundance of energy which would sometimes make Tsukishima want to pull his hair out.

Even still, he was content. They clashed often, maybe in ways he should've been more concerned about from the start. But they enjoyed each other's company, felt like old friends. Tsukishima never judged Yuuji for his past relationships and choices, and Yuuji respected him for it immensely, never asked prying questions. Sometimes, Tsukishima wondered if he would've preferred otherwise now...

Either way, when Yuuji smiled, it was like the sun during an all out apocalypse; bright, burning, warm. As scalding as it was, Tsukishima could never not return it.

"You know, you're the best babe."

"I guess you're not too bad yourself."

"Hey!"

No matter how tangled and tense they'd been lately, overall Tsukishima loved their exchanges. They'd never be bad memories at their core, didn't matter what guilt would mar them. He only hoped that would fade with time.

Tsukishima's lungs were screaming from how he held his breath, but smiled at the foot of the roof stairs, recalling everything which made Yuuji so admirable above all else. Yuuji, his friend, not a soon to be ex, or just a mistake.

Someone who would come to understand and smile at him again, as bright and comforting as ever, even if he couldn't right away. Besides, Yuuji had to know the end was here, and Tsukishima wanted nothing more than to meet him halfway.

After all, once Yuuji got something in his head, there was no stopping him. But this time, a push might help, and they'd always tried to help each other.

With that in mind, Tsukishima exhaled, and climbed.

When he reached the rooftop, the air felt colder, though he'd only been gone a few minutes. The lights around him had lost some of their shine, the lush blanket and romantic spread seemed out of place, awkward somehow, with Yuuji sitting there alone and stiff, face to the still silent forest.

The damn prying eyes of nature. They'd had to see a lot this past week, but soon the show would be over.

Tsukishima let himself stare a little longer, his shoulders shaking from the breeze, and his heart full. It shouldn't have been, but at this point, he needed to stop feeling so much regret, so many nerves. There was only one outcome here.

He'd get to be with him soon. Kuroo, whose touch he'd never felt for more than a few brief touches at a time. It felt criminal, like his soul was screaming for him to reach out and bring them together.

Kuroo, who put everyone first and kept his pain locked in his eyes and behind a steel plated smile. My Kuroo, mine.

It made Tsukishima flush, the shamelessness of it all, the insanity. It was embarrassing, to feel so strongly, but it only made him realize he never truly had before.

Yuuji raised his head, and those eyes made Tsukishima freeze, but they didn't melt him, didn't make his heart tremble.

They'd never, and he knew he'd never done the same for Yuuji. They'd done enough stalling, perhaps more than they were supposed to.

Tsukishima pictured Kuroo's soft eyes as they peered at him over a book, trying to be subtle and failing so miserably. They encouraged him, reminded him of what was to come, what he'd missed. How badly Tsukishima had wanted him to lean forward back then, and demolish the barrier between them.

Now, he got to be the one going through the wall, opening the door.

Tsukishima smiled as he walked over, sitting down on the soft blanket without a trace of tension in his body. He saw the stiffness leave Yuuji's shoulders, and he smiled back.

Tsukishima thought of going with the classic route, the "we need to talk" bullshit that never seemed genuine enough. Yuuji deserved genuine, for all the things Tsukishima had hidden from him, intentionally or not.

Tsukishima knew the straightforward approach was best, but before he could get a single syllable out, Terushima's voice flooded the space, clear and loud in the quiet.

"Do you remember our first date?"

Tsukishima faltered, his mouth falling open without the usual finesse, but he didn't exactly need brain power for this kind of response. "Yeah." How could he not?

Sensing the unspoken confusion, Yuuji laughed, grabbing Tsukishima's hand gently. He always liked to mess around with Tsukishima's long fingers, tapping them and curling them around his own. "I loved that night. It was the first time I'd seen you out of your element. Out on the town you know?"

Tsukishima huffed, unamused. "Yes, I remember asking just what I'd gotten myself into, with you tugging me all over the place."

He'd kept up though, for the sake of that smile.

"Yeah, yeah, but it was fun, no?" Yuuji smiled, hopeful, like he knew Tsukishima’s honest feelings already. Weird how he could suddenly gain that skill at the most random, but important times.

"Yeah, it was a lot of fun," Tsukishima mumbled, and Yuuji's hand squeezed his own.

Yuuji often liked to reminisce, too much sometimes, but Tsukishima knew this wasn't a normal trip down a murky memory lane, picking out the good times instead of seeing the bad. Such was Yuuji's usual route, but something in his eyes swam, unsure beneath the surface. Like something about one of their happy memories would illuminate all the things missing, and Tsukishima held his breath as he finally noticed the lack of music. Yuuji had turned it off, putting an end to the slow love songs.

"I was thinking about it you know, that night. You seemed so calm and collected, in your own world," Yuuji laughed, his voice so fond Tsukishima wanted to cry. "You've always been like that huh? In your own head."

Yes.

Reserved. Quiet. Everything you are not.

They'd never considered that a problem before, it didn't have to be, but they couldn't control where the road took them all the time. Tsukishima just nodded. He wondered how sad he must've looked, hopefully not as sad as Yuuji, with defeat written all over his face.

He knew what Tsukishima knew, as he'd suspected.

I'm sorry I didn't make you realize sooner.

"I never really noticed, I mean...I did, but I...ignored it." Yuuji's voice became a regret filled mumble, and he looked to their intertwined hands, rubbing his thumb across the top of Tsukishima's.

Please don't apologize.

Tsukishima didn't think he could take it.

"And I never asked you about the future, probably for the same reason," Yuuji said with a huff, and the tremble made Tsukishima clutch him tighter, a lifeline. Maybe that was another selfish thing to do, to keep himself from crying by clinging tighter, but Yuuji had always wanted him to be a little selfish. Guess he got to live up to expectations, just this once.

The strain in Yuuji's tone squeezed back, tough and cutting, but oh so honest. "I didn't want to hear what you had to say."

Tsukishima couldn't help but laugh, small and pathetic, but enough to make his friend perk up in the same innocent way everyone came to adore. "That was probably for the best."

It took about five painful seconds too long for Yuuji to realize it was a joke, and grace Tsukishima with a much needed smile. Ah, there we go.

No one could tell Tsukishima he hadn't learned how to cheer Yuuji up. He considered it a skill at this point.

Yuuji shook his head, swallowing. "Yeah, yeah I guess."

But it wasn't enough in this case, and soon the laughter between them died. Tsukishima's rehearsed words, the straightforward attempt at ending things concisely had flown out the window. It wasn't his turn to talk, he sensed it, and he waited instead, content with staying all night if he had to.

He wouldn't have to. His friend tipped his head back, eyes closed to steel himself, and the air left Tsukishima's lungs.

"We don't...work, do we?" Yuuji asked, and the world stilled, the truth spilling forward like it had wanted to for so long. "We've never worked."

There it was, but somehow hearing it from Yuuji's mouth made it feel a thousand times more real, and Tsukishima couldn't help but feel his heart stop. He knew he loved Kuroo, knew he could never love Yuuji the same way, this end was more of a relief than a curse. Even still...saying goodbye never got easy, having to acknowledge their incompatibility and their past...

It hurt, it hurt so much more than any other half-hearted break-up or rejection.

But beneath that, the joy began to bloom, barely, like the trickle of water. One step closer to where he was meant to be.

Tsukishima bit his lip, he didn't trust his words not to become cracked and teary as they left his mouth. He couldn't take it. He shook his head, eyes shut tight. “No, we don't.”

If anything though, Yuuji appreciated every ounce of feeling which leaked through.

"How long have you known?" Yuuji asked, staring at his shoes.

Tsukishima's voice sounded heavy, but he didn't care anymore. He'd let Yuuji see and hear everything, the tough reality of it all. "A...a while."

He didn't feel the need to elaborate. Yuuji knew Tsukishima wouldn't intentionally hurt him, that Tsukishima processed his feelings slowly. The decision to not end things earlier was not an insult, he had tried so hard to not disrespect Yuuji in that way.

He probably hadn't succeeded, but he cared, and it meant so much to them both.

Yuuji cracked a small smile, looking up at the starry sky. It seemed less brilliant than before. "Damn, I really messed up huh?"

Immediately, Tsukishima's instincts flared with something protective. Neither of them were fully to blame for this, he had to make sure Yuuji knew that. "Yuuji, you didn't--"

The other held up his free hand, eyes soft, and Tsukishima didn't doubt there was some love there. Just not the kind they needed. "Hey it's okay, I didn't mean it like that." Yuuji rubbed the back of his head, juggling his words, but his focus eventually returned, strong and somber, back to Tsukishima. "I just, got carried away. I should've known."

We both should've known.

"And look this isn't about you, believe me, I'm not trying to guilt you, but...it just makes me mad at myself," Yuuji said, his laugh devoid of any joy. "I wanted to settle down and start something permanent, I wanted that so badly, to prove I could do it, I just jumped at the first opportunity I could. I didn't want to be alone."

But Yuuji never had been alone, not with Tsukishima, not with such amazing friends like Kuroo all looking out for him. Tsukishima wanted to scream that at him, but part of himself still kept his words back, reserved everything fighting to get out. The raw truth of Yuuji's confession didn't surprise Tsukishima, he knew he'd reach this conclusion eventually. But the speed of it...it was jarring. Everyone really needed to start giving Yuuji more credit. He could sense things so well at times, had figured everything out in a matter of days.

Yuuji and Kuroo were so much alike in this sense, and in the need to not be alone. However, Yuuji lacked the ability to tell real love apart from every other false mirage, but one day he'd be a master of it. Just like his snarky, smirking cousin.

"Yuuji..." Tsukishima whispered, at a loss for what to actually say. What part of that could he pick apart and deliver coherently? Such a tirade of feelings, he thought he might explode.

Yuuji had always been better with talking too. "A-and trust me, I'm not saying you're a substitute or a mistake or--or anything like that! I didn't date you just to waste time."

“I know,” Tsukishima blurted out, because like hell he wasn’t making sure Yuuji knew at least that. “I jumped into things too fast too, I didn’t want to admit I was wrong. It wasn’t just you. I’m…I’m the one who messed up…”

Yuuji, with the protectiveness which must’ve been genetic, wouldn’t let him get away with it. Didn’t want to hear what he deserved to hear.

Yuuji grabbed his shoulder, and Tsukishima startled, the touch as much of a shock as the words. "Kei, you're one of the most amazing people I've ever met...you're, you're one of my best friends. There’s no way--I’m not ever going to hate you for this, okay?”

Tsukishima wondered how afraid he must’ve looked, for Yuuji to offer him that reassurance.

Somehow, knowing all these feelings were mutual made it all worth it.

One of your best friends huh? You're mine too.

Tsukishima never expected to admit that to himself so easily, but there it was.

"But...I shouldn't have turned that into something it wasn't...I'm sorry if I hurt you," Yuuji whispered, hand shaking around Tsukishima's shoulder. Tsukishima didn't mind in the slightest. "For all the times I--"

"You didn't," he said, leaving no room for argument. It was the same cold, serious tone which got him nicknamed the ice king wherever he worked, firm and certain, exactly what they both needed. You could never.

Not really, not in ways that would last. For all the times they'd wronged each other, they found a way back to common ground.

"I'm the one who's sorry," Tsukishima whispered, and fuck being repetitive. He’d say it a million times, and he hated the hesitation there, the one which his pride reinforced. He was better than this now, he could own up to his mistakes.

And in the future, he'd tell Yuuji the full truth, alone, like this, and he wouldn’t let Yuuji try and avoid the apologies owed.

Yuuji's hand slipped from his shoulder, joining the one which held his hand, and Tsukishima would keep that specific smile in his memory for the rest of his life. Vulnerable, crinkled at the edges, but trying.

That should've been it, but Tsukishima could see the fear lodged in Yuuji's eyes, the stray tear which managed to leak out of the corner of one. Tsukishima didn't try to wipe it away.

"I didn't want to be alone."

It made what came next so expected, but unfair all the same.

"You...don't think there's any fixing us do you? Nothing we can do?" Yuuji's hope of salvation drenched every question, wrapping around and polluting the truth he'd so expertly found. Tsukishima wouldn't let him fall victim to that, no matter how much it hurt him to do so. Yuuji deserved better, to belong wholeheartedly to someone else. Where that someone was, neither of them knew, but if Tsukishima had managed to find his other half, Yuuji surely had no reason to worry.

And speaking of Kuroo, he was waiting, or...given Tsukishima's plan, he supposed he was the one waiting for Kuroo.

Tsukishima looked out into the woods for a final time, knowing his time on this trip was over.

With a shaky breath, Tsukishima asked the big question, already knowing the answer. "Yuuji, do you love me?"

When Yuuji looked up at him, wet eyes and heavy heart, Tsukishima felt his whole body exhale, finally letting go of the weights on his shoulders.

In an instant, Yuuji knew the answer to all of his own questions too, and something in his expression settled, finished.

Again, Tsukishima couldn't help but whisper an apology, deep in his soul.

"No," Yuuji whispered after some time, like he'd been wounded, his voice cracking as he shook his head. "I don't think I do."

Not the way you're supposed to.

Tsukishima smiled, the tears blurring his vision, and he didn't take offense. There was someone out there who did love him, they'd see each other very soon.

For now, he was thankful for Yuuji, and knew his fear of loneliness wouldn't survive long.

Tsukishima didn't resent him for anything, wasn't disappointed in the slightest as he leaned forward, pressing a last, lingering kiss to Yuuji's cheek. “Thank you.”

For everything.

The hand curled around Tsukishima's tightened one last time, scared, before slowly releasing his hand completely, and letting Tsukishima slip away.

Tsukishima didn't think it was cruel of him to not look back as he walked towards the stairs, he doubted Yuuji wanted him to; he only hoped the other felt as free as he did, in some way or another.

Plus, they'd see each other again, he was sure of it. Hoped for it.

Tsukishima felt good, closing the door on another chapter in his life, and knowing his time wasn't wasted in the slightest. It made packing easier, and sleep became the last thing on Tsukishima's mind as he ultimately exited the quiet lakehouse late in the night, grateful he'd been brought in the first place.

Truly, he thanked Yuuji for that most of all.

When Kuroo woke up, Tsukishima's bags were gone, the scarf he'd left by the door had disappeared, and the house sat like a hollow shell despite all the people in it. He felt like a hollow shell, because it felt as if part of him was missing. Kuroo hadn't been able to comfort the blond before he'd supposedly taken a shuttle back to the city, hadn't gotten to find out how the talk with Terushima had gone, or promised to see him soon.

Nothing.

Kuroo's skin itched for his car keys, wanting to chase and chase until he saw Tsukishima's face again.

Yet, he had things to resolve here first, packing aside.

When Kuroo entered the kitchen, everyone was already awake and staring out of the window, where Terushima sat on one of the porch rails, looking into the wilderness.

Kuroo immediately felt sick to his stomach, didn't help when a majority of eyes flew to him, knowing in one too many ways. Bastards.

He'd lost count on how many of them knew actually, but at this point, he assumed it was all of them. His friends paid too much attention.

Rather than disappointment however, he saw pity. This time, he didn’t mind.

Kuroo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he watched Terushima's motionless form.

It wasn't...the reaction he'd expected. In the past, when Terushima got upset, he'd rant to them all, or close himself off in his room for days, blasting loud music or eating all the food in the house. Dealing with his mistakes or shortcomings had never been a strong suit.

A tantrum was always expected, and usually understandable. Break-ups and failures were hard. But this...this wasn't normal for his cousin. So quiet, so serene.

"How is he?" Kuroo asked, and he tried not to wince at how loud his voice echoed. Yachi flinched.

Semi shrugged, moving to put away some of the clean dishes from the washer. The light clangs of plates and cups made things feel calmer, more casual, like everything was okay. "Not terrible honestly, but I guess we all knew it was coming to an end."

"Some of us more than others," Shirabu added, because of course he had to. Kuroo shot him a glare, but the other wasn't looking at him with the usual cutting expression or smug smile. He just looked...relieved, staring at Kuroo as if he could sense the anticipation brewing below the surface.

It was the first time in a long time Kuroo actually felt Shirabu actively trying to comfort him, felt him say 'it's okay, it was meant to be' with his eyes alone.

Semi stared at him too, not judgmental in the slightest, because surely they both knew Kuroo's guilt had the ability to eat him alive.

He felt Yachi's hand in his before he could process Yahaba's smile, or Kyoutani's nod, and he didn't dare look at her face. That would surely break him.

But Kuroo's predictions hadn't been one hundred percent accurate when it came to his friends, because Oikawa's face scrunched up a second later, looking between the rest of the group with something akin to insanity. "Huh? What do you mean? Am I missing something?"

The silence around them was deafening for a different reason this time, and wow, no one in the world could've predicted this kind of development.

Oikawa Tooru claimed to know everything, and once Kuroo had his wits again, he was going to rant to the world about this.

It was Iwaizumi who sighed, shocking them all, and he put a hand on his confused boyfriend's shoulder. "How is it someone so nosy ends up being the most oblivious one of the week?"

Yeah, I like this guy. Oikawa can keep him.

Oikawa turned his scowl Iwaizumi's way while Suga tried to hide a smirk, the red already blooming on his cheeks. "Why you--what are you talking about?"

"Oh, nothing babe."

"You--"

"Damn," Yahaba muttered. "I'm never gonna let him live this down."

"Hey."

"Ditto," Yachi whispered beside Kuroo, and for a minute, Kuroo felt his heart soar. At Oikawa's expense, but what else was new?

"Enough," Semi whispered hastily. "He's coming back inside."

Oh shit.

Everyone tensed as they watched Terushima jump off the railing, heading for the kitchen side door.

"Should we try to act natural?" Yahaba whispered, and Kuroo rolled his eyes.

"He's not an idiot you know."

"Well I--"

The door slammed, and they all looked to the sound, all thoughts washed away.

So much for acting somewhat normal.

Even Semi stopped, holding a plate in midair. Terushima stood at the doorstep, scraping the dirt off his shoes, before his tired eyes scanned the room. He must've hardly slept.

Kuroo frowned, but then his cousin smiled, his shrug the same relaxed movement which used to infuriate them all in high school. So natural, but resigned.

Whatever Tsukishima had said to him, Kuroo would have to thank him for it. A few thousand kisses should do to start, and then one hundred more after.

Terushima sighed. "Guess the vacation is over, huh? Sorry guys..."

Sorry, as if he could've seen this coming.

The support squad was on Terushima before the words were fully out, and he received them willingly, another surprise. Terushima wasn't hiding.

"This time maybe," Semi grabbed Yuuji's shoulder, squeezing tight. "But don't doubt me. I'm dragging you assholes back out here as soon as possible, even if I have to track you down."

Yuuji laughed, genuine and threatening to break Kuroo's heart. "No need, I'll be here."

"We're sorry Yuuji," Yachi said, leaving Kuroo's side to wrap her arms tightly around Terushima's frame. Terushima didn't hesitate to twirl her, the force of the hug nearly toppling him. "We know you really liked him."

"We liked him too," Yahaba whispered, another reassurance. "We're sorry it didn't work."

But when Yuuji looked up, his face didn't show resentment or regret, just acceptance, and puzzlement at their words. He never did accept anything as a true goodbye. "I still like him, don't feel bad, " he said, pulling Yachi away from him. "It didn't work but...he's my friend, I can't let him stay away forever."

A silent 'you'll see him again' floated through the air, and Kuroo's hands trembled as he tied them together. He must've picked that up from Tsukishima...

But Terushima was right technically, or Kuroo hoped. He had to hope, and Yahaba shot him a knowing glance at that very moment.

Yeah, we definitely will.

They all circled around Terushima, the group hug about as convoluted and hard to manage as always, with some of the falling to the wayside and shoving and cursing each other. It was perfect, Kuroo wouldn't trade it for the world.

Terushima didn't ask about why no one seemed eager to harp on Tsukishima, to question how the break-up had gone or the reasoning for it. Either he was oblivious, or he'd grown enough to not care. Either way, there was a comfort in that, in the fact this break-up wasn't the usual kind. A peaceful separation, a needed one.

Kuroo was happy for his cousin as much as his heart ached for him, he'd become one of the most admirable people he'd ever known, and the feeling would only grow as time went on.

After all, they were still young, weren't they?

Whoever ended up by Terushima’s side, they would be one of the luckiest people in the world. And Kuroo knew Tsukishima would agree.

Just…not as lucky as Kuroo, though he was biased.

Terushima looked up, grinning at him, tired around the edges, but no less bright, and Kuroo returned it tenfold.

The sound of slamming trunks and car doors mixed in with the usual chirps and rustle of the wilderness around them, like the woods had finally lost interest in all the happenings around the lakehouse. Good.

Kuroo smiled faintly as he watched Oikawa and Iwaizumi fawn over each other, knowing they were soaking up the last moments together before they'd eventually have to break off again. At least they'd decided to share a car on the way back, and Kuroo's heart clenched as Suga helped load their last piece of luggage into the back.

Yahaba's hands were busy wrapping a scarf tightly around Kyoutani's neck, fretting over weak immune systems and flu season, but his lover just seemed to like hearing his voice. Maybe that's why he let Yahaba nag so much.

Kuroo already missed Yachi terribly, and he'd let her small, meaningful smile soak into his bones as she'd driven away. It made him feel like he could do anything. He had no doubt she'd been rooting for him all along.

He needed that, with how his palms sweat, his feet tapping none too inconspicuously against the old wooden porch. He adored this ragtag family of his, but...

He had somewhere he wanted to be. Someone he wanted to be with so badly, it felt like he couldn't breathe. His car sat parked on the dirt driveway in front of him, calling to him, ready to race through fire and water to get to the place they'd be waiting for him. Always waiting, far too long.

Kuroo didn't remember what it had felt like to be so excited, so compelled about something. It was like he was a kid waiting for Christmas morning, or the time he'd gotten an acceptance letter from the college of his dreams. But it felt like those moments combined, multiplied, and then added to every other significant moment he'd ever experienced. It was so much more, he couldn't find an accurate enough comparison.

That was how Tsukishima made him feel.

A cough broke his train of thought, and he looked over to the culprit. Or culprits, and their prying, amused stares.

Semi and Shirabu sat on the porch swing, like the losers they were, trying to believe they were old and retired, somehow above it all in their wisdom and observations. Kuroo would miss them terribly.

Though given the ride he'd given them this week, he'd be getting a lot more phone calls. Kuroo would just find a way to live with it, and plus, now he’d have a partner of his own to battle with them.

Semi gestured down the road, and Kuroo's eyes found Terushima's car, one passenger this time. Oh. There was another reason Kuroo hadn't sped off in his car. He didn't know what exactly, but there was something more for him to say to his cousin, he had to.

Before things changed forever.

"You should go now, while he's alone," Shirabu said, leaning into his husband like it was the safest place in the world, no matter how rickety that swing looked and sounded. "You need to talk to him."

Ah, and he'd miss their spot-on advice too. Assholes. But they were right, and before Kuroo knew it, his feet moved down the porch steps, onto the gravel, knowing where to carry him. They'd gotten quite good at that.

Terushima sat alone in the driver's seat, door propped open and leg hanging out, staring through the windshield. Contemplating, serious. Not at all his usual mode. In fact, Kuroo couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Terushima so stone still, unmoving. Today he'd been doing that a lot...

Kuroo sighed, leaning against the cherry red car, so loud and fun, like its owner. He'd been worried about knowing what to say, about not having a plan, but now that he was here..."It's okay to be sad you know."

The words were easy. Terushima tended to feel like he wasn't allowed to be upset, it was a party killer anyways. What was the use? Kuroo knew better though, if Terushima let all that fester, it would eat him alive in the end.

But it didn't look like that was the case this time, and Terushima looked up at him, smile small. He wasn't running away. "I know. I'm not sad he left, you know? I'm sad I pushed for it so hard when I shouldn't have, if that makes sense…I'm just disappointed in myself more than anything."

The blatant admission had Kuroo rushing to his cousin's defense, no matter how peaceful Terushima looked.

"You couldn't have known dude. That's just life, you try things and sometimes they'd don't come through," Kuroo tried, but then he winced. He sounded like a bad self-help book; where had his writing mojo gone? He should've been better at this. He didn't have a better way of putting it though, sometimes the truth just sounded cheesy and cliché. They all had to deal with it.

Yuuji nodded, like he already knew. "Yeah, you're right. I'm just happy he's okay, that we're okay."

I'm sure he feels the same.

Kuroo frowned as Terushima pulling his other leg out of the car, leaning onto his knees as he sighed at the ground. Regardless of anything, Kuroo wanted the liveliness of his cousin to return, but he knew he didn't get to decide when it would. "What are you going to do now?" He asked instead, hands deep in his pockets. He tried not to think about how the tips of his fingers grazed the metal ring of his car keys.

He didn't know how much such a question would do. Would Terushima feel like returning to the city? Hitting the ground running? Back to work, back to art, back to things which reminded him far too much of a certain blond…

Perhaps Kuroo was being insensitive, yet his cousin continued to surprise him with answers. Terushima's head rose, brow furrowed as he huffed. "I think...I need to take some time to explore, figure out what I want. Don't tell the overseers over there, but I feel like I don't know myself as well as I thought?"

Well, he’d been there before.

Kuroo couldn't appreciate the jab at Semi and Shirabu; his mouth parted, ready to make sure Terushima knew he could lean on him for help if he needed it, but then his cousin was smiling again, all teeth, like such a thing was more of an opportunity than a curse.

"So, I figured I've gotta remind myself," Terushima said, confident and sure, and the last of Kuroo's worries were eaten up by the glow in those brown eyes. "It's never a bad time for a road trip!"

And what could Kuroo do, except smile back?

That, and pray for whoever else shared the road with his overenthusiastic cousin. He'd remind himself to check in with him often. He wouldn’t be able to sleep well otherwise.

"Sounds like a plan," Kuroo said, and everything became lighter, freer, like it was supposed to be.

The sounds of footsteps crunching the twigs nearby made them raise their heads, finding a very done looking Suga in front of them. Man, if Kuroo could have that face on a shirt, he totally would. Any energy Suga contained had been efficiently sucked out of him.

The other sighed loudly, and it took one look towards Oikawa and Iwaizumi to figure out why. They were disgusting. The usual.

Suga looked to Terushima, eyes pleading. "Mind if I join you? You can drop me off along the way, I just really don't want to be stuck with the love birds for more than a few hours, or maybe even a few seconds. Just. Please?"

Kuroo couldn't help but laugh, ugly and loud, because if this whole trip had begun with Iwaizumi and Oikawa being over-romantic idiots, this surely wasn't surprising. Then again, Kuroo was thankful for Iwaizumi's shocker of an arrival. It had brought Suga to Kuroo in his time of need, someone whose support he'd value for the rest of time. Not to mention his all-knowing, totally invisible third eye, but Kuroo would keep those theories to himself.

Kuroo looked back at Terushima after wiping his tears, and his cousin simply shrugged, leaning into the car to pat the passenger seat beside him.

"Sure, the more the merrier!"

It was good to see Terushima hadn't completely changed, he never passed off the opportunity to include people, to build his circle until it burst at the seams. As Kuroo watched his car disappear into the distance with Iwaizumi's, he was thankful Terushima wouldn't be alone.

Unfortunately, it left Kuroo at the mercy of the two most powerful people in the world, plus Yahaba, a demon in his own right. Kyoutani seemed content to watch the happenings from the porch rails. Jerk.

Yet, even they decided to go easy on him for once, probably because his restlessness was now pouring onto the woodland floor.

"He's going to be just fine. Give it month," Shirabu said, snorting a laugh. "He'll be as obnoxious and happy as ever by then."

Kuroo put a hand over his heart, wiping a fake tear. "I think that's the sweetest thing you've ever said."

"Shut it."

"He's right though," Semi said softly, jostling Kuroo's shoulder. "He'll be okay Kuroo. And he'll find someone just right for him, and then we’ll all be done for."

Kuroo smirked, but took the words to heart.

He'll find someone, just like I did.

"Ugh, can you imagine?" Yahaba muttered, but the smile on his face betrayed him. Kyoutani leapt off the rails, as if sensing his love's spell of content, and kissed his forehead.

"Yeah, I can actually," Kuroo whispered, and looking out at the woods once more, he let the quiet settle in, already wishing he was back. He had someone else he wanted to bring of course, so that would ultimately have to wait.

The morning sun had begun to warm the treeless chunk of driveway, and Yahaba sighed, turning to Kuroo with expectant eyes. Out of all the things he could've said, touching and eloquent, he'd ditched them completely. Lit them on fire even. "Anyways Kuroo, what the fuck are you still doing here?"

Kuroo squawked. He wouldn't deny it, that's exactly what he did.

"Seriously, someone finally said it,” Shirabu sighed, throwing his hands up.

"I'm surprised he stayed this long."

Kyoutani. Not you too.

The audacity.

You’re all horrible.

Kuroo gaped at the smirking faces around him, and his heart thundered in his chest. He wanted to cry, he wanted to laugh, he wanted every emotion he'd been keeping back to pour out. No time right then though, he knew as much. All he could do was think about how much he loved these fools, standing frozen under their gazes.

Semi just smiled, sheepish as ever, but even he couldn't fully get rid of the teasing glint in his expression as he fished for Kuroo's car keys, pulling them out without trouble from his pockets.

After all, Kuroo was a statue right then, but with Semi's next words, he had no problem moving.

"Go get him, idiot."

"And call when you get home, you know I worry," Yahaba threw in, eyes kind, and Kuroo hugged each of them quickly, on autopilot. His pulse had already sped up, his breathing like pants, and he could've run a marathon, just to get to where he needed to be.

Buuuut, a car was probably faster.

"Will do," he rushed out, happier than he could ever explain, legs carrying him down the porch steps. When he put the key into the ignition, nothing else mattered except reaching his destination, the place he'd wanted to be for what felt like forever.

He smiled as his friends waved from the porch, and then he was off, sure of the future.

Kuroo probably was on a watchlist now, with how many times he got stopped for speeding only to be issued a "warning." Whatever. The sight of the city skyline made him want to cry, and he sped up again, not listening to his Shirabu-like voice of reason this time.

He was allowed to take risks now, and anything which limited his travel time was worth it.

Roads blurred together, from freeway exits, to side streets, all the way until he could recognize the corner store by his apartment, the coffee shop nearest to the library...

Library. Coffee.

The thought made Kuroo hit his brakes, pulling into a parking spot with only one honk from another car. It was a success.

His hands shook as he fumbled for his wallet, his mind repeating the same things over and over. Two blocks. Two blocks. Two blocks.

Just two blocks until he reached the library. Funny how everything led him back there. Yet, he'd never let himself forget Tsukishima's words.

"Do you remember how I like my coffee?"

Anything Tsukishima said shouldn't be ignored. Every phrase, every admission and inquiry were important, purposeful, and not put forth without a great deal of thought.

So, Kuroo did what's he'd been subtly asked to do. He ordered a medium coffee with far too much sugar in it, stirring a ridiculous, but calculated amount of times and adding the most minuscule dashes of cinnamon. He didn't doubt himself at all, he'd seen Tsukishima prepare his coffee so many times. In fact, he'd probably known since the very first morning they met up, that was how much Kuroo couldn't take his eyes off the blond.

He wanted to see him again, so bad, and he realized now nothing would stop him. Nothing could. Kuroo walked so fast those two blocks, dodging obnoxious crowds and strollers and a plethora of other things he wouldn't remember later.

He thought he might cry when he saw the old stone steps of the library, he'd climbed them so many times...He'd always had to say goodbye at these steps, Tsukishima leaving him, because any further outside their sphere was too dangerous, too close.

Kuroo steadied himself, trembling legs, and he was at the top. Then, it was real.

His feet carried him before he even fully knew where he was going, like his heart powered his entire body, leading him right to the correct section, the right row, the exact spot where the rest of his life sat, book sitting flat on the table in front of him.

Page one. How long had he been there, just staring at the spot Kuroo now stood?

The shades of brown and honey glistened with something which made Kuroo want to run to him, scoop Tsukishima up, and the blond's eyes widened. Kuroo must've looked no better, coffee cups shaking as he set them down, afraid to move.

He let his hands sit on the table, supporting his weight so he wouldn't collapse. This was their favorite table...Tsukishima remembered.

Kuroo smiled as the sounds of books being stacked and whispers flowed through the air, and for the first time, he wished they were somewhere else. For once, he could take Tsukishima somewhere else.

But he loved this place still, the place where they'd met, the dark wood of shelves which made Tsukishima shine. The faint smell of the ocean which came with Tsukishima, unexplainable.

"Hi," Tsukishima whispered after the seconds passed, each an hour long. His hands were curled up on the table, keeping him locked there.

"Hi yourself," Kuroo replied, smile only growing.

Pouting, because it must've been the only expression Tsukishima could manage without losing control, the blond's brow furrowed. "You're late."

Kuroo wanted to cry, the joy overflowing.

You have no idea.

"Am I?" he asked, staring at the giant clock overhead, the gaudy one Tsukishima hated so much because it was two minutes ahead.

It wasn't even evening yet. He'd made better time than he'd thought, but any time was too much time now for either of them.

"Yes."

Slowly, Kuroo walked over the where Tsukishima sat, placing his coffee in front of him. He doubted the blond even cared about it now, but he took a sip anyways, eyes never leaving Kuroo's as he sighed, satisfied. "Perfect."

Knew it.

"I'm glad." So glad, and before he knew it, his hand peeled Tsukshima's away from the cup, linking their fingers together.

Tsukishima's grip tightened instantly, and Kuroo grinned, bright and genuine, no more hiding.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting," Kuroo joked, his voice small, and Tsukishima's other hand came to rest on top of Kuroo's, his smile just as relieved. "It won't happen again."

He was one hundred percent sure of that.

#kurotsuki #haikyuu!!#adri writing #tsukishima kei #kuroo tetsurou

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