#rage and ruin header | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

saintsofwarding · 11 months

Text

WE SHALL BE MONSTERS

Header by @keltii-tea

Chapter 20: An Explosive Conclusion

The storm raged, blizzard descending by the minute, but even that wasn't enough to cow Lady Dimitrescu. She mutated, and in a few wingbeats, she, Rose, and Donna had sailed from the ruined crags of her castle and onto the far side of the crater Chris's bomb had bitten from the earth, onto the cliffside overlooking the factory itself.

The great stone bridge leading to Heisenberg's factory was crumbling away, overgrown with yet more of Miranda's calcified tentacles, bursting upward to wind around and over the bridge as if to pull it down into the ravine below. Far down, a river raged, bursting its banks; the freezing spray whipped Rose's cheeks as she strode over the bridge, Donna at her back, Dimitrescu once again in her humanoid form.

Around them loped lycans. Moreau's lycans. It was uncanny to see them there, clambering over the tentacles and ancient stones with ease, snarls and weird howls and other vocalizations filling the wind as they signaled to one another, not attacking, but...guarding. Guarding her, guarding Donna and Dimitrescu.

Her control over them, through Moreau, was a flexing tension, an omnipresent pressure in her mind.

A web.

A network.

Branching, like the roots of some great fungal colony growing, stealthily, belowground. How the hell had she done it? Easily, she told herself. As easily as she'd taken control of Heisenberg when she was just a baby, stealing his power away from him at her whim. As easily as she'd slithered into that BSAA commando's head, had killed him almost without thinking, had invaded the Embryo creature's mind to read it like a bar code.

Her mouth tasted bitter. She shook her head, shook off the pressure. But it was always there, always growing. A matrix of paths in her mind, pathways of glistening black. Blood vessels, rivers. Chains.

This is who you were meant to be. Special child. Holy child. Don't you understand?

More lycans filled the ravine and the darkening landscape of the village, the sky growing more and more begloomed by the moment as night set in. Their torches glowed in the darkness, a sweep of guttering points of firelight filling the shadows.

The lycans' yelps and howls rose into the sky, fading as Rose and the others crossed the bridge, toward the factory looming beyond. Its myriad chimneys poured black smoke, underlit with a dull red glow that must have been a furnace going at full blast.

Rose surveyed the field of dead grass past the factory gates, filled with heaps of rust that must have once been pieces of Heisenberg's experiments, the junk of decades cast-off when they proved unusable for his grand ambitions of murder and freedom.

No sign of Ouroboros out there. Had they infiltrated the factory? But then why turn it on, if their aim was stealth?

Something was wrong, here. Very wrong. She should be cautious, approach this from a smarter angle.

She didn't want to approach this from a smarter angle. She wanted this to end. Now. Tonight. In blood and tears, if possible.

One of the lycans snarled, scrambling to the parapet beside her. Rose turned. "Stay back." She sensed Moreau's feeble attempts to gain control of them. "Stay back."

It rounded on her, fangs glistening. Rose stared up at the monster; it snapped, then, with a shudder through its whole body, it backed off. Head lowered, it climbed down the side of the bridge, joining the others thronging all down the cliffside.

Rose let out her breath, then glanced at Donna, just behind her. Her expression was impossible to gauge under her veil, but Rose felt her eyes on her, felt the weight of her regard.

Angie leaned in to whisper something to Donna, and Donna nodded, slowly, never taking her eyes from Rose.

I had to, Rose wanted to scream at her. Don't you get it? I had to. But Donna would never listen to that excuse. Donna had heard it before, and had only believed it then out of desperation. Now, it wouldn't cut it again.

Rose made herself look away from the pair, her throat tight, her eyes hot. No. She couldn't stop now. She couldn't look back now.

And if your mother's in there?

What then?

Mia Winters was a shadow. A memory of a memory. How many of those memories were of her, anyway? How many of the real Mia Winters, and not of Miranda? She'd been so young when Miranda had captured her mother, less than six months old. Miranda had impersonated Mia well, but in the end it was still her. By all rights, by all memory, Miranda was her mother, not Mia.

That will make this easy.

The main factory gates looked like something from one of the many cities Rose and Heisenberg had lived in over the years, fencing off a shipyard or scrap-heap. They were orange with rust, clanging in the icy wind, loops of razor wire strung over the top. Through them, the field was silent; nothing moved save that wind, save the ripple of the grass.

"Open it up," Rose told Dimitrescu.

The gates burst open with a slash of her talons. Rose stepped through; an alarm went off in the distance, a high wailing trill echoing from hidden speakers. She drew her sword, but there was nothing- no commands, no rattle of bullets. Huge pylon towers creaked in the oncoming blizzard. The rustle of grass sounded like whispers, a crowd of them surrounding her in the snow-mist.

Rose grit her teeth, her heartbeat ticking in her throat as she and the others stopped before the main entrance to the ramshackle old factory, big weathered barn doors held shut with a stout chain. This place didn't look like the sort to birth a corpse army, an endless stream of mechanical monstrosities. But, then again, neither did Heisenberg.

"Hey!" Rose shouted. "Ouroboros! You wanted me? Here I am!"

She lifted her hand, summoning a burst of mold that writhed from the grass like a nest of snakes. "Here we all are! You find my dad yet? You wanna come talk about it face to face?"

"Child," Dimitrescu muttered, her shoulders braced, her claws still unsheathed. Her eyes were narrowed as she surveyed the factory, chest rising and falling. Smelling something. "I do not think this is-"

"Come on!" Rose's voice rang off the factory doors. The mold roared higher, becoming a tentacled barrier circling her, round and round. "Are you in there, Mom? Come and get me! I'm here! I'm right here-"

A rumble sounded from within the doors; it cut off Rose, the noise increasing in strength as she stood, tense. A split appeared between the doors, darkness within; Rose braced, like Dimitrescu, waiting for gunfire, waiting to bring her mold up in a defensive wall and send it slashing outward, destroying everything and everyone it touched.

But there was nothing. No one. No one but two shadows standing in the cargo lift beyond.

Rose blinked.

Electricity arced and snapped, blue-white in the darkness.

Rose slashed out with her mold as shrapnel sliced toward her face; it pealed off the mold shield, going wide, embedding itself in the grass around her, where it smoked and sparked, still humming with power.

"What the fuck?" The voice echoed past the pulse of blood in her ears. "Dimitrescu? How the shit are you fuckin'-"

Rose choked, "Heisenberg?"

***

The mold fell.

He was there. He stood before her in the lift, his hands raised, shrapnel and old tools orbiting his upper body. He wore clothes identical to those she remembered from her childhood: trench coat streaked with grime and grease, hat, tanker boots, and all.

Lord Heisenberg, Rose thought, somewhere through the shock. He stared at her, squinting from behind his new round shades, as if she might not be real, as if he might still attack.

He didn't. He blinked. He opened his mouth.

It took a second before any sound came out.

"Kid?" he said.

"Heisenberg-" Rose stepped forward, heart pounding. "Wait- how- what happened to you? You...you blew up...on the Osiris-"

Her pulse shocked down to her fingertips, mingled relief and dread radiating through her with every beat. She wanted to rush to him, to spring into his arms, but she forced herself to stop a few yards off. "I thought you...I thought-"

"Can't kill me so easy, kid. I see you got some new friends." Rose saw him look at Donna, heard the faint hiss of Donna's exhale. His eyes moved on, traveling up and up. He scoffed at Dimitrescu. "No accounting for taste-"

"I might say the same," Dimitrescu said, her voice smooth and cold as glacial ice. "Though we both know you always did like the broken ones, didn't you?"

Her eyes settled on the shadow behind Heisenberg in the lift, head lowered, hands in fists. For a moment she thought she was looking at her own shadow. The way she stood; the tilt of the head, the shape of the face.

Cold twisted into her heart.

"Hey, Rose," her mother said.

Rose's blood sloshed in her ears. The cold drove deeper. She understood, then, with a dark, radiant thrill. It was all gonna be okay. Heisenberg must have escaped, must have figured out Rose would go back to the village, too, had taken Mia as a hostage and come here to meet her, knowing she would want her vengeance.

"You got her, Heisenberg. Nice job." She was stepping forward, lifting her hands, her mold rising, twining up her sword's blade to dull its gleam beneath rippling darkness. Kill her, she urged herself. Mia stared back at her, not pleading, but resolute. Strangely satisfied. She screwed up your life. Don't you want this to end?

She did. It would. "Get ready to die," she snarled. "You-"

Heisenberg grabbed her by the shoulder, stopping her short. Rose gave a small gasp; she set her weight against him, but he dug his fingers in.

"Get out of my way," Rose told him.

"No chance, kid."

She stared at him. He stared back, gray-green eyes gleaming behind his glasses. His face was stony, his aura of power vibrating through his grip on her.

"You're not-" Rose looked at Mia. "She's not- she's not your prisoner?"

"Not this time."

"Have you gone mad?" Dimitrescu strode toward them, a sneer of pure, dripping disdain on her face. "Kill the mortal and let's be done with this ridiculous little reunion. There are battles to be fought, unless you've lost your memories along with your mind."

"No can do, Alcina." His fingers bit into Rose's shoulder. He still hadn't looked away from her. "Plans have changed. There's a new bully in town."

"What," Dimitrescu enunciated, "Is that. Supposed. To mean."

"You can't be protecting her," Rose whispered. "You- you can't-"

A muscle twitched in his cheek. "Listen to me, kid-"

"I did," Rose said. "For years. And you lied then. You kept the truth from me then."

"And look how well you're handling it now."

She ground her teeth together. "I never really knew you, did I? What you were. What you were capable of."

He glanced up at the other Lords. "I could say the same for you, kid. I'm curious. What do you think I'm capable of?"

"Not this. Not betraying me. Not betraying-" She shook her head, swallowing down the lump in her throat. "She make you a better offer or something? Ouroboros promise you the world? Is that what you always really wanted?"

"No. Fuck, Rose, just shut your damn mouth for once and listen-"

"I'm done with listening to you." Mold snaked around his hand and wrist, constricting down with all the force Rose could muster. Bone crackled; he yelped, releasing her. She twisted free of his grip. Mia stood before her, hands lowered, eyes on hers. She didn't move as Rose advanced, as she lifted the sword, to bring it down, to shear her in two-

Agony ripped through her. Rose screamed; the shard of shrapnel burst from her shoulder, tearing open the deltoid like a rotten orange. Her hand opened, grip strengthless. The sword spun away as her arm flopped to her side, wound spewing blood and mold.

She whirled on Heisenberg. His glasses shone blue, reflecting his lightning.

"Sorry, kid," he said.

Rose could barely breathe. White flashed through her nerves, even as warmth in her shoulder told her the flesh there was knitting back together, her arm usable again. Sickening, awful. Dimitrescu let out a resonant laugh, tossing back her head.

"You're such a fool, Heisenberg," she said. "I knew, even years ago, your little fatherly charade would crumble through your fingers. You're incapable of anything more than greed and-"

A massive gear sailed through the air and clocked her on the side of the head, so hard it sheared away part of her scalp and skull. Dimitrescu let out a howl, her upper body snapping back; she actually staggered. The wound poured blood, and she slapped a hand to it as it began to knit slowly back together, one burning golden eye staring down at Heisenberg with incandescent fury.

"Whoops!" Heisenberg said.

"You disgusting mongrel," Dimitrescu hissed. "You'll pay for that when I drain the life from your ridiculous little body."

Heisenberg splayed a hand. "Good to see you haven't changed a bit, Alci," he said, his voice weary.

With a crackle, a hum, a massive metal hammer welded together from scrap slapped into his palm. Dimitrescu's roar filled the air; she lunged, and when Heisenberg stepped to meet her, it was with an impact like a freight train.

Rose was blasted back, electricity crackling around her. She rolled, skidded, came up spitting grass.

The sky roiled with the reverberation of blow after blow. Dimitrescu cleaved out with her claws, and Heisenberg ducked each strike, weaving in to clash aside her talons with the hammer; sprays of sparks burst into the mist, illuminating it from within.

"You can't win, Heisenberg," Dimitrescu cried. "I was always stronger than you."

"Hah!" Heisenberg's grin flashed pale blue in the light from his electricity. "Keep dreaming, Alcina, might as well have something nice in your fucked-up little parody of a life!"

He smashed her next blow away, whirling the hammer round his head, bringing it down against Dimitrescu's breastplate with the crack of metal against- well, Rose didn't know what the armor was made from, it couldn't be metal if Heisenberg wasn't using it to his advantage.

Dimitrescu actually stumbled, shockwave ripping the grass from around her feet. Rose saw her wince of pain and remembered what she'd said about being hungry, about not having enough blood.

Oh, god.

Her regenerative powers were failing her. Was Heisenberg capable of killing her now? Would he do it if he had the chance? He'd stopped short of killing her before when he had the advantage, but- but now?

Now, Rose wasn't sure of anything anymore.

He brought a hand into the air. The nearest pile of junk around the field disintegrated with a crackle, soaring into the air; the scrap shot forward, stabbing into everywhere on Dimitrescu that was unprotected. She slashed away some of the shrapnel, but there was more and more, swarming her like a hive of angry wasps. Cuts appeared on her face and throat, dripping black fluid.

"More, Alci?" Heisenberg began to laugh. "You still the strongest? You still the biggest baddest bloodsucking bitch in town?"

Rose's eyes darted, frantic, to Donna. She stood still as a shadow, Angie in her arms. Rose sensed again Donna's regard.

Will you do it? Order her to attack, too?

Then she looked to Mia. Her mother was pressed against the elevator doorway, rigid, staring from Dimitrescu to Heisenberg and back again as they fought, as they tore one another to pieces. Heisenberg let out a strangled "Agh!" as Dimitrescu's claws snagged his torso; she screamed as he bashed her with the hammer. The ground was slick with blood and mutagen.

Mia's eyes were wide, bright. They flicked to Rose.

A jolt went through her.

A tide of memories.

A field, shimmering with sunlight. A little girl in a black dress. A carved wooden goat. The spiraling wolfsong in the night. Old books, and buried secrets, and a people crying out for salvation, save us, save us, bring it all back. Love, unbearable. Grief, unending. Nothing else mattered. And at its heart, as ever, the dark pit, the answers waiting within-

-This is always who you were meant to be-

Rose shuddered back into reality. Her mouth tasted of mold. She lifted her shaking hands, but they were flesh and bone, not white crystal. She'd seen- no, that couldn't be possible-

"Stop," she said. Her voice was dry, a bare whisper. She faced Heisenberg and Dimitrescu, still hammering on one another, blow after blow.

"Stop!" she yelled.

They didn't hear her; maybe they didn't care. She broke into a run, tearing her way through the waist-high grass and toward them. The hum of Heisenberg's power coursed through her head, singing in the backs of her teeth; she set her jaw and pushed on. Mold unfurled from around her as she ran, as she shoved her way between them, flinging up her arms.

A black wave of mold erupted around her. "Stop it now," Rose cried, facing Heisenberg, then Dimitrescu, her arms outstretched. "You'll kill each other! Don't you get it? That's what she'd want- stop it right now!"

Heisenberg's hammer, already on the downswing, shuddered to a halt inches from her face. Rose stared up at him, breathing hard.

"What are you doing, child?" Dimitrescu said.

Rose lowered her arms. "Making things right."

She glanced at her mother, still standing in the elevator.

"Something's wrong with her, isn't it?" Rose asked Heisenberg.

"Yeah." He inclined his head, expression unreadable beneath both his glasses and the shadow cast by the brim of his hat. Shouldering his massive hammer, he drew a short breath. "Should have heard me out, kid-"

"And you shouldn't have done a lot of things, either, so shut up." The mold fell into a slurry around her boots. "It's Miranda. Isn't it. She never really died. She's been waiting this whole time. Waiting for us."

"Waiting for you," Mia whispered.

She cut her eyes over to her mother. "Why?"

"I don't know. Just that...you're important. More than just her child. More than just little Eva." Heisenberg gave a violent shudder at the sound of the name, glove leather creaking as he gripped his hammer tighter. Mia's voice fell, low and grim as the echo from the bottom of a well. "The ceremony isn't over yet."

Rose glanced up at Heisenberg, then back to Mia, Dimitrescu, Donna, who had crept closer and now stood just outside the circle of flattened grass from the fight. Dimitrescu breathed hard; the cuts on her face were healing, but slowly, and under her poise Rose could tell she was flagging.

"You must have had a plan," Rose said quickly, facing Heisenberg. "You...you wouldn't have brought her here if-"

"Yeah, kid, I did, before you and the peanut gallery tromped in here and fucked it up."

"Well, excuse me," Rose muttered. "Will this plan of yours work?"

"Of course it will."

"Good. We-"

"Rosemary! R...Rosemary!"

Donna stepped aside as a shuddering, shambling shape emerged from the gloom, wheezing with every labored step. Moreau. He'd recovered some kind of clothes with which he'd swathed his heavily-mutated body, and from his limping gait, the pain in his eyes, Rose guessed it had taken a hell of a lot of effort to run here.

"Rosemary, it's...it's bad, it's really bad..." he managed, between breaths.

"What is it?"

"I...ohhh, oh, no, oh, no-" Moreau wailed.

He collapsed, all at once, green bile spewing from between his teeth; Dimitrescu scoffed, turning away with arms crossed, but Rose stepped in, bending to grab one clammy arm, keep him from going down all the way.

His goggle eyes slid to face her. There was suspicion, there, and fear. Little wonder. Worst, though, was a kind of sick reverence, an uncontrollable devotion. A fanatic's obsession with a cruel god, cowed by its power, chained to it by terror.

"What's wrong?" Rose asked, trying to make her voice gentle. She wasn't fooling anyone, not even Moreau.

"To the...southeast..." He pointed back the way he'd come. "I saw them. Big flying machines. I tried to hide, but...they saw me...they saw me and now they're coming!"

He pitched over and retched again, acid splattering the grass. Rose let him go and stepped back, heart pounding. She heard it, then, over the sound and overwhelming stomach acid-and-rotten fish reek of Moreau's illness, over her own pulse in her ears.

Chopper blades.

Close, and getting closer.

Searchlights burst over the rise, plunging down to sweep the field. The black shapes of helicopters filled the sky; Heisenberg lifted his hands, debris heaving itself into the air as he prepared to send it toward the Ouroboros helicopters, dash them from the air.

He never got the chance.

With a splitting, screeching detonation, a burst of flame rocketed from the lead chopper. It streaked through the dark sky, aimed straight toward the heart of the factory.

No- Rose thought, but there was nothing she could do.

An instant of silence-

Then, in a great, blazing fantail of yellow-white flames, the factory exploded. Another rocket followed the first, and another, hammering the factory, turning it in seconds to a pulsing core of molten metal and raging fire.

With a crumbling roar, one of the great smokestacks disintegrated, sloughing sideways into the heart of the flames, consumed in an instant.

"No!" Heisenberg roared. "My factory!"

A rocket cratered the field, mere yards from Heisenberg; he stood his ground, facing down the choppers.

"You'll pay for that!" he bellowed, scrap orbiting him faster, faster. A second rocket exploded, showering him with dirt and charred grass. He advanced with each word, broad shoulders lowered, hair lifted by the force of his power- "I'll tear you apart- feed you to the lycans- bring you back, do it again, and again, and again, until you get the fuckin' message-"

"Heisenberg, no." Rose plunged toward him, grabbing him by the arm before the next rocket blasted him into spare parts. "They'll kill you-"

"Hah! Let them try!"

"And they will," Rose pressed. "Until we're all dead. Is that what you want?"

"Get off me, kid."

"No!" she screamed, slamming her fist into his beefy deltoid. He faced her, then, staring down with eyes lit orange and gold by the flames. "I am not watching you die."

"Rosie-" he said.

"Don't you freaking dare Rosie me. It's your turn to listen now." She wound her fist into his coat, hanging on. Making him hear her. "I came here to save you. To save you. Get that? Now come with me before I kill you myself."

Still he strained against her. Still she felt his resistance, his rage, just below the surface, as ever. She felt all of it- the loss of his factory, a limb severed, something else of his torn away and destroyed. The churn of his power, ready to explode forth in its unstoppable magnetic warp, lay waste to the mortals that had invaded his one-time territory.

Mold twined from her hand, into him, into him. His pupils dilated, hard and fast, and it was easier this time, easier even than Moreau.

You listen to me, now.

Rose reached inside his head and took control.

Make him-

She yanked him, hard. They stumbled back together, collapsing behind a pile of metal scrap in a tangle of limbs. Seconds later the grass where they'd stood burst in a spray of flames and char, a hit that would have reduced them both to ash.

Above, the choppers circled round, banking away, out of even Heisenberg's range. The factory burned before them, a raging inferno fed on chemicals and gasoline and God knew what else, so hot Rose felt her hair begin to crisp.

Despite the heat she and Heisenberg stared at one another, numb and rigid, unable to move from their ungainly tangle on the ground.

"Fuck, Rose," he breathed. He climbed to his feet, ash raining from his coat. Around them the dry grass blazed with dozens of small fires. "What the hell was that?"

"I-" she began, following him up. Her control over him was gone again, retracted almost as soon as she'd reached into his mind and forced him to move his ass. "I saved your life-"

"That's not what I'm talking about and you know it." He advanced on her, and despite everything, despite her relief at his being alive, despite all their years together, she backed off. The look in his eyes was a terrible thing. "What have you done? What the fuck have you done?"

Rose had no answer, no excuse.

The searchlights swung on, choppers now circling the village. A crackle came from the speakers mounted on the fence; the sound echoed from the village, too, transmitted over the entire archaic PA system, at last tearing Rose's focus away from Heisenberg.

"People of the village." The voice was cool, masculine, English, sending a chill through Rose. "Such as you are. You may know us, or you may not. The important matter is this. We are Ouroboros, and your valley houses something we want. The organization we represent is not a cruel one, nor wasteful. We recognize the plethora of scientific marvels contained within this single mountain valley, and don't want to destroy it like the recent, regrettable loss of House Heisenberg's ancestral factory. But if another such loss becomes necessary..."

The weighty pause rang out, crackling with static.

"Bring us the corpse of Ethan Winters, and the body of Mia Winters, dead or otherwise," the voice went on, "by sunrise, or we will be forced to take action. And this time, believe me. There will be no resurrections."

The speakers went silent. The roar of the flames grew higher, hotter; smaller explosions went off in the factory depths, rumbling under Rose's feet. She stared into the inferno, then turned to face the Four Lords before her.

Dimitrescu, bloodied and shaking with starvation. Moreau, staring up at her with that mixture of adulation and fear. Donna, silent and still; even Angie was unmoving. And, by her side once again, Heisenberg.

Rose found her sword in the grass. She picked it up and slid it home in its sheath on her back. Mia watched her, arms crossed, hugging herself. Rose watched her, too. Her mouth tasted bitter, ash and blood and mold.

"They're not gonna take it," she said.

She tore her gaze away from her mother's and searched the Lords' faces, one by one. "And we're not gonna give them anything. Not Ethan. Not my mother. Any protests?"

"None here," Heisenberg said. "Besides. Never did like lying down and taking it like a bitch." He winked at Mia. "Where's the fun in that?"

Mia gave him a dry smile.

"Is there a place we can go from here?" Rose asked, trying to pretend she hadn't seen that. Shit was weird. "Hide out?"

"I won't run and hide," Dimitrescu said. "Not again. Not from pathetic mortals and man-things such as those."

"We need to regroup. No point in fighting when you're dead on your feet," Rose told her. Dimitrescu drew her lips back from her teeth in a sneer, but didn't challenge her.

Rose's gut twisted. You were made for this, a voice whispered, deep, deep in her mind. Special child.

"I know a place," Donna said, softly.

Rose nodded. "Good. Then let's move." She stepped forward, the flames roaring at her back, the hellish, spark-filled wind off the burning factory whipping her hair in a pale storm around her face. "Once we're there, we figure out what the hell we're gonna do about Miranda-"

She lifted her head, facing the village below, swept with spotlights, its skies thrumming with the incongruous throb of rotors.

Their village.

My village.

"Then," she went on, "we figure out a way to murder those Ouroboros bastards."

#saints of warding #re8 #re8 fanfiction #re8 fic #karl heisenberg #rosemary winters #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #donna beneviento #salvatore moreau #mia winters #ethan winters #mother miranda #resident evil village oc #re8 oc #resident evil village #resident evil #chapter 20

7 notes · View notes

the-lonelybarricade · 2 years

Text

We Could Pretend to Form an Attachment | Chapter 2 | ACOTAR Writing Circle

Summary: Desperate to escape the ton's expectations, Elain Archeron makes an unlikely arrangement with a handsome stranger. (Header and summary by @velidewrites)

Word Count: 3.4k

Note: This is part two of a collaborative project organized by @azrielshadowssing! The first chapter was written by @velidewrites and the next chapter will be written by a different author.

Part 1 | Writing Circle Masterlist

Prince.

The word bloomed in her chest as readily as the heat from his lips poised against her fingers, seeping through her silken glove to mark her skin irreparably.

Elain could see it now. The long red hair, the smirking russet eyes, the gold-embroidered finery. She had been foolish—so, so foolish—not to realize that he was a Vanserra on sight. Now she could recognize that famed, cruel beauty of the King’s youngest brother.

Lucien Vanserra.

Sinfully full lips twisted into their best impression of a smile, so clearly amused by the way she stared at him. Elain thought she was going to be sick. She turned her head towards the garden she had been escaping to when she ran into the Prince, thinking all the more that she could use the fresh air. How was it that in her attempts to flee the King, she had thrown herself to the mercy of his brother?

“Something the matter, Lady Elain?”

She snatched her hand away as though he had burned her. He very well might have, from the way her skin still tingled as if there had been no barrier between them.

“Nothing sire,” Elain breathed, gathering her skirts to sketch a curtsy. “Forgive me, your highness. I realize I have been entirely improper—”

A warm, broad hand at her arm prevented her from leaving. Lucien was frowning now. “I do hope you are not backing out of our agreement.”

“I…” She searched for the words to refute a man of his status, and could think of nothing short of incurring his brother’s name. I am already of interest to the King.

“I assure you, lady, there is no one better fitting for this arrangement than myself.” He flashed an achingly charming smile. “If I am publicly courting you, there are few men who would dare to oppose it.”

His own brother might. And Elain wondered if Lucien would truly stand in opposition to the King or if the ruse would fall apart from one private conversation between the brothers. And how precarious, that if she were to find another man to fit the arrangement, Lucien could expose her to the entire court.

What was she to do? She had mistepped in her haste, and now this handsome, powerful man held her fate in his hands.

Elain wanted to rage, wanted to peel off her shoe and see if she could throw it hard enough to wipe that obnoxious grin off of Lucien’s face. He knew he had her cornered, and part of her wanted to demand why he was entertaining this at all. He, at least, was a man. A prince. And if an unwanted match pursued him, he had the power to say no. He had the freedom to navigate society unmarried, wearing his rakish reputation like a badge of honor.

Resentment built in her chest, but she swallowed it like all proper ladies are bred to. “I am not going back on our agreement, your highness. I only seek some fresh air.”

“Let me accompany you,” he said smoothly.

Elain raised an accusational brow. “Without a chaperone?”

His laugh was a dark, sensual thing that twisted in her gut. With a wide sweeping motion, he gestured around the empty pathway. “You are unchaperoned now, lady.”

“Then I must be going,” she said, stepping out of his grasp. “Lest we be caught alone and forced into a proper marriage.”

That, at least, encouraged Lucien to release his grip on her arm, and she felt the lack of his touch like a brand. She looked to the Prince, noticing how the humor in his expression had sobered at the mention of marriage. As a member of the royal family—as the famed rake, no less—she wondered if any girls had tried to trap him through such a convention.

And, from the dark gleam in his eyes, she wondered how many he had left to ruin as consequence. Elain had the sense that if they were caught alone together, there would be no dutiful marriages. He did not intend to marry, and he was assisting in her scheme out of convenience, not compassion.

Lucien tipped his head, stepping aside from the path so she could continue to the gardens. “Enjoy your fresh air, then. I will be waiting in the ballroom to claim your first dance.” His eyes slid warily towards the gardens, which had looked lovely in the golden wash of sunset but were now becoming increasingly sinister as the shadows grew. “I encourage you not to be long.”

His boots clicked softly against the cobblestone, and the sound of music and muffled voices drifted towards her as he opened the door to slip inside. Now alone, Elain looked back towards the King’s garden. She understood why Lucien had cautioned her—Nesta had warned her enough times about the danger of a lady caught unchaperoned in dark places.

And, very briefly, she contemplated the merits of wandering into that garden and waiting for a man to happen by. Being caught with him would mean she would not have to worry about the King, or his brother, or the Archeron finances. But she would need to worry about her husband, and whether he was a kind enough man she could endure spending the rest of her life beside him.

She stayed only long enough to let the evening air cool her flushed skin, greedily swallowing it into her lungs like maybe if she took a heavy enough breath, the weight could make her feel steady again. Yet she still felt shaky as she returned to the bustling ballroom, already swept into a dance that the King watched over. She pressed to the outskirts as his eyes traced over the crowd, hoping to avoid his attention until she had someone on her arm.

“How were the gardens?”

The deep voice at her ear made her jump.

Elain whirled to find Lucien, holding a delicate glass of sparkling wine between pinched fingers. Light glinted off the crystal, sparkling like the amusement in his eyes as he extended the drink towards her.

“Beautiful,” she answered, accepting the glass with a gracious nod. “The King must take painstaking care of them.”

Lucien snorted. “I doubt Eris could name a single flower in that garden.”

“Could you?” she asked, before she could stop herself.

He looked surprised by the question—by the challenge it contained. Elain was certain that a prince’s words were hardly ever called into question, least of all by the darling debutantes of the ton. He was likely used to women batting their lashes and fawning over his every word if it meant they could coerce him into a courtship.

Yet his composure remained endlessly proud as he raised his own glass to his lips and pulled a long sip. Something he had certainly done on purpose, so she could observe the way the liquid gleamed on his lips as he asked, “What do you say to a friendly game, lady?”

“I would say that I’m not foolish enough to agree to one without knowing the rules.”

His errant smile grew. “They have taught you well, then.” An assessment he saw she was prepared to bite at, for how quickly he continued. “The rules are this: you describe the flowers you saw in the garden and for every one I correctly identify, you owe me a dance.”

Elain hesitated, studying Lucien curiously. Most men seemed clueless about such subjects, but he carried himself with an unwavering confidence that made her think twice before agreeing. “How well are princes educated in botany?”

“Dare to find out?”

That answer said enough. She knew the way gentlemen liked to bet—had witnessed her father stumble home from gambling dens in such a sour mood that he had to be avoided for days. Elain could not always tell when a man was bluffing; if she could, she would never have been fooled by Graysen. But in that moment she felt certain that Lucien could name every flower in that garden.

And maybe… maybe she wanted him to prove it.

“There was a red flower,” she said slowly, testing him. “It had thorns on its stem, and a layering of petals—”

“Rose,” he interrupted, sounding almost offended. “I’m not counting that. My three-year-old cousin would be able to identify one.”

Elain bit her lip. “There was another flower that grew from a long stem, with purple petals that drooped away from each other—almost in the shape of a star.”

He considered this for a moment. There were two types of purple flowers in the King’s garden—and if he did indeed know the flowers he kept, it would be easy to identify the difference between them.

“Irises,” he said after a moment, smiling. “Like a star.”

Despite herself, Elain’s temper flared. “Don’t mock me—”

“I’m not mocking you.” The delight in his voice made her think otherwise. “But you owe me a dance.” He extended his hand towards her. “Tell me more about the flowers while I twirl you around the room.”

Without meaning to, she glanced towards the King still perched against his throne. They were partially obscured by his vision, behind pillars and palms and the rest of the crowd. It was safe here, away from most of the prying eyes. But once they entered that dance floor… the entire ton would be talking about Lady Archeron dancing with the Prince. Elain could not decide if she was more nervous to face the King or Nesta in the aftermath.

“You do know how to dance, lady?” Lucien prompted, purposely misreading her hesitance.

Elain narrowed her eyes. “Do not worry—I’m certain I’m more proficient in dancing than you are in decorum, your highness.”

He leaned closer, until she could mark the flecks of gold swimming in his eyes beneath the gleam of candlelight. Lashes brushed against his cheek as his attention diverted to their hands. His fingers curled slowly around her own.

“That fills me with little confidence,” he murmured. “You will find I have famously poor decorum.”

He was staring at her gloved hand like he could track the warmth spreading along her skin, shuddering up her arm until her pulse was fluttering at the simple touch—or perhaps it was simply from the anxiety of subjecting herself to the scrutiny of the ton. In any case, it made her feel unsteady. And as Lucien glanced up to meet her eyes, she worried she truly would forget how to dance beneath those molten pools of russet.

He tugged lightly on her hand, which at least reminded her how to walk. One foot in front of the other, dragging her slowly back to the poisoned attention of the King and his subjects. But there was something about being by Lucien’s side that put her more at ease, encouraging her to lift her chin proudly as heads turned and jaws dropped.

Elain was certain it had something to do with the control she finally felt she had. She’d seldom tasted any freedom in her life, but she felt an ounce of it as the Prince stopped in front of her on the dance floor and bowed at the waist. Gasps echoed in the crowd behind her, and she relished at being able to manufacture this surprise. So long this society had been a controlling overseer, looming over every aspect of her life. Now, she had taken the reins back, at least temporarily.

The mischief sparkling in Lucien’s eyes was their own private secret as he swept them into the dance, playing the part of the distinguished gentleman she was discovering he absolutely was not. But he was a good dancer. Lithe and graceful. She wanted to laugh at those meticulous hours of instruction she’d received from her governess, so useless with the way he was leading her into each motion with little effort on her part.

It allowed her to focus on other things, like the weight of the warm, steady hand he had placed on her waist. His thumb rubbed taunting, indecent circles into her hip, scrambling her brain nearly as much as the feint smell of cedar that clung to his clothes. As though he’d emerged straight from the forest.

Despite the prying eyes of the ton, watching them like circling birds of prey, Elain was anchored to this small, stolen moment between the two of them. Nothing else existed aside from the music and Lucien and the way he was staring at her like she was the only one in the room.

His smile returned, but it was softer. More palatable to the public eye, she assumed.

“Tell me more about the flowers,” he said.

“I take it that means you want another dance,” she teased. “I suppose my performance wasn’t so poor after all.”

“I want the next dance,” he agreed, sounding breathless. Elain supposed he was doing most of the work, after all. “The next, and every one after.”

Laughter bubbles from her lips, unbidden in a way that caused her to think the wine was going to her head. “You can’t simply—“

“I’m the Prince,” he protested. “I can do whatever I’d like.”

“Must be nice,” she said wistfully. Yes, her tongue had certainly loosened. “I could not hope to imagine what that would feel like.”

Maybe it was her imagination, but Lucien seemed to pull her closer. And she swore his fingers tightened their grip.

“Is there something you desire, lady?”

It could have been posed as a kind question, but the way he asked, the way his voice dropped low and scraped over skin, made her want to cover her face. Those amber eyes had darkened, settling overtly on her lips. “Tell me what it is, and I shall see it done.”

Her mouth felt dry. “I think you are promising more than you can provide, your Highness.”

Her words did little to mitigate the heat of his stare. He said lowly, “Do not underestimate what I can provide you, Elain.”

And the suggestion in those words—she couldn’t help the small, startled gasp that hiccuped past her lips, nor the way her face flushed. But she would blame it all on the sliver of alcohol she had consumed.

Lucien looked like he was prepared to say more, seemingly determined to scandalize her. But the fanfare of trumpets cut suddenly though the room, halting the music and the dancing bodies and whatever words were on the Prince’s lips.

The attention of the room had turned to the King, who clambered from his throne with that same careless grace that Lucien carried himself with. Elain did not know if it was a trait of Vanserras or simply of royalty, and had not encountered enough of either to decide.

Eris’s eyes swept over the crowd, grinning like he had invited them all into a lion’s den. It felt more appropriate for him to announce that he had secretly poisoned the wine than to declare the season’s diamond.

“I am appreciative of all who could make their attendance,” he said, searching over the faces in a way that felt too analytical to be sincere. Their eyes met, briefly, before his gaze fell to the hand still clasped delicately in Lucien’s. The King’s lips twitched. “Allow it to now be my honor to present to you the season’s diamond.”

Elain turned her head, easily spotting Nesta in the crowd. She was the only one who wasn’t looking at the King. She was watching Elain, blue eyes wide and burning. And when Elain glanced back to Eris, she saw that he had been assessing Nesta, too. A game. This was all such a carefully laid out game.

And Elain wanted to refuse to be a pawn, but she could do little about the way Eris returned his attention to her. And smirked.

“Lady Elain Archeron,” he called, stepping into the crowd. They scrambled immediately to part for him so that no obstacle lay in his path as he took each condemning step towards Elain. It was customary for the diamond to approach the King, and yet she was weighted to the ground, pinned beneath that predatory gleam in his eyes.

Lucien’s grip tightened in her hand. She knew that people were beginning to take notice of the fact that he hadn’t released her, especially as Eris paused in front of them.

Everyone was watching, holding their breaths as the world came to a standstill.

Snatching her hand away from Lucien’s, Elain gathered her skirts and bowed into a low curtsey. Fingers framed her chin—so much colder than Lucien’s, just like the eyes she was made to look into as Eris tilted her face towards his.

“I see you have already been acquainted with my brother, Lady Archeron.”

It seemed a challenge. One Nesta might have a fit for later as Elain answered, “I have, your majesty.”

Those calculating eyes slid to Lucien, some tense, silent communication being passed between them. “I trust his manners have been exemplary.”

She bowed her head, ignoring the way his statement was aimed primarily towards Lucien. “Exactly as one could anticipate from a member of your royal family.”

They both seemed to find that amusing.

Eris turned to face her once more, extending his hand. “Allow your King to dance with his incomparable, if only so I may demonstrate how a king compares to a prince.”

“Her dance card is full on account of a wager,” Lucien cut in before she could answer, casting an easy smile towards Elain. “You wouldn’t make a darling debutante go back on her word, would you brother?”

Brother, he said. Not King, not Your Majesty.

“Of course,” Eris said, tone and expression unbothered. But there was an edge to his voice as he said, “I respect a lady’s word above all else, though I caution her to be more careful with it in the future. Gambling is a dangerous affair, afterall.”

So too, she expected, was being involved with the royal family to this degree.

Eris’s eyes turned towards the still-listening crowd, grinning. “Perhaps your sister can accept a dance in your place, then.”

“I’m sure she would be honored,” Elain said quickly, trying her best to hide her shock.

She kept her eyes on the King, certain if she turned her head she would see Nesta’s furious expression. Eris, at least, looked pleased as he nodded his ascent for Lucien to take her hand. Lucien obeyed, pulling Elain back to the dance floor in a way that encouraged the rest of the ton to begin moving. She saw the way the King approached Nesta, ever-curious to the exchange of words that led to her sister begrudgingly accepting the King’s hand.

“Eris loves to play games,” Lucien said at her ear, pulling her back into the dance. “I advise you not to get dragged into one.”

Elain was finding she was tired of being cautioned. For the moment, she preferred to think of other things—like the way Lucien’s hand fit perfectly against the curve of her back.

“You lied,” she whispered to him, looking up at those scarlet lashes, so long they brushed over his golden brown cheekbones. “You said you had filled my dance card with our wager, but you have not won another dance.”

That encouraged a sinful smile. “Perhaps I like to play games, too.”

Dearest Gentle Readers,

There will forever be just two words that come to this author’s mind the morning after any good party: “shock” and “delight”.

Well, dear reader, the scandalous accounts from last night’s soiree at the Grand Orangerie are quite shocking and delightful indeed.

Emerging phoenix-like from the ashes of her sister’s unfulfilled potential is one Lady Elain Archeron. The illustrious debutante was seen grappling with the attentions of not one, but two members of the Royal Family. Choosing between a Prince and a King is a dilemma most mamas would spend very little time considering—for who wouldn’t want to see their daughter become a Queen? Perhaps it is her lack of motherly guidance that led Lady Elain to turn down the King so she could dance exclusively with the rakish Prince Lucien.

Although this author is left to wonder if this was a strategic decision orchestrated by our former incomparable Lady Nesta. It appears that an old diamond does not lose its luster, for the eldest Archeron was spotted dancing with the King in the wake of Lady Elain’s dismissal.

The Archeron sisters’ ability to advance from insignificance to potential royal consorts is something that even this jaded author must applaud. It seems the ton will need to keep a careful eye on this pair of sisters and the royal brothers they are pursuing.

Trust that if anything can be revealed about the circumstances of these matches, it is I who will uncover it.

Yours truly,

Lady Suriel

Tagging: @azrielshadowssing @headcanonheadcase @the-lonelybarricade @crazy-cool-girl-blog @violet-shadows @thehaemanthus @shadowsingerofnight @ofduskanddreams @hlizr50 @vikingmagic33

#acotarwritingcircle #elucien #elucien fic #elucien fanfic #elucien fanfiction #elain x lucien #lucien x elain #Sorry I'm genuinely publishing this and vanishing #Your girl is so busy this weekend she had to wake up at 6am to write this #I'm sorry if it's trash

53 notes · View notes

ruins-and-rewritez · 1 year

Text

Ruin's Master Tag List

Ok so this is mostly just for personal use because I have the compulsion to stay ridiculously organized but if y'all wanna use it too to look for certain posts that's also why is here

#rarzo - Ruins And RewriteZ Original

#ruinwrites - my writing, ficlets, etc.

#ruinrants - me raging against the machine (the crowverse ofc)

#ruinresponds - asks and the like

#ruinrecalls - my reblogs of my own posts

#ruinraids - reblogs I add to

#ruinreviews - my polls

#ruinwrecks - just a bit of angst

#ruinsroughs - my once in a millennium 'artz'

#ruinsrevival - life be like

#ruinsrulings - my opinion on this, that and the othera thing

#crowcasts - crow specific polls

#crowcalls ‐ songs that are the crows

Also header image isn't mine but it is so perfect for my rants so it's staying

Visit my secondary secondary here for non-crow nonsense where I rant about things that aren't the crows

#rarzo

4 notes · View notes

venusiansilk · 6 months

Text

⋆˙⟢ SAY IT BACK.

you and satoru have a ‘situationship’. the situation being that he feels lonely and you don’t want him to.

f!reader ⊹ no curses au ⊹ angst. fluff. exes to friends to fake lovers to maybe lovers ⊹ 18+ allusions to satoru prev doing drugs ꒰ not anymore. ꒱ reader's wholesome and good-natured. mentions prev turbulent relationship ⊹ 3.2k ⊹ footnote. this is from the archives but i love them sm ෆ header.

꒰ 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 ! ꒱

gojo satoru knows better than anyone that there’s nothing worse than destroying your life in a blind rage and being left to stare at and clean up the ruin.

have you ever been so guilty that you’re undeserving of even being apologetic? so shameful that even ‘i’m sorry’ is undoubtedly an insult to the person you harmed?

even though you dated for four years and you both suffered through one of the messiest breakups you’ll likely ever experience, he knows you’ll always love and care for him. you’ll always worry for him. you’ll always be there when no one else can or wants to be. you’ll always be his friend. watching how unconditionally you’ll love him but knowing how deeply undeserving he is of it eats him alive at times.

as it stands, you singlehandedly and regularly wreak havoc on his loneliness; you keep forcing all his fear into hiding. if anyone who knows the truth about your situation asks, you’ll probably say you don’t want him that way anymore, not after all he’s done, but he knows one thing most certainly about the situation you’re both in: you, above any event or perilous and turbulent history you both have resting in the cracks of your foundation, never want him to feel lonely. you say that must be what pushed him to all his vices, his 1.5-year cycle of seemingly endless mistakes: feeling a loss of control and loneliness. you felt responsible for so long because you left and went to a completely different university so far away from him, but he knows it wasn’t that at all. it was loneliness, sure, but he just got caught up with the wrong crowd. at the time, the two of you were having such a hard time in your relationship. it felt like he was always disappointing you and everyone else. he had no one to turn to. so he let his ‘friends’ talk him into finding companionship in thin, white lines and leading a double life. everything slowly got worse. you said you didn’t know him anymore. he lost so much weight. he dropped out of university without telling anyone. he lost his home. little by little, his life fell into shambles. you left him after finding him completely out of his mind at a party when his mom called and told you all that had been occurring, all that he had been lying very blatantly to you and all of them about. the night you came for him, he let you take him. you were the only one he would let take him away from it all: from the drugs, from the drinking, from the partying. when you showed up and saw him finish a line off the table, you cried when you held out your hand to him and told him, “come on, baby. it’s time to go, okay?” he left with you without hesitation and he apologized so many times, but you wouldn’t hear him out. he got so angry, he just started screaming at you and beating his fists into the dashboard so hard you feared his airbag would accidentally deploy. you left him that night. for good. he was drunk. he was high. you were talking about being done. you were talking about ripping his heart out of his chest. you were talking about four years down the drain. when the haze of his own budding addiction finally passed, he knew that it was he who had thrown everything away because he couldn’t handle the shift in his life from high school to adulthood. satoru recalls being the big man on campus in high school, but everyone started moving on and moving out once it was over. everyone but him. and it was hard. it was hard watching himself amount to nothing, to not have a future. he went from being the one everyone had high hopes for to the one everyone wished would grow up and make something of himself. he met you shortly after graduating high school while working at a restaurant. you and a group of your friends had come in to celebrate your acceptance to your dream school. the moment he saw you, he knew it would be you. he knew it would only ever be you. he knew that your love would be the thing that fuelled him, and for a while it was, but even you grew past him.

satoru was so in love with you, but he was so fucking jealous of you and all that you were. you tried hard to help him become more, but he accepted the fate of his perpetual pity party. growing up is hard. losing the girl you love after four years of making a life together because you started lying and stealing and getting caught up with awful people is hard. but at the end of all the ruin that became of his entire life, he’s grateful that the two of you can still be great friends over time, best friends even. he never stops being sorry for what he did to you, how he left you while claiming to still be by your side. that entire last year and a half of the relationship, he was mentally gone. he had broken up with you in theory, just not in practice. his hesitance was a result of his unwillingness. satoru never wanted to leave you; he just knew that it would be for the best. in his mind, there was no future with him. he wasn’t the kind of guy who could give you this overwhelmingly lavish life. at the time, if you would have settled with him, you’d have been settling for a small-town life of mundane experiences and limited growth, because everyone else seemed to be able to fully fly the coop but him. he was too stagnant for you back then. but you’re still here and he loves you so much for staying even after leaving. you’ve done so much for him to help him, to believe in him. you even did something utterly outlandish for him: agreed to tell his parents the two of you were back together so his mom would feel better about his recovery and stop hovering. she didn’t trust him on his own anymore, but she trusted you. his parents were willing to give him space as long as they believed you were by his side, in both name and proximity. and although it wasn’t true at all, you still agreed because you said you could see he was doing his best. you could see he was serious about changing and improving. you believed in him and his recovery. you agreed their overbearing ways would hinder him, and you helped him. so, he made every excuse to drag you to his parent’s house once every two weeks at least. at first, he said it’s just him trying to ‘regularly check in so they see he’s doing fine’, but you both know the truth of it. it isn’t only because his mother is always thrilled to see you and feels much better about him living an hour away if you’re involved, but also because when you guys are there, you are his girlfriend. you don’t shy from his affection. as much as he wants to kiss you, you let him, and you kiss back. you cradle his face in your palms and give him adoring pecks, smiling at him just like you used to. you still kiss him and lick your lips right after as if to get any taste that may have been left behind. satoru drags you onto his parent’s porch to sit on their front swing just to indulge in a brief moment of unconditional intimacy with you. he keeps you close to his chest, close to his heart where he’s still most certain you belong. any day you’re going to see his parents, from the moment the day starts until the next morning, you’re his girl again. once in a while, he gets to pretend. once in a while, he can grip your waist and bite your lower lip. once in a while, he gets to take his lemons and make lemonade, something refreshing, something doused in sweetness to mask the excessiveness of sourness. those days always make him wonder if that’s what you still want with him but all the history holds you back. it’s different now, though. he thinks you can see it, too. so now, as he stares at his ceiling trying to bear the heaviness in his chest, the weight of how alone he feels, his fingers reflexively tap your name in his call logs. the second the feeling starts to ebb within him, right when the sorrow starts to empty him of all his hope, he always just calls you. you always answer by the second ring. you’re a creature of habit, after all. “bear,” you greet him enthusiastically.

his heart nosedives into a pit of putty. it’s been ten days since the last time either of you spoke to each other. satoru doesn’t bother texting you. he knows it’ll take you ages to reply. you have this awful habit of reading your messages in the notification bar and responding mentally while not actually disengaging from your active task to type out the response, or you’ll type out a response and get distracted before actually hitting send. sometimes you initiate conversations with him and after your second response, it’s radio silence. a week later, you’ll go to check on him and finally hit send on the message you typed out a week ago. he doesn’t bother with it anymore. you’re his busy little bee. that’s what he always calls you because you buzz around, do work, and gather knick-knacks to add to your collection. you’re never in the same place. if he calls you and you’re at home, by the time you’re minutes into the call, you’ve decided to go to a craft store. “hey, bee.” he responds softly, but his voice is chockful of despondency. you notice instantly. you always do. even if he bothers attempting to hide it, you’ll know. “where are you right now?” “at home, why?” you ask casually at first and then you pause for a moment. “are you okay?” the three little words he hates the most. the ones he no longer wants to hear. the prying little question with hidden meanings and underlying presumptions. a simple inquiry that fills everyone with anxiety, himself included. his mistakes are the kinds that linger in everyone who thought to love him’s mind. he’ll never escape what he’s done. all of his displays of fragility and humanity will be met with gentle suspicion before embracing. it’s fine. he knows he deserves it. it’s all just so fucking exhausting, exasperating; it’s all so bleak and ill-omened. at times, he feels like even though he’s recovering, he’ll never really recover. he’ll never recover from the sheer mass of the aftermath, from the vividness of awareness of what his choices have done to everyone else.

i’m so tired of being asked but i’m so thankful you’re still willing to.

the truth is he’s not okay. not at all. today, he’s obsessively ruminating over all the wrongs he can’t seem to right, all the rights that don’t hold any weight when held up to them all. he’s not okay. today, all the consequences of his actions are settling into his chest, making a home out of his hope and leaving it in ruins. today, the weight of your absence is taking a wrecking ball to his resolve. but the last thing he wants to do is make you worry about his emotional state because then you’ll start to wonder about what he’s doing to cope with it. then you’ll hover and your presence will start to become an unfortunate burden he bears for the sake of keeping you. he’s only recently been able to re-establish trust with you. he doesn’t want it to waiver because of useless worrying. “yeah,” he breathes. “i’m just…alone tonight and thoughts are spiraling a little bit? just a little. i don’t know. i miss you a lot right now. more than usual and it’s already a lot.”

satoru is the furthest from shy about the lingering intensity of his love for you. and he can attempt to move on, but he chooses not to.

꒰ the question remains if his continued effort to choose you is a product of his guilt or his genuine yearning. ꒱ he knows it as this: he wants to love you for as long as he’s capable of doing so, even if it’s unrequited, even if you never truly see him the way you once did. he’ll choose to love you anyway; it’s the absolute least he can do, even if he gets nothing out of it. but when he thinks about it thoroughly enough, he knows good and well that isn’t the case. there’s plenty he’s receiving from this dynamic; it’s just not exactly what he wants.

those are called consequences.

you sigh on the other side of the phone. “missing you, too. are you going to drag me to a family dinner soon? i also miss your parents.” satoru knows you’ll never blatantly reject him but you cann never fully accept him either. it does not deter him from his endeavor to reclaim you despite it. “yes, and with glee.” he responds without a lick of hesitation. “that’s the only time i can kiss you. you know i’ll never pass up the opportunity to kiss my favorite lips.” he hears you stifling your giggle and the feathery sound falls into his ears like an answered prayer. now, he feels hope again. he indulges in it, but he’s fully aware that it’ll be short-lived. when it comes to you, he would rather drown in a sea of delusion, a river of denial, before fully accepting that he’s unlikely to ever make his way back into the center of your heart or into the depths of your affection. “you’re taking advantage of my kindness for personal gain, tsk.” you click your tongue at him but your tone is teasing.

it’s not that. it’s just that i’ll probably love you forever.

“never, baby.” he promises. a small beat passes by before he continues. “i love the fuck out of you. with all my heart, bee. you know that.” you suck in an audibly sharp breath. “you’re too bold, gojo.” “say it back, bee.” his voice is low, the small plea just a smidgen above a whisper. he knows he shouldn’t ask, knows he doesn’t even have the right, only the audacity, but he also knows that every time he gets you alone, he’s going to try to weasel his way back in any way. “you know how i feel.” it’s a small, resolute blurb of truth. he does know how you feel. you love him; perhaps not in the same way as you once did, but you love him in your own, unorthodox way. otherwise, why else would you agree to a false continuation of four years you both spent in love, of four years that went up in flames and ended in catastrophic devastation? “i do know. say it anyway.” his desperation is showing again. “just give me something. anything.” “you know what you will and won’t hear from me.”

and you know what i will and won’t give up on.

he smiles, fully prepared to goad you with the sweetest of reminders. he wants you to remember who he was to you, who he’s still equipped to be. “you still love your bear.” he murmurs, feeling all of his infatuation and fondness singing again. “he’s still here waiting on you.” what follows is the stammer of a girl who’s been ambushed, caught in flagrante delicto. “w-well…you need to stop waiting. you’re only going to hurt your own feelings.”

i’m not just waiting. i’m loving, too. overflowing sometimes. i feel my heart buried in guilt. i just want to say sorry and it be alright that i mean it.

“c’mon, baby. say it back.” his tenderness is showing again. “us being together makes my parents happy anyway.” in the background, satoru hears a continuous white noise and he snickers then. he’s all too familiar with the sound of you driving. he wonders when you muted the phone just to close your car door. as if that would keep him from knowing. “where’s my bee going?” he asks with loving intonation. “out,” you reply, a soft curtness in your voice. “when are you going to see your parents this week?” satoru scoffs, a tiny pang in his chest reminding him that he’s only earned being wounded. “don’t you dare try to change the subject. you weren’t even subtle about it.” there must be lead in your sigh with the heaviness it carries as it falls. “have you thought about telling them the truth about us? or even just that we’re not together?” “why the fuck would i do that?” satoru asks incredulously. “eventually you’ll have to tell them, satoru. we can’t keep pretending. it’s…emboldening you.”

i’m not emboldened. i’m not pretending. i’ll love you until the day i die.

“so…let’s stop pretending.” he begs in a desperate whine. “let’s try again. baby, i promise i’m not…i’m not doing the same things that ruined us before. i’m ready.” you go silent and satoru suddenly understands the meaning of a pregnant pause. after a moment, a soft sniffle and a quiet murmur. “bear,”

i can feel you aching to dip your toes. i see you dancing along the cusps of caving.

“i love when you call me that, bee.” right now, all he has is the gentleness he’s been shaping up and polishing for you in his spare time. “i miss you. i miss us so much. miss you being mine. miss waking up to you. miss being able to love you.” “no, satoru.” you protest, frustration apparent but he doesn’t care. he’s posing the question; he needs an answer. he’s pouring his heart into you; he needs you to keep it. “we. can’t. do this.” now, his impatience is showing. “why? because you know you feel it, too? you’re still my bee. i’m still your bear. i’m getting my shit together. i’m trying. i want to keep trying. with you.”

there it is again, your god-awful silence. please tell me there’s even a centimeter’s worth in the length of your willingness. that’s all i need to wedge myself back in.

his chest rises and falls, lungs expanding and restricting with haste, suddenly overcome with a sense of alarm. he’s scared right now. he shouldn’t be going for it, but he is. he shouldn’t go thinking he’s worthy of you, but he wants to be. “satoru,” you call. the panicked tone of a hopeful man. “yes, bee?” “you’re insane today, spouting off all kinds of nonsense.” you release a soft sigh. “but…i’m on my way over. let’s watch a movie or something? it seems like you feel alone.”

i do.

“i hate when you feel alone.”

i know.

it may sound like it’s a burden on you, but he knows it’s just frustration, love, and compassion. “it’s not nonsense.” he tells you very quietly. “but i’ll leave the door unlocked for you. you know i hate when you talk and drive so let’s hang up here, yeah?” “yeah,” you breathe, and his heart aches at that warmth in your agreement. “see you soon.” and of course, his relentless declaration follows. “i love you.” “you’re not going to stop, god.” a tortured groan followed by an abysmal sigh. “ditto.”

it’s something, so it’s everything.

810 notes · View notes

yostresswritinggirl · 3 years

Text

Readers: We want Red Xiao x Reader x Green Xiao content PLEASE

Exiled: Well yes but actually no

Intermittent

Pairing -> Red/Green Xiao x Reader

Word Count -> 2088

Themes -> Okay, get this: Fluff, Angst, Suggestive scene (but not too bad). It's a trifecta.

Series -> #SojournerSpecials (masterlist)

Credit: @m370N4 for Header

Warnings -> Spoilers, violence, oh gawd there's so many violence

Your lover is going through a phase.

Perhaps you should have expected this much after the things that he's gone through, and the things that he is going through. The Archon War does not pick its victims. Saints and sinners, weak and strong, participants and bystanders; they all have one thing in common, they all can die any day now as the war rages on.

The thought of impending doom puts your heart into great unease as your arms tighten, lips softly pecking the red diamond on the Yaksha's forehead as he sighs in what you hope was relief.

The adepti are strong and aid in this war under the stead of Rex Lapis, but on the forefront of greater danger leads the Yakshas. The fateful battle between Osial and the Geo Archon ended not too long ago to put an end against the Lord's destructive ministrations, but Gods do not die, only slumber; his hatred in great intensities brought forth demonic plague that now haunts the blood bathed lands of Liyue. With his indispensable power and contractual obligation, Xiao became one of the five known Yakshas devoted to conquering those evil.

You were no beast in the battlefield but alongside Cloud Retainer and Ganyu you hold well in ensuring the well-being of mankind, but you only wish there was anything you can do to help the true warriors of the Harbour.

"How are you feeling?" You ran your hands through his chopped hair as his body leans against you, still tense. Xiao produces a strangled groan upon the question, a sound you still have yet to grow accustomed to.

It was a side effect even the glorified Archon did not expect. Yet it was too late to back down from the duties, to turn away from the chaos.

"Still standing, nothing I cannot handle," leaning away from your hold, his honey eyes then sets upon yours in gentle reassurance. Exposed fingers softly brushing against your cheekbone reminiscent of a flutter, so light it sends your heart into a faster pace. "And on your end? I have heard of the mortals establishing a new type of governance, how is it faring?"

Xiao hooks his fingers under your chin in full attention, and the pairing with his tantalizing smile sent your mind melting. "It's going-," your cleared your throat of the strangled pitch you produced and tried again, "Going great! Ganyu made it her duty to oversee it as the secretary."

"That is a fine arrangement." He hums inquisitively but you both know his attention was on somewhere else, what with the way his sharp orbs kept flickering to gaze on your lips. And with how his face was slowly, surely drawing near.

"Indeed, indeed." Breathed you as you closed your eyes, ready to capture his lips for a longing kiss, his other hand rests on your lower back to guide you to his lap—

When the shutter doors slammed open, the interruption causing you to yelp as Xiao embarrassingly hides your head to his exposed chest. That did NOT lessen the warmth of your cheeks.

"Conqueror of Demons! I- I'm sorry to interrupt-"

"Pervases, go on."

"The Yaksha of flames-" A rumbling roar of a scream had all three of you shoot your heads up in alert. And within seconds you had scrambled to your feet, rushing out of the shrine to investigate the commotion. The atmosphere had you choking from the scent of arson, black smoke erupting from the burning grass and natural flora around the area.

But in the middle of the ruins had you almost dispelling the contents of your stomach, your hand shooting up to cover your mouth at the the sight. Besides you Xiao dashes past in a vain attempt to quell the flames— the lick of fire that burned the Pyro Yaksha whole, who screams in both agony and anguish over the deep unknown, skin and clothes turning black and charred.

Xiao's swings barely made a dent to the wall of fire that prevents anyone from coming close to the Yaksha. "Please, leave me alone! Let me go! Stop it!" There was an illusionary sense to her words as she screams at the empty void in front and within her, piercing and aching. You called for her name, shouted, in hopes that she may snap out of it.

Dried up tears came upon her ruby gaze as it flickers over to yours. She heard you. Her lips quivered into those of familiarity and she opens her mouth- only to scream her loudest, one last painful cry, as her body drops as a smoking corpse.

Charred and pure black. Twitching and steaming, but not alive.

You didn't realize you were crying until you felt the comfort of Xiao's hand wiping at your cheek, his red fingerless gloves catching the dampness as you released your sobs.

You didn't notice the gradual decrease of red in his clothing until you looked at him one day without feeling a pang on your chest. When you looked at him with only curiousity upon him calling your name, he offered a smile as he cups your cheek; it didn't feel like the same traumatic time when the Yaksha died, your cheek leaning on his cerulean palm.

It wasn't red. Maybe that's what drove away your thoughts.

"It looks good on you," you mumbled as you watched his now black and green hair sway from the breeze.

"Thank you."

The clouds of Jueyun Karst brings peace to all that gazes on it. That may be the reason why it was Menogias' favorite place to sit by upon finishing her duties for the day, and at times she invites you over when you are done with your own; 'your presence soothes me, it's unfair that Xiao gets to keep you to himself, even if he is your lover!' you giggle at the verbatim the Hydro Yaksha always spouts everytime she drags you away from the other, with a cute yet teasing pout on her pristine face.

Those moments always has you laughing guiltily as you wave to Xiao, who only dons a gentle smile at you two's dynamic.

But she was beautiful and elegant despite her slaughtering hands, with a mind vivid and witty.

And so you find peace next to her, as both of your hands weave cloth into apparels to calm your minds. She had always been an avid fan of stitching and knitting even her own clothes, the only reason you knew how to weave the needle was because of her incessant teachings. Right now she knits a sleeve of beautiful patterns while you took on the duty to make a wooly scarf. Jueyun Karst is cold.

"How are you faring, dear? I have heard you and Xiao-" your hands paused at the implications, "-were witness to the passing of the Yaksha Indarias. Changes are glaring among that of the Conqueror of Demons, but you are a special case who is not under the influence of the karmic binds."

Her cold blue gaze seem to pierce your soul unintentionally and you couldn't bring yourself to look upon them.

You gulped and ceased on finishing the blanket to look at her own work. It was pretty. Tiring and fearful, not just for yourself, but for her too. And especially Xiao.

She holds you close in a soft embrace as you poured your honest confessions; it felt unfair for them to suffer like this, driven to self-destruction or to eternal agony. Menogias strokes your hair affectionately as she reassures your worries.

After all, they knew their oath would come to this.

And they still honored their duties to protect Liyue, for both the mortals and the realm of the Adepti.

"H-How about you?" You sniffled, looking up at her now gentle gaze. "Have you been feeling well? I don't want you to be destroyed by your own mind too."

The Yaksha's gracious smile parts after a pause to finally reply, when a glint from the side suddenly interrupted your peace-

azure pupils dilated upon recognition;

your body flies back upon her powerful push;

blood spurs from her right thigh as a jagged pillar of rock pierces through;

your back and hitting the cliff's compact ground as your vision swims.

No, no, no, no, you recognize that glow even if it was similar to another. Your body whimpers as you struggle to get up, rolling to your side to see the inevitable— the floating silhouette of the Geo Yaksha raises his arm where an orb glows over it, a single eye glows from his shadow...

The last you saw was the flash of neons and black before the world was engulfed by a blinding light.

The next thing you know you were desperately trying not to puke as you cradled the mawled and still bleeding corpse of Menogias, weakly patting her cheeks as your desperate attempts to wake her- to convince yourself that she was still alive. That the spears of stones impaled through numerous part of her body was nonexistent.

Behind you Xiao flicks his head to the side as his mask disperses. His jade spear dripping with blood as her gentle eyes hardened as it squeezes out the tears.

"(Y/N)," your wails turned into whimpers and hiccups, loose arms wrapping around your waist as Xiao pulls you away from the bloody mess. You didn't have the spirit to protest, your eyes still trained on the deceased Yaksha's face as you wept in your lover's arms.

A familiar censer that wasn't there before hangs by his waist.

And when the pain didn't make you weep anymore, a beautifully woven sleeve of blue and clouds adorn his left arm. Those who live after a millenia would not be aware of a reminiscent and deep scar hidden beneath it.

"I was not aware you were out of your domain," the moment he landed, a firm hand grasps your waist to keep you steady on the balcony's railings. Where you're currently perched on, precariously.

You were still unused to the purple cloth that flows behind him. But it matches the wind that comes with him, and the beautiful clashes of colors that makes up who he is now. He was not reminiscent of the red gentleness that he was 2000 years ago, but a teal shadow that lingers at the edges of your vision as a blur.

"I wanted to thank you for purging the malignant monsters that haunted my domain by the cavern," your gaze falls away from the moon as you swing your legs up and over, turning to face the Inn and him yet still remaining seated on the railing.

His eyes were hostile, not at all indicative of the lightness it had long ago. Chest covered in white, and the many memorabilias that dangle with him. Xiao's hands rests on the railing by your side as your fingertip traces the Vajra hanging by his neck, chunky to pointy; Pervases, the name leaves your lips in a whisper.

A guttural growl leaves him in intensity that had you reeling yet still worried for him. Behind his lidded eyes were pure hurt from the fear you conveyed, but he shook his head at all the thoughts that invades. Xiao lets loose a tired yet mocking laugh, "I just remembered something unpleasant."

Before he can turn back to gaze at your ethereal form, you've thrown your arms around his head to pull him against your chest. Your grip and uneven heartbeat alerted him of your will to not cry at his misfortune; such sympathy is wasted on him, yet he wraps his arms around you close in a gentleness that once again reflects his deepest trait.

"...your blessings, not your flaws."

At the sound of your familiar lyrics, as if with a mind of its own, the tension on his shoulders drop immediately into your warmth.

"You've got it all, you lost your mind in the sound;

There's so much more, you can reclaim your crown;

You're in control, rid of the monsters inside your head;

Put all your faults to bed."

Urged the strokes of your hand on his head, the voices quiet into almost nothingness. The Conqueror of Demons smiles again.

"You can be king again."

To the realm of the Adepti and those who knows even the slightest of him, it was nothing to debate about when it is claimed that you were the real reason that the golden-winged king, the Conqueror of Demons— that Xiao still exists today.

If you recognize the song 🤝 big sad

@moaa @dandelion-dreams @witchsungie @lehra @zelos-simp @legionqueensav @snackgod @rxsalinee @cala-ran @wind-wheel @lilydewi22 @yellowflowre @traveler-lumine @nonniechan @creation-magician @hanniejji @gojos-baby @just-some-stars @volleybloop @kookieyachi @xiaophilia @bunniesrorange @anormalguyreader @scarletroseneko

#genshin impact x reader #Xiao x reader #genshin impact Xiao #exile.flower #Angst #Fluff #segcy #Xiao² #I have given in to the temptation #gender neutral #xiao genshin impact #sojourner special

630 notes · View notes

moonlight-prose · 3 years

Text

Burned

(pictures in header don’t belong to me)

A/N: So as you can tell if you’ve seen my announcements that I went 18+. Mainly for this fic, but also for some more heading your way. Anyways I’m going to drop this here and hide.

Tag Lists open and feedback is always welcome!!

Summary: Bucky Barnes was a man who you’d been infatuated with since he entered your home and decided to stay. He had lit the match, and now it was his turn to burn he way through you. Until there was nothing left. 18+

Word Count: 4k

Pairing: Western!Bucky x F!Reader

Warnings: Oh jeez. Okay so explicit smut (MINORS BYE), p in v sex, fingering, cum eating, rough sex, masturbation (m & f). (y’all I went all in for the first one)

Song: Arsonist’s Lullabye - Hozier

Rugged and full of rage, with a sharp pull on the trigger to match. Those were the words you would have used to describe the man who stayed in your home. After your father had died and he rolled into town, you became infatuated with the man who called himself Bucky. Long hair, blue eyes, and a strength that left you weak. He didn’t talk much, but he knew when people were in danger and he did what he could to help. You’d say he was a man with a heart of gold, but he’d laugh and tell you that you were oh so wrong about him.

He didn’t say much to others but to you he talked up a storm. He told you of his friend Steve back home, of his family. He gave you stories of places he’d been that would leave you begging to know more, but things were shifting. The longer he stayed the more you could feel yourself falling for him, for the man who carried a pistol wherever he went.

You willed it not to happen, but there was no stopping it. The rush of heat you felt when you saw him, the way you pressed your thighs together to gain any friction. It all became obvious to you that the longer you let this heat grow the sooner you’d get burned. He did not help. Him and his blue eyes that seared into your skin wherever you went. Watching like a hawk from its post.

He would join you at night for dinner, the looks he gave you nearly causing your knees to buckle. This wasn’t what you did. You did not fall for a man who was more dangerous than the most lethal criminals. Yet you couldn’t stop yourself when he called your name. When he offered you kindness when in fact you wanted nothing else but for him to quench the flames that burned their way through you.

Telling him did not become an option, nor did asking him. How could you ask him to take you in any way he wished? To ruin you for anyone else. Yet you knew that much to be true. He had already ruined you for anyone else the second he stepped into your home. The second you offered him asylum you belonged to him.

The feeling didn’t become unbearable until you heard him one night. You didn’t mean to, but the temptation to know what the grunts and groans were became too great. He lay in the spare room you had to offer his eyes shut tight as he sang noises of pleasure into the air. His hand wrapped around himself, tugging and pulling causing him to arch his hips up into the air. You could do nothing but watch breathless and desperate as he brought himself to the precipice of euphoria.

One more stroke and he came with a cry of your name. You stepped away needing to catch your breath before you collapsed from the heat that surged through you. It was wrong to watch, but you were transfixed at the sight of him unmitigated to the arousal that filled his body. You willed the image of him away, but he was burned into your mind, the sound of him crying your name making you nearly pant with need.

Something in you shifted the longer you sat thinking about it. He cried for you. He didn’t call out some other woman’s name and the longer you thought the more you settled on the fact that you weren’t alone. You were not the only one in whatever type of relationship this was.

You settled in for the night, your heart still racing. Although tonight would end the same as every night when he was around; with your hand between your thighs. You needed a release and as much as you wished it to be his hands, his fingers that made you keen, yours would have to do. Biting on your other hand you muffled the sounds that came from you desperate and raw. The wetness trickled down your thigh as you slipped a finger into you and curled it towards the spot that you knew would be your undoing.

Clamping down harder on your palm you ground the heel of your other palm into your clit as you curled your finger one more time into you. And like the tension in a string the tightness in your belly snapped. You wanted to scream out his name, but he was probably asleep at this time and you didn’t want to wake him. So instead, you let out a pitiful whimper feeling your walls flutter as your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

What you failed to notice was the blue eyes of the man you thought of watching. Bucky had gone to get a glass of water when he heard you whimper. He believed you to be having a nightmare like several nights before, but instead he found you trying not to cry out in pleasure as two of your fingers brought you to a devastating release. He nearly dropped the glass when he watched your back arch as you came. Instead, he opted for shifting his cock in his pants as it twitched at the sight of you.

“Bucky,” you sighed, fluttering your eyes open. A feeling of satisfaction washed over you, but it would not be enough. It was never enough.

He sprinted away from your room letting out a groan at his now stiff length. You had called for him just as he had called for you and as he caught his breath, he knew he’d do something about it. For months he had to watch as you seemed oblivious to the way he wanted you. A temptation he wished to devour slowly, intimately, until he had his fill. Only he knew the truth. He’d never get his fill of you.

Bucky sighed running a hand down his face before crawling into the cot and throwing the quilt you’d given him over his body. Tomorrow he was being called into town to help with the Sheriff but once he returned, he’d have you.

The afternoon sunlight warmed your skin as you roused from sleep. Dreams of him plagued your mind and instead of waking up sated and happy, the heat continued to burn through you. Shifting you pulled the shawl over your shoulders not bothering to change out of your simple nightdress. Food sounded heavenly in your eyes, but you’d have to go out and gather the eggs from the hens.

Instead, you opted to drink the cheap coffee that you’d asked Bucky to buy at the market. It was bitter, but you drank it anyway, needing something to fill your stomach. Tearing off a piece of bread from what you baked the other day you ate it remembering the night you had. His sounds still seemed to echo in your ears, the sight of him coming apart at the seams burned into you. You shifted where you sat feeling the heat pool in your stomach again.

The door opened and your heart began to beat wildly in your chest as you saw him step into the house. He stripped himself of his brown coat and tossed it over the back of the chair before tossing his hat onto it as well. Bucky didn’t know you were awake yet. On his walk back he’d had half a mind to strip himself down and climb into your bed with you, but thought better of it.

However, he froze at the sight of you standing there wearing nothing but a thin layer of clothing. Delicate. That’s all he could think about, was that you looked extremely delicate and he didn’t want to break you. The look you gave him said otherwise. Bucky only needed one word to make him move forward towards you. He needed confirmation that this is what you wanted, that he was what you wanted.

“Coffee?” you asked.

He was shaken out of his reverie and quickly nodded his head trying to ignore the way you looked in front of him. He felt himself harden as he watched you move around the kitchen and remembered the sweet sounds; you’d made the night before. The night he found out you wanted him. That thought continued to wedge its way into his mind, forcing him to focus on it when in fact all he wanted was to enjoy you.

You set the mug in front of him as you sat on the opposite side of the table. He hadn’t taken his eyes off you since he stepped foot through that door and you felt the burn of his stare into your skin. It was the match that relit the fire from earlier, simple sparks at first but then it roared its way through your body.

“How was your day?” you asked, trying to distract yourself, shifting in the chair as you felt the rush of wetness hit you.

He noticed. “Good. The sheriff and I talked of who’s been planning to blow up the mines, but there hasn’t been sights of him. We’re gathering some men to hunt with us,” he replied trying to keep talking so he didn’t spread you out on the table and eat you out for breakfast.

“Oh my. I hope he’s found,” you replied. The topic of the conversation went over your head but you still managed to make out what he said.

You noticed the look in his eyes. A burning heat, the blue of his irises turning a dark stormy color. Over the past few months since he’d stayed with you could see the pain in his eyes, the sadness that he held within him. Yet that faded with time. Every now and then you caught a glimpse of it, of the man behind the wall he’d built, but it rarely came out anymore. And as you stared into his eyes now, you didn’t see that pain; no hint of it remaining.

Getting up you set the cup into the metal sink feeling the nerves rise through your body. Now would be the perfect time to tell him that he saw you last night, that the image of him was burned into your brain. Except the words were stuck in your throat, unable to find freedom. A shifting of movement caught your attention and the echo of his boots hitting the floor sent small sparks down your spine.

“I have something to tell you,” he said softly coming to stand directly behind you. He was so close that you could feel his hot breath hit the skin on the back of your neck. “I saw you last night,” he whispered into your ear.

You froze expecting to feel the icy cold waters of reality wash over your body, but instead he seemed to only light another match. A small noise left your mouth at the thought of him standing there, watching you as you tried not to cry out his name. His hand lightly dragged down your arm pulling you back to him.

“Tell me doll.” His other arm wrapped around your waist as his teeth sunk into the skin at your neck. “Will you make those pretty sounds for me again if I ask nicely?”

His hand slid up until it was loosely wrapped around your neck, squeezing gently when you didn’t answer right away, too busy trying to catch your breath.

“Yes,” you choked out. “Please.”

Bucky let out a combination of a growl and a groan as he spun you towards his chest and slammed his lips on yours. His hand gripped tightly onto the back of your neck keeping you in place as he licked desperately into your mouth. A moan was ripped from your throat when he bit down roughly on your bottom lip sucking it into his own mouth. You wanted to keep up with him, to give him what he wanted, but he didn’t need anything else but you. He only ever wanted you.

You gripped his hair pulling him closer to you feeling his hands slide down to your ass. With a feral sound you didn’t know he could make; he pushed your crotch into his so you could feel what you’d done to him. Tipping your head back you shamelessly grinded yourself against the bulge in his pants; a breathless moan slipping past your lips.

“Look at you doll,” he said catching his own breath. “So, fucking beautiful.”

A hazy smile appeared on your lips at hearing his words. The tension that grew between you two had finally snapped in two, like a wire pulled too tight. He gripped your thighs lifting you and urging you to wrap your legs around his waist as he stepped in the direction of the bedroom. Except you leaned down and began sucking a mark into his neck, finding the spot that made him slam you against the wall closest to him. He shoved his hand in between your tightly pressed bodies needing to feel you in some way, needing to hear as you cried out for him.

You keened as he dragged two fingers through your already soaked folds, the pleasure threatening to tear you apart. A light chuckle left his lips at the sight of you already withering at his touch. He pressed on finding your clit with ease and circling it agonizingly slow.

“Bucky,” you moaned.

The sound of his name leaving your lips left him leaking and he pressed his finger harder feeling your body jolt at the sensation. How could it feel this incredible for him and you hadn’t touched him; he had yet to sink into you. Sliding his fingers through your slick he pressed them at your entrance watching as your eyes fluttered shut when he slid them into your tight wet heat. A groan left his lips feeling you clench around him and he began a slow pace of dragging his fingers in and out of you.

“Fuck,” you said unable to stop the moan that left you when he curled his fingers, brushing against a spot inside you that would have had you collapsing to the ground if you were standing.

You gripped his wrist as that blinding pressure built up inside you, slowly curling at the base of your spine, but soon spreading. A new fire in your body. He brought his lips to yours as he pumped his fingers faster making sure to press against that spot that had your toes curling each time. A cry left you, but was soon swallowed by him as that pressure finally broke and you could feel the white-hot release of ecstasy flood your veins. Bucky let out his own small moan at the feeling of you clenching around his fingers as your release dripped down his hand.

“Bucky,” you panted pressing your lips to his again.

“You are fucking perfect,” he said.

Heat spread to your cheeks as you watched him lift his fingers towards you lightly brushing your slick against your lips. Opening your mouth, you moaned as the taste of you hit your tongue. Normally you’d shy away, not be so open about your desperation for someone, but the look in his eyes told you he wanted this. He wanted to watch you enjoy the taste of yourself, needing to know what it tasted like for himself.

Swirling your tongue around his fingers you sucked them into your mouth until you nearly gagged causing another feral sound to be ripped from his throat. The grip he had on your thigh tightened as he thrust up into you. His fingers fell from your mouth as you gasped at the sensation and he greedily took them into his own mouth, moaning at the taste of you.

“I- I need you,” you said, pulling his head closer so you could brush your lips against his.

He let out a husky laugh. “Where do you need me?” he asked, teasing slightly, but also, he needed to hear you say it again; too afraid he was going to wake up at any moment and not have you in his arms.

“Inside me.” It sounded like a beg, and it was, because you were ready to fall apart in a matter of seconds.

Letting out a curse he slammed a hand against the wall by your head as you undid his pants quickly, sliding your hand in to feel him. He could feel himself grow harder at the touch of your fingers gliding along his length, becoming familiar with him. Bucky thrust up into your hand when he felt you grip him tighter before pulling him out completely. You wished you could drop to your knees and taste him, but your need outweighed your curiosity.

He took over not wanting to finish in your hand as you continued to stroke him and lined himself up to your entrance. His eyes met yours searching for any sign of rejection, anything that would tell him you did not want this. Except all he could see was the hazy pleasure he’d caused you. It was as if he was looking at an ethereal painting created by a higher being and he’d admire you for hours; taking the time to see every crevice, every detail that made you.

Your breath caught in your throat as he sunk into you slowly; a choked groan ripping from his chest. Bucky’s eyes nearly rolled back at the feeling of your walls around him. Tight and wet, surrounding him and forcing him to the precipice of overwhelming pleasure, but he grit his teeth and held back. He was not doing this to chase his own release, he would be giving you yours first. A pinch of pain hit you as he stretched you, but that faded as he finally settled his hips against yours, fully seated inside your walls.

“Oh-fu-fuck,” he spit out doing his best not to move until you told him too. “Fit me so fucking perfectly.”

You hesitantly shifted your hips in his hold causing his head to fall forward against your chest. “Don’t move doll. Not if you don’t want me to finish too early.”

“Move,” you gasped out feeling as his thumb brushed down to your clit stroking it softly.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

Gripping his hair, you slammed your lips against his, pushing your tongue against his and sucking his bottom lip into your mouth. “Move,” you demanded against his lips the haze of lust overtaking you.

Bucky growled into the kiss pulling out slowly before slamming back into you, smirking as he heard your yelp. It was a brutal pace from the beginning; his only goal at breaking you into pieces. Yanking your hands upwards he held them against the wall above your head and dug his teeth into the junction of your neck. You felt the breath slam out of you; sounds being torn from your chest with every one of his thrusts. The pleasure began to build, painful in its own way as it remained right out of your grasp.

You could hear him speaking over the rush of pleasure in your ears, his words sinful enough to cause another wave of heat to rush over you. You’re incredible. So, fucking good. I knew this pussy was perfect. Mine. You’re mine doll. His forehead moved to press against yours as his hips continued to push into you, forcing you to get closer to what you longed for.

“Please,” you wailed out in a choked sob.

“Please what doll?” he breathlessly asked against your skin.

“More. Please.”

Another curse fell from his lips before he began to increase his speed slamming into you so hard that your eyes rolled back and your body sagged into the wall. He grinded against that spot in you that caused you to grow delirious with pleasure, begging, pleading with him to give it to you. To push you over the edge. Tears fell down your face and he slipped a hand down to press his thumb against your clit. All it took was three more thrusts before you felt the wire snap and the wave of pleasure, you’d reached for crashed over you. Your head fell back against the wall as your walls spasmed around him and a flood of heat rushed over his cock, a cry of his name leaving your lips.

“Fuck, fuck,” he panted chasing his own ecstasy until he was coating your walls in his hot release. “I love you,” he sighed out, his head falling into your shoulder.

You weren’t sure if you heard him correctly, the daze you were in too strong. Except then the words replayed in your mind and suddenly you were shoved back into reality. He loved you. The three words you realized awhile back fell from his lips as he softened inside of you, the air of euphoria still surrounding the both of you.

“What?” you asked, too scared he’d take it back.

Bucky lifted his head before a small smile crossed his lips. This rugged man who could kill without blinking looked at you with a softness you thought you’d never see. He pressed his lips against yours, tangling your tongues together, before doing what you never thought he’d do. He repeated the words.

“I love you,” he said clearly this time, the daze gone now and replaced with nothing but pure unadulterated love. It washed over you giving you a new type of pleasure and a new warmth that settled in your veins.

“Oh Bucky,” you sighed out cupping his face and kissing him again. You’d never get tired of hearing it, of kissing him. “I love you.”

He smiled into the kiss. “I was going to wait to tell you doll, but last night made me realize something.”

“What?” you asked, softly twisting a piece of his hair around your fingers.

“I want to wake up with you every morning doll. Want to hear you cry out my name as I’m the one who makes you cum. I want you for as long as you’ll have me.” His words rang in your mind, hitting you deep in your chest.

“I’ll have you Bucky. I’ll have you for however long you want to have me,” you whispered.

His lips tilted up into a crooked smile. “I love you so damn much doll.”

He lowered you back to the ground noticing how you wobbled slightly from the dizzying orgasm he’d just given you. It made his chest swell with pride. Tucking himself back into his pants he pulled them closed. He made sure you could stand on your own before he rushed to get a clean rag and pressed it softly between your legs hearing the small noise you made at the overstimulation.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

A blissful smile crossed your lips. “I feel great Bucky.”

“Breakfast?” He stood before you tugged his arm back pulling him to you.

“Let’s go back to bed,” you murmured.

He let out a small laugh before scooping you up into his arms once more and heading to the room. You were finally his after so long and his heart swelled at the thought of waking up to you every day, of being yours. The fire was sated for a small moment, but you knew it would only be a matter of time before it began again.

He burned through you deliciously and you’d allowed him to do it endlessly, relishing in it, because it was what you longed for. He was what you longed for.

Masterlist

Permanent Tag List:

(you can ignore this fic if it’s not your cup of tea)

@aaliyasaurus @karasong

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes smut #western!bucky barnes #first bucky smut #enjoy y'all

244 notes · View notes

radiorenjun · 3 years

Text

cigarettes || kim doyoung

➶ pairing: kim doyoung x reader

➶ genre: angst, established relationship

➶ word count: 2k

➶ synopsis: You and Doyoung keep having arguments because of your occasional smoking habit. To you, it’s just a cigarette. To Doyoung, it was more than that.

➶ warnings: swearing, arguments, shitty writing, mild ANGST, half-assed fic, character death, mentions of cancer, smoking addiction, smoking, mentions of drinking, bad reputation in high school

➶ a/n: big thanks to @lebrookestore for making this EXQUISITE HEADER

➶ based on the song Cigarette Duet by Princess Chelsea

“It’s just a cigarette and it cannot be that bad.”

You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend, pulling out a cigarette from the package and a lighter from your back pocket. “Honey, don’t you love me ‘cause you know it makes me sad,” Doyoung frowned, crossing his arms over his chest with furrowed brows as he watched you walk to the balcony, lighting the cigarette up without a care in the world, ignoring his glare from across the room.

Doyoung was worried for you. You had been starting to smoke cigarettes whenever you were too stressed as you, just like him, didn’t like to talk things out. You didn’t think much of it considering you were only smoking a few a week, but Doyoung had a far greater worry in his mind. He didn’t want you to get an addiction because of something utterly stupid.

“It’s just a cigarette like you always use to do,” you rolled your eyes, taking a deep puff from the small tube. Doyoung grimaced at your words, letting out a small inaudible hiss under his breath . He turned his face away to avoid your eyes, sighing heavily.

“I was different then, I don’t need them to be cool,” he answered rather hesitantly, his pupils avoiding your own as you let out a soft scoff at him.

You both knew deep down Doyoung was only worried because he was scared that you were going to fall into the same dark abyss as he did back when the two of you were still in high school. Doyoung was previously a smoker himself. He hung out with the wrong crowd. He did many bad things in his youth, he did a lot of things he knew he shouldn’t. He was the first one in your relationship to start smoking, he had a really bad smoking addiction back then just for the sake of impressing his former so-called ‘friends’.

And one of the biggest mistakes in his life was encouraging you into trying it as well. Of course back then you weren’t that interested but you did try it out under his encouragement, and ever since then you would take a few small puffs whenever he would offer it. But recently you had decided to try it out when you were at a bar at one of the frat parties near your community college, a couple months after Doyoung finally got over his smoking addiction. And now you couldn’t help but smoke a cig or two a week whenever the stress of college and work piles down on you.

Doyoung sighed as he got up from his place on the couch to walk and join you on the balcony, wrapping his arms around your waist with a small pouting frown on his lips. He leaned his chin down on your shoulder and his head against yours, the sadness in his pupils sending small jolts of pain into your own heart.

“I know, it’s just a cigarette but it harms your pretty lungs,” Doyoung mumbled against the fabric of your thin white shirt. (which happens to belong to him) You purse your lips, blowing out a puff of smoke as you look down at the view bestowed upon the two of you, eyes gazing up a the cloudy night sky.

“Well, it’s only twice a week. So there’s not much of a chance,” you nuzzled your head against his lovingly, ignoring his puppy dog eyes boring holes into your skull as he watched you take another puff from the white cigarette. “I know, but one can turn into ten, y/n. You know that very much,” Doyoung pouted, tightening his hold on your waist as he moved his head to lean his cheek on your shoulder, pressing a small kiss to the space between your ear and jaw.

“Honey, don’t you trust me? When I want to stop I can,” you reassured him, making both of your heart aches as he grew silent at the statement.

That was exactly what he said back when he still had his smoking addiction.

“It’s just a cigarette!” you exclaimed.

Another pointless argument, another night of the two of you screaming at each other until your throats were sore.

You were tired. Doyoung was tired. But you knew Doyoung wouldn’t stop complaining about it until you stopped smoking. And today he had found out that you had moved on into a more harsher brand of cigarettes, clearly he wasn’t happy at all considering it was way more addicting than the brand you were using previously.

“‘It’s just a cigarette’? It’s malboro light! This is going too far, you’re going to stop smoking permanently whether you like it or not!” Doyoung shook his head at you, his eyes glaring daggers into your own as you clenched your fist and gritted your teeth in anger. “It’s not that big of a deal, Doyoung!” you shot back, “ I don’t know why you’re blowing this completely out of proportion!”

“I’m not blowing this out of proportion. This is going to go downhill if you don’t stop. And even if I am overreacting is one measly cigarette really worth it if we end up fighting again?” Doyoung retorted, his expression filled with disbelief at how stupid you were being. Why can’t you just listen and try to stop? Your smoking count had gone up from two per week to five a day and it was getting way out of hand.

You groaned out of frustration. “I’m not going to argue about this again. I’m tired, it’s almost midnight. Can’t we just go to sleep and talk about it some other time?” you pleaded, wishing that Doyoung would drop the conversation again until some other day. Unfortunately for you, unlike the other days, Doyoung had enough of avoiding this conversation. He didn’t want to watch you walk down to your own death in his very own eyes.

He was in your position once too, you were just too stubborn to listen to him. He didn’t want you to go to the extent of smoking two large packs a day like he did back when the two of you were still in your first year of college. It broke his heart to see the person he loves the most slowly ruin their pretty lungs and the only thing he can do is try to convince you to stop every single day.

“No. This has gone on way too long and way too far, this is going to grow into a bad habit sooner or later. And you know very well that I don’t want you to get an addiction. Where the hell did you even get it? For fucks sake, it’s already bad enough that you’ve gone from 2 a week to 5 a week, it’s not healthy, y/n. You know that,” Doyoung rubbed his face with his palms, trying to calm himself down to keep himself from screaming his frustrations out. “It’s only a cigarette I got from Jamie Lee,” you huffed under your breath, looking down at your sock-covered feet.

Jamie Lee was one of the girls in your class who was quite infamous for bringing about scandals and terrible rumors as if they were handmade chocolates. If Doyoung wasn’t upset then, he sure is now. “Jamie Lee? You got a cigarette from fucking Jamie Lee?” he asked incredulously, removing his hand from his face to stare at you with wide rage-filled eyes. He was begging you to tell him that you were just joking, you were just pulling on his leg to ease the tension between you like you always do during arguments.

But no, you weren’t. The guilt in your eyes said it all.

“I’m going to give her a smack one day, dear god.” Doyoung groaned, pinching his nose to take a deep breath before continuing your argument that lasted until you decided to walk off to take a cig outside of your shared apartment at 2 am in the morning.

Doyoung stirred, his head hurt, and he wondered why he felt so tired despite the fact that he had just woken up. When he finally decided to open his eyes, pulling the blankets off of his body as he moved his feet off the bed. Yawning, he scratched the back of his head, hissing in pain when the pain in his head got worse.

‘It’s just a cigarette and I only did it once, Doyoung’

‘It’s just a cigarette and soon it’ll be ten, Y/n.’

He stood up from the bed, grimacing at the empty feeling in his chest as he made his way to the kitchen to get himself some water. Getting himself a cup of water, he stared hopelessly out of the window in front of him before walking over to the fridge, he scanned his eyes to see if he could make anything for breakfast with whatever condiments that are left. Rubbing the sleep away from his eyes, he let out another yawn before grabbing a carton of eggs.

‘It’s only twice a week, so there’s not much of a chance’

‘It’ll make you sick, Y/n. There’s not much of a chance.’

He felt tears gather up in his eyes when the silence in his ears became too loud, the empty feeling in his heart turning into a feeling of pain and despair. He rubbed his eyes before walking over to the balcony, trying his best to ignore the aftermath of his hangover. Raising a hand to give his temple a massage, he grabbed a lighter from the table near the balcony door and pulled out a cigarette packet from one of the drawers.

Lighting it up quickly and taking a deep puff, sighing heavily as he exhaled the smoke, feeling the empty ache in his chest decrease as the bitter smoke overpowered the throbbing ache in his heart. He wiped his eyes as he tapped the ashes on the ashtray nearby, his pupils dilating when he realised he hasn’t cleaned it in a while.

‘It’s just a cigarette, I’m sorry that I did it.’

‘It’s just a cigarette, you’ll be sorry that you did it.’

It’s been a couple of weeks since you passed away from lung cancer. Doyoung couldn’t even be there to tell you ‘I told you so’. He blamed himself for not trying his best to stop you. He blamed himself for your death. If only he didn’t encourage you to try your first cigarette back then in highschool, maybe then you’d be too scared to try one from someone else’s encouragement. If only he tried hard enough, if only you weren’t so stubborn.

If only you had listened to him. Maybe then you would still be by his side watching him cook. Maybe then he wouldn’t be sitting on the balcony with a cigarette in one hand and alcohol in the other, maybe he wouldn’t be so sleep deprived. Maybe he wouldn’t be feeling such a wretched ache in his chest. Maybe then he wouldn’t try so hard to hate you for bringing him into another smoking addiction.

“Doyoung.”

“Honey, can’t you trust me? When I want to stop I can.”

#NCT-WRITERS #neowritingsnet #neo-constellations #neoculturecafe #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct u x reader #doyoung x reader #kim doyoung x reader #doyoung scenarios #kim doyoung scenarios #doyoung angst #nct angst #nct 127 angst #nct doyoung x reader #nct 127 doyoung x reader #nct kim doyoung x reader

71 notes · View notes

raendown · 3 years

Link

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 2255 Summary: The one where you feel aroused whenever your soulmate does

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Chapter 223

Madara was halfway through the speech he’d spent hours preparing, in full view of the entire council of advisors, when his words stumbled and his entire body grew warm. From the other end of the table Hashirama and Izuna gave him looks of great concern. He avoided both of their gazes. After clearing his throat he cast around trying to pick up the threads of his carefully laid arguments and continue on but the stride had been broken, the careful build up he’d been relying on interrupted by an untimely wave of something he really didn’t want to think about in a room filled with stuffy clan heads.

“We’ll have to think on this matter a little more,” Yamanaka-san told him when he stuttered to a halt for the second time.

“Don’t give me that,” Madara snapped. He knew as well as everyone else in the room what that meant. It meant no. “I haven’t even gone over-”

The words failed on his tongue as another wave of heat washed over him. Whatever his soulmate was doing at the moment he hoped someone came along and interrupted their fun at just the wrong moment. If his day had to be ruined by their untimely lust then it was the least they deserved in return.

At the very least a careful look around the room showed that no one seemed to have noticed exactly what was bothering him. Hashirama’s gaze had already fallen back in to a bored, empty look. Izuna was frowning with open concern. Most of the advisors were either drumming their fingers with impatience as they waited for their own turn to speak or jotting notes down on the papers in front of them. Out of everyone in the room Tobirama was the most likely to notice, his eye for detail surpassed by very few, but the intensity of his gaze hadn’t changed in the slightest and despite how closely he’d been watching since Madara stood up from his chair the man’s expression hadn’t so much as twitched.

They weren’t exactly very close but Madara knew Tobirama well enough to know he would have at least some sort of reaction to seeing the head of the Uchiha clan grow hot with lust in the middle of addressing the council.

“I have a few thoughts on this matter myself,” Hyuga-san piped up and that was when Madara realized that he'd lost this argument. It didn’t matter whether the points he’d been trying to make were good or valid or benefited the village as a whole. The Hyuga clan head would always stand in opposition to him and somehow the man had wheedled himself in to better graces with the others than Madara would ever be able to with his naturally caustic personality. They would side with Hyuga-san as soon as he finished speaking. Just because he already knew it would happen, however, didn’t mean he had to like it.

For the rest of the meeting Madara slumped in his chair with arms crossed and jaw rigily set, doing his best to project as much insult and anger as he possibly could. Partly because he really was feeling that way and he wanted the rest of the council to understand how much he did not appreciate their favoritism. It was also partly to cover the gentle waves of arousal that continued to wash over him from time to time like the other half of his undiscovered bond were being continually distracted by something they found pleasing in all the right ways. If he wasn't so irritated he might have been grateful, actually. Shameful as it would have been to admit to anyone, Madara had been so busy lately that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a few minutes to take himself in hand let alone the last time he’d been able to seek out any form of relationship, temporary or not. Having the time to follow up on the echoes of someone else’s lust would have at least been a great stress relief.

Unfortunately the hardness inside his clothing did nothing to make the mountains of paperwork on his desk go away. Madara adjusted himself as discreetly as possible before standing up at the end of the meeting, stomping his way out of the room in the hopes he could turn the fire in his blood to a different kind of energy. It sort of worked. He always had been quick to anger, though it was difficult to stay truly angry now that his mind had been thoroughly distracted, supplying him with all sorts of interesting images from the last relationship he’d actually had time for. They hadn’t lasted very long but by all the gods that man could bend.

When he realized he was contemplating the risks of slipping down in to the archives and hoping no one would follow, Madara shook himself, determined to be productive. The village needed him to do his work and none of the papers on his desk were going to get done any faster if he was off somewhere indulging pointless bodily needs. He would have to soldier on.

The first thing on his to do list was to pick up the information packet he’d been too distracted to take with him after the meeting, necessary to have with him if he wanted to get anything done on the academy project. His nose wrinkled. Fetching that meant going down to Tobirama’s office since he was the one who’d been handing them out and he was the one who would have gathered up any left behind. Madara was grateful they’d been getting along better over the past few months - it was surprisingly difficult to remember when they’d last fallen in to one of them infamous screaming matches - but he really didn’t want Tobirama’s attention on him right now. Of all people to need something from, of course it had to be the one who always wanted to notice the whole room.

Several curses for bad luck were still spilling out of his mouth when Madara found himself pounding on the door. Tobirama’s voice rumbled from inside for him to come in, sounding entirely unsurprised. Either he’d sensed Madara coming or he’d made a note of who exactly left their info packet behind. Possibly both.

“Do I get three guesses for what you need?” Tobirama asked in lieu of a greeting. His tone was almost dry enough to cover the hints at humor underneath but it was there just enough to stoke Madara’s temper.

“Fuck you,” he snarled without thinking.

“Now, now, Uchiha, if you’re not polite to me then I don’t see why I should need to cooperate with you.”

“Fuck you with a sharp stick!”

Madara knew he had anger problems. Knew that he tended to let his emotions get the best of him with alarming frequency. Right now when his body was fighting off the heat of another’s thoughts was not the time to think about standing down and rethinking his approach. No, he was already too much on edge to even consider the idea of self control and as much as he would later very smugly point out that it all worked to his benefit, at the moment all he could feel was exasperation for himself when Tobirama lifted one of those perfect eyebrows and Madara heard his own voice explode.

Several months of good behavior went out the door all at once with one great roar of temper.

Contrary to most of the fights they typically engaged in, Tobirama didn’t seem very interested in fighting back. For some reason that only incensed Madara further, driving him to scream louder, as if the man had done him some terrible wrong by not providing him with a proper outlet for all this unwanted energy sizzling under his skin. No matter how he swore and raged and shouted Tobirama did nothing but sit with his chin resting on a cushion of long fingers woven together, mouth set in some enigmatic line, eyes dark and intense as they watched Madara’s every movement. It was almost creepy how closely he watched without ever engaging.

Yet worse than being stared at like some freakish zoo exhibit were the constant waves of increasing lust. Madara wished he could say that his anger was burning it away like he’d hoped but it only seemed to make it worse. The more he let himself get riled up the more his belly roiled with fire, body almost aching to be pressed against whatever hard surface was most convenient and fucked within an inch of his life. It really had been too long.

If he’d been allowed to run the course of his little temper tantrum and storm off immediately afterwards the way he normally did Madara wasn’t sure he ever would have figured it out. The vicious snarl he let out when someone opened the door unannounced was accompanied by a sharp spike of want that absolutely did not match the face that stared back at him in surprise. Izuna blinked at him once, spared his best friend the same baffled look, then looked at the door he was still holding open.

“Damn, I need you to add these seals to my office sometime. I didn’t hear a damn thing from out in the hall.”

Madara growled to have his beautifully crafted insults cut off when he was in the middle of a really good stride. His jaw opened to demand that Tobirama do no such thing only to snap shut when he caught sight of the man he’d just been abusing for who the hell knew how long. Of all the expressions he might have expected to see, shame was not one of them. He wouldn’t have guessed Tobirama even knew what shame felt like but there it was in the faint twist of lips and the guilty shifting of weight. It wasn’t until he realized one of Tobirama’s hands was out of sight under the desk that his brain made a leap from Point A to somewhere along the lines of Tab C, sub-paragraph ninety-eight, and then he was left standing just a little outside of his own body, entirely unaware of the world around him.

By the time his unsuspecting brain had finally accepted the idea that just occurred to him he came back to himself to realize the door was shut, Izuna was nowhere in sight, and Tobirama was staring at him again with something like faint worry hanging between the creases of his brow.

“Are you hot for me?” Madara demanded with every ounce of tack in his body - which was to say absolutely none.

“I...beg your pardon?”

“You were watching me just like that while I was making my presentation during the meeting.”

“Failing to make your presentation,” Tobirama corrected him.

And then he seemed to fall still in anticipation and Madara could only stare as the whole world crashed down around his ears.

“You do it on purpose,” he breathed. “You make me angry on purpose because you like it! You fucker!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tobirama protested. His voice was steady enough to give the words credence and it would have been entirely believable if not for the sudden bright red color staining his ears.

Madara stomped a little closer to slam both hands down on the desk and shove his face right up to the other man. “Don’t fucking lie to me. You’re hot for this disaster, I can feel it. Every time I get louder you get hornier.”

Watching Tobirama’s eyes blow wide was satisfying but seeing him drop his face in to both hands with the mortification of getting caught was pure gold. Madara enjoyed it very smugly even as he raced to catch up with the true meaning behind his own discovery. In an effort not to flail his way through a moment he’d been dreaming of since the day his mother explained the concept of soulmates to him as a wee little preteen, he cast about for something else to say.

“The only thing I don’t get is what got you hot in the meeting of a fucking council meeting.”

“I like your confidence,” Tobirama’s voice admitted from behind pale fingers. “It’s competent. And attractive.” He could not have sounded more strained if the words had been tortured out of him. Madara chewed that over for a minute before deciding he liked it. This he could definitely work with.

“Right. Well, I am going to get absolutely nothing done until I can think straight again so here’s what is going to happen. You want confidence? Good. Then you’re going to follow me home, you’re going to follow me in to my bedroom, and then you are going to follow every single order I give while you rail me in to the mattress. Are we in agreement?”

He’d never seen Tobirama move so fast in his entire life. One second they were separated by the very solid wood of a sturdy desk and the next he was standing in a six foot shadow blinking at surprisingly delicate collarbones. He grinned to see the blush revealed now that Tobirama wasn’t hiding behind his hands. It had been far too long but it wouldn’t be too much longer. Madara freely gave in to the urge to cackle as he led his soulmate away to go work off a little energy before they could talk about this with level heads.

#rae writes #soulmate collection #madatobi #madara #tobirama #fanfiction

47 notes · View notes

shoutosteakettle · 4 years

Text

⤷ pairing: shouto todoroki x reader

⤷ genre: fluff

⤷ word count: 2786

⤷ a/n: i had a lot of fun writing this even if it took me three days, so i hope you guys have fun reading,, thank you @ererokii for beta-reading and making the header, love you bby

☆彡

“What do you mean we have the day off,” you asked your boyfriend, one foot already out the door, and you fully dressed and prepared to go kick ass as a pro hero.

“Look outside Y/n,” you shifted your attention from Shouto, focusing on the raging blizzard outside through the window of your apartment.

“You’re going to let a couple of snowflakes stop us from saving people,” you asked, not so silently judging the half and half man currently pouring himself a bowl of cereal in the kitchen.

“The agency called for an off day. You can go to work, but no one’ll be there,” Shouto sighed, grabbing the milk carton from the fridge.

“Are you serious,” you pouted, stepping back inside and closing the door behind you.

“I know how much you love your job, but you work too hard. Maybe this is a sign that you should take a break,” Shou suggested, putting the cap back on the milk and placing it on the top shelf inside the fridge.

“I love that you worry for me, but I work so hard because I love my job. Seeing the smiles on people’s faces whenever I arrive at an incident and being able to help them is always the second-best part of my day,” you confessed, making your way back to your bedroom so you could change and get comfy.

Shouto watched you disappear into your shared bedroom as he took another spoonful of his cereal. He listened from the kitchen as you opened and closed draws, grumbling about how much this sucked. He would never admit it, but his feelings were a little hurt that you thought having to spend a day with him was that bad. After a couple of minutes, you reemerged from the bedroom wearing a pair of Shouto’s grey sweats that sat loosely on your hips, not that it mattered because the oversized pink hoodie you were wearing covered everything up perfectly.

You made your way over to your boyfriend, who was in the middle of reading the back of the cereal box. “Is there any more,” you asked Shou, prompting him to look up from the maze he was close to solving. You guys had been living together for three months and dating for twelve, but he couldn’t help but blush every time he saw you in his clothes.

“Uh, yeah,” Shou said, reaching over to hand you the cereal box. He watched as you mimicked the same steps he had taken earlier, taking a bowl out the cabinet, then moving to the fridge to get the milk, and he realized something that made him feel all fuzzy on the inside, it was always in moments like this where you looked the most mundane when you were the most beautiful to him.

“What are you staring at,” you teased, pulling out a chair across the table from your boyfriend.

“You,” he paused mid-scoop of his cereal, a bit taken aback by his own suddenness, but deciding to along with it, “Do I tell you often enough how beautiful? Because you are very, very beautiful.”

Now it was your turn to blush. You reached over to run your fingers against the softness of his cheek, peering into his eyes as you felt the butterflies in your stomach begin to rise, “I don’t know how I ended up with someone as perfect as you.” You watched his lips curl up into a smile, and you noticed the way that his eyes lit up when you leaned over to steal a kiss before sitting back down in your seat.

“So what should we do today” you asked, completely blanking on anything you guys could do to have fun on what was probably going to be a pretty boring day.

He took less than a minute to ponder your question, before standing up from the table and gathering his dishes, “Do you remember the night you first stayed over? We popped-”

“Popped popcorn and made a fort and spent all night cuddled up together watching movies,” you recalled, remembering how nervous you were that day. By now, being all close and personal with Shou was something you had gotten used to, but in the earlier days of your relationship, it took you awhile to get used to how cold he was. He wasn’t someone who craved affection, which meant 90% of the time you were the one that had to initiate interactions with him, even the little things like hand-holding. But over time, he had gotten used to the random pecks on his cheek, and your hugs from behind, and every now and then he would call you by a name that wasn’t your own, or pull you in for an unsolicited smooch session. “Is that what you want to do today?”

“Unless you want to do something else. It’s up to you,” Shou answered, placing the bowls he had finished washing on the drying rack before shifting his attention towards the empty food bowls by the fridge.

“I think that sounds like a plan,” you smiled, standing up from the table to pass your boyfriend a can of cat food from the pantry. At the sound of the can opening, you watched the eyes of your black house cat open, and after a short stretching session, the pitter-patter of her little feet on the hardwood was heard throughout the living room. For a second or two, you watched to make sure that she paced herself while she was eating, worried that she might choke on the pellets.

“Y/n, Luna is going to be fine. I don’t know why you worry about her so much,” Shou sighed, picking up her water bowl and trailing over to the sink. You listened to the soft purrs of your cat as she ate from her white food bowl, decorated with black fish and crossbones patterned around the rim, before the sound of the tap running filled the silence of the kitchen. You had found Luna one day in the parking garage. You remember how scared she looked when your eyes met hers through the windshield of your car. She was half dead and starving and in no condition to be running the streets the way she was. The next month and a half consisted of you and Shouto taking her to vet appointments and learning how to function with the new addition to your family.

“Well, she is our practice kid, right? If I do a good job parenting her, then the skills should automatically transfer over when we have a real kid to take care of,” you said very matter of factly, watching the muscles in Shou’s forearm flex as he squatted to place the water bowl down where it had originally sat.

“So how about you pop the popcorn and I set up the movie, that way we can do the fort together,” you asked, already moving towards the living room. You heard a quick hum from Shouto followed by the sound of his slippers hitting the kitchen titles. You shuffled through Shouto’s Blu Ray collection, picking out some of his favorite movies along with your own.

Just as you were about to shift your attention towards trying to figure out how to work Shouto’s ancient DVD player, the lights in the living room went out, then the ones in the hallway. You turned your head to Shou, who was standing in the kitchen, pressing the buttons on the microwave in frustration, trying to get it to work again. You moved to pick up Luna, ignoring the painful sting of her nails scratching your skin before walking towards your confused boyfriend in the kitchen corner.

“Babe, I think the power is out,” you said, placing your hand on top of his, successfully grasping his attention. “I think we should call the landlord.”

ミ☆

While you listened to the conversation Shouto and the landlord were having on the phone, you checked in with your neighbor across the hall, asking her if she was having the same problems but most importantly, making sure she was okay. She told you that her power had gone out too and assured you that she and her family were doing perfectly fine. After you had texted her goodbye, you turned to Shou, who had just finished up his call. “It looks like the power for the whole city is out,” he sighed, and that was pretty sucky, but the sad look on his face bothered you even more.

“What’s wrong, Shou? Is having internet really that important to you,” you joked, trying your best to lift his spirits only to be met with a heavy sigh.

You felt the weight of the couch shift under you, and you watched as Shouto took your hands in his. The feeling of his warm, calloused palms against you, along with the intertwining of your fingers, was one of your favorites in the world. You looked up from your hands and into Shouto’s eyes only for him to already be looking right back at you. “It’s not about the wifi. It’s just that today was finally going to be a chance for us to spend some time together. We may work at the same agency, and sleep in the same bed, but recently I’ve just felt really… distant from you,” he confessed, and you had to admit it was a bit odd for him to be the one complaining about distance.

You felt more than a little guilty as all the times you turned down eating lunch with him in favor for a couple extra minutes of gym time, or the times you would come home after patrolling into the late hours of the night, only for Shouto to be fast asleep, came rushing back to you. You couldn’t stop the tear that had rolled down your cheek or the ones that followed after that as you stared back at the sad eyes piercing your soul. “I’m really sorry, Shou,” was all you could manage to choke out before you wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him into a hug that spoke all the words you were unable to.

Confusion was evident on Shouto’s face, he didn’t expect his sudden outburst expressing his feelings to have the effect that it did on you. Uncertain on what to do with his hands, Shou settled on rubbing your back, trying his best to calm you down, “I didn’t mean for you to cry Y/n. I’m sorry if I said anything to offend you-”

“I’m sorry for being the worst girlfriend ever. I can’t believe I put my job before you,” you sobbed, feeling bad that he had to put up with you for the past couple of months, “Look our day isn’t completely ruined. We can still build the fort, and instead of watching movies, we can… catch up on some reading!” You watched the smile on Shouto’s face slowly grow into a big goofy grin before he nodded in agreement with your idea.

☆彡

Shouto had taken responsibility for the fort’s structure, making sure the blankets were secure in the way they draped over the back of your kitchen chairs and that there was enough room in the fort for the two of you plus Luna. You were on comfort detail, scouring the apartment for pillows and fluffy blankets, seeing as the heat had gone out it was up to you to make sure that the members of your household didn’t freeze to death.

After what felt like hours, but was really just thirty minutes (something Shouto was sure to remind you of every time you complained), of hard work and bickering about the placement of certain pillows and where to lay the blankets, you and Shouto were able to take a step back and look at the masterpiece you and he had created. “It’s beautiful,” you said, feeling on top of the world and full of pride because you knew that you and your boyfriend had just built the most perfect fort that had ever had the pleasure of gracing the earth. The base of the pillow fort was decked out with your thickest and most comfortable blankets and fluffiest pillows, seeing as that would be where you would be relaxing, so of course, you would want it to be as comfy as possible. Surrounding the fort were four chairs, all an equal distance from each other, on top of those laid your thinnest blankets, Shou had decided that they were the least likely to weigh the fort’s structure down. The mix-matched colors and patterns of your fort happened to compliment each other in the best way, which only added to its beauty.

You got on your hands and knees to crawl inside, considering that the fort was nowhere tall enough for you to get inside any other way. You were waiting for Shou to join you, but instead, you were met with your pet cat’s soft purs. You heard Shouto’s footsteps descending back to the kitchen, and you waited a minute or two for him to join before you let your curiosity get the best of you, “Whatcha doing over there, Shou?”

“Just give me a minute, I’ll be right there love,” the sound of the nickname he didn’t use too often made your stomach once again fill to the brim with butterflies. You looked over to Luna and gave her an excited smile, and in return, she gave you a quick ‘meow’ before going back to licking in between her paws.

To fill the time, you decided to start one of the books Shouto had picked out for you to read. It was called Broken Things and much to your surprise, the book was actually really interesting, the story followed this girl who was willing to give away everything for the happiness of others, regardless of the repercussions it had on her life. You were sure he was trying to send you a message because Shou saying you were too nice was a complaint you heard leave his lips way too often.

When Shouto finally came back, he had a mug in each hand, proving it to be rather difficult for him to get inside. You took the cups from his hands to help him watching as he got down on all fours like you had earlier and inside to join you and Luna, the warmth of the cups was a nice difference from the cold air in the room. “Is this hot chocolate? The gas is out too, right? How did you make this,” you asked, your eyes wide with awe because he had remembered your favorite drink, something you had told him when you first started dating. Your eyes followed the small smile on your boyfriend’s lips as he took a seat to the left of you before reaching for his drink.

“This same way I can do this,” he said, pulling you in closer so you could feel the warmth of his quirk. You snuggled in close to the human radiator sitting next to you, setting your cup down in favor of picking up where you had left off in your book, Shou doing the same.

After what couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes, you broke the comfortable silence that had settled between the two of you, to ask Shouto a question that you had been bugging you all day, “The office didn’t call for an off day did they?”

“How did you know,” he asked, looking over at you like a kid that had been caught drawing on the walls.

“Agencies don’t call for off days dummy, they can’t have all the heroes on break when there’s still people out there to save. Plus, you’re terrible at lying, I could tell you weren’t telling the truth the moment after you said it,” you looked up from the page you were on and into the heterochromatic eyes that had been staring at you.

“Do you mind if I ask you a question too,” Shouto asked, receiving a hum from you in return, “You mentioned earlier you said work was your second favorite part of the day, what’s your first?”

Once again, you looked up from your book, completely abandoning this time it in favor of laying your head on Shou’s chest and closing your eyes before answering his question, “Waking up next to you.”

You couldn’t see him, but you already knew his usually pale cheeks were slowly turning to a shade of rosy pink, and you cursed yourself for missing out on seeing his reaction.”

“I love you, Y/n.”

“I love you too, Shou.”

#shouto x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #writing?

117 notes · View notes

come-on-shitty-boys · 4 years

Text

//the fugitive’s name. kuroo tetsurou//

Warnings: near-death/almost drowning

Word Count: 1.4K

Notes: i’ll do the header in the morning ;-; i really need to stop writing last minute.

*part 2 to the fugitive*

*Read Part I HERE*

“I don’t think you’re going to be getting across any time soon,” you say, staring at the raging river. The storm from the previous night had flooded the waterway well past its normal banks and the current was moving at a deathly pace. One wrong move and the depths would swallow a victim so quickly that they would never even have the chance to call out for help.

The man who had confided in your arms the night before, rolled up the legs of his trousers as if he really meant to forge through. Your hand reached out to grab his wrist just as he was about to step into the murky water. “Please, you have to let me go. You’ve been incredibly generous, but I must get out of here,” he pleads, trying to pull away from your grasp.

“If you try to get across that river, you are going to die. It would be reckless for you to try. Please, you can stay with me until the flooding goes down and then I can get you across.”

It had been late in the afternoon when you heard the familiar squeak of the door on its hinges. But, there were clothes that needed washed and dinner still needed to be made, so you let it pass, thinking that the young man had simply stepped outside for fresh air now that the sun had started to die down after being holed up in the house all day, too scared for his life to go anywhere near a window let alone leave the house. It was only when the heavenly aroma of the soup started to fill the air that you took upon yourself to go find him.

It had been well past an hour since Kuroo stepped out of that door, a small rucksack packed with his an extra set of clothes that he had found in a drawer and a small loaf of bread. It was a twenty minute walk to the river that separated his fallen kingdom and the safe haven that he would be calling his new home. The guilt of walking away from you after everything that you had done for him gnawed at his chest. But, he couldn’t let himself get attached to anything else in this blasted place. Everything he ever cared about just ended up in ruins. His parents were dead. His home was likely in rubble. His entire country was at war with itself. Kuroo couldn’t win here anymore, so even despite all of your warnings that very morning, the desire to try was all too tempting.

The steady roar of the rushing water could easily be heard, guiding the forbidden prince towards his destination. The sight alone had the ability to suck all of the air from his lungs. The white water that surged past all of the debris in the river made it look all the more ferocious in the dim lighting. But he had to try. This was his only choice. Even staying as long as he did had put him on edge. It had left him looking over his shoulder with every step. He was sure that, at any moment, the people who had been ordered to kill his family, would arrive to finish the job.

He gingerly took a small step into the water. The chill stug his ankles and even at this shallow depth, the tug of the current was nearly strong enough to knock him from his feet, but he couldn’t just stop now. With a deep breath, he took another step. And another. And another until he was knees deep in the river. He could feel his body starting to shake and his teeth would likely begin chattering at any moment. It had seemed like such an easy task from where he had stood on the shore, but now he understood why you had been so adamant on wanting him to wait.

It all started with a small wavering of his balance, it wouldn’t have been enough to send him tumbling on solid ground, but the brisk movement of the water had taken him by its icy tendrils and pulled him under. He was able to stick his head above the water just long enough to take a breath before the raging waters slammed him back under, carrying him down the river. Kuroo kept trying to find anything he could claw onto to keep him from being completely washed away, something- anything to help him keep his head above water long enough for him to breath.

“Hello? Sir, are you out here somewhere? Dinner is ready. You need to come eat before it gets cold!”

The sound of your voice drifted towards him, just barely audible over the noise of the water. His back hit a large rock in the water, eliciting a sharp gasp from his lips which only allowed for the river to take even greater control of him, sinking into his body from the inside until he was coughing and sputtering, desperately clinging to this rock in the middle of the river so he wouldn’t be carried further downstream. So he wouldn’t be dragged under by the intense flow. So he wouldn’t drown.

“Y/N!” He shouts, pulling his upper body up onto the slick surface so his head could be far enough above the water to shout without fear of it all rushing back down his throat. “Help!”

He was meters away, but he could still see the panic that overtook your entire body when you broke through that treeline at the river’s edge. Quickly, you were scrambling through the brambles, tripping over the uneven terrain to get even with him on the bank. Your eyes scan your surroundings, trying to find anything that you could use to help him to shore. He was starting to grow paler as his body temperature dropped in the freezing river. His clothes clung to his body, showing off every muscle that was slowly starting to give out, too cold and too weak to hold on much longer.

A sturdy branch was your tool of choice and really, your only option if you were going to save this man for the second day in a row. “Hold on to this and I’ll pull you in, okay?”

He nods slowly, struggling to catch his breath, staring dazedly at you through hooded lids. But, even with his entire body starting to give up on him, his hand still reached out to his last chance at survival. And inch by dreadful inch, he was brought to land. Soaked to the bone, raven hair plastered flat against his head, cheeks flushed from the chill, the man collapsed against the shore. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” he murmured softly, eyes shut now that his second waking nightmare had finally come to a close.

“I told you that it was too dangerous. Please, listen to me. You could’ve died and then what would’ve I done? Not knowing what had happened to you, searching the woods for hours, trying to get you to come to dinner?”

He just kept shaking his head and murmuring those same three words over and over again, the cold water from the river mixing with his second wave of tears since you had met him. “I’m so sorry.”

Your hand reached towards him, running your fingers through his hair in an effort to soothe him. “You’re alright now, though. I promise that I’ll get you out of here soon, but we have to wait until the river goes down. I’m going to help you, sir.”

“Tetsurou,” he wheezes.

“I’m sorry?”

“Tetsurou- My name. It’s Tetsurou.”

You nod slightly, running your hand down the side of his face to raise his head to look at you. “Well, Tetsurou, do you want to go home? I made soup and I’m sure I can find something for you to wear. You’re going to catch a cold before anything ever catches you, at this rate.”

A tired smile stretches across his lips as he nods. “You’re probably right about that.” His large hand reaches for you as you help him clamber to his feet. His tall body is fully leaned against you for support, trudging through the wilderness as you and your waterlogged fugitive confide in one another for a second night.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu au #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo #kuroo x reader #haikyuu imagines #tetsurou #royalty au #x reader #imagines #au #trt #throne room thursdays

48 notes · View notes

kpopfanfictrash · 5 years

Text

For Me, It’s You

Member: Jimin (BTS)

Prompt: Song!drabble, inspired by For Me, It’s You by Lo Moon

Rating: R

Genre: childhood friends to lovers!AU (THANK YOU @underthejoon for this amazing header, ur the best)

Warnings: angst, estranged parents, references to former underage drinking

WC: 4,015

↳ part of my 30K milestone drabble game

You should not have come home this weekend.

Honestly, you knew better but allowed yourself to be swayed by the guilt of your siblings. There were the ones who insisted your parents wanted you here, who said things would not be the same without you and you fell for their lies – hook, line and sinker. Never mind that, when you texted your plane flight to your mom, it took her nearly a day to respond.

In complete denial, you chalked this up to timing. It was not. As soon as you arrived from the airport, you sensed the chill in the air. Your little brother – Dean’s list, summa cum laude, McKinsey consultant, Henry – was welcomed in with warm hugs and cookies. You barely received a terse smile and ‘welcome home.’

Even so, you deluded yourself into thinking things would be fine. You would lie low, make it through the weekend and return to the city unscathed. So long as you did not bring up your job, or the argument, everything would be okay. Sadly, you underestimated how disappointed your parents were. It took only two glasses of wine at Thanksgiving dinner for your mother to let you know exactly how she felt.

“When do you have to be back at work, Henry?” she asked, accepting the vat of potatoes.

“Monday,” Henry said, setting down his glass. “Working on a big client of ours right now – unfortunately, can’t take much time off.”

“Oh, that’s alright.” Your mother beamed as she replaced the spoon in the bowl. “It’s nice to see you hard at work. Unlike some people your age.”

Everyone around the table stiffened. It was not necessary for your mother to say your name in order to make her feelings known. The point was clear in the way she set the bowl down, looked your way and waited a beat.

Refusing to take the bait, you looked down. You had not been hungry before but, upon hearing her comment, lost all appetite entirely.

“Let’s not talk about that right now,” said Jia, your sister. Hastily, she shot a pleading glance at your dad. “It’s the holidays.”

“That doesn’t diminish the reality of the situation,” your father said sternly. Turning your way, his brow furrowed. “So, Y/N. Have you found yourself yet?”

Cheeks slowly heating, you pushed your plate back from the table. “I’m working on my drawings, yeah. If that’s what you’re asking.”

He made a dismissive noise in his throat. “All that money towards college – wasted.”

“Dad,” Jia said. “It wasn’t wasted.” She scowled, looking between your parents.

Jia chose to become a dentist; a perfectly respectable career path in their opinion. Still, she had always been protective over you and Henry. When you were younger, your parents often worked in the evenings, and it often fell upon your older sister to help.

“Let’s just eat, okay?” Henry glanced around the table. “It’s Thanksgiving. Let’s be glad we’re all here.”

The table was quiet for a few minutes, everyone digging into their respective plates. Then, your mom sighed and said, “I suppose I’m thankful two of my children followed our example to form steady careers. At least I can sleep knowing I won’t be in the poor house when I’m old.”

“Mom!” Jia blurted out, looking appalled.

Henry jumped to your defense, too. “That’s not fair, mom –”

“I’ll tell you what’s fair,” interrupted your father. His voice somehow drowned out the rest. “Wasting all your hard-earned money on a fancy college degree, only to throw it away. Living disrespectfully, coming back to our house and having the nerve to –”

“I bought my own plane ticket, dad,” you interjected. “My website is doing really well, and I’m working on illustrations for this book, and I –”

“Don’t interrupt!” he exclaimed. “This is exactly the lack of respect your mother and I are talking about.”

With a loud screech, you pushed your chair away to stand up. “I’m done eating,” you announced. Stiffly, you looked at your mom. “Doesn’t sound like anything’s changed since the last time we spoke. Thank you for cooking. I’ll clean up after myself.”

With that, you turned around and strode into the kitchen. The arguing continued after you left, with Jia jumping in to combat your parents. Even Henry was angry, protesting he and Jia wanted you there, but you were no longer listening. It did not matter much, either way. You should have known better than to think today would go well.

The last time you spoke to your parents was in the spring, the day you told them you were quitting your job to pursue illustration full-time. They were not happy, simply put and after the initial, blow-out fight, you did not speak at all. Obviously, they still had a lot to say.

Retreating up the stairs to your childhood bedroom, you slammed shut the door and collapsed on your bed. Being in this room made you feel like a child and in many ways, you still were. It did not matter that you had been able to drink for four years and vote for seven. In many ways, you were only just beginning to progress on your own.

Downstairs, you still heard the debate raging on. It was always like this, when you were little. Even when you were not the one arguing, there was another fight to be had. You could not blame your parents for that, not really. It was the only way they understood discipline – loud voices and the overbearing idea of respect.

Eventually, things would calm down. You knew they would. Eventually, Jia would help your mom clean up and Henry would play piano in the next room. For a few hours, maybe, they would be like a family – except you would not be there.

Not this time.

Unable to replay the events any longer, you roll out of bed and unlatch your window. Prying it open, the cold air hits your face. Shivering, you stare into the night and reach out for your sweater. Your childhood home was built with a small, wrap-around porch over the front.

When you were a child, you often climbed out here to escape. When you were in your teens, you came out here to drink, or smoke, or journal about how your parents were ruining your life. It has been a long time since you remembered that part of yourself.

Glancing away, you see lights on in the Park house. They must be finishing Thanksgiving dinner as well, hopefully not in as dramatic fashion as yours. You cannot imagine it is, since the Parks adore their two sons – Jimin and Jiwoo. Besides, both of their children adopted traditionally successful career paths. Jiwoo is in medical school and Jimin recently passed the bar.

Exhaling, you glance again at the rooftop. The fighting can still be heard downstairs and so, pulling on your sweater, you climb out on the porch. Quickly shutting the window, you find yourself ensconced in blessed silence. No disappointed parents berating you. No siblings rising to your defense. Only silence, the wind and far-off sound of cars on the highway.

Settling onto the roof, you lean against the side of the house. The sky overhead is clear, a silver crescent of moon hanging above your head. As you breathe in and out, your breath frosts in mid-air. It is chilly enough you are glad for your sweater and still, your hands stiffen with cold. Pulling your sleeves down, you relish in the silence.

“Y/N?”

Head jerking sideways, your heart nearly stops when you see a face looking back. At the edge of the overhang, clinging onto the roof is a familiar – well, now unfamiliar – person.

Jimin.

“Is that seat taken?” he breathes, face red with the exertion of climbing. “Because it’s been a while since I’ve done this, and god knows how much your parents take care of this trellis.”

“Shit,” you blurt, realizing his predicament and scrambling onto your knees. Grabbing Jimin’s hands, you haul him onto the roof.

Jimin tumbles beside you, dusting dirt from his pea coat. You wince at the gesture, since the fabric looks expensive – probably is, given his new job. Collapsing against the siding, Jimin adjusts his grey beanie and looks sideways at you.

“Hey,” he greets, as though he climbs up on neighbors’ porches all the time.

Trying not to laugh, you smile back. “Hey.”

When you say nothing more, Jimin arches a brow. “Surprised to see me?”

“You could say that,” you say, glancing down at the cul-de-sac. From up here, the world seems more manageable. It always did. “It’s been a while since you came by.”

“Could say the same.”

Glancing at him, you see a small smile on his face. Jimin is quiet for a moment, staring out at the world and you cannot help but layer this Jimin with ones past. When you were younger, this was your place – he and you. Whenever your parents were too much, or you were mad at the world, you would climb out here to escape.

Jimin would see this and know it was his signal to come over.

It has been a long time since then, though. The wood of the house is cold on your back.

“So, why are you out here?” He asks this calmly, as though this were another Tuesday.

You shrug. “The usual.”

It has been seven years, give or take, since you two last talked. Really talked, that is – in the way that friends do. All throughout middle school and high school, Jimin was your best friend. Even Jia was wary of you. She did not understand the way you acted, the way you purposefully pushed your parents’ boundaries to understand all their lines.

Jimin was not like that. Jimin did not break rules, but Jimin understood. He saw you out here, night after night and grew curious. Eventually, he climbed up to meet you and what happened next cannot be explained. You became the unlikeliest of friends.

Subtly, you glance sideways.

Glasses are perched on the end of his nose. Jimin used to need glasses in high school but insisted upon contacts because of his dancing. When he quit dance for college, you heard a lot of things changed, but you never imagined his glasses to be one of them. The frames suit his face. You have always thought that.

Of course, you cannot say for certain this change took place during college. That was when you began drifting apart – it was not either of your fault, really. You two tried to keep in touch, you really did. There were phone calls, e-mails, but there was always something else demanding more urgent attention. Eventually, phone calls became texts, which turned into long bouts of silence where you forgot one another.

Maybe the silence was a bit purposeful on your part. Maybe you were running from feelings you deemed ultimately, fruitless.

“You haven’t been home for the holidays in a few years,” Jimin comments, still casual. His foot is stretched out before him, clothed in an Italian loafer which must be worth twenty of your commissions.

“Not really, no,” you say, surprised he noticed.

“Why not?”

“Ha.” Leaning your head to the house, you close your eyes. “I don’t know. It felt like a lie every time, you know? Coming home and seeing them. Pretending to be happy. It was easier just… not to come.”

Jimin is quiet for a moment. “You weren’t happy?”

“Wrong job.” You open one eye. “Wrong life, really. But it was one they approved of.”

“And now?”

Suddenly, you look at him. Jimin stares back, gaze soft in moonlight. It makes your heart skip a beat, a phenomenon you thought died a long time ago. It is maddening, how quickly he does this to you.

When you were in high school, Jimin was the golden boy. The dancer, the honors student, the friendly type who knew everyone – even the weird, quiet girl who drew fantasy landscapes in the margins of her notebooks. Once upon a time, you were in love with him.

You even dreamed of him loving you back, but those dreams never became reality. Jimin loved you, of course, but only as a friend. He had a strange sense of protection for the girl on the roof. You realized this not in one moment, but in a thousand little ones all strung together.

You realized it when watching him with his first girlfriend – a bubbly, cheerleader type much like himself. The stake was hammered in further with his second girlfriend, whom he left the first one for. It was obvious when he took you to parties, leaving you talking to his friends in the corners. Obvious when his group booked a limo for prom and you were not invited.

These moments crushed your hope for anything more. And yet, here you are, back on the roof and wishing something more existed.

“Now, I’m happy with my career.” Not looking at him, you exhale. “They hate it, though. They think I threw everything they gave me away.”

Jimin snorts. “Bullshit.”

“Yeah?” You smile before you can help it. Jimin was always protective when it came to your drawing. “I don’t know it is. I had a good job, a stable job. The type of job they wanted so badly to have but couldn’t. I get why they’re mad.”

“You weren’t happy, though,” Jimin points out, rearranging himself on the roof. Somehow, his hand falls closer to yours. “And your drawings are amazing. I’ve seen your website.”

“Oh.” You pause, uncertain how to respond. Strange butterflies take flight in your stomach and you wonder what else he has seen. “Yeah, well. I don’t think they really care about that. Not like your parents do, anyways.”

Jimin’s smile turns bitter. “I guess.”

Now, it is your turn to look at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

Shaking his head, Jimin ducks his chin against his chest. The pea coat bunches around his shoulders, making him look more like old Jimin – your Jimin. The high schooler who feared his future, who did not want to quit dance but did, because he had to.

“I mean,” he tries again, frowning. “My parents are proud of me on paper. The love listing my accomplishments to their friends, but when it comes to me…”

He trails off, leaving you to draw your own implication.

“Oh.” Your words soften, glancing away. “I get that. I think that’s how Henry feels sometimes. He likes his job, he really does – but with my parents, it’s not about that. It makes the success feel kind of… hollow, somehow. You know?”

“I do.”

Looking at him, you hesitate. “Jimin… why’d you come up here?”

Jimin is quiet for a moment, rolling the corner of his pea coat with his fingers. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you say, some of your usual sarcasm seeping through. “Maybe because we haven’t spoken in like, five years.”

Jimin’s lips quirk. The gesture disappears almost immediately, replaced with something which could almost be called sadness.

“I heard you moved into the city,” he says quietly.

Your stomach plummets. “Jimin, I…”

“Yeah?”

“I – I didn’t know you knew,” you say, finishing lamely.

“Really?” His laugh is hollow. “Even if we didn’t follow each other on social media, you really thought my mom wouldn’t tell me?”

Shifting uncomfortably, you fail to meet his gaze. “Well. I moved to the city last fall.”

“I know. Why didn’t you look me up?”

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. Avoiding eye contact, you pick at your sweater. “It’s been a long time, I guess.”

“Too long.”

“Well, why didn’t you reach out?” you demand, looking up. To your surprise, you find Jimin has moved closer.

He stares at you determinedly. “What happened to us, Y/N?”

“What happens to most high school friends?” you stammer, still trying to be casual. “We moved, drifted apart, lost touch…”

“No.” Reaching out, Jimin takes your hand in his. He feels much warmer than you do. “I – oh. You’re cold.”

“N-no shit,” you say, teeth chattering. “I just grabbed this sweater.”

Jimin shifts closer, his right thigh pressing against yours. “Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

He stares at you for a moment, warmth finally tangible. After so many years without him, the smell of his cologne is almost too much to bear. No longer does he drown in it. You remember the year his mom gave him that for Christmas. The first few weeks of January Jimin fairly bathed in it, until his mom pulled him aside and told him she would throw it away – no matter the cost.

Remembering this makes you smile.

Jimin’s expression remains serious. “Why’d you leave… that night?”

There it is. There is the memory between you which you have been pointedly trying to ignore. The night Jimin kissed you and you ran away. It happened here, on this very rooftop. The night before you left for college, Jimin stole wine coolers from his mom and asked you to celebrate.

He was an absolute lightweight.

Jimin did not drink in high school, unlike you and so, after one wine cooler, he was already giggly. Laying back on the roof, you traced the stars with your fingertips and somehow rolled into his side. His arm slid around your waist, stable and warm.

Softly, he looked down – and kissed you.

It lasted only a moment. A brief miracle before you forced yourself away, leaping up on the roof and flinging open your window. You hurried in, shutting the blinds and ignoring his pleas. Jimin stood there for nearly twenty minutes before you heard him leave. He knew what your parents were like – knew what would happen if they heard him and caught you.

“I don’t know,” you say quietly, still looking at him.

“Bullshit.” Jimin says this in the same tone he used to describe your parents.

Stiffening, you sit up. He still holds your hand in his. Despite the sternness of his tone, Jimin continues to trace your fingers through the sweater. He stares, biting down on his lip and you know he does this when he is nervous.

It is surprising how easily you remember. Surprising how easy it is to slip into who you used to be, the dreams you used to want. Perhaps they never really left at all.

“I was scared,” you finally say, barely audible.

“Of me?”

“No,” you say, before you can help it. “Never of you. Of what… I might do to you.”

Jimin’s brow furrows. “You do to me? I don’t understand. How could anything you do be bad?”

The aching sweetness of this reminds you why you loved him. Or, why you love him. It is all so confusing with him here in the moonlight, with you here beside him, remembering ghosts of the past. Turning to face him, your knees graze each other like children.

“I didn’t make sense with you,” you explain. “Everyone knew it in high school, even if they wouldn’t say it out loud. You were always the bright one, the brilliant one – and then there was me.”

“Yeah. And then there was you.” Jimin speaks fiercely. “Grounded, real. Always telling me what you thought, not letting other people get to me for too long. You were the only person who really believed in me. No caveats, just belief.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” he insists. “God, Y/N. How could you think you were bad for me?” Reaching out, he tenderly tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Pulling away, his fingertips graze your jaw. “For me, it’s you. It’s always been you.”

“Don’t say ridiculous things,” you say on reflex.

Jimin’s brow furrows. “Did you honestly not realize? The entire time we were friends – you didn’t know I was in love with you?”

Your breath catches at how easily he says this. “But…” Mind spinning, you sift through the memories. “You dated other girls. Took someone else to prom. You didn’t say anything until you kissed me!”

“I know.” Jimin’s expression is tortured. “I only dated those girls though, because you said I should! Don’t you remember? I’d describe my ideal girl to you – describe you – and you’d point someone else out. When I took you to parties, you’d talk to my guy friends. And you accepted someone else’s prom invite before I could ask!”

“What!” You blink, since this is news to you. “What are you talking about?”

“We had a pact.” Despite himself, Jimin nearly smiles. “Remember? We were ten, watching Footloose in my basement and you pinky promised to be my prom date.”

“We were ten,” you say, although you also find yourself smiling. “You didn’t really think –”

“I was planning to ask you the next day,” he interrupts.

Words die on your lips and you can only stare for a moment. “What?”

“Peter Graff asked you on a Friday.” Scooting closer, Jimin takes your other hand in his. “I remember. I remember stopping by your locker and hearing you talk about prom dresses, limo colors, what boutonniere you should buy. I… I had been planning to ask the next day.”

“Jimin, I…”

“I was planning to stand in your yard with a boom box,” he admits, lips curving into a smile. Dark hair falls into his gaze. “You know, like in Say Anything. Except not creepy. And on very low volume, so I didn’t wake your parents.”

“Good call.”

“I thought so.”

It is strange to hear your friendship described in this manner. Because you remember those moments, but through a very different lens. You remember the day Jimin described his ideal girl. You remember crying that night, feeling you fit none of the description. He is right – you were the one who pointed out his first girlfriend, telling him he should really ask her out. It seemed more logical than any other version of the truth.

“When you kissed me…” Swallowing, you force yourself to continue. “It was perfect.”

“Yeah?” Jimin bites his lip. “Then, why’d you leave?”

“You’d been drinking. I was leaving the next day. I thought maybe… you’d done it out of pity,” you whisper, finally voicing your fears from the night. “I thought you knew how badly I wanted you and it was just your way of saying goodbye. I… I wanted to keep that night the way it was. Perfect.”

“It wasn’t pity.” Jimin catches his breath. “Never.”

“Jimin…��

Lifting his hands to your face, he gently strokes your jaw. “I missed my shot that night,” he determines. “I’ve been a coward lots of ways, my whole life. I didn’t go after you like I should’ve. I haven’t stood up to my parents a million times. But I’ll be damned if I fuck this up again.”

Before you can respond, he kisses you.

His lips are soft, warm despite the bitterness of the night. He tastes like vanilla Chapstick and wine and you only hesitate a moment before kissing him back. The kiss is nothing like your first. That was a moment between teenagers, too scared to ask for what you both wanted. Now, you know what you want.

Greedily, your lips part as your hands wrap around his. At the first brush of your tongue, Jimin releases a groan. You kiss like this for a while, gently exploring the new boundaries between you. Whatever once was is shattered but something new exists in its place.

Finally, you drag yourself away and open your eyes. “Is this why you came here tonight?” you whisper, the world somehow seeming brighter. “To kiss me again?”

“Amongst other things.” His lips quirk when he laughs, shaking his head. “No. I came out because I saw you on the roof.”

He does not need to explain what it means. You only come out on the roof when you are upset. Unthinkingly, your heart starts to swell.

“You still remembered?” you ask, thumb brushing his neck.

“I meant what I said. For me, it’s you.”

#btsbookclub #bangtanarmynet #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin angst #bts angst #jimin fluff #jimin drabble #bts drabble

891 notes · View notes

acarefullycuratedmess · 3 years

Text

Tag Game

Tagged by @jacob-blogs

Why did you choose your URL?

- I ripped it off from GQ, and then a bunch of people were mad that I got to it first and mimed the name w/ hyphens and names like “awellcuratedmess”

Any side blogs?

- Not anymore. I had a blog that seperated out the atheistic and social justice stuff, but I only used it when one of the art blogs I followed (Or the person who tagged me in the Tag Game) reblogged something and it caught my attention.

It also drained my soul, and I’d rather deal with art shit and occasionally have someone mad at me for liking military shit than have a buncha chuds raging.

How long have you been on tumblr?

- Since March 2011

Do you have a queue tag?

- No

Why did you start your blog in the first place?

- My close friend made one and talked the site up. Made one, followed them and bunch of other people who’ve all since deleted or abandoned their accounts.

Why did you choose your avatar?

- I was tired of the one I was using that, at the time, had been inside for a long while.

Why did you choose your header image?

- I felt my old dorm fit the aesthetic I had at the time. I should probably update it.

What post of yours has the most notes?

- I’m confident this is the post with the most amount of notes I’ve ever gotten.

How many mutuals do you have?

- No clue; Most abandoned their blogs when the “adult” content purge happened.

How many followers do you have?

- 1,148; Used to be closer to 1,200, but a bunch deleted after the “adult” content purge; Fair chunk are abandoned older blogs from the heydays; I block all bots that I notice are bots.

How many people do you follow?

- 430; That’s with a recent trimming of dead blogs I don’t intend on perusing the archives of for content.

Have you ever made a shit post?

- Several

How often do you use tumblr?

- Daily, but with less frequency than I would’ve during they heyday.

Did you ever have a fight/argument with another blog?

- I used to be a catty dickhead back in, like, 2012-13. I remember completely ruining the friendship I had with @spacecampgirlfriend (Sorry for being an asshole, Sam.)

How do you feel about the ‘you need to reblog posts’?

- I thought the people who posted that were annoying and sanctimonious back in the day and people who do it still in 2021 deserve to be beaten with a pool noodle.

Do you like tag games?

- When it’s stuff like this where it’s like the ask lists of yore, fuck yeah! I like interacting w/ followers, mutual or nah.

The chain mail shit? Nah.

Do you like ask games?

- Same as above

Do you have any tumblr famous mutuals? Who?

- Not anymore since I pissed one off and the other remade. They’re both IRL famous now.

Do you have a crush on a mutual?

- Nah. LD shit doesn’t work anyway. I’m lucky the last one ended up ending in Just Friends and we’re still friends.

Tags:

1 note · View note

today-we-will-survive · 5 years

Text

As The World Burns Around Us, Ch. 3

header made by me

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader ft. Taehyung

Genre: Apocalypse!AU, Angst, Thriller, Romance

Warning: dark themes, violence, gore

Word Count: 9.5K

Parts can be found in the masterlist under “As The World Burns Around Us”

Summary: You haven’t seen the sun in two years. The Virus wiped out a good three quarters of the world’s population and then the wars that followed wiped out half of that. After everything happened, it was only a matter of time before the different countries started blaming each other and emptied their nuclear arsenals. You’re still surprised Seoul survived – if you can call what it has become “surviving”.

You don’t know how much longer you stay there practicing, but by the time you’re done, the sun is setting and your target looks like it’s gone through a wood chipper. Your skin has a light coating of sweat on it, your breathing is shallow and your palms ache but you feel better than you have in months. Years actually.

As you make your way back toward camp, you swat at clouds of mosquitos and fiddle with one of your knives, slicing it through the air at an imaginary target. Taehyung’s remark about your skills becoming rusty irked you. And now you’re set on proving him wrong.

You’ve made it back to the front of the train and are imagining you’re facing off with a raider so you spin and duck, cutting your blade up to gut the guy when a hand clamps down on your wrist. Your breath catches in your throat causing a surprised shriek to escape as you meet Jungkook’s dark eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asks with a nervous chuckle. If he hadn’t caught your hand, that blade might be buried in his chest right now.

He releases you and you stand up slowly, putting your knife back in the sheath under your arm. “Just attacking a raider,” you mutter sheepishly. “He was about to clock me with a crowbar.”

Amusement replaces the startled expression on Jungkook’s face. “Did you get him?”

You match his smirk. “What do you think?”

“I think you haven’t eaten yet today,” he says and puts his arm around your shoulders. “And now it’s time you did.”

With warmth growing in the pit of your stomach, you lift your hand up to intertwine your fingers with his and the two of you walk together around the front of the train and toward the glow of the bonfire.

“This still all feels like a dream to me,” you utter as you look up at the darkening sky.

Jungkook leans in and kisses the side of your head. “Well then don’t wake up or you’ll ruin it for all of us,” he says causing a giggle to bubble up and out of your mouth.

The bonfire rages before you, fenced in by the silhouettes of all these boys you just met. As you near it, a sense of nostalgia hits you and you’re immediately reminded of the bonfires you used to have on the beaches in Busan. Jungkook must sense it too because he tightens his grip on your shoulders and brings you close to his chest.

Taehyung sits back in the shadows at the base of a tree away from everyone else so only the red glowing end of his cigarette is visible. Again, you find yourself wondering when the heck he started smoking?

“Y/N!” You spin around to find Jimin outlined by the fire, practically prancing toward you. He holds out two plastic plates to you and Jungkook, each weighed down with pieces of glistening, charred meat and a puddle of dark colored beans. You flash him a grateful smile as you take one from him. Jungkook takes the other and mumbles a thanks. Satisfied, Jimin turns and goes to join Hobi and Seokjin near the covered table.

“They all seem nice,” you say quietly and pick up a bean between two of your fingers.

Jungkook chuckles. “To you, maybe,” he says. “They fixed your hands. All I got was an arrow to the back.” He rolls his shoulder blade and winces. Then a thought hits you. Maybe he and Taehyung don’t want to stay. You feel panic seize your lungs with an invisible, icy fist. The bean smashes between your fingers.

“They thought you guys were going to hurt me,” you say hoping he can’t hear the underlying desperation in your voice. “You seemed to hit it off with that RM guy earlier.”

Jungkook makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Yeah, he’s alright, I guess.” He takes a bite of his chunk of meat. It takes him a minute to chew it. “And they did make you better,” he adds.

“I think it’s safe to say we can trust them,” you say hoping you sound convincing enough for him to agree. “Let’s stay just a bit longer.” You think about adding in a please but you don’t want him to know how terrified you are of venturing back out on your own.

Jungkook glances back at Taehyung who is still just barely visible behind the red glow of his cigarette. “Yeah, okay,” he finally says and you feel your insides unclench.

Though the relief is short-lived when you watch him make his way past the outer ring of the fire’s reach and settle down beside Taehyung at the base of the tree he’s perched under. With a sigh, you follow. Jungkook scoots over to make room between them.

Perfect.

The rest of dinner is spent sitting between Taehyung and Jungkook with your back against the trunk, watching everyone else as they talk and joke around.

You’ve often wondered how other people were surviving in this world. If everyone else was just as miserable as you, just as worried about where they were going to get their next meal or when the next wave of raiders was going to find them. But these people don’t seem to have that problem. Sure, they’re roughing it, in a sense; sure this probably isn’t how they thought they’d be spending the rest of their lives, but they aren’t just surviving in this world. They’re living.

Hobi stands up from his seat by Jimin and Seokjin holding a clear bottle filled with some sort of amber colored alcohol. He makes his way closer to the fire and takes a swig. When he stumbles a bit, Yoongi shoots a hand out and grabs the back of his shirt so he doesn’t go head first into the fire. The jerking causes him to spit the alcohol out and it sputters into the flames, creating a big fireball that quickly dissipates. The other boys whoop and clap for him, Jimin springing to his feet and reaching for another bottle on the table so he can try it next.

Jungkook lets out a chuckle beside you. “Hey Hobi,” he calls. The tipsy, dark haired boy perks up at the sound of his name. “Mind sharing some of that?”

“Aaayyyy, be my guest,” Hobi replies running over and pressing the bottle into Jungkook’s hand. “Don’t get too carried away, though. These are our only two bottles and actually they’re Yoongi’s.”

“It’s a special occasion,” Yoongi says from his place by the fire. “Drink to your heart’s content. And then Hobi can go get me more tomorrow.”

“Hey!” Hobi yells before heading back toward the table to see if he can convince Jimin to share.

Yoongi lifts his own cup which must contain more of the alcohol up to cheers and Jungkook raises the bottle in response before putting the opening to his lips and tipping his head back.

You watch the amber liquid flow down the neck of the bottle before disappearing into his mouth. His face pinches as he swallows. “That’s strong stuff,” he says with a quick shake of his head.

“I’m not really a fan of hard liquor,” you say eying the bottle.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jungkook says. “You like to stick with the weak drinks, don’t you? Never could convince you to try anything stronger.”

“Still won’t,” you say with a smile and nudge his shoulder with yours.

“Hey, pass it here, man,” Taehyung says from your other side and you watch as the bottle passes in front of you.

He plucks the cigarette from between his lips and tosses it on the ground, crushing it with his boot before taking a swig from the bottle. “Ah, it’s like pure paint thinner,” he winces. “Come on, Y/N, you gotta try it.”

“Not after seeing your reactions, I’m not,” you say and push the bottle away as he tries to hold it out to you.

You feel hands on your arms as Jungkook pulls you back to rest against his chest. From here you can feel his warmth and heartbeat and still look at the others that took you in. That saved your life.

The bottle obstructs your view just then as Taehyung holds it out in front of you. You glance over at him and his eyebrows lift as if he’s urging you to take it. Fine. Your fingers wrap around the neck and you hold it up so the firelight reflects off the whiskey, making it look like honey.

“Here goes nothing,” you utter.

You tip the bottle back, feeling the weight redistribute as the liquid catches on the edge just before sloshing down the neck and into your waiting mouth. It definitely doesn’t taste like honey.

You’ve never tried whiskey before. Jungkook tried to get you to back in school but you always refused, liking the sweeter drinks that masked the taste but had the same effect. This is the first time you’ve tasted such a concentrated dose. It covers your tongue in a burning, furry sensation before making its way down your throat, warming all the way to your stomach. You feel your face tweak involuntarily as the aftertaste assaults your taste buds and numbs your tongue. Your throat closes and you sputter, sitting forward to cough. Both Jungkook and Taehyung let out amused laughs, though Taehyung’s is more of a chuckle and Jungkook’s is much louder.

Between the three of you, the level of whiskey in the bottle has significantly lowered by the time RM emerges from one of the cars carrying something big and clunky. As he gets closer, firelight bounces off the object like it’s made out of metal. More details become visible as your blurry vision clears.

“A boom box?” you crack.

An amused smile pulls at RM’s eyes, causing deep dimples to appear in his cheeks. Taehyung lets out a humorless cough. “What a waste of batteries.”

“Happiness is just as important for your soul as food is for you body,” RM says and puts the boom box down on the table.

“Yeah, Tae,” Jungkook says taking another swig of whiskey. Then he makes his way clumsily to his feet. “Just lighten up a little, will ya?”

RM presses a button and the night air swells with hypnotic music. Jungkook holds a hand out to you and you study it for a second, noticing the dirt that has permanently settled into the cracks and creases of his skin. Then you reach up and let him wrap his fingers around your wrist. He pulls you up, tugging you back, away from the fire and into the darkened perimeter. The others are just sitting quietly around the fire, listening to the music but Jungkook has you pressed up against him, swaying to it.

The alcohol in your system heightens your senses but at the same time, mutes your surroundings so only Jungkook and his smell and his warmth fill you. Neither of you say anything. You’re both probably still in a bit of shock over this whole situation. It’s all too surreal. You tighten your grip around his neck and press your face into the space under his jaw, relishing in the fact that there aren’t layers upon layers of clothing separating you. You’ve been living in a protective shell for the past two years now but you can actually feel Jungkook’s heart beating rapidly in his chest against your own.

“Mind if I cut in?”

You look up to find Taehyung standing just beside Jungkook. You can barely make out his solemn expression as the firelight only illuminates half his face. Jungkook cranes his neck to look at his best friend. His arm tightens around your waist protectively then he looks back at you as if to ask if it would be okay.

“Sure,” you finally utter. Jungkook keeps his eyes locked on yours as his hands slip from around your waist. You immediately wish you could take it back.

“Yeah, I think I need to drink more anyway,” he says scratching his neck. Then he walks away.

When Taehyung steps up to you, you rest your hands on his shoulders and stiffen when you feel his own hands on your hips. It’s not like he’s trying to cop a feel; in fact, he holds you cautiously as if you’re some sort of wild animal he doesn’t want to scare away.

“I didn’t know you danced, Tae,” you say trying to quell the uneasiness in your gut.

Taehyung shrugs under your hands and quirks a brow. “Maybe there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

You chuckle. “I’ve known you for five years now,” you say, your words slurring a bit. “I doubt there’s much I don’t know.”

A crooked smirk raises one side of his mouth and he lifts his eyes to look at the fire behind you. Tiny orange flames reflect in his dark irises and he bites his lip like he’s trying to decide what to say. Finally he opens his mouth. “Did you know I used to have a crush on you?”

A stream of ice water makes its way down your spine. “No, I didn’t,” you say.

“When you were delirious, you kept saying my name,” he continues.

You furrow your brow. “I did?”

Taehyung nods.

You aren’t about to tell him that for the past year you’ve been having nightmares about him. That the longer you go having these dreams, the more you miss how it used to be. The more you miss the old Taehyung. But you never liked him as anything more than your boyfriend’s best friend. As your best friend.

“I mean, I guess I’ve just been thinking a lot about how it used to be, you know?” you ask. “How everything was before…your internship.”

You feel Taehyung stiffen under your hands.

“What did happen, Tae?”

He dips his head, looking down at the space between you before stepping into you a bit more. “I…don’t remember. They did something to me…put me somewhere…where it was really dark and cold. The only thing that kept me from going insane, Y/N, was thinking about yo—”

“Can I have her back now?”

You almost audibly sigh with relief as Jungkook eyes you. Taehyung glances between the two of you then nods and steps back.

“Thanks for the dance, Y/N,” he says then shoves his hands in his pockets and trudges farther into the darkness toward the train.

You watch until he disappears down the tracks, then Jungkook puts his arms around you again and pulls you close. The dark sensation you were feeling suddenly slides away and you lay your head on his shoulder. You’re home again.

When you look over his shoulder, your eyes settle on the rest of the guys where the sit around the fire. Seokjin has started singing along to the music, making up his own words as he must not know the right ones and the others are laughing and swaying along.

Jungkook breathes in deep, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “I don’t remember the last time your hair smelled this amazing,” he sighs and you take your head off his shoulder to look at him.

“Was that supposed to be a compliment?” you ask lifting an eyebrow. A smile lifts his face.

“Yeah, I guess I have no room to talk. But you’ll have to forgive me,” he utters and buries his face into your neck before inhaling deeply again. “I think that soap was laced with mind-altering drugs.”

You chuckle and lay your head back down against his chest. The slow song begins to melt into another. This one isn’t as slow but still hypnotic. Jungkook’s hands slide from the small of your back, across your sides and then rest on your hips. Your bodies sway together to the music and you close your eyes, wishing you could just live this night for the rest of your life. Jungkook lifts his head and touches his forehead to yours. When you open your eyes again, his are staring into yours and you can’t help but smile. You’ve been doing so much smiling all day. You wouldn’t be surprised if you wake up with a sore face in the morning.

Jungkook’s breath tickles your lips. “I know the last few years have been rather…suckish,” he mutters to you. “But I wouldn’t trade a minute if it meant I couldn’t be with you.”

In response, you close the tiny gap and press your lips against his. You feel his own mouth curve into a smile and he brings his hands up to rest on either side of your face. The music and the sounds of the others start to fade away until only the two of you remain, standing in the field, your bodies melting together.

Something like a moan rumbles in the back of Jungkook’s throat as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, digging his fingers into your freshly cleaned hair. You feel a spark ignite in your chest as your hands clench his t-shirt. You wish it wasn’t there.

Then you hear a burst of laughter and suddenly, you’re back in reality. You pull away from Jungkook as heat creeps up your neck.

“Let’s get out of here,” Jungkook whispers raggedly though doesn’t give you a chance to agree—which you do, whole heartedly—before pulling you back toward the train. You run down alongside the tracks until you get to a car that’s far away from everyone else’s. Jungkook pulls you up into it and you slide the door closed.

Rust has chewed a hole in the roof and the stars shine bright above you, finally freed from their polluted cage of acid rain. You haven’t seen them in so long. You almost forgot they existed. But there they are, winking down at you as if they’ve shared the secrets of the world with you.

In the pale blue light, you can just make out Jungkook’s face, leeched of color. When he kisses you again, you can still taste the whiskey on his tongue. Your hands roam under his shirt and you break the kiss to lift it over his head. You have to stop and remind yourself to breathe because the sudden sight of his bare torso makes your lungs freeze up. Slowly—because you’re afraid that, along with everything else, he’s going to disappear—you reach out and put your hand on his chest.

It’s been two years since you’ve seen him like this. Two years of hiding behind layers, only ever taking them off to clean yourselves and only ever doing it a certain way so if there was ever an intrusion, you wouldn’t have to waste time getting dressed again. For two years, you’ve been robbed of the warmth of skin against yours. Only ever getting your fix with stolen kisses, observed out of the corner of Taehyung’s eyes. You were never truly alone. But now there’s no one else but you and Jungkook. And for the first time in two years, you’re really touching him. His bare arms, his chest, his back. You’re tracing the freckles on his skin, feeling the goosebumps appear beneath your fingertips. The ridges of his stomach muscles, the curves of his hipbones.

He takes your face in his hands and lifts your head so you meet his eyes through his dark bangs. “What’s wrong?” he whispers and brushes a thumb against your cheek.

You didn’t realize you’d started crying.

“Nothing is wrong,” you say. “Absolutely nothing. Everything is perfect.”

Jungkook studies you for a moment before his face finally smoothes back out. Then his eyes trail down to your lips and with a shaky breath, he pulls you into him.

You don’t know what time it is when you open your eyes the next morning but the sky is an unyielding ceiling of blue through the hole in the roof of the train car. Another perfect day.

You roll onto your side so you can watch Jungkook. You used to watch him sleep under the harsh glare of the fluorescents where you slept at the lab or by the ghostly, gray light of the polluted Seoul sky, but now the sun reaches into the car like a golden hand and rests on him, making his skin glow and his dark hair shine. He looks like an angel and you feel like you’re in Heaven.

Something like a moan escapes his throat as his nostrils flare and one of his dark eyes cracks open so he can squint at you. His lips curl into a sleepy smile. “Hi,” he rasps.

You feel the corners of your own mouth tug upward. “Hi,” you whisper.

The clattering and laughter of the others out in the field cause both of you to get up, get decent and make your way outside. Everyone else is already up and a fire rages in the pit.

“It’s about time you two got up,” Hobi calls from the stump he sits on.

Jungkook rubs his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. “What time is it?”

Hobi shrugs. “Who knows anymore? But we’ve all been up for a while so I’d call that sleeping in.”

Before you realize they were missing, Jimin and RM come out of the woods, each carrying a couple small, dead animals.

“Breakfast?” you ask Yoongi, who sits at the table wiping down a handgun.

“Breakfast?” he retorts with a chuckle. “Try lunch.”

Your cheeks get hot and you make your way silently over to the table and sit down across from him, Jungkook sitting beside you.

“How are your hands doing?” Yoongi asks without looking up from the dull gray weapon in his grip.

Your eyes fall to your hands. “Uh…good.”

“You probably don’t need the bandages anymore,” Seokjin says from the other end of the table. He, once again, stands over the camper stove, this time with a beat up looking frying pan sitting on top.

“You think they’ll be okay without them?”

The words barely leave your mouth when something furry and very much dead lands on the table in front of you. With a gasp, you shoot up out of your seat. It’s not like dead animals gross you out but the sudden occurrence of one dropping onto the table in front of you pulled the shriek from your throat before you could catch it. Of course, no one else knows that and now the witnesses are caught in fits of laughter. From behind you, Jimin holds his stomach and giggles silently, his eyes shut tight. Obviously he’s the culprit.

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” RM says between his own bouts of laughter. “It’s not going to come alive again and attack you.”

“Zombie squirrels!” Hobi pipes in from over by the fire. “Now that would have made for a good apocalypse.”

“Nuclear war wasn’t exciting enough for you?” Yoongi asks with an amused smirk.

“Nah. It’s been done before. Planet of the Apes, The Day After, Terminator. Heck, even Star Trek took place after a nuclear holocaust.”

Jungkook’s eyes meet yours and widen. “You really know your stuff,” he says to Hobi even though he’s still looking at you. Finally, another person for him to nerd out over movies with.

“Does it really matter?” Seokjin asks from the stove. “The world is crap, most everyone is dead and you’re thinking about how much cooler it would’ve been if zombies wiped us out instead?”

“Squirrel zombies,” Jimin corrects him.

If looks could kill, Seokjin would have incinerated him right there.

“Better watch it, Jimin,” RM says, clapping a hand on Seokjin’s shoulder. “One of these days he’s gonna crack and pummel you to a pulp.”

“Nah, Seokjinnie loves me too much,” Jimin replies then reaches between you and Jungkook to retrieve the thankfully dead—not undead—squirrel. Then he looks at you. “I really didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I wasn’t scared,” you crack which makes Jimin’s eyes crinkle again in amusement.

You didn’t realize you’d gone for your knives when you’d initially bolted up from your seat and now your hand begins to ache where it grasps the hilt of one tightly. You pull it easily from its sheath and tilt the blade to catch the sunlight. Taehyung isn’t anywhere in sight but if he was, you imagine he’d give you some sort of look saying you should keep practicing so you don’t get rusty or whatever. You never see him practicing his shooting. Then again, he isn’t here so where is he?

“Hey Jungkook,” RM says, “Want to help me find more firewood?”

Jungkook gives him a nod then turns to you. “Wanna come?”

“Nah,” you say. “I’m going to go practice throwing some more.” Taehyung’s smug expression haunts your thoughts. “Gotta stay sharp,” you add.

Instead of commenting, he leans down to give you a quick kiss on the cheek before following RM toward the bend in the tracks. You watch him go, memories of the night before coming once again to the forefront of your mind.

This time instead of going along the tracks, you decide to make your way through the woods. The sound of birds and the chittering of bugs is still so foreign to you after two years of silence. It’s captivating. It drowns Taehyung’s voice out in your head. Dissipates his taunts, low and murky like oil spilling from that smile of his. You miss his old smile. The one that lit up his eyes and made his whole face glow. Now it seems there’s only ever emptiness in those dark eyes. You shudder as the summer wind rustles your hair and tickles the back of your neck.

It’s been so eerily quiet in Seoul for the past few years. Only the occasional dog fight in the distance or the sound of the acidic rain pounding against the buildings interrupted the silence. Other than that, it was just conversations between the three of you that kept you from going insane.

The world was never meant to be silent.

You don’t realize how important noise is to a person’s mental state until it’s suddenly gone. Especially in Seoul where the hustle and bustle of the big city was a constant. The traffic, the people; on foot, on bikes, on their cellphones.

After the bombs went off, it was like the earth had taken a deep breath and held it. Now two years later, you’re still waiting for it to exhale.

A bird caws and flies out from a tree somewhere above you, rustling the branches and causing you to jump. Your heart jolts at the sudden movement and you lift your eyes to take in your surroundings. Where once you could see the tracks through the trees, you now only see more woods. You’ve gone further than you thought along the path.

“Oops.”

Everything looks the same. You couldn’t have wandered too far off, then again, you tend to lose track of time when you get caught up in your thoughts. Your eyes scan the forest as you spin in a slow circle until they land on a tree. The bark at just your eye level looks like it’s been hacked at with any number of weapons. Gouges, holes and splintered bits pepper the trunk as if this particular tree has been used by many as a target. You take one more look around. No one else seems to be nearby. This is as good a place as any for some throwing practice.

After emptying your holsters the first time around, you make your way over to pull the knives back out of your target. A narrow path leading straight to the tree has been worn into the ground from others doing the same thing you are. The bark is weak and soft so your blades have sunk pretty far in. It takes a bit of work to wiggle them back out but after a few good yanks they come free.

“I figured it wouldn’t take long for you to find this place.”

You spin around, knife at the ready, but catch yourself just before sending it flying into Jimin’s chest. He steps back with raised hands.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” You let out a heavy breath and lower the knife. “No, it’s okay,” you say. “I was just practicing.”

Jimin smiles and runs his fingers back through his orange hair. “Seems like you do that a lot.”

“Gotta stay sharp.”

He nods in agreement then looks down at his feet and toes the dirt with his boot. He has a bow and a quiver of black arrows slung across his back.

You make your way back to your place facing the target and square your shoulders. After letting another couple knives go, you glance over at Jimin. He hasn’t said anything else and now he leans against a tree, glancing at you a little awkwardly. Maybe he isn’t used to the silence, especially with how loud the other boys are. You, on the other hand, are used to the silence and concentrate better in it. Though him watching you is really starting to get under your skin.

“Want to practice with me?” you finally ask.

Jimin gives you a grateful smile then pushes off the tree and takes the bow from across his back. He comes to stand next to you and you watch as he takes an arrow from his quiver and strings it. You barely blink and suddenly, the arrow is twenty feet away, buried deep in the trunk of the target tree.

“So what’s your story?” he asks you.

“My story?”

“Like what were you doing before all this happened?” It seems like he’s not only waiting for your answer but for you to take your turn as well. You throw your blade sloppily and it sticks near the base.

All of a sudden your mind is blank. You have to stop and try to think of what life was like before crap hit the fan. It’s weird how something can be totally comprehensible in your mind yet you can’t put it into words. Something will make perfect sense to you but when you try to say it, all you get in return is a confused look.

“Jungkook and Tae and I are from Busan,” you finally say. “Tae went to do an internship in Seoul for Bang Pharmaceuticals and—”

“Aren’t they the ones that started this whole mess?” Jimin asks lowering his arrow to look at you.

You shift uncomfortably on your feet. “Yeah, we didn’t know they were developing the The Virus. Tae didn’t know either. At least I don’t think he did.”

“What do you mean?”

You fiddle with one of your knives and bite your lip, trying to organize the thoughts that clutter your mind. “Well, when he started his internship, we would still like text and Skype and stuff. But then about a month in, he told us he thought they were doing something shady and wasn’t really sure he wanted to continue the internship. The idea was that he was going to tell them he’d be dropping out of the program the next day. And then, that was the last we heard from him until after…” you look around. “…all this happened.”

Jimin seems completely enthralled now, ignoring the bow and arrow in his hands, his body turned toward you as he listens intently. “So how’d you find each other again?”

“Jungkook and I left Busan and went to Seoul to search for Tae. We eventually found him but he was…different.”

“You mean he hasn’t always been such a creeper?” he asks realigning his bow with the target. The arrow hits the tree and he looks at you again.

You smile sadly and look up to meet his eyes. “No,” you say. “He used to be warm. He had a way of making anyone he talked to feel special and loved. He liked to make people laugh.” You can feel tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “He had this smile that would make his mouth spread into this big rectangle and his eyes sparkle. He used to be so happy.”

“What happened?” Jimin asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” you utter. “I lost my best friend two years ago and I still feel like I haven’t gotten him back.”

“I’m sorry,” Jimin says. “That must really suck remembering how he was and seeing how he is now.”

“Yeah,” you say then sniff hard to clear your sinuses and flip the knife in your hand. You fling your arm hard, sending the blade hurtling toward the tree. It sinks to the hilt in the soft bark. “What about you?”

“I’m actually from Busan, too,” Jimin says releasing another arrow. “But I was in Gwangju going to school for dance. It’s a mess over there, too.”

“It’s a mess everywhere,” you utter and slip your last knife out from under your arm.

“True.” After you each empty your arsenals, the two of you trek down the worn path to the target tree. “That’s where I met Hobi,” he continues. “His mom was one of the first in their neighborhood to die from The Virus.”

“What about your family?” you ask when the two of you are back at your throwing spot.

“I don’t have one.”

Now it’s your turn to falter. Your grip loosens too soon and the knife you threw arches up and disappears into the canopy above. The leaves rustle as it makes its way back down and sticks into the dirt a few feet away from the tree. You and Jimin are silent for a second.

“Sorry,” you finally say wiping your sweaty palms on your pants.

“It’s okay. Anyway, Gwangju was hit pretty hard but the two of us managed to catch a ride up this way with a group of some other survivors.”

“What happened to them?”

“People kept splitting off from the group. We lost a couple in an attack. Another one became too sick to walk so we had to leave him.”

You clench your hands into fists. Taehyung and Jungkook should have left you behind. You only slowed them down. It was a good thing Jimin found you instead of a raider. Or a ravager…

“We ended up wandering over here and met RM and Yoongi and Seokjin,” Jimin says. “I guess we’re pretty lucky. Hobi had a hard time seeing it that way. It took him a long time to recover after losing his mom. She was all he had left.”

“It can be hard to find the silver lining,” you say.

When you look at Jimin again, his eyes glitter and the corners of his mouth are curled up into a knowing smirk. “Is Jungkook your silver lining?”

You dip your head as you feel your ears heat up. “I guess,” you whisper and twirl the hilt of another knife in your palm. “What about you?”

“The rest of the guys have become my best friends. Closer than that,” Jimin says. “More like brothers. They’re the family I never really had.”

You throw your blade and it clips the side of the trunk, slicing off a big chunk of bark before falling to the ground. A disappointed sigh escapes before you can stop it.

The evening brings with it a warm wind smelling like grass and pine. Crickets chirp from somewhere outside the glow of the fire and the stars overhead seem to shine brighter than you’ve ever seen. They look so close, like you could reach up and scatter them with your fingertips.

You’re sitting with Jungkook and Taehyung against the tree again, away from everyone else. You’ve been fiddling with one of your knives, absentmindedly twirling it between your fingers then stabbing the blade into the ground up to the hilt without really noticing when Taehyung leans against your shoulder. It causes you to snap out of your thoughts.

“It looks like you got your groove back,” he says.

“What are you talking about?�� You didn’t used to mind Taehyung’s lack of awareness when it came to personal space but now it just makes your skin crawl.

“You seem to be handling the knife pretty well again.”

“Were you ever worried?” you ask. You feel Taehyung shrug against your shoulder then he digs into his pocket and pulls out yet another cigarette and lights it with a plastic lighter. You managed to whittle a pretty decent sized hole in the earth without even realizing it and now you scrape at the loose dirt to cover it back up. “Well, you shouldn’t be,” you say. “I can take care of myself.”

Taehyung lets out a short bark of a laugh under his breath. “Right. You proved that perfectly by letting your hands almost rot off.”

You cut a new hole into the ground next to the other one as you bite your tongue to keep from lashing out at him. Surely, that’s what he would want anyway and there’s absolutely no way you’re giving Taehyung what he wants. Jungkook stirs on your other side and his fingers intertwine with yours.

“Stop being a jerk, Tae,” he says then gives your hand a sympathetic squeeze.

You slip your hand back out of his and get up, brushing the back of your pants off. “I think I’m going to go figure out where I’m supposed to sleep.”

It takes you a second to spot Yoongi. He’s sitting on a rock, his attention fixed on the fire as his hands expertly disassemble then reassemble his handgun. As you make your way toward him, you can hear Jungkook and Taehyung bickering behind you. Surely, Jungkook is getting on him about being nicer to you but you spent the last two years with this new Taehyung. It seems like a lost cause at this point.

“How was your second day of consciousness?” Yoongi asks when he notices you approaching him.

You shrug. “It was alright,” you say then catch yourself. “But, seriously, thank you for everything.”

Yoongi’s lip twitches and his dark eyes sparkle in amusement. “Well, we couldn’t just leave you to the looters, you know.”

“Looters?”

Yoongi stands up. “Yeah, those idiots that think they’re entitled to our stuff. What do you call them?”

You glance around as several other pairs of eyes stare back curiously. “Uh,” you stammer. “We’ve always call them raiders.”

“Raiders?” Seokjin asks from his place near the table. “This isn’t Fallout.”

“Well it kind of is.”

“Aish, shut up, Hobi,” Jimin says with a playful whack.

Hobi shrugs and cracks a smile. “Raider sounds so much cooler though.”

The fire finds an air pocket in a log and pops loudly causing everyone to jump at the sound. Yoongi stands up then and grabs a flashlight off the table. “Let me show you around a bit more,” he says and starts toward the train. “Jungkook and Taehyung got their tour the other day.”

Before following after him, you throw a glance at Taehyung. His lips curl into a smile and he winks just before placing his cigarette back between his teeth. You turn away quickly and follow after Yoongi.

“Alright,” Yoongi says as you near the train. It’s a dark, ominous ghost sitting there on the rusted tracks and for the first time, you wonder how long it’s been waiting here alone before these people found it. “This front one is our weapons car,” he says and pulls a key out from under his shirt. You watch as he slips the cord it hangs on from around his neck and unlocks the sturdy looking padlock. Once the key is back around his neck, he heaves the door open. It slides to the side with a loud, creaky rumble.

When he clicks the flashlight on, the dark cave floods with light and you have to squint. Guns, knives and weaponized melees sit in piles and stack on crudely made shelves. You spot Jungkook’s shotgun and Taehyung’s pistol on top of a short shelf close to you. Your hand goes to grip the handle of one of your knives.

“Why did you take their guns?” you ask trying to sound more curious than nervous.

Yoongi turns the flashlight back off and starts to slide the door closed. “We confiscated them as soon as we brought the three of you back here.” The door sticks and he shoves hard with a grunt, closing the last couple of feet with a resounding clang. “They haven’t asked for them back so I figure we’ll hold onto them a bit longer.” Then his eyes settle on your thigh holster and he smiles. “Don’t worry,” he says. “We won’t take your knives from you.”

Your shoulders relax as you let out a silent sigh of relief. Then you follow him on to the next car. Instead of opening it up, he just hits the side with his palm. “My room,” he says then turns to look at you. “I sleep better knowing the weapons are safe.” Then you continue in the same way down the tracks. The shower car is next, followed by the one holding their food and supplies. Yoongi opens that one up revealing more cobbled together shelves stacked high with cans and boxes and bags of things they’d accumulated from the surrounding areas.

“A couple of us go on supply runs a couple times a month. Looks like I’ll need Jin and Hobi to restock a few things,” he says and pokes at the almost empty sack of potatoes near the door with his flashlight.

You move on to the next car. “Here’s the infirmary car.” Then he turns to you and smiles. “But you already knew that.”

Of course you did. You apparently spent your first two days there. Next is the common area, only ever used when the weather is bad, and the ones following that are the bedrooms and then just empty cars.

The car you and Jungkook spent last night in was uncomfortably bare—though you didn’t really care at the time. “So which one is mine?” you ask wanting nothing more than to just lay down.

Yoongi seems to understand this and only holds your stare with a cocked eyebrow for a few seconds before beckoning with his head for you to follow him back the other way.

“I had Seokjin put blankets and sleeping mats in this car here,” he says stopping in front of the one just behind Jimin’s.

You utter a “thanks” and tug on the door until it finally gives. It opens with a squeal that echoes down the tracks before breaking free of the tree line and fading into the darkening sky. Three bright blue sleeping mats have been unrolled in the center of the car and a small stack of blankets sits on the middle one.

“You’re gonna miss out on RM’s music hour,” Yoongi says as you heave yourself up into the car.

“I think I’ll pass tonight,” you say and shove the blankets aside so you can slump down on the middle mat. “Sleep sounds like the most fun thing right now.” Your eyes are closed so you can’t see the face Yoongi makes but after a few silent seconds, he sighs.

“Well, alright then,” he says. “Don’t want to impede on your good time.”

Before he has a chance to shut the door, you sit up. “Yoongi, I know I already said this but seriously, thanks for everything.” Yoongi pauses with his hand resting on the handle. You study your hands to keep from meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry I’m such a downer but I’m just not used to so many people, I guess.” Finally, you do look up and he nods like he understands.

“I wasn’t either at first,” he says. “But these guys have become my family. And you’re welcome to stay for as long as you’d like.”

“Thanks,” you utter.

Yoongi gives a nod. “Well, nighty night and all that.”

“Night, Yoongi.”

He shuts the door, leaving you alone in the darkness. While the air has cooled significantly since the afternoon, it’s still a lot warmer than you were used to in Seoul so you crumple one of the blankets up and use it as a pillow, leaving your body exposed to the stagnant air that fills the car. It doesn’t take long after that for you to fall asleep.

You’re still between worlds when the door creaks open and you faintly recall hearing Jungkook’s and Taehyung’s whispers but even as you try to hear what either of them are saying, you feel yourself slipping away. You’re floating, tumbling through space until you finally land hard on the floor in Jungkook and Taehyung’s dorm…

When you wake the next morning, you’re curled in a ball with one of your knives clutched to your chest. At first you’re surprised you didn’t accidentally stab yourself in the night and then you’re filled with terror at the possibility that—while you didn’t hurt yourself—you might have hurt Jungkook or Taehyung. It only takes a second to extinguish that thought, though.

Light filters in through the partially open door so you’re able to see that Jungkook is still lying on his back snoring softly beside you. Taehyung’s spot on your other side is empty. There’s no blood on his mat or on your knife so you figure it’s safe to assume he’s fine. Though maybe a little knick wouldn’t have been a bad thing.

Your feet barely touch the gravel outside the train car when Jimin bounds up to you. “Hobi and Seokjinnie have already left on their supply run and I’m bored. Want to go hunting with me?”

You look down at the knife still clutched in your hand at the same time Jimin does then give him a nod. “I guess I’m probably okay enough to try hunting again,” you say as Taehyung’s face appears in your mind. Don’t want to get rusty.

You haven’t really done any hunting yourself since killing that dog back in Seoul and though that wasn’t even very long ago—which blows your mind since it seems like it was ages ago—you can tell that you’re going to be spending a lot of your time retrieving your knives without an animal stuck on the other end of the blade. Jimin, on the other hand, has already collected himself a nice little stockpile of squirrels and birds, enough that the bag slung over his shoulder is too full to add any more. You look down at your own empty sack, a knot forming in your stomach.

“So, what were you going to school for?” Jimin asks obviously trying to distract you.

You shrug. “I switched majors a couple times while I was there but I never really figured out what I wanted to do. Jungkook and Tae seemed to have their lives set from the get-go.” Just then the two of you freeze as you hear rustling in the bushes ahead of you. You crouch down, slipping a knife from its sheath. Of course, at that moment, whatever animal it was that was hanging out in there decides to dart away in a flash of gray fur and you straighten back up with a sigh. “Jungkook was an art major and Tae wanted to get into pharmaceuticals,” you continue. “It was his dream to follow in his father’s footsteps. To help people. He really was a good guy.”

“Sounds like it,” Jimin says.

Another louder rustling comes from behind you, this time sounding like something much larger than an animal is approaching and at a much quicker pace, and you whirl around. A few seconds later, Taehyung bursts into view, anger glowing like fire in his dark eyes. “Where’s my gun?” he snaps.

“Speak of the devil,” Jimin utters as he lowers his bow then straightens up. “How would I know?” he asks loudly with a shrug. You’re a little surprised that Taehyung’s anger isn’t affecting him—then again, he seems to bicker with Seokjin a lot.

Taehyung stabs a finger at him. “You were the one that shot me with an arrow. When I woke up, my gun was gone. You took it. Where is it?”

Why does he suddenly need it so badly? You step in front of Jimin. “Tae—”

“Shut up, Y/N,” he growls then turns to Jimin again. “Where is it?”

Now he crosses his arms over his chest. “Well, if you’re going to cop that kind of attitude, you’ll never get it back.”

“You’re attacking the wrong person, Tae,” you say. “You want your gun back, talk to Yoon—”

“Y/N,” Jimin quickly cuts you off. When you look at him, he shakes his head no.

Suddenly, motion behind Taehyung has you shifting your focus to the trees surrounding you. Everything looks still, at first. Then the branches shutter and a tree shifts, morphing into the shape of a man.

“Tae, get down!” you scream.

After two years of fighting together, you’ve learned to follow each other’s orders without hesitation. Because of this, Taehyung dives to the ground just barely avoiding your knife, which buries itself to the hilt in the soft spot between the ribs of the masked man behind him. As soon as the raider’s back hits the dirt, Taehyung swivels on his foot and snatches a rusted machete out of his slackened hand.

Already a dozen more raiders have flooded into the clearing. Jimin launches arrow after arrow at the oncoming horde while Taehyung rushes forward, connecting blade to flesh at lightning speed. It doesn’t take long for you to get down to your last knife and then you leave Jimin’s side to join Taehyung in combat.

The searing heat of sharp metal cuts across the back of your thigh and you spin to face your aggressor. White-hot pain renders you blind for just a second but it’s long enough for the raider to throw a fist and crack it across your cheekbone. You go down hard and the air escapes your lungs before you can catch it. You roll over quickly and watch through a haze as the raider draws back his knife. Then with a flash of honey colored hair and pale skin, he’s thrown away from you. Without a word, Jimin grabs your wrist and pulls you to your feet before planting an arrow in another raider’s chest. Several ear-shattering shots ring out.

When your vision has finally cleared, bodies clutter the ground and you and Jimin stand there, shoulders heaving as you try to catch your breath. Taehyung rolls to his feet and swipes the back of his hand across his bloodied bottom lip.

“I want my gun back,” he says before turning and starting back down the path he came.

Only now do you realize that Yoongi is there too and immediately you remember the flash of light hair and the gun shots. How did he get there so quickly? He puts a hand on Taehyung’s chest, stopping him in his tracks.

“You’ll get your gun back when you’ve earned it,” he says, his voice low, his gaze piercing.

Taehyung glances back over his shoulder, locking his eyes with yours for a second before stepping around Yoongi and disappearing down the path. Yoongi looks at the two of you and gives a small smile before hefting his gun in his hand and turning to follow Taehyung back toward the field.

“I should probably go talk to him,” you utter as you put your knives back in their sheathes.

“Just don’t mention anything to him about Yoongi having the key to the weapons car,” Jimin says toeing a dead raider. Then he looks back up at you. “We don’t need more trouble from him.”

With a guilty nod, you trudge off down the path after Taehyung. It takes you jogging to finally spot him ahead of you.

“Kim Taehyung!” you yell after him.

He doesn’t stop so you pick up your pace to catch up with him.

“Hey,” you growl when you finally reach him. You grab the sleeve of his shirt and spin him around to face you. When he does, his glaring eyes meet yours. “Yoongi and the others have been nothing but nice to us. You can’t talk to him the way you did.”

“Like hell they have,” he barks back. “Maybe they’ve been nice to you because you’re a girl and they probably haven’t seen one in a year but I feel like a prisoner here.”

You clench your fists at your sides. How dare he assume something so shallow about these boys that have been nothing but generous to all of you? “Why do you even need your gun?” you ask. “You obviously can handle yourself just fine without one.”

“Why do you need your knives?” Taehyung asks and closes the space between you till his breath is hot on your face. “Want me to take those and see how you feel?”

You step back. “Don’t you dare touch my knives.”

Taehyung towers over you still and suddenly you feel like the blades at your side wouldn’t be enough if he decided to try anything. You bite down hard until your jaw aches but you continue to hold his gaze, refusing to back down as he tries to intimidate you. You search his dark eyes for any trace of your old best friend but it’s as if you’re looking at a stranger. Those eyes hold no familiarity for you. It’s like there’s nothing left of him in there. At last, you feel your body relax, your eyes turning down in sadness.

“What happened, Tae,” you finally whisper. “Where’d my best friend go?”

You see his steely composure crack for a split second, his eyes widening and he takes a jolting step backward.

“Y/N!”

You and Taehyung turn at the same time to see Jungkook jogging toward you down the path. He steps between the two of you and put his hands on your arms. “Yoongi just came back and said there was an ambush, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you say breathlessly. Why are you trembling. Your eyes dart past Jungkook’s shoulder to Taehyung standing behind him.

Jungkook turns too. “You?”

“Just peachy,” he says then turns away.

The two of you watch Taehyung as he digs his hands into his pockets and trudges away again. When he’s out of sight, Jungkook turns back to you, his brow still furrowed with concern. “You sure you’re okay?” he asks, though you aren’t sure he’s talking about the raider attack anymore.

“Yeah,” you say. “I think so.”

Dinner that night is delicious, served by these people that took you in. And of course, you can barely keep yourself from licking the plate clean. Hobi and Seokjin still aren’t back yet from their supply run but according to Jimin, they won’t be back until tomorrow morning anyway. Yoongi took over the cooking for the day and, while Seokjin seems to have a special touch, the food is still good.

Jungkook shifts closer to you on the log you sit on until you can feel his bare arm brush your own. You still can’t believe how warm it is here compared to the biting cold of Seoul. It makes you wonder what’s going on there right now.

What happened to Bang Pharmaceuticals after you hightailed it out of there? Was it overtaken by raiders? Were they there now, eating your food, sleeping in your beds?

You shudder causing Jungkook to lean in even closer. When you look up at his face, his eyes bear a worried look.

“I’m fine,” you crack quietly enough so no one else can hear you.

He doesn’t look convinced.

Finally, you get up. “I think I’m going to go to bed,” you say glancing around the circle. Jimin gives you a small smile and you should return it but all you can think about is getting to your train car and cutting yourself off from the rest of the world.

As you lay there on your mat in the darkness, you can’t shut your brain up. No matter how hard you try, memories keep forcing their way out of the depths of your mind. Memories of your college days, mostly of Jungkook and Taehyung and your late night antics. Study sessions turned into midnight food runs, One Piece marathons turned into wrestling matches, you miss it all. You miss how things used to be. You miss your best friend with all your heart. The sound of his genuine laughter is already fading from your mind. And as your eyelids begin to droop, you find yourself welcoming the nightmare that you know is waiting for you on the other side of consciousness. You don’t care about the pain or the terrible ending. You just want to relive the memories. You just want to see your best friend again.

111 notes · View notes