#oneshot.

tells you when he’s leaving you to go to the restroom and gives you a forehead kiss.

who catches you as you stumble walking toward him after having one to many drinks.

worries about how many drinks you’ve had and tells you not to drink so many.

you tell him it’s fine and you aren’t even drunk yet although you are stumbling all over the place.

who find your hiccups cute as you blabber on and on about who knows what. 

“the-n uh she kissed him and the-n hu got together ahh so cuteee~” you let out another hiccup, “stupid hiccups don’t uh let me hu talk!”

he creases your hair, “don’t worry i understand you~” clearly he doesn’t but he wants to reassure you.

has his arms around your waist to keep you close.

once it’s time to leave he’s already taken off your heels and carried you bridal style out the door.

“love youuu~ let’s get married….” nagi smiles, “okay maybe next year then.” you squeal, “really..?” nagi shakes his head no.

you pout and try to leave his grasp. “no i will walk a good future husband will carry their lover.” nagi holds you tighter, “okay okay next year then just wait?” you grab his face and plant a big kiss on his cheek almost nibbling on it.

you giggle as you lay your head on his chest.

who opens the door and sets you in the passenger seat, placing a blanket over you and throw up bag next to you just incase.

who laughs at your random sleep talking.

carries you out the door and changes you into something more comfortable for bed.

takes off your makeup and gives you kisses as a reward for staying still.

“stay still and i will give you another one.” he says as you immediately freeze in place only to feel his lips onto yours again. he giggles and cuddles you until you both fall asleep.

There's a laugh, "I sure hope not." The face comes into focus; soft, warm brown eyes framed by wild, black, and kinky hair. There's a smile on the girl's face, though it speaks more of amusement than anything else. "Come, let's get you to your feet. Can you stand?"

Oh, but he is lying down, isn't he? Eoin finally manages to tear his gaze from the angel above him to look around at the reality of the world. "What happened?" The question comes at the same time as the memory comes back to him. The walls of the alley are still sizzling under the biting acid, there's the acrid smell of death in the air, and three bodies, unmoving, half-decayed. No, not decayed. Corroded.

The girl gets up from where she'd been sitting and holds a hand out to him for him to take, which he does. There's surprising strength in her as she pulls him to his feet, or maybe he just isn't that heavy. "You got into a fight," she claims as she too looks around at the mess, then turns a little wicked smile on him. "Or maybe a fight got into you. Doesn't matter, you should feel better now."

"Yeah," Eoin stammers quietly, hands moving along his body slowly. Where previously his broken ribs, cracked under relentlessly kicking boots, were endlessly cracked, there's no trace of harm or pain in them now. His face is absent of swelling despite the beating, and the only hint that anything had happened at all is the caked blood where previously there had been excessive wounds. "Thank you. How did you do that?"

The reply comes in the way of a cheeky wink, followed by an equally cheeky grin. "The burning cure," she says, producing a worn zippo from her pocket. The flame of the lighter catches in her open hand and is extinguished once more when she closes it. "Where are your parents?" Eoin can only reply with a frown and a little shrug. The girl studies him for a moment, then, with a nod, she seems to make up her mind about something. "Okay. I want you to meet some people."

There's nothing Eoin can really do as her hand wraps around his upper arm and he's dragged down the alleyway. "I'm Eoin," he says, eyes still glued to her as though she's a mirage and if he looked away, she'd vanish. "What's your name?"

The girl looks back at him when she stops at the mouth of the alley, the mischief ever-present in her smile. "Nachelle."

AGE FIFTEEN

"Stop! Eoin, stop!" Nachelle's voice calls and echoes through the abandoned warehouse they call their home, along with several other kids, both mutant and human. A shriek pierces the otherwise silent space. "Please! Please stop!"

On the cot they share, Eoin has her pinned down, straddling her waist as Nachelle turns and squirms the best she can under his relentless assault. A wicked smirk rests on his face as his fingers dig into her ribs, over and over, pulling yet another scream from her lips. "Call me a dumbass again. Go on, try me."

Nachelle's eyes squeeze shut as sharp laughter bubbles from her mouth, and her head shakes violently. "You're a—” A gasp. "You're a dumbass, Eoin. Please, stop!" This time it's Eoin's turn to laugh, and when his fingers settle, he leaves Nachelle a panting mess.

"Fine," he snickers as he gets off her and lies down next to her. It's a tight fit, as it always is, but neither teenager seems to mind very much. Her head finds his chest and an arm wraps around his waist as she pulls herself into her side and that much closer to him. Eoin's hand drops on her head, playing with her hair slowly.

"You are a dumbass, Eoin," Nachelle repeats when her panting and soft giggles have subsided.

Eoin simply nods. "Mhm. I know."

Silence falls upon the warehouse again, and Eoin doesn't know how long they lie there, her fingers gently tracing patterns on his chest while one of his fingers twists around a piece of black hair over and over.

"I love you."

The words push into the silence slowly, and for a second, Eoin thinks that perhaps he misheard. When he blinks his eyes open and looks down, they connect with hers; no mischief, no laughter in her eyes. She said what she said and she meant it.

They stare at each other for an eternity. She's not taking it back, and Eoin realises he doesn't ever want her to.

"I love you too." Of course he does. How could he not?

The smile that he conjures onto her face with those four words leaves every radiant smile that had come before it but a dull affair. When she crashes her lips against his, he thinks for all its flaws and hardships, his life is absolutely perfect the way it is.

AGE FIFTEEN

Panic clings to every edge of Eoin's mind as he gasps in the cold Boston air, the salt in the air burning into the back of his throat as much as the gas is burning into his lungs. It all happened far too quick for him to comprehend; one moment they're all sleeping peacefully, the next, the warehouse — their home — is invaded by men in dark vests and riot gear, flashlights shining everywhere, blinding them even upon the deafening sound of gunfire.

The gas poured from his hands unlike a manner he'd ever seen gas do; it wasn't wispy, or billowing, but rather thick, almost liquid, like a waterfall of thick vapour unleashed from the pores of his hands. Silence came quick, and the only thing that stopped the unbidden assault from his hands was the fact that he couldn't breathe.

Before he could fall to his knees and succumb, already lightheaded, he's grabbed by the arm and pulled from the warehouse by a hacking and coughing form.

His knees finally find the floor even as another gunshot rings in the air. Nachelle drops the rifle by the police officer's now-dead body before she crouches next to him, wrapping her arms around his shaking and crying form.

"We're okay, Eoin," she reassures him, but her voice is ravaged, and she can't keep herself from coughing no matter how much she tries. "We have to go, we can't stay here. More will come, come on."

"I killed them," he whispers through his panicked sobs, voice just as raw and painful as Nachelle's sounds. "I killed them all. I killed them, I killed them." His body rocks back and forth on its own accord before he's hauled to his feet.

"No you didn't, baby," she says, but her attention isn't on him. The kids that also made it out find their way towards them, some older teenagers like Nachelle, some Eoin's age, and others younger still. "Is this everyone?" An older boy nods his head, still coughing as he watches Eoin. "Don't look at him, Jarod, it's not his fucking fault. Grab the little ones, we need to leave."

The next day, the news reports a warehouse of dangerous mutants has been eliminated, and viewers are asked to keep the officers that died in their thoughts and prayers. Nachelle turns off the TV with angry eyes. They know better than these lies.

AGE SIXTEEN

There's something in her eyes, a challenge, her gaze unwavering as its fixed on him. Eoin looks at the man holding her by the hair harshly. "So what's it gonna be?" the human asks, no, demands, and Nachelle's hand on the man's wrist tightens, her glare going darker.

Eoin has known her for long enough to know what her face is telling him. Don't. Eyes moving between her and the human, he finds his fists clenching by his sides. Don't give in. And she's right, of course. They've fought for everything they have, and under no circumstance are they going to give it up for some mutant-hating piece of shit with a gun and a threat.

His eyes narrow, and maybe there's something about him, a shift in his body, the movement of his hand, that betrays his intention. "Eoin," Nachelle says, just as the pungent smell of acid fills the air and he throws the glob. Intended for the human hand holding the gun to Nachelle's head, the man shifts her in the line of fire at the last moment, and Eoin watches in horror as the acid burns away at her face.

She's silent. The animalistic scream that tears through the air isn't hers; it's his own. The human lets go of her hair, startled, and starts backing away as the gun is aimed at him. In the next second, Eoin's world goes black, and, even as the gun is fired and lodges a bullet into his shoulder, the animal wearing Eoin's skin pounces on the man with unimaginable speed.

When Eoin's rational mind switches back on, he's sitting on the severely mutilated corpse of the human, panting hard. The wailing of police sirens rings in the air, far still, and it can't drown out the murmurs of the shocked crowd that's now gathering in the street near the alley; phone cameras are pointed at him, heads shaking. Monster, some hiss. Mutant scum, others spit. Eoin looks between them, their judging eyes, and then his eyes fall on Nachelle's still form.

There's something in the depth of his stomach that lurches and stills; something in the back of his mind that snaps. With slow movements, he shifts towards her. He can't look at her face; won't. Instead, he digs into her pocket and pulls her zippo from it. The burning cure. 

Eoin gets up to his feet and holds up acidic hands with cold eyes. "Move!" he roars at the crowd, even as he approaches them. They part like the red sea, some scrambling to get out of his way more as he walks through them. He should just kill them all.

V takes another step forward, and now Ray’s shouts have become frenzied begging — “Please, please go away — ” and you feel that this web spans years, threading insects and poisons and nightmares with every silky curve and twirl, and you aren’t sure where to begin to uncover it and how to unravel him from this cocoon. 

He stumbles as V shows him two little cards. Ray drops his arm to grasp the limb, pained, stammering about an angry savior. His voice rises and cracks, and you see it again, the reason why you had decided to stay: there is a gaping, cracking chasm in him, jagged along the edges as if some great devil had slipped their fingers between his chest and pulled him open by the ribs; and with this blackened maw trying to swallow him, he had never once asked you for help — 

— But you have seen your fair share of blackened maws. 

You have seen fissures greater than canyons, than planets, yawning cavities that have devoured entire universes. 

You have your own memories of drowning in ravines, hands reaching up at the night sky, starless. 

You know that sometimes it is a silent plea. 

“I’m so sorry things turned out like this, Saeran,” V whispers. He looks to you then. “But [Name], I came to rescue you. I infiltrated this place after determining that you were in danger.” 

“No —!” Ray grasps his head. “Don’t – don’t believe anything he says, [Name]. I can protect her — I’m protecting her.”

Ray is unsteady on his feet; you touch his shoulders, but he flinches reflexively, and when he sees that it was just your hands, he grasps your wrist. 

“[Name],” V begins. 

“Save him,” you say. “If you’re here for me, then you should be here for him, too.” 

V hesitates. “I... It’s my fault,” he says. “It’s my fault, but...but I can’t — I don’t think I can pull him from her grasp right now...” 

V looks pained, too, when he says that, and then you see that he has the same gasping maw in him, the same jagged lines where caressing fingers had turned cruel. 

Ray’s grip on your wrist tightens. You had stepped in front of him, but he tries to tug you back, fear in his hands. 

“She doesn’t believe you,” Ray snarls half-heartedly, but you see the doubt and the dread — Don’t go — Please don’t — Please don’t leave me. 

“I think you should go, V,” you say. 

V looks like he wants to say more, to try and convince you, to save at least one soul, but there are voices shouting from across the garden, and he hesitates, now stuck against the hourglass. 

“Go,” you tell him kindly. “I’ve dealt with spiders before.” 

“She’s not — ” But the words get caught in his throat. You see old webs in his hair, glistening against the glow of the garden lights. He nods finally and then turns and disappears into the trees. 

Ray is trying to calm his breathing, his hand still gripping firmly around your wrist. You reach back and pry his hold from your skin, and before he can jerk back in fear and self-doubt, you switch the grasp to your hand, showing him how other people should be touched — gently, and with sincerity.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, eyes still darting at the growing darkness around the two of you, at the shadows that shift and slide in the unknown. 

REO - huge party with friends but he’s by your side 24/7

BACHIRA - all over you once the clock hits 12am