#and that paired with a nearly hour long tear stained breakdown over them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nincompoopydoo · 3 years

Text

PAIRING, BAGELS, REPEAT

— I’VE SEEN FIRE, I’VE SEEN RAIN ; PART 2 / ?

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 1909

SUMMARY: Being laid off isn’t very fun but Bruce tends to find himself even more entangled in your life, including his alter ego—Batman.

A/N: I’m loving this series and if you are, feedback is appreciated. Thank you for reading my crappy stuff aka my daydreams <3

WARNINGS: Guns! Death threats! Crying! A mental breakdown!

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

James Taylor’s Fire and Rain plays like a funeral hymn on the record player, echoing through your studio apartment. You’re sitting on the ground, back against the ratty couch with a pizza box on your lap. You take a bite of a BBQ Chicken pizza slice, furiously wiping your tears away as you replayed the events from six hours ago. From being called to the principal's office to only be told that you’re one of the non-tenured teachers to be laid off due to cutbacks. Gotham High was...a tough school. The students were mean to you because well, you're young and always gave them the benefit of the doubt. Plus, you taught English Literature and frankly, your students didn’t exactly enjoy the subject as much as you wanted them to. Nevertheless, you’re devastated. Teaching was a dream of yours, and it’s being taken away from you. You cried all the way back home, tried to call your mother but it kept going to voicemail. You must have called someone else, but you don’t remember and couldn’t care less to check your phone—the whole day went by like a blur.

Then, there’s a sound. An insistent buzz, it’s the doorbell. You furrow your brows, not recalling ordering anything else other than the large pizza from Domino’s. Yet, it doesn’t cease, and you’re forced to bring yourself to stand on your feet, instinctively flattening your tousled hair to make yourself seem somewhat presentable. Like, you’re doing fine and you have everything completely under control. Maybe, you did call your mother, and she’s at the door. You’re hoping she is although she’s going to kill you for the mess.

Another buzz and you’re toddling across the wooden flooring and towards the doorway. It’s starting to become infuriating by the second, like a house fly don’t won’t stop bugging you. Considering the mood you’re in, it doesn’t take much to tick you off. Swinging the door open, you expected to see the radiant face of your mother but to your surprise, it’s not.

It’s Bruce.

Shit.

You haven’t seen him in two weeks.

You nearly choke at the sight of him in a slightly crumpled oxford blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair as much of a mess as yours and tired eyes staring down at you with concern. You note how Bruce is very charming, no matter how disarrayed he is. Meanwhile, you’re realizing the current state must be a little startling. Your eyes are probably bloodshot, hair still in a tangled mess and glaring tomato stains everywhere on your GCU t-shirt. This is such a low point for you.

“Bruce,” you say, voice raising an octave with wide eyes as you stare at him like he’s grown another head, “What are you doing here?” His frown is immediate, seemingly confused by your question. “You called me.” He gestures to his phone within his grasp. “It sounded bad even though I couldn’t make out what you were saying half of the time,” He chuckles and holds up a familiar looking paper bag “So, I got you bagels. Three of them. Thought you could use some of these.”

It takes a second or two for you to finally process what he just told you before your emotionally wrecked brain decides to do the most irrational thing ever—You just start sobbing. You’re crying so hard that it terrifies Bruce. He blinks, thoughts racing. The sight of you in complete misery strikes him like a punch to his gut and for the first time, he doesn’t know what to do. Not immediately. Yet, through glassy eyes, you manage to notice the way his face dropped and morphed into pure horror. Justification is key, you don’t want to weird him out and think you’re crazy. You wave your hand in the air dismissively, rubbing your eyes as you spoke between strangled sobs. “I’m sorry, it’s been a tough day and that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me all week.”

Oh.

Your words are a tug to the heartstrings, and it sends his head reeling but relief was all that overwhelmed him. Bruce would never wish to see you hurt, especially when it’s caused by him. Actions of affection were primarily reserved for those closest to him, but he never experienced the urge to be intimate and care so much for a person ever since his parents died. Yet, out of everyone, you’re the one that brings out the most in him. Moving closer to you, he reaches and pulls you in a hesitant embrace. You stiffened at the mere touch of his arms around you, unsure of what to do with yourself.

Sure, you had a fair share of intimate moments with the man but this, this was different. You couldn’t shake the thought of how something so warm felt so right, smelt right. Despite the fact you had been trying to suppress your feelings for Bruce, and this was doing the exact opposite of that, you can’t help but feel this was what you needed at the moment. So, you let your body sag, muscles becoming loose and you let yourself truly cry for the first time.

You end up inviting him in later, when your tears are dry. You eat two of the bagels, sharing the last one with him. You called a peace offering, a gift of appreciation, for the whole emotional massacre you unexpectedly shoved at him. He simply laughs, eyes crinkling with fondness. He thinks you’re beautiful, especially when your hair is wild, laughing like you don’t have a care in the world. It’s what keeps him grounded, to know you’re raw and very real. The next thing you know, you end up shuffling cards of UNO until the wee hours of the morning—exchanging knowing smiles and Bruce trying to pick a Wild Draw card from the deck to get you to lose. But, he lets you win anyway.

He slept on your couch that night, still in his dress shirt. You must've peeked a glance at his sleeping form, squeezed onto the couch that’s clearly too small for him. Cute. You snap a picture before heading to bed. For blackmail purposes, of course.

You end up working a night shift at a burger joint called Big Belly Burger somewhere in midtown. Your first week comes and goes, and you’re starting to hate how your uniform itches and how the restaurant can get really filthy by the end of the day. Yet, it’s the kids from Cameron Kane High that come after school that keeps you going because it makes you miss being a teacher even though they tend to leave a mess after a meal.

Thursday comes and you’re exhausted. Even so, you’re thankful it’s a slow night. You’ve done all your cleaning duties earlier on and Lucie, the manager went out to buy a pack of cigarettes from the convenience store around the corner. Hence, it’s just you, slumped against the counter, devouring a Triple Belly Burger.

You’re half way through the burger when you hear the door swing open. Expecting to see Lucie, you turned around to see two men brandishing handguns your way. “Everything from the register, now!” The taller masked man shouted, gun gesturing to the cash register. Your eyes are wide, and you can feel your chest heaving. There was no way you’ll be able to fight them. Not two of them with guns pointed at you.

The burger drops from your hand and so does your heart. With trembling hands, you slide the drawer of the cash register open and begin pulling out dollar notes. From the corner of your eye, you spot your phone on the counter, close enough for you to make an emergency call. Your eyes scan the two men wearily and with every ounce of courage you had left, you managed to unlock your phone, pulled up the messaging app and texted the first name on the list: Bruce Wayne.

help, was all you managed to say.

To say your luck ran out was an understatement; you were never lucky anyway. One of the robbers must have caught on to what you were doing and just as the call goes through, he snatches your phone away, throws it onto the ground and shoots it.

So close, yet so far.

You don't know if the message got through.

The muzzle is now inches away from your forehead, and you hear the cock of the gun. “Don’t you dare pull somethin’ funny like or I’ll blow your brains out. Give us the money, now.” It was in that moment, your tears give way and your life flashes before your eyes. You pray for a miracle, a savior.

Then, you see him.

A looming figure appears by the doorway and your breath hitches. It’s Batman, looking like a Goddamn angel. The robbers seem to realize this too, guns quickly directed towards the vigilante. He launches batarangs to the pair of men and immediately disarms them. In a flash, he knocks them out, unconscious bodies dropping to the ground like dead flies.

You stare at him in awe although he’s very frightening and intimidating but Batman...just saved you. Now, this is a story you’re going to be telling everybody until the day you die. He approaches you with caution, and you instinctively take a step back. Then, he calls you by your name like it’s second nature. You stare at him with blank amazement, brows raised.

“You know my name?” Your voice dwindled; It’s so soft and timid you hardly hear yourself. Despite the mask, the vigilante looks like his brain just short-circuited for a moment. He clears his throat.

“...Bruce has mentioned you.”

You ignore how his synthetic voice makes every hair on the back of your neck stand and the familiarity that struck for a split second when he said your name because you’re too wrapped up with the fact that Bruce has discussed about you to his other ‘best friend’ as one might call it. Brooding over this lump of a thought, the corner of your mouth twitches. “He did?” you say with a hint of affection. It’s hard to read the man under the mask, whoever he was but you’re certain he looked taken aback by your response. Maybe, it was the way you delivered it—the longing in the very core of the expression. You may have outed your feelings for Bruce to...Batman.

This doesn’t get any stranger than that.

“Yes,” he replies curtly, and you hear the police sirens afar. “Are you hurt?” Like the true caretaker of Gotham, he wants to be sure you haven’t been injured. You shake your head, lips pressed together. The whaling of the police sirens grow louder, lights of red and blue flashing before your eyes. He appears like a shadow against the glaring lights from the police cruisers and before you can blink, he flees with a muttered ‘Goodnight’ and disappears before the police come flooding in and does Lucie. The poor woman looked at with frantic eyes as soon as she glimpsed the two men on the ground, groaning in pain.

The glint of the batarang on the floor captures your attention, you smile at this.

You may or may not have taken it back to your apartment that currently sits proudly on the bookshelf in your living room.

You’re so telling Bruce.

TAGLIST:

@raineeace

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #batman #batman x reader #batman x you #bruce wayne imagine #batman imagine #justice league

119 notes · View notes

zigtheeortega · 4 years

Text

out of time

✿ pairing: sienna x danny

✿ word count: 3354

✿ warnings: death, loss

✿ author’s note: well, i thought i’d just flesh out what we didn’t get to see, since i highly doubt they’ll expand on it since it’s off screen. it’s not my best work, but it was written out of spite so hopefully that makes up for the lack of quality LMAO. anyways, i tagged everybody who liked this post and added it to the end since there were quite a few! [sidenote: i wrote this post after i’d started this fic so if you see similarities, that’s why] i really hope you like it and that i did both sienna and danny justice!

•─────────✦✿✦────────•

She sprinted down the hallway, pager still beeping erratically on her hip, the weight of the numbers enough to make her feel like she was slugging through wet concrete.

No, no, not him, please, not him, she chanted to herself, vision blurring with tears before she had the chance to let the negative possibilities set in.

He’s gonna be okay. It’s okay. We’re okay.

Thankfully she was only one floor away, taking the steps two at a time, shoes squeaking against the waxy floor. Sweat formed on her brow as she shoved through the stair’s exit door, pushing past every intern in her way.

Normally she’d stop to apologize, but not today. She didn’t know how much time she had. It could be minutes, and she wasn’t going to waste even a second apologizing when someone’s life was on the line.

She saw the small crowd forming outside of the room and barrelled towards them without a second thought, tearing her way to the front.

When she saw Spencer’s terrorized gaze, her chest tightened involuntarily. Her body covered the entrance to the room, so she could barely see into the room, but she did catch a glimpse of something that made her blood run cold.

A purple pant leg strewn across the floor, ankle relaxed, unmoving, peeking out behind Spencer’s side.

“Sienna, stop. You can’t go any further,” Ethan murmured, gently holding her in place with his arm.

“But I have to – Danny – he’s –” she struggled against his grip, lip wobbling.

“Please,” he said, more of a statement than a question, like he was holding back, too, the strain in his voice enough to stop her in her tracks.

She watched, helpless, as Spencer and Rafael scrambled to seal the room, Bobby convulsing on the ground, Travis passed out, and Danny getting weaker and weaker by the second.

It was like turning on the news and seeing tragedy after tragedy – she always felt absolutely helpless. Her empathy always felt like a curse in those moments. She couldn’t stop herself from feeling everything, whether she wanted to or not.

She wrapped her arms around herself, digging her fingernails into her side, rocking from foot to foot. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Danny’s frail form on the ground.

“Hey, I came here as fast as I could,” a voice huffed at her side. She turned, met with Jackie’s concerned gaze, hands on her hips as she panted, tiny sweat stains dotting her teal scrubs.

“It’s… All of them, Jackie, –” she couldn’t find the words to quite describe the soul crushing weight of the situation.

Bobby, Rafael, Spencer, and Danny… people that had been her emotional rocks through the lowest points of her life.

Bobby was her unsung hero. He’d keep guard while she cried in the supply closet so she wasn’t disturbed, in return for a dozen of her chocolate chip cookies. After the first few times, she brought him baked goods weekly regardless of whether she had a breakdown or not.

Rafael was her empath twin, as weird as it sounded. She’d branded them that as a joke, between giggles, on her late night break at the cafeteria. Despite it being stated jokingly, it was true – they found themselves confiding in each other each time they faced a difficult situation, bonding over the fact that their jobs took a lot more out of them than the normal person.

Spencer was her late night confidante, the person who she’d crawl into bed with at 3 a.m. after having another detailed nightmare where she was cursed with endless terminal patients. There weren’t that many people she’d platonically cuddle and sob until she was a snotting mess next to.

And Danny… he was the future. He was a vision of what she’d always wanted.

It took her too long to break away from Wayne’s hold. She knew he was toxic, but she didn’t want to admit it – how was she supposed to admit that she’d been wrong for that long?

With Danny, she was comfortable. He got her in a way no one else did. He had the potential to be every single role that her friends played simultaneously.

God, and she’d told him she needed time. She hadn’t properly healed from Wayne so she needed some time before she moved on and –

Now it’s too late, she thought to herself as she watched them wheel out Travis and Danny in glass cases.

And Bobby in a body bag.

“Holy shit,” Jackie breathed, eyes widening. “Fuck – Oh my god, Sienna –”

The tears were already flowing as she slammed her face into Jackie’s chest, body wracked with inconsolable sobs.

She’d never hugged Jackie like this before, as she hated physical affection unless it was… PG-13.

Jackie stiffened, but wrapped her arms around Sienna’s shoulders, patting her back, slowly melting into the embrace.

“We’ll visit him as soon as we can,” she said in her ear, holding Sienna up as she nearly crumbled.

––––

Danny’s body was still, the only movement his heaving chest as he took shallow, labored breaths, his normally warm skin tone muted, drained of color.

“Hey, it’s me,” she called as she closed the door behind her, voice shaky, tote bag at her side. “I hope you can hear me.”

No response.

“Uh… I brought some of our favs. Secret of Ninradell and some music to play so hopefully it makes your dreams a little sweeter – ” she forced a laugh, trying to keep her brave face. “I brought some cookies that I baked last night – uh, I’m sorry they’re not fresh – I –”

Her voice cracked, and she rolled her lips together to keep her chin from trembling. She dragged a nearby chair closer to the glass box, sliding into it, never taking her eyes from his face.

God, why did it have to be you? She thought to herself, covering her mouth with her hands as she cried, her soft sobs muted by the loud machines monitoring his vitals.

She popped open the cover of the hardback, highlighter in hand. “I’m gonna read this to you, if that’s okay? I’m highlighting passages that remind me of you,” she smiled sadly, watching his eyes roll underneath their lids. He was dreaming.

“I know you hate when I mark up books. That’s the librarian speaking, huh?” She giggled, remembering the time he told her about his job in the campus library, and his deep hatred for the Dewey decimal system.

She began reading, trying her best at different accents, failing miserably, but it distracted her from reality if just momentarily.

Her year had been full of blow after crushing blow, both professionally and personally. Losing Wayne, breaking the news to terminal patients, dealing with the toll it took on her mental health, as well as dealing with an intern that was using her – she wasn’t stupid. She just would rather suck it up than have someone upset with her that was supposed to look up to her. Stupid, but she couldn’t handle the thought of disappointing another person.

Hours later, voice hoarse, pages and pages marked up, her hands stained with neon yellow ink, she was drifting off to sleep where she sat – but a groan startled her awake.

“Uhhhhhh,” he moaned, visibly in pain, writhing uncomfortably.

“Danny? Hey, I’m here,” she rushed forward to the box, pressing her hand up against the side, hoping he could feel the warmth of her hand through the glass.

“Sienna…?” He asked, eyes fluttering open and closed. He couldn’t focus on her face.

“I’m here. I’m not leaving.”

“Good,” he croaked, weakly flopping his hand to touch the glass.

He didn’t know it, but those two words were enough to strengthen her withering resolve. She fell asleep cradling the glass, arm slung over the top.

–––

She was ripped from her sleep by intense beeping from the machines surrounding Danny, and she glanced down, peering through the glass at Danny’s quivering form, switching between violent shakes and gentle shivers.

She slammed the emergency button and quickly went to work trying to find the source of the issue, waiting for the nurses to come as back up.

“Danny. Danny, stay with me. Listen to my voice. Hold on, alright? Nurses are heading here now, and we’re going to take care of you,” she said calmly, betraying her shaking hands.

They set to work immediately, trying to keep him from slipping into unconsciousness, all four nurses working swiftly, nimble fingers and precise movements, never getting into each others’ way.

Sienna watched from outside as they worked, glass box open, desperately wishing she had a hazmat suit. Ethan and Jackie observed, giving calm commands.

“Sienna!”

She turned, eyes red rimmed from crying and lack of sleep, startling Elijah as he rolled to a stop next to her.

“Jackie asked me to send an intern up to bring you a hazmat suit… but I thought I’d bring it myself, to check on you,” he said, eyebrows furrowed, handing the folded hazmat suit from his lap to her arms.

“Don’t feel like you need to talk to me right now, alright? I’ll wait out here, if you need me.” He gave her a sympathetic smile as he patted her arm.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, hastily throwing on the hazmat suit and ripping at the zipper, growing more and more frustrated as it caught on her clothes. “Come on. Come on, come on –”

“Here, let me help,” Elijah offered. “Bend down and I’ll zip it up.”

She followed his instruction and squatted as Elijah glided the zipper upwards, patting her back softly when he was done.

And like before, she had no time to thank him. She didn’t want to miss one second with Danny.

She burst into the room, not disturbing the hive-like efficiency of the nurses.

She watched as they poked and prodded and worked tirelessly to keep him conscious. There was an undeniable tension in the air, stretched so thin it could snap at any moment.

The strained atmosphere of the room didn’t come from the doctors – it came from the nurses. Sienna knew how much Danny meant to his coworkers. He was always the first to resolve conflict and make people feel at ease.

They were tight knit; losing Danny would be a crushing blow.

“Please, Jackie, tell me what’s happening,” she said between panicky breaths, unable to contain her anxiety. “I need to know.”

“We’re trying to stabilize him… but we’re not sure what’s causing him to go into shock in the first place,” Jackie said, brows furrowed.

Three long, painful minutes later, his heart rate returned to normal, his whole body in a feverish sweat.

“That took a lot out of him,” Sienna whispered, watching a nurse press a damp, cool cloth to his forehead and neck.

“You know we have to get rid of your bag, right? It’s contaminated,” Jackie grimaced, motioning to the nurse that was zipping it into a sealed bag, about to throw it away.

“No, you can’t – I didn’t even get to finish reading Ninradell to him last night,” Sienna pleaded, rushing forward to the nurse.

“You can’t take it out of this room,” Ethan shook his head, his statement dismissive, but his tone of voice sympathetic.

“Can I at least finish reading it to him? I promise I’ll dispose of it properly. I just… I need some more time with him.”

“I don’t think –” “I’ll stay with her,” Jackie nodded, holding Ethan’s gaze. “Don’t worry, I’ll page you if anything happens.”

With one firm tilt of his chin, he left the room, presumably towards Spencer and Rafael.

“We think he can hear what’s going on around him, so it’s actually a great idea to read to him,” Jackie said, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “It might help pull him through this.”

Jackie grabbed the bag from the nurse wordlessly, handing it back to Sienna. “You can take a break,” she said to the group of nurses anxiously huddled next to Danny. “We’ll watch over him.”

One of them started sealing the box, but Sienna stopped them with a frantic “Wait.”

“Keep it open. I’ll seal it later,” Jackie ordered gently.

She slipped into the seat next to him, holding firmly onto the edge of the glass.

Jackie must’ve noticed she was debating whether or not she should touch him, so she confirmed it for her. “You can touch him. Don’t be afraid.”

“But I am,” she said, voice cracking, tears threatening to spill. It was tiresome how much she’d cried over the past twelve hours.

She was thankful he’d held on for that long, but she had no idea when it was coming. From his steadily declining health as well as appearance, it was inevitable.

“I’m so scared,” Sienna whispered, refusing to look at her, eyes trained on the rise and fall of his chest.

“You have every right to be, babe. I’m so sorry,” Jackie said, striding over to rest an arm around her shoulders.

“I… told him I needed more time to be me, you know? I needed to figure out more about me because with Wayne and with surviving last year and the stuff with Spencer and Mrs. Martinez and – and –” she cut herself off, trying to regain her composure.

“You lost sight of who you were.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly it. Everything I thought I knew was thrown out the window and it’s like I haven’t even had time to recover,” she said, her voice still wavering.

“I did the same thing last year. But you can’t beat yourself up about it. You never in a million years would’ve guessed that this could happen.”

Sienna took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to unravel the tight coil in her chest. “But he was the only thing making coming to work worth it. I like him a lot and I just… told him to wait.”

“If he had a problem with that, he would’ve moved on.”

She glanced up, met with Jackie’s soft expression, sympathetic and kind – so much different than the tough exterior she was used to. “Don’t blame yourself, Sienna. It’ll break you.”

She knew she was right, but the nagging voice at the back of her mind wouldn’t allow her to let it go.

She cracked the book open, flipping to the last page she’d read from, about two-thirds into it. But before she could start reading, Danny stirred.

His hand twitched, his fingers flexing like he was grabbing for something. Without a second thought she grasped his hand between her glove-clad palms, the book clamoring onto the ground.

“Sienna…” he whispered, trying to open his eyes, but they fluttered shut, like a weight pulling at his lashes.

She wanted desperately to see his bright eyes again, to hear him to reassure her that it’d all work out. That she’d be okay. That he’d be okay.

“Hey, I’m here,” she said, lightly squeezing her hand.

He moaned, presumably in pain, wiggling like he couldn’t stay still.

“How bad is your pain on a scale 1-10? I’m gonna count up and you squeeze my hand to stop me, alright?”

He gave a weak tilt of his chin, a single nod the only thing he could muster.

She began counting. “One… two… three…”

Nothing.

She kept counting, feeling a weak squeeze when she said “Nine.”

“I’ve never felt this bad before,” he whispered, Sienna having to lean in to hear him.

“Danny, if it’s a ten, you need to tell me,” she chewed the inside of her lip, already racking her brain for the best pain medicine that wouldn’t react with the mystery poison.

“It’s not at a ten…” He stirred, wincing, managing a weak smile. “Because you’re here with me.”

He sighed, like it took a lot out of him to say two sentences.

“That was so sweet,” she said, glancing up at Jackie, knowing her haunted expression would ruin the moment if she let him see it.

Jackie looked equally as upset, her jaw set, fists clenched at her side.

“Stop it, Dr. Varma… you’ve done –” he took another deep, shuddering breath. “You’ve done so much for me already.”

“So have you. You’re a trooper,” Jackie nodded, looking up at the ceiling. Sienna couldn’t tell if she was trying to hold back tears or keep herself from thinking about it. “Thanks for holding out for us, Danny.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can, though,” he said, gripping Sienna’s hand, opening his eyes unexpectedly.

She shook her head, holding his hand to her chest. “No, don’t think like that. You can hold on for a while longer. I believe in you.”

“Sienna… You’re my favorite person,” he breathed, looking up at her with a spark of life in his eyes, a contrast from the gaunt look of his face. His dark circles gave the allusion that his eyes were sunken in, a skeleton of who he was less than 24 hours ago.

It scared the hell out of her how quickly he changed – and how content he looked with slipping away.

“You have to let them test on me,” he squeezed her hand. “It’ll help.”

“No, you’re gonna be fine –”

“It’s okay,” he reassured her, a soft smile adorning his lips, pale and cracked. “You’ll be okay.”

He craned his neck, trying to hold his head up. Sienna slipped her hand underneath the nape of his neck, supporting him. He tilted his head forward, lightly pressing his damp forehead against her hazmat suit.

She leaned forward, pressing hers against the loose protective fabric, feeling the warmth of his skin through it.

“You can’t go, I – your family hasn’t even gotten to visit you –” She choked, the warm tears dotting the thick plastic screen, streaking down to fall farther into her suit.

“They couldn’t get here in time,” he said, matter-of-factly.

They sat there like that for a while. Her concept of time was thrown out the window as soon as she got the initial page, so it could’ve been ten seconds or ten minutes.

“Thank you for reading to me.”

She laughed, sniffling. “We spent all night talking about Ninradell, so it was only fitting I stayed up all night to read it to you.”

Another little while passed. Talking took so much out of him, that he had to take a few breaks between his speech so he wouldn’t pass out from exhaustion. “Don’t blame yourself,” he said, cutting through the silence. “You couldn’t have stopped this.”

She stared at her hands, clasped around his own, drained of color. He’d closed his eyes, so thankfully he couldn’t see her pained expression.

“I know. I can’t help but feel responsible for everything, even when it’s out of my control… I’m so sorry,” she said, voice breaking for the millionth time. She could barely form words without choking on them.

She cursed herself for not being stronger. Overwhelming emotion was enough to render her speechless, meanwhile Danny was pushing through searing pain in order to leave her with words she’d carry with her forever.

He’d mustered his last bit of energy to tell her to be kind to herself.

The machine behind him beeped. His heart rate had slowed to a crawl, and he was gone before Jackie could spring to action.

And when his hand went limp in between her palms, she let out an inhuman wail that no one, not even Spencer, had heard before.

––––

tags: @saintniceguy ; @part-of-the-circus ; @vandalasal ; @dudebro-lahela ; @averysheart-raleighsdick ; @cptnvers ; @bringing-back-socks-with-sandals ; @la-huerta ; @ironysyndrome ; @anotordinarygoldfish ; @pumpkinbutt ; @browneyedmissy ; @soo-empty ; @anonymous2094 ; @lumpyspaceprincessismybitch ; @lady-stirling ; @papinaveensbitch ; @writinghereandthere ; @unusualvisionsblog ; @beccadavenport ; @messofakind ; @violinet ; @serafinedupont ; @raleiighcarrera ; @pixeljazzy ; @pixelsandkink ; @altairadtaz

#open heart #sienna trinh #danny cardinal #sienna x danny #danny x sienna #my fic #jade writes choices fics #sorry if i normally tag u and forgot !!!#prob need to make a taglist but i am SO inconsistent im sorry #also im sorry if this isn't great LMAO again i wrote this out of rage and pure spite so #like i said hopefully that makes up for it !!!#very nervous ab this one !!!!#tw death #tw loss

82 notes · View notes

cake-writes · 4 years

Text

Compromise (Part Ten)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Story Warnings: Mom!Reader, Dad!Bucky, Ex-Relationship, Co-Parenting Drama, Slow Burn, Angst, Fluff, Separation Anxiety, Violence

Summary: You didn’t want to trust him again, because every time you did, Bucky broke your heart just a little more. Deep down, though, you wanted to get along with him. You wanted to be amicable. You wanted your daughter to know her father. You’d always wanted that. It just required a compromise.

Interlude #3 / Master List / Spotify Playlist

Winnie helped you set the table.

Well, more like you held her up while she plopped down plates and glasses and cutlery just like every other day. Good thing you’d gotten the supposedly unbreakable kind from Ikea, because she wasn’t gentle in the least. Clumsy, just like always.

“Three?” she asked, blinking up at you with those big blue eyes of hers.

You smiled at her. “That’s right, sweetpea. Three.”

Three place settings. It didn’t take her long to piece it together.

With an excited shriek of, “Daddy’s coming!” she jumped down from your arms and ran to the living room to grab her stack of princess colouring books. She obviously wanted him to help her colour them in, because she plopped them down onto the table and asked, “Which princess does Daddy like?”

You laughed and ruffled her hair. “I guess we’ll just have to ask him, won’t we?”

He’d say ‘Winnie,’ though. She was his favourite. Not Belle. Not Ariel.

Winnie.

Except seven o’clock came and went, and you started to think otherwise.

You, 7:09am: You’re probably just running a little late. That’s okay, I’m just putting the french toast on now. See you in a few.

No response.

Tick-tock went the clock.

You, 7:21am: Winnie has some new colouring books she wants you to see. Will you be here soon?

Still no response.

An extra plate of french toast lay untouched upon the kitchen table, next to a bottle of syrup and an empty glass.

You picked at your plate and watched your daughter eat her breakfast. Winnie’s attempts to take bites of french toast as she scribbled in her colouring book were comical, almost, but you couldn’t find it in you to smile.

Everything felt just like before.

Half past was when you gave up hope that Bucky would be coming.

You probably should have put her colouring book away so as not to get syrup stains all over it, but you just couldn’t be bothered. Her crayons would be sticky, too, but you didn’t care. It kept her occupied – kept her from realizing how late it was.

Not for long, unfortunately.

“Where’s Daddy?”

You looked up from the colouring book to Winnie’s worried face and noticed that her little eyebrows creased in the exact same way as her father’s. She didn’t deserve to feel like this, and neither did you.

“I think Daddy might have gotten a little caught up with work,” you lied – absolutely hating that you had to lie to her, just like before. “Mommy will see if he can come over for breakfast tomorrow instead, okay?”

Winnie’s lower lip started to wobble, and your heart clenched in your chest.

“He’s not coming?” she asked again, like your answer might change.

“No, baby,” you told her with a sad smile. “Not today.”

“But we set the table,” she protested. “We made extra toasts!”

“I know, Winnie, but—”

“But I saved Elsa!” she whined, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. “Elsa, Mommy!”

“I know, honey,” you soothed, leaning over to stroke her back. “I know. Daddy will help you colour her in tomorrow, okay?”

Sniffling, Winnie nodded, but she didn’t seem convinced. You could tell by the way her scribbling became a little rougher; her crayons snapped here and there, and the pages were soon covered with lots of orange and pink and red.

Mostly red.

Crisis averted for now, but you knew it wouldn’t last. If Bucky was falling back into the same habits, then this breakdown would be the first of many. Winnie had just started to stabilize a bit, and now he’d thrown off her equilibrium all over again.

Needless to say, it quickly devolved into the morning from hell. Colouring books put away in favour of getting dressed for daycare, and what a nightmare that was. Temper tantrums for the next half hour. Clothes yanked off more than once. Ear-splitting screams when you combed her hair.

Fantastic.

The second you’d dropped her off at daycare, you yanked your phone out of your purse, fully intending to give Bucky a piece of your mind. Still sitting in the parking lot, you angrily dialled his number, absently watching the leaves fall from the trees in the distance. Gorgeous autumn colours: yellow and orange and red.

Mostly red.

You saw red, too.

“Barnes,” came his sleepy morning voice on the other end, and although you’d very much loved the sound of it once upon a time, not now you didn’t.

“I thought you were coming for breakfast,” you bit out, unable to keep the venom out of your words. “Where the fuck were you?”

“I—What?” He sounded a little more awake, now. A little more alert. “What time is it?”

“Eight-twenty,” you spat.

“What?” A pause where he likely checked for himself, and then, “Shit, shit, I’m so sorry, doll, I—”

“I don’t care,” you interrupted. “Your daughter had a breakdown. I hope you’re happy.”

“I’m getting dressed right now, I’ll be there in ten—”

“I’ve already dropped her off.”

That was when the rustling of clothing on the other line slowed, and then stopped completely. It must have started to sink in that he was too late.

He’d fucked up.

The silence that befell the two of you was tenser than usual, much worse than yesterday. Bucky had made a promise not to hurt Winnie again, and he’d broken it. When he pulled this same bullshit and disappeared for a week, you’d managed to spin a story about it, but this? No way. Not again.

Why should you have to keep lying for him?

Everything was just like before.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, a lot quieter this time, and you bit down on the inside of your cheek.

“Yeah,” you responded flatly. “Me too.”

Then you ended the call.

You should have been at work twenty minutes ago.

The second you hung up on him, you lost it. Tears and mascara spilled down your cheeks. Near-pristine makeup smudged. Foundation rubbed away from your nose. In the leather passenger’s seat sat a small pile of tissues, discarded as easily as he’d done to you. Your phone lay next to them – three missed calls and a handful of texts. You didn’t have to look to know that they were from him.

After slowing to a stop in your usual parking spot, you used the pads of your fingers to delicately rub away some of the black streaks on your cheeks. Your eyes were still a little teary, a little bloodshot, and you’d already salvaged what you could of your makeup. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do.

What a mess.

Then came a hard rap on your window, and you jumped – nearly jabbed yourself in the eye.

Bucky.

Your stomach lurched in an instant.

On his face was pure alarm – panic – but all you could do was stare at him in shock through the tinted window of the Land Rover.

What the hell was he doing here?

“Let me explain,” he said, voice muffled through the security of your car. “Please. I— I can’t lose you again.”

Both of you, you assumed. You and Winnie.

Mostly Winnie.

It didn’t even cross your mind that it could have been a freudian slip.

You swallowed hard and pulled the keys from the ignition, before you opened the car door. When you spoke, your voice sounded so much worse than you thought it would. Hoarse. Rough. Exactly like you’d been crying.

“You have as long as it takes for me to get inside.”

Bucky glanced to the front door of your coffee shop and then back at you. Thirty seconds, tops, but he spent a few of them taking in your appearance – eyes tracing the tear stains on your cheeks, your flushed nose, your chapped lips. It made you feel self-conscious.

Fantastic.

“I’m sorry,” he began for the umpteenth time, and you barely managed not to scoff, gravel crunching under your feet. “I didn’t hear my alarm. I was gonna be there, sweetheart, swear to god. Please.”

“You never sleep in,” you fired back, accusatory. “Why today?”

“I…” Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down at the ground. Ashamed. For what, you weren’t sure. “I don’t get nightmares as often as I used to, and… and talking to you made me feel better. I actually dreamt for once.”

A dream. Not a nightmare. And he was ashamed.

Why?

You stopped walking to finally look at Bucky – really look, and you found that he seemed well-rested. Panicked, absolutely, but well-rested. No dark circles under his eyes; no pallor to his complexion.

Thinking back on it, he’d always looked like this as of late. Maybe he really had been sleeping better than he used to. Two years was a long time, after all, and he’d been going to therapy. That must have helped, too.

“What did you dream about?” you asked point-blank. You weren’t sure why. A test, maybe, or curiosity.

His brows rose in surprise. “What?”

“Your dream. What was it about?”

Fingertips digging anxiously into the shoulder strap of your purse, you peered up into those pretty baby blues, searching for whatever lie he may have tried to pull out of his ass. He held your gaze for a moment or two before he looked away again, bringing a hand up to rub at the back of his neck.

“You.”

A nervous tic. Not a lie.

You opened your mouth to say something, but then you closed it again, having expected a different answer – something, anything but that. The light dusting of pink coming across his cheeks made you realize what, exactly, he’d dreamt about.

“O-Oh,” you stammered.

What the hell?

That was when your phone chimed. Absolutely perfect timing, because you felt awkward and you didn’t know what else to say, other than a half-hearted apology for fishing your phone from your purse.

Bucky just shook his head, as if to say don’t be sorry.

You had nothing to be sorry about, anyway.

Still, you spent a little more time than necessary rereading the text you’d just received from one of your baristas. The cafe was low on almond milk, apparently. You’d have to go to the store, because the milk order wasn’t due in until tomorrow.

That gave you some time to figure out what to do.

As angry as you’d been, you still had a soft spot for Bucky. You had always had a soft spot for him, and that hadn’t changed, no matter how hellish your morning had been for you and your little girl.

“Why don’t you come to the store with me?” you suggested. “Maybe buy me some daisies while we’re there. A big bouquet this time.”

A joke. How stupid. Where had all your strength gone?

You were still upset, but what he’d said had disarmed you quite a bit.

“Sure. Yeah, of course.” His response came way too quickly. “Whatever you want.”

Good answer.

On the way back to your car, you noticed that Bucky had parked a few spots down. He really must have scrambled to get here, because he’d somehow arrived before you did. While you had been running late, the drive still took some time and he lived further away than you.

“It’s unlocked,” you told him, pulling open the driver’s side door again. As you got inside, you spotted the pile of tissues sitting in the passenger’s seat.

Fantastic.

“Sorry,” you mumbled in embarrassment, leaning over the console to collect the mess you’d made. There weren’t a ton of tissues, just a couple of handfuls, but you struggled to fit them all into your purse. No trash can.

A quick glimpse in the rearview mirror showed that you still looked like hell. There was no way he wouldn’t put two and two together.

“That’s okay,” Bucky told you, gentle voice like honey to your ears.

After you placed your too-full purse on the back seat, his large, warm hand came to rest on your cheek – caught you entirely off guard. You froze up in an instant, and it took a lot of willpower to meet his eyes again.

“I’m sorry for making you cry.”

You assumed that he would have figured it out, but to have him actually confirm it made you feel shy all of a sudden. God, it felt so good when he comforted you like this, though, and the soft expression on his face made you weak.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, watching as his eyes flickered down to your lips, and you realized, then, that he was just inches away – that it would be so stupidly easy to lean forward and just kiss him, but you knew what a bad idea that would be.

He’d fucked up.

You licked your lips to alleviate the dryness in your throat, but that only made things worse because his eyes snapped back up to yours.

“We, uh…” You cleared your throat, feeling your face burn under his palm. “We have to get going.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Sorry.”

And then the warmth of his hand was gone.

For the entire drive, you did your best to ignore the way your skin tingled from his touch, but it didn’t work. Not with your heart pounding like this. Not with your thoughts racing like this.

What a fucking mess.

“I hope you like Princess Elsa,” you spoke up – a distraction, or maybe just another test. You weren’t sure anymore. “You’ll be seeing a lot of her at breakfast tomorrow.”

There was a brief pause while Bucky considered your casual invitation. An olive branch. One final chance to get this right, and he didn’t turn it down.

You knew he wouldn’t.

“Elsa’s fine,” he said thoughtfully, “but Winnie’s better.”

Another joke, perhaps, but it was the truth. You couldn’t help but laugh a little.

Of course he thought so.

Part Eleven

(If you like my work, please consider donating to my Patreon or my Ko-Fi!)

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes

1K notes · View notes

nostalgic-pancakes · 3 years

Text

Room 73- Chapter 4/8

Summary: D&D is planned, two characters get their very own breakdowns, Thomas reminisces, and Virgil has one good day

Pairings: (eventual) QPP’s Remus and Patton, Pre-Relationship prinxiety, sibling-y Virgil and Original Character, Creativitwins

Read on AO3

Word count: 3326

Warnings: Questionable parenting, period-typical homophobia, the foster system, semi-graphic (?) depictions of violent death, rage breakdown, nervous breakdown, minor arson.

Other notes: None!

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

Logan quite frankly had no idea what Janus meant by ‘friendly hissing’. All hissing was a warning sign to potential prey, and wasn’t friendly in any incarnation! How could certain kinds of hissing be friendly? They all sound the same!

This was a level of insanity nearly topping Neil DeGrasse Tyson playing Merlin in the fucking Sharknado movies. But not really. That would top everything. Either way, Janus, someone who also hissed rather often (information citation being Patton) was likely the superior authority in tonal hissing. Logan’s a bit too sleep-deprived looking up resources for ghosts and surviving midterms to care too much.

Either way, the Dungeons and Dragons planning session was starting today. Everyone would be there at lunch this time and that meant that one, he would get to see his brother for the first time since homeroom (no common classes on Wednesdays was not ideal), and meeting with the rest of their newfound friends.

(Logan had never had anyone other than Virgil, and the rest seem to be alright. Janus knows, anyways, and he didn’t hate Logan for it, so it’s probably alright. He hopes it’s alright.)

“Lo-Lo!! Over here!” comes a friendly voice from his northeast. It’s Patton, who’s waving at him, glasses crooked, big smile. Logan fixes his glasses, and tries to smile back. It works, and even feels real.

Patton from up close certainly looks a bit tired, but he’s still happy enough, so Logan refrains from pointing it out.

When they reach the lunch table tentatively labeled as ‘theirs’, Virgil scoots over to let Logan slot between him and Roman, while Patton curls up next to Janus, relishing being with their siblings again, as much as friends are ‘neat’.

(Maybe he’s been getting back into Welcome to Night Vale. Maybe Amma cried and hugged him, calling it progress and Mom sat next to him and listened to her own show, the Magnus Archives and held him close. Maybe Virgil squeezed him tight and brought out the ‘What the Fuck is Happening in Night Vale’ board they’d made when they were twelve. He’d never tell)

Remus starts to hand out sheets of paper, asking everyone to draw their characters while he and Virgil work on plot, and it’s quiet in that little space of three pairs of siblings sketching out D&D characters, later talking about little things, big things and everything in between in the courtyard because the senior kids had exams and therefore none of them had last period. It was pleasant, and they’d all be paying their third ever group visit to Thomas later in the afternoon, too.

This was nice.

…

“Hey, Vi?” Hildi asked from behind him. They were sitting back-to-back, on her bed listening to a new album from All Time Low. The name didn’t matter too much yet.

“Yeah, Di?”

“Wanna do low level arson?” she asked, turning to face him and reclaiming her earbud. This was probably a terrible idea, but Hildi was the one person he wasn’t scared of acting out horrific ideas with. He smiles, and it’s reflected in Hildi’s eyes, dark green like the forest she lives in.

“Sure, why not?” he gets up, and Hildi turns around again for him to take his binder off and put on a sports bra, before putting his jumper (that Patton had given him for his birthday last week) back on, and patting his jean pockets for his phone. Once he knew everything was there, Hildi turned back to him, took his hand and led him outside. - “Okay, so how did you possibly, in any fucking timeline convince me to set fire to your old ‘Secret Diaries’ in the middle of the very flammable woods as if it was, at all, anything REMOTELY RESEMBLING a good idea?!”

“The power of friendship, Virge. Don’t fret, the damages are going to be well hidden in a week.”

“Oh my god but this is how forest fires start, were we crazy?!”

“Virgil calm down, nothing is more than slightly scorched, nothing is dead, and we caught every last ember! You’d know!”

“How would I know? Isn’t that more your department?”

“Spend enough time with a witch, and this is what happens. I regret nothing.”

“I regret so many things.”

“Sadness.” - “Hey, scaredy-bro, Love you.” Hildi whispers into the night, and Virgil remembers nights like this in middle school, when he started to realise that not everyone was as scared as him all the time, and he’d become more scared because everyone was watching, and laughing, and--

And Hildi had been there, a casual acquaintance from primary school becoming his best friend becoming his kind of sister because what other word is there (?), offering him trash earbuds that made the grunge music sound that much grungier, and holding him close on the nights Logan came home, unable to speak, covered in bruises, never letting Virgil tell their parents even though Logan was their twin and Virgil was so scared-- She caught him as he fell, and he hopes that she knows that he’ll forever be grateful for it.

“Love you too, you fucking danger noodle.”

Hildi chucks a throw pillow at him. It misses by at least three feet, falling off the shared bed. They both giggle, loud enough that Hildi’s mum ‘ssh’’s them from her own room, audible even with the closed door.

Three hours later, knowing full well that Virgil’s been on tumblr this whole time, Hildi whispers again.

“Hey, let’s look for Kelpies in the creek tomorrow”

This is an awful idea. But it has fewer environmental ramifications.

“Sure, why not. After December break?”

“Fuck yeah.”

They don’t last a lot longer after that.

…

Virgil wasn’t sure what he was expecting to find when he went to check on Roman, after it was ten minutes past final bell and he still hadn’t shown in the chemistry room after going back to pick up his papers.

Having a minor breakdown was not on that list, even though murder was. Virgil’s brain needed new priorities.

“Ro-Ro, Roman, what’s happening?”

“I-I can’t Virgil, I can't do it, please, I’m sorry” Virgil’s hands clenched tighter onto Roman’s shirt collar, knuckles white from the worry.

“You can't do what, Roman?” he asks, as gently as he can

“I-I’m so scared, Virgil. Mom’s not doing well, Dad’s doing the opposite of helping, and Remus and I don’t know what to do, Virgil. They keep f-fighting. The last time we tried to tell, it was by accident, and Mom had gotten so mad, and she’d said “If you keep talking about how Mom and Dad fight, then there won’t be a mom and dad’ and I can’t-- I can’t live without her, I can’t, Virgil!” Roman blubbers into his shirt, staining his hoodie and and pressing against his (currently unbound, but no big deal) chest, but Virgil literally could not give a shit about his hoodie right then, pulling him closer and cradling Roman’s head in the crook of his neck, one hand in his (fluffy, holy shit is this cotton?) hair, the other cradling his back. Roman smells like wood and some kind of flower.

“Have you told her any of this, Ro?” Virgil asks, and Romab lets out a bigger sob, burying himself into Virgil’s torso. Virgil knew that Roman’s parents weren’t on the best of terms right now, even though they kept trying to be good parents, but this? This was new.

“I c-can’t because-hic- She’ll get more upset, and she’s alsways so close to snapping and i can’t tell dad because he’ll get angry and I can’t tell Remus because he knows but he doesn’t, he doesn’t---fuck”

“Doesn’t?” prompts Virgil, softly into Roman’s hair, muffled by the soft chestnut curls.

“know, not same as I do, he doesn’t get sad, he gets mad, and he doesn’t want to become like dad but he stops talking and locks himself in rooms to not yell at people and I don- I don’t wanna make it worse.” he says softly, and Virgil starts stroking his hair, as a way to try and calm Roman down, trying not to cry a bit himself. He wishes, in a horrible way, that this was a panic attack. He doesn’t know what to do here.

“Could you find a way to maybe more quietly tell her to stay, perhaps?” asks Virgil again, even quieter this time. Roman more feels the words than he hears them, a soothing sort of humming.

“But it’s so selfish, isn’t it? That I think that? She deserves to be happy, and if being without us is happy, then she should, right? But I can’t do this with just my dad- he’s trying, but I can’t, help, please.”

And Virgil doesn’t know what to do, or what to say anymore. So he just holds Roman tighter in that very small corner in the 9-D classroom, and Roman clutches back until he’s cried it out entirely, and is ready to face everyone else. It’s been a few minutes, but they can clean up real quick.

Virgil takes out his spare hoodie and changes into it, Roman with his back turned in the boy’s bathroom, while Roman fixes his hair and washes the drying tear tracks off of his face, which were starting to feel like a mask on his face. He tries for a smile, and it’s small, but at least it’s real.

Virgil passes him a granola bar, and Roman hesitates for a second, before smiling again, taking it in hand and pocketing it. Roman offers his hand for Virgil to take, and he does, feeling the softness of Roman’s hands in comparison to his own, long and calloused with fidget rings on both hands. He squeezes.

Virgil looks up at Roman again, and they share a small smile, before walking out of the bathroom, hand in hand.

Wait- why are his hands glowing?

“Fuck you, Hildi.” he muttered under his breath.

“Huh, what?” Roman looked back at him, questioningly.

“Uh, nothing. Just thinking. ‘Cmon.” he smiles again, and he means it. With Roman, it feels like all his fears can be kept aside for another day.

…

“Oh my god, Remus, no you cannot make yourself a dwarven stripper this is a PG-13 D&D game oh my god--”

Remus looks up from the (probably very gory) conversation he’s having with Patton to reply to Virgil. “And why not? Minnie could be a stripper in the way back!”

“Just… no, thanks.”

“UUUUUGH, you’re no FUN, Virgey.”

“C’mon Bro, you could be… I dunno, a taxidermist?” Remus gets the manic glint back in his eye, snatching his sheet back from Virgil to add in the new information, scribbling frantically. His handwriting is already nigh impossible to read on a good day, so he’d better be able to read his own character sheet.

“Hey Thomas, what do you want to be?” asks Janus, undoing his loops to start a new string game, having finished his character profile- a Tiefling Wizard, about ten minutes ago while Logan became his work partner and roommate (Oh my god they were roommates), a human wizard. Virgil was the DM, therefore without a character other than an ominous voice with anxiety and a god complex at the same time, and Patton and Roman were both Elves, though Patton was an Artificer and Roman was a Bard.

Logan quickly jotted down Thomas’s responding morse code, chuckled, and read it aloud. “He says, and I quote: Can I be the thing that goes bump in the night? But also offer tea and biscuits to wayward travellers.”

Virgil smiles in Thomas’s vague direction, trying to make eye contact with the static. He fails, but Thomas thinks it’s quite nice of him to try.

“You’re too nice, T. I’ll write it down for you.”

You’re too nice

He was too nice to not let them get away with it, to stop them from killing him, to stop them from--

”Oi! You fruitcake, too nice to go running to your boyfriend, huh? Get a taste of this and see whether you’re nice enough to take it.”

He was. He didn’t object to the stuff in the bottle going down his throat, burning up his organs and destroying his body from the inside.

He didn’t have enough vocal chords left to scream, even as the other boy, final year, shook him as if trying to see whether he’s wake up, even as a hole formed in his throat, bleeding and burning and burning and burning--

It’s the last thing Thomas remembers.

“Thomas? Thomas? You’re making static-y noises again. You okay?” it’s Virgil, and it’s been nearly a hundred years and they’re dead and he’s dead and there’s nothing left of anyone he remembers but memories and he pushes aside his last memory, the worst one, to try and think of Valerie, his amazing sister who got to go to his school, sit in the same chemistry room once it was converted into a public school. Terrence, his family friend who came to his gravestone specially when segregation ended, and he could finally come and visit.

Everett, his boyfriend, who kept visiting, every day at four P.M on the dot until he was twenty and left town for college. It feels better to remember them as they were, in loose clothes playing in the woods, hide and seek and dolls and Valerie-the-Nurse and Everett-The-Soldier and Thomas-The-Film-Star and finding ways to get Terrence away to play with them too, as Terrence-The-Mechanic who could fix anything, even emotional problems as their Mom’s tittered and their fathers scowled but they didn’t matter because they were having fun.

He snaps out of it proper when Virgil manages to locate his hand, semi-visible ...

Patton’s pulling at his hair, not enough to fall out but enough to hurt, Sarcastrophe by Slipknot raging through his headphones and he knows that this is bad for his hearing, but at this point if it can drown out the absolute rage pounding in his mind, then going deaf is worth it.

He doesn’t even know why he’s mad. It’s just there and he’s screaming into his sleeves, tears caking on his face for moments before the anger arrives again and there’s a new layer of saltwater on top of it, endlessly endlessly going and he can’t stop it and why can’t it just stop--

There’s someone calling. It’s Remus. And Patton has to be happy and he thinks he might just implode with the… everything building up in him, but he has to do this so he picks up the phone.

“Hi Patty-Cakes!” The nickname makes him want to puke, even though he doesn like it, but he swallows the imaginary bile in his throat and replies.

“H-Hey, Remus.”

“Patton? You alright?” No, not at all he wants to scream and kick and cry but also freeze and never move again and his head hurts and there’s a pit in his stomach that won’t go away!

“YEAH! Uh, yeah. I’m good.” he sniffles, and he hopes Remus didn’t pick up on it. Judging by the silence on the other end, he probably did.

“Pat, please, tell me what’s wrong. I won’t say anything. Just let it out. It usually works for Roman and I, but just- see for yourself, okay?” Remus sounds a little concerned, a little desperate, and Patton thinks Remus can hear him trying to stifle his crying. He tries a little harder and all that comes out is one long moan with hitches for cries and the tears are drying, and Remus starts again, concerned, but Patton can’t hear, because the tears are catching up again and he’s screaming again and his fingernails have cut little red crescent moons into his cheek and it drips a little and Remus is still talking, soothingly and Patton latches onto that voice like it’s the only thing that could possibly carry him through this because it damn well feels like it.

He hears footsteps but not really, too focused on trying to regain control of his breathing, following Remus’s count.

When it's been a few minutes of following the count, and Patton’s breathing has evened out, he wipes off his face in his old faithful broom skirt, always ready for days like these, and he buries himself a little further into his hoodie, covering with it the phone on his ear.

“Patty--”

“No, not that, please.”

“Patton, Do you want to talk about it?”

Yes, actually, but he doesn’t really see the point, since nothing lasts for him. He’s a fucked up foster kid ™ style. Good things don’t happen to him. (Maybe to Janus. Janus deserves good things, good people, better than him--)

“Why wouldn’t this last? And you’re a foster kid?” fuck, he said that aloud? Well, rest in fucking pieces, brain to mouth filter.

“Yeah, f-foster kid here.”

“Janus too?”

“Yeah.” he whispers, throat too tired for anything else. He’s not ready for the universal ‘how’ question, but he’s not been prepared for any of this so far, so maybe he should just not bother.

“Okay. Do your foster parents show any signs of wanting to let you go?” no, not really. In fact, he’d seen Remy and Emile trying to quickly hide a sheaf of papers any time Patton or Janus entered a room, and Patton’s been pushing down the hope as much as possible, even as he sees Janus start to believe it eventually. Patton has to be ready for something to go wrong, he can’t afford to let down his guard, lest he can’t protect Janus anymore. He has to make sure nothing can faze him.

But he wants. He wants so, so badly that sometimes he lies in bed for hours, pushing down the want and trying his best not to cry, until it’s morning and he’s waking Janus up even though he could barely push himself out of bed. He says this to Remus, because he still wants. He wants to stay near Remus forever, recite oddly dark facts and binge-watch the Sharknado movies again while Logan and Janus screech in betrayal and huddle up close and he wants to have this. He wants this so badly.

“Pat, I didn’t know how to say it, but I want to be with you forever too. You like my weird facts, and you stay by me when I’m mad and I want to be there when you’re sad, Patton. I want this too.”

“R-really?”

“Of course, Patton. I don’t lie. Especially not to you.” Patton laughs, somewhat wetly, and Remus’s tone brightens when he hears it, and Patton can feel the smile on the other side of the line, manic-looking but inherently full of kindness, and everything feels a little more okay.

The hurt isn’t gone, but at least he isn’t forcing it down into his large intestine anymore.

“Thanks, Re. I-I’ll talk to Emile and Remy when they come home, okay? I’ll tell you what happened. See you in school tomorrow?”

“Course, Patton. Now I’m gonna go get something for Roman to eat before his stomach acids digest his entire body, eyes and all.”

Patton laughs. “Okay! Just don’t miss your therapy appointment, okay?”

“Never do. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The call finally cuts off, and the timer reads 37:19:73, and he probably spent a good chunk of that time having a breakdown, but strangely enough, Patton doesn’t feel super bad about it. The want is there, and he’s still not super sure about what to do with it, but he knows that he wants it to be real, and even if something does go wrong, he’ll still have Remus’s number.

The door swings open as Janus enters the house, and creaks closed downstairs, and Patton flops onto his bed, eyes still a little red, putting his phone on charge to take a nap. He’ll have emotionally charged conversation, but after this nap, thanks.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #ts logan #ts virgil #ts patton #prinxiety #intruality #tw foster system #tw homophobia #vee's writing #series: room 73

8 notes · View notes

jinmindeulle · 4 years

Text

of love and other poems | myg

word count: 3.2 k

pairing: min yoongi x reader

genre: art gallery au, pianist/artist au, pianist!yoongi x artist!reader ∣ almost smut?, fluff

warnings: minor cursing

a/n: and with of love and other poems, i officially get started with my bts works! i have been waiting so long for this moment, especially because i love bts with my whole heart and they are my ultimate everything. although seokjin’s my bias, i had to get started with the bias wrecker. more things to come!!

happy reading! ♥

My hands were tinted with every colour of my palette. Most of my paintbrushes were used, spread over my dark wooden table, also painted with multiple colours and materials. Luckily, my floor was covered with a thousand plastic sheets that Taehyung had given me after seeing how messy my art room got every time I stepped inside it. That’s why I recently stopped trying to clean it. There’s no use when I literally have been spending my entire afternoons here.

“Could you book it, Tae? Are you sure that no one’s taking my place that day?”

“Relax, y/n” he chuckled, showing me the Seoul’s National Art Gallery’s website in his laptop “I have already booked yours and mine, and I checked twice. It’s going to be alright”

“You know that this is no joke, and I always get anxious over fucking everything!” I sighed, walking backwards some steps so that I could take a look at my last piece “What do you think? I’m planning to have this one at the entrance”

“So that’s the intro? It’s stunning, y/n” Tae smiled, displaying his boxy grin “You’ll graduate with honours! I’m so proud of you!” he hugged me tight, shaking our bodies with excitement.

“You too!” I giggled, hugging him back.

Although I was constantly worried about how well my art would do in every class, Taehyung was always there to reassure me and make sure that I was satisfied. Nearing our college graduation, however, my insecurities got worse and worse. Surrounded by talented people, including my best friend, I knew for a fact that I was going to have a hard time coming up with something creative and meaningful to display as my final exam. At the same time, we were not only in charge of our work, but also of booking our place at the Seoul’s National Art Gallery on the weekend that our delivery was due, of arranging our pieces and exhibiting them for the general public as if we already were the professional artists that we hoped to become after that damned exam. My anxiety levels were reaching their peaks as that day got closer, so Taehyung made sure to spend as much time with me as possible.

“Don’t you need to get back to your apartment? You had to finish your last piece too” I pouted.

“I can manage”

“Tae…” I whined “You know how much I appreciate and thank you for being here with me, but you need to focus on your exam too. Go home, I can deal with myself for a bit”

“It’s okay, really” he took my chin with one of his large hands and playfully shook my head “Jimin is practicing his routine for his own final exam and I-”

“Need silence to paint, I know” I interrupted him, chuckling “So you’ll stay the night, then?”

“Seems like you want to” he teasingly wiggled his eyebrows, earning an arm smack from me “Ouch!”

“Go order some pizza while I take a shower, dummy”

Although some say that taking a shower is a way of relaxing, I highly disagree.

Less than two days away from my final exposition, my head wouldn’t stop thinking and re-evaluating every aspect of my already finished pieces, going over every detail that could go wrong that day. I knew I had taken care of everything and anything, but it still felt like something was missing. My art was there, ready to take to the gallery and exhibit, I rehearsed and rehearsed what to say about each piece probably a thousand times and my outfit was already picked up, obviously by Tae. What else was there to complement my artwork?

As I dried my hair, going over the poem that was behind my paintings in my head, Taehyung’s deep, caramel voice came muffled through the bathroom’s door. He was singing that same old song that complimented his tone like no other. Enjoying the melody, I turned off the hair dryer and got started with my night-time skincare routine, softly humming along Tae’s voice.

It was then when it hit me.

“That’s what I fucking need!” I yelled, running out of the bathroom with half of my face covered in my green facemask.

Taehyung’s eyes went wide upon seeing me desperately going in circles around the coffee table, screaming nonsensical words and having the eleventh mental breakdown over the course of the afternoon. But as he was too used to my stupidity, he got up from the couch and stopped me on my tracks, putting his big hands on my shoulders. “Calm down, y/n, what’s wrong now?”

“I need music!” I panicked “My art gallery won’t be complete if I don’t fucking have live music to accompany the mood! It’ll be utterly horrible!” my eyes watered “How the fuck do I find a decent musician in less than 48 hours?!”

“God, y/n, I thought you were questioning your life choices again” he sighed, engulfing me in a comforting hug. I felt some tears go down my face, angry at myself for letting those dumb things get to my head as fast as they pop up. I embraced his waist, cuddling closer to his neck but trying not to stain his pale-blue linen shirt with my facemask. “I know someone that could help”

“You do?” I sobbed, dethatching my face from his collarbone and looking up at his bright orbs.

“He’s a wonderful pianist and has brilliant taste in music. I’ll call him tomorrow first thing in the morning”

“You’re amazing, Tae” I cried, going back to his tight hold “I don’t know what I would do without you”

“Me neither” he chuckled, kissing the top of my head.

“You’ll do like no other, honey bunch. Just breath in and out, calm yourself down and most importantly, enjoy. You’ve been working so hard for this day and you cannot let it go to waste. You’ll smash it”

Once again embraced in Taehyung’s arms, I breathed in his scent as an attempt to calm down my beating heart. No one had arrived yet, but I was already at my fifth mental breakdown. All of the hard work that I had non-stop been carrying out for the past four years was hanging by a thread today, and as my best friend said, I could not ruin it by being a dumb bundle of nerves. Just when I was finally keeping my heartbeat under control, Tae’s phone started buzzing inside his suit’s pocket.

“That must be my pianist friend” he muttered, taking a look at his iPhone screen. “Yep. He’s here already, let me go get him!”

“Okay” I sighed, straightening my dress as he jogged out of the room.

My art pieces were already hanging on the walls, telling the story that I had wanted them to tell for so long. Each one had their own meaning, their own reason to be. Unlike those first paintings of mine, these had a purpose and they were able to talk to the observer, but only if they closely paid attention to every detail.

“That’s spectacular”

Such unfamiliar voice took me out of my thoughts, making me turn around to find the face that matched it. And goddamnit. Dumbfounded, speechless, mouth dried. That pianist was indeed spectacular.

“Th-thank you” that was all I could say. Damn, y/n, get it together!

“Min Yoongi” he stretched his hand, and I awkwardly shook it, praying to whatever God was above us to just let my blushing cheeks go back to normal as soon as possible.

“y/n l/n”

“Taehyung told me” he smiled, shoving his hands inside his pockets and looking around the gallery “I meant it when I said they are incredible”

“I-I appreciate it” I tightly closed my eyes, breathing in and out to help my heart beat at normal pace once more “And thank you for coming on such a short notice” I opened them up, just to find his endearing face looking at me with a soft smile over his rosy lips “It was a last-minute thought and I really needed music for my exhibit”

“I had the day off, so no worries. I know how important music is and I just wanted to help. Plus, I owed Taehyung a favour”

“It means a lo-”

“y/n! Professor’s here with a bunch of people!” a frantic Taehyung came running into the room, interrupting my exchange with the ravishing pianist “Get into place, you dummy! And you too, hyung!” and immediately after screaming at us, he went back to his place as my gallery’s receptionist.

“Good luck, artist. I’ll do my best to reach your standards” and with that, he walked straight to the giant shiny piano that was laying right in front of my last, ‘outro’ piece, and smoothly ran his expert fingers over the keys.

[BGM: i need u, piano version]

I could not take my eyes off of his veiny hands the moment he got started with his fascinating art, making me instantly regret having Taehyung take care of my one a.m. requests.

“How stunning, Miss. y/n!”

I was nearly running out of energy when Taehyung informed me that the last visitor was out of the room. He hugged me so tightly that I thought I was about to pass out, but at that point I could not care less.

“I’m so proud of you, honey bunch!” he giggled, picking me up from the ground and squeezing the life out of me, as he always does “It was impressive. Everyone loved it! You should have heard how they complimented your pieces as they left the gallery!”

“Tae…” I answered with difficulty, trying to catch some air “You’re clutching… me too… tight!”

“Sorry!” he put me down, arranging some of the hairs that went out of my perfectly styled bun.

“Thank you Tae” I sighed with a content smile “You made this possible too. And I will be there for you next week just as you were here today. I love you” I kissed his cheek, making him get flustered just as I wanted him to. “Now go home. You need to rest”

“But-”

“Kim Taehyung!” I interrupted him “I’ll finish here. I want to stay for a bit on my own and then I’ll go home.”

“Fine” he pouted “But you text me when you get home, please. It’s too late for you to be walking on the streets all alone”

“M-hm” I nodded, watching him go backwards as he waved at me “See you, babes!”

“Be careful!”

“Yes, dad” I shook my head, giggling at his antics.

Once he was out of the room, I heavily sighed and glanced back to where my paintings where. I studied them once more, pretending as if I was looking at them for the first time. Maybe the story that I wanted them to tell could be something else when a different eye observed them. Art is relative, and so were interpretations.

“W.H. Auden?”

His deep, raspy voice startled me once again, but this time I didn’t have to turn around to see him. He was right by my side. I could perceive his calm breaths while taking in the sight of my ‘intro’ piece, his eyes sparkling with something close to admiration, to esteem, to wonder.

“How’d you know that?”

“I like poetry” he softly smiled, tearing his gaze away from the painting to fixate his eyes on my own “It’s ‘The More Loving One’, right?”

“Wow… that’s… that’s impressive” I bit my lip, astonished by the man’s capacity of interpreting my intentions in mere seconds “I thought that nobody was going to get it”

“I just like art in general” he shrugged. We fell in a comfortable silence, both of us immersed in our own thoughts. However, the pianist was quick to keep the conversation flowing once again. “Let me guess… Looking up at the stars, I know quite well… That, for all they care, I can go to hell… But on earth indifference is the least… We have to dread from man or beast” he recited, with no rush and honeyed deep voice. He gently took my wrist with his hand and slowly directed me towards my second painting. My heartbeat rapidly increased upon feeling his warm touch, and I thanked Taehyung for letting me wear comfortable heels, or else I was soon going to end up collapsing on the floor “How should we like it were stars to burn… With a passion for us we could not return?… If equal affection cannot be… Let the more loving one be me.”

When we reached the following set of paintings, I was, by this time, in Cloud 9. Despite this, I still needed him to stop his astounding display of knowledge about my favourite poet, because he was already becoming something else for me. So I took over “Admirer as I think I am… Of stars that do not give a damn… I cannot, now I see them, say… I missed one terribly all day”

“Were all stars to disappear or die… I should learn to look at an empty sky… And feel its total dark sublime… Though this might take me a little time” he finished for me, as we arrived to the last trio of paintings “As much as I worship Auden, I disagree” he muttered, observing my ‘outro’ painting. “Do you think that love is fleeting and impermanent?”

“It depends… He’s talking about unrequited love, though. That kind of love should be fleeting and impermanent” I looked at him, studying his gorgeous features. He pressed his lips together and his brows snapped together, returning my gaze.

“Is unrequited love less than the requited one?”

“Of course it is” I chuckled “You cannot expect someone to love you just because you love them. You need to get over them, even if it takes you your whole life”

“Still… do you love someone any less when they do not love you back?”

“Not really. But the difference lays in the fact that you won’t ever get that with the person who doesn’t love you. Imagine having to deal with that kind of indifference just because you adore them”

“Wouldn’t you rather your lover be indifferent towards you when the other possibility left is hating you?”

“Oh, c’mon! Does self-love apply here?”

“I don’t think you ever get to love yourself more than a person that makes you feel alive” he replied, his velvety voice becoming deeper and mesmerizing, his eyes never leaving mine “Do you love yourself more than your lover?” Yoongi murmured, getting closer. Our breaths were now blending together, making it difficult to distinguish which was his and which mine.

“I-I don’t…” I stuttered, feeling the intensity of his eyes “I don’t have a… lover” I finally muttered back, unable to tear my eyes off of his.

“Let’s fix that, then”

Yoongi’s mouth found mine in a heavy, hot kiss. His lips took over mine without much effort, slowly angling his face to deepen it. I was quick to let him in, feeling how his soft tongue gradually brushed my own. I took the initiative, pulling him by the neck to get him closer, as if that was even possible by now. His hands gently caressed my hips, securely taking place on my lower back. I tugged my mouth away from his, trying to catch some air, but he was shortly after chasing my lips to pepper light kisses over them.

“I need…” I breathlessly muttered in between kisses “to close… down”

“I’ll help you” he replied, giving me one last, sloppy peck. “I’ll take you home after”

I could hardly close the door as soon as we entered my apartment. My hand was struggling, trying to get inside the lock as Yoongi peppered wet kisses down my neck while caressing my waist from behind me. A few minutes went by, my mind getting cloudier. He must have realized, because he chuckled against my neck, taking my shaking hand with his and rapidly locking the door “All set”

I turned around, taking his cheeks with my hands and directing his lips to mine, parting them to get better access to his hot mouth. I started walking, slowly but surely taking him down the corridor and right into my room, loudly closing the door once inside.

“Do you still agree with Auden?” Yoongi whispered, softly caressing my arm.

“M-hm” I muttered, fluttering my eyes open, throwing my leg over his own and getting closer to his collarbone “It is always better to be the one who loves.”

“Would you be willing to love even then, y/n?”

“One does not choose when, how or who they love, Yoongi” I detached myself from his chest, supporting my weight with my arm as I looked at him “And I think it’s better to love rather than being at the receiving end without even acknowledging it. It hurts, yes, but the feeling…”

“Yet he emphasizes the fact that he can, and will get over them. Is his love as strong as he claims?”

“It can be the strongest feeling, of course. Still, you cannot hang in there just because you are unable control it”

“Have you noticed that in those last lines, he openly admits he hadn’t missed them when they were gone? Is that what love is about?”

“If they hurt you, maybe” I yawned, going back to the comfort of his touch “You won’t miss them, but you still love them. It’s easy, young man”

“Is love easy?”

“Can you please shut your stunning mouth for a second, please? You’re the loudest hook up I’ve ever had”

“You were the loud one some minutes ago” he chuckled, caressing my back, and taking my chin with his hand. Making me look up, he left a couple of short but soft, tender kisses over my swollen lips.

“Goodnight, pianist”

“Goodnight, artist”

My phone woke me up from my slumber. Cold sheets met my hand, and I lifted my head from my pillow to take a look around my room.

He left.

I rejected whoever was calling me and got up from my bed, stretching out my limbs as I made my way to the living room. Empty.

Should have known that.

“It was just a hook up, y/n…” I murmured to myself, trying to get that in my head as fast as possible to avoid any kind of heartache. “He left as he shou-” I cut short my sentence when I noticed a scribbled piece of paper on my coffee table that wasn’t there the day before. I quickly took it, a smile plastered on my lips as soon as I started reading.

‘Last night I slept, and when I woke her kiss Still floated on my lips. For we had strayed Together in my dream, through some dim glade, Where the shy moonbeams scarce dared light our bliss. The air was dank with dew, between the trees, The hidden glow-worms kindled and were spent. Cheek pressed to cheek, the cool, the hot night-breeze Mingled our hair, our breath, and came and went, As sporting with our passion. Low and deep Spake in mine ear her voice: “And didst thou dream, This could be buried? This could be sleep? And love be thrall to death! Nay, whatso seem, Have faith, dear heart; this is the thing that is!” Thereon I woke, and on my lips her kiss.

Let’s meet again.

Min Yoongi’

in case you’re wondering, the poems featured here are ‘the more loving one’ by w.h. auden and ‘assurance’ by emma lazarus.

hope you enjoyed!

10 notes · View notes

the-wintershade · 4 years

Text

01. these are the days that must happen to you

pairing: loki x reader summary: you knock on his door bloody and nearly unconscious wc: 1.2k+ genre: angst, comfort

a/n: this is the first part in a series of angsty works written about lots of different characters because I needed the emotional breakdown and healing. I’ve also been watching a lot of emotionally moving things.

edit: I deleted my blog! accidentally! so this is the first thing I am going to publish after losing everything, so bear with me. also, if you see this and you used to follow me, please know the blip was accidental. feel free to reblog so that people can know that I didn’t just fall off the face of the earth! this series will still be uploaded and finished, it will just take a minute to reupload things so...i’m working on it though!

swear not by the moon — a series of angst: 01 | ... |

Loki expected the knock at the door over an hour ago. His blood boiled and his jaw ached from the strain of his teeth nearly shattering each other after waiting patiently for the room service he’d wasted a measly fifty dollars on.

It wasn’t worth it. He was more than aware that the morsels they offered on earth would never even hold a candle to the exquisite, luxurious food that would’ve been served at the hall of the gods.

He felt that dull ache again and paused on the way to throwing the door open.

It made him feel weak and useless, like he was nothing more than a spectator in the chaos in asgard; the throne ripped from under him, his brother the shining star of his father’s love, and him banished to the shadows where greed and jealousy festered, always envious of the brilliant, illustrious light.

It ripped him down to the core, stripped him to his weakest parts, and he hated it. Anger always flared to take its place, hot and searing.

He harnessed it, shaking off something he refused to acknowledge as guilt, and hurled the door open, his knuckle alabaster white and eyebrows arched in vexation...and there you were.

Blood coated your cheeks, vermillion spilling out of the gash on your upper arm, red stained your hands. He watched your chest shutter, your breath coming out in pained hiccups and strained gaps, your eyes were unfocused. “I...I’m sorry. I-I didn’t...know...where-else to go.” His heart squoze hearing the words whispered out loud and the anger he was ready to unleash faded away as your voice fell onto him like flower petals floating through the air.

You were delicate and fragile and innocent. So innocent and beautiful. And to see such a precious thing as defaced as the crimson that stained your clothes and clung to your hair, well...he barely contained a new surge of anger that threatened to take over.

He stepped over to you, about ready to pull you in and when you collapsed, falling right into his dark turtleneck. Gravity would have dragged you to the floor, but Loki was stronger and grasped your arms, supporting your weight and lifting you to his bathroom.

He tried to be as gentle as possible when cleaning your cuts, but each were so deep, he knew you felt them even when he used a towel and pressed with a precise touch. Just enough to draw out the blood and clean them, but nothing else.

His fingers gingerly supported your neck, pressing against your skin, drawing you against his chest, your body sprawled between his knees.

Everytime he hit a cut and you moaned in pain, his heart hurt again, just as bad as if he watched his mother frown in disappointment. He hated when he severely upset her, just as he hated what they did to you.

“Hold on,” the back of his hand brushed against your cheek, caressing your tears and letting them run over his fingers, cleansing you of the wet signs of anguish and letting his fingers become damp with salt and iron. With tears and blood. “Just hold on, dove, it’s almost over.”

….

When you woke up, the remnants of a dream followed you into consciousness. His voice was there, guiding you through a maze you couldn’t find the end to. For some reason you were panicking, scared beyond your wits and barely able to think straight, so unlike you.

You were always strong. That’s who you were. Tough as steel and unrelenting as stone and rock. You were the one everyone counted on to get what needed to be done, done.

And now you were lost.

Now you were stripped bare. Down to everything about you that you wanted to eradicate, destroy, banish. And he just watched with nothing but kindness and a cool head, taking your cold hand and enveloping it in his warm one.

He knew the way. He always knew the way.

You sat up, groaning as your flesh tugged and shifted against the heavy bandages and the healing webs forming around your skin.

You felt clean.

The clothes you wore were not your own and gave space around your body insteading of clinging to your cuts and wounds.

And then you heard his voice.

Raspy and tired, but still carrying that velvety perfectness it always did. “‘Morning.” He rolled over until he faced you. A softness you’ve rarely seen in him clouds his eyes and twists around his words, smoothing them as if he’s afraid you’ll collapse if he speaks normally. “How are you feeling?”

You fiddle with the too big sleeves on your-his shirt and feel even weaker than you did the night before. “I’m fine.” You spit out, frustrated and upset with yourself. You toss the covers off of yourself and try to stand, but your legs wobble and you fall back onto the bed.

Tears threaten to fall and you force a hand to your face to your face to collect them. Your lungs shrivel and shake as pain stops your breathing and makes an unnatural sound seep through your cracked lips and twisted teeth.

And he’s there, holding your hands whispering soothing words in your ear and it’s too much. It’s too much. You want to break away from him and tell him to stop treating you like you’re going to break and shatter. “Stop,” Your voice breaks and shrieks silently. “Just stop.”

He removes his hands but he doesn’t move away. “When will you stop trying to be tough around me all the time?” He mutters. Your tears clear out of surprise and when you look at him there’s no sympathy, no warm gleam in his deep bluish-green orbs.

All that lies there is longing. An intense longing for the truth.

“We’re both the same. Running from our vulnerabilities and emotional weaknesses because we have no idea how to deal with them. We don’t know how to handle sympathy, we don’t want to look weak, we don’t want to feel as though we’re breaking.” His fingers float on top of your hand, weaving into your nearly closed hand. “But we’re fragile. We act strong but we break sometimes. You’ve seen me sobbing. Crying so damned hard that I nearly choked on my own saliva, but you know what? You were there. You were there to put me back together again and I hated you for it. But you wouldn’t let me push you away.”

He gently opens your hand and puts his in it, pulling your palm up to his lips and planting a whisper of a kiss on it. “So don’t push me away. Let me be here for you.” He gazes up at you, pleading and earnest. “Let me help you.”

And that makes you want to cry again because you’re not used to someone just showing up for you and supporting you. You’re not used to someone supporting you when you’re down and not judging you for what you’re reduced to.

When the tears come again, you're wrapped up in him, in his warmth, his chest, his smell, him. And he doesn’t let you go, just keeps you close and holds you.

He knows that words aren’t enough to soothe you, they never mattered that much to you anyway, but the silence, the comfort in the quiet as you put yourself back together again, helps.

And he keeps you close and steadies you, even when you feel him shaking in frustration, even when you feel him sink underneath the weight of your pain. Because he’s always there to share the burden, just as you’ve always been there to share his.

26 notes · View notes

sparrellow · 4 years

Text

i can be ur angle or yuor devil

“I literally called you sexy. I winked at you. Then you sat on me and gave me a boner.”

It just so happens that the company's plans to revive Rin's failing idol status brings her closer to her previous partner-in-crime.

rating: T+ genre: romance/humor ships: rin/len word count: 6,974

Life in the idol world was tough.

Rin knew as much, because she, unfortunately, was an idol.

She wasn’t even sure how she got herself into this mess, but she was talent scouted at an age too young by Western standards, probably, and then forced into a duet with some bratty kid called Len.

The whole farce was that they looked almost exactly the same, and were the same age, and ‘had the same family name’ (they didn’t, but that was a long story). So, they were marketed as like, twins-by-chance-not-blood or mirror-images or gender-bend-friends or whatever.

That worked for a while, until Len went through puberty and became way too hot to duet with Rin, and his own popularity sky-rocketed so much that they were basically forced to be their own pop stars.

Alas, Rin was kind of just too damn average to go solo. Especially with more appealing talents in the charts, like Japan’s darling idol Miku Hatsune, or just, Len himself, she had no chance. All that could be concluded from this was that Rin was just too ugly and untalented.

After Meiko had heard Rin’s internal woes, she patted her roughly on the back and sighed.

“Oh, Rin. You’re not ugly or bad at singing. You wouldn’t have gotten this far if you were.”

Rin sniffled, and blew her ugly face into her handkerchief. Of course she’d started crying during the whole monologue, which made her sound and look even more ridiculous than before. “But I’m literally sucking. Even the manager has called an emergency meeting about my lack of popularity.”

That was true. Earlier that day, the manager had sent a text into the Vocaloid Idol Group Chat™ calling for an emergency meeting to save a certain idol’s plunging fanbase. Even if he didn’t name her directly, literally everyone in the group chat knew it was about her.

How embarrassing. Even Miku and Len saw it. She wanted to die.

Meiko tutted, shaking her head. “You know, you’ve been a duet with Len for almost your whole career. Everyone knows you as part of a duet. So, of course your image might suffer a little with such a sudden change as you go into solo careers. The manager just needs to figure out how to market you in a way that shows idol fans how truly spectacular you are as a solo idol. That’s all.”

Rin wailed. “That’s the thing. I’m not spectacular as a solo idol. I’m just painfully average.”

“Lies!” her companion said. “Rin, you are so cute. Like, you can take anything and make it cute. And your voice is unique, like Len’s. It doesn’t have to be like Miku’s to be special, it’s already special as is.”

She dabbed at her tears and sniffled again. Her stupid idol makeup was running down her face, making her look like she’d just crawled out of a TV set showing a horror movie. Even Miku would still look painfully beautiful crying, and not like some unfortunate Halloween-costume-gone-wrong.

“Thanks Meiko,” Rin said. “I don’t believe a word you said but thanks for trying to comfort me anyway.”

Meiko rolled her eyes, giving her another rough pat on the back. “Would you believe me if I was Len telling you all that stuff?”

The mention of Len made her ears turn pink. “Hmm,” she said, knowing the point her senior idol was making.

Meiko smirked. “That’s right.”

The brunette then left Rin to cry like a baby by herself in the private idol lobby of their record company building. To be honest, it would be humiliating if anyone else saw her like this, but she couldn’t bring herself to move somewhere more private to cry. Besides, everyone knew her career was going down the toilet.

Perhaps she would’ve been able to bounce back more if things were different, but a certain Blonde Boy with a Very Attractive Face made it all the more complicated.

Here was the catch: Rin was totally enamored of Len.

It was a bit sad, really. And it hadn’t always been so cliched-romance-story, with her pining after his very nicely shaped ass. In the beginning, they actually sort of hated each other, with her wanting to kick his ass to the moon.

He was the most self-absorbed dingus at first, and he would play pranks on her constantly. They weren’t even good pranks—like, once he put a whoopee cushion on her seat during a meeting and found that hilarious.

Of course, with time, they grew on each other and actually became very good friends. They had secret jokes with each other, they played pranks on other idols, they watched horror movies until dawn and then slept on the couch together for the rest of the week because they were too scared to sleep in their own beds.

It couldn’t be helped that Rin eventually fell for Len. Daring, mischievous, but charming Len. He always knew how to make her smile (or tear her hair out with frustration).

But for the sake of professionalism, she never dared uttering her true feelings to him—only confiding in Meiko from time to time, since she was the only Vocaloid she could trust. It sucked, but she couldn’t risk ruining the relationship between them, thus ruining their career had Len demanded they should go solo.

Of course, then they grew up. Len’s voice changed, as well as his appearance, and soon his own popularity outgrew the popularity of the duet itself. The manager made the wise choice to break them up. He went solo, with much success.

Rin, however, flopped like a suffocating fish out of water.

With his success, he moved on to doing occasional collaborations with Miku Hatsune, the record company’s most popular idol. She was, by definition, probably a global superstar at this stage. She toured internationally. She had fans of all nationalities, ages, genders, so have it. She was beautiful and cute and talented, and Len had finally made it far enough to sing with her.

It made Rin’s blood boil, because she was petty and jealous. She was also worried. Miku was just so perfect. It was inevitable that Len would fall for her, right? They were perfect for each other. Perfect people love other perfect people.

Rin blew her nose noisily and sunk back into the lounge chair. This sucked. This sucked.

Gumi appeared, having heard her meltdown, and offered some makeup wipes to fix her face.

Rin took them graciously.

“Is this about the text from the manager in the group chat?” she asked, handing her another wipe after Rin had used up the other one.

Rin just looked at her and said nothing. There was no need to say anything.

Gumi didn’t press and fell silent. She was a nice idol. She wasn’t nearly as successful as the others, but she was quite popular in her own way. At least she was kind enough to not nag about the matter.

Another sad thing about popularity was that Len soon became distant once they parted ways. They used to be so close, but now Rin felt like she couldn’t even approach him unless approached herself. Of course they talked, but only occasionally. Their careers had drifted so far apart they barely saw each other anyway.

Had their friendship only survived because they were a duet? Was Len glad to be a solo artist now and not having to deal with her anymore? It was sad to think about.

Gumi squeezed Rin’s shoulder and gave her a reassuring smile. “It’ll all work out, Rin,” she said. Then she handed her her pack of makeup wipes. “You can keep them. I have plenty of extras anyway. Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Thank you,” Rin said, watching as she jumped up from the couch and skipped off. (Probably to do better things than comfort a failing idol.)

Soon came the time for the not-so long-awaited yet very-muchly-apprehended emergency meeting to fix Rin’s poor career.

She didn’t want to go. She’d rather be curled up in her room, stuffing her face with chocolate and crying over poorly-written teen romance on Netflix. But Meiko had practically dragged her to the meeting room, makeup-less and in her go-to comfort clothes: a stained, baggy sweater and yoga pants.

Rin had already been humiliated enough as is, so showing up in this state couldn’t be any worse.

Supposedly.

Like fate itself had it in for her, Len also showed up in the elevator on the way to the meeting. He did a double take when he saw her.

“Oh, Rin! I almost didn’t recognise you.”

Rin then promptly burst into tears.

Len blinked at her in confusion and panic. “I, uh, didn’t mean that in a bad way—”

Meiko just put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. She’s just being fragile.”

He looked at Rin with an eye of concern, but said nothing more.

They filed into the meeting room in silence, and Len took a seat at a distance from her. Much to her further dismay, Miku took the seat right next to him, and they started chatting and showing each other things on their phones.

Rin didn’t know if she was going to have a tantrum or a breakdown.

The meeting began with the manager going over sales-related information, and just general, boring business things. About half-an-hour into the meeting, though, he set aside his stacks of paper, clasped his hands in front of him and leaned forward; a look that meant serious business.

Oh boy.

“I’ve discussed with both the marketing and sales department leaders as to where to go next with Vocaloid’s image. As you know, the idol market is ever-changing and in demand of fresh concepts. We’ve decided on a new image for some idols, and we appreciate everyone’s understanding and cooperation with this change.”

Translation: Rin’s career is going down the toilet, so we need to make her more interesting or something.

“Miku and Len,” the manager addressed. The pair straightened up with serious expressions. “I want you two to have a new image. You’re both our most successful idols, and your fanbase is very supportive of your every move. This is why we feel it’s best for you to take on an image of innocence and purity. You will become Vocaloid’s angels.”

Rin was already sinking down into her seat. This was going so terribly awful. Miku and Len? Angels? Together? She couldn’t even see where this was going for her.

Unfortunately, she’d find out very, very soon, as the manager then fixated his gaze on her.

“Rin. Ever since going solo, your fanbase has been dwindling and sales for both your albums, new singles, and lives, have been suffering.” Oof. “The marketing department has acknowledged this is a fault of their own, for not better marketing your image as something new and fresh after splitting from your duet with Len. We didn’t anticipate Len’s popularity to skyrocket so much that it would overshadow your own success.”

Everyone’s eyes were on her. Including Len’s.

“Your image has always been cute and innocent, and while you fit it quite well, the market is flooded too much with idols like you. That’s why we decided, you will become our devil.”

Rin almost fell out of her chair. Her entire face lit up red like a traffic light.

A devil. A devil. They were going to make Miku and Len innocent and pure, and her evil and chaotic like Satan? Wow. Wow. Rin never wanted to die more than now.

“A devil may sound bad, but we want to combine your current cute image with something mischievous, cheeky, alluring. The current idol market lacks that sort of appeal, and we believe people would become quite attracted to it. You’ll be cute, but with a twist of something dark. We think this new image will suit you quite well.”

Okay, so, Rin representing evil was like a match made in heaven? Did she radiate chaotic evil energy or something? She literally couldn’t even kill a fly without wanting to cry with guilt.

“Any questions or concerns about our decisions?” the manager asked the group.

The room was silent.

“Good,” he said with a smile. “Miku, Rin, Len. Please stay for further discussion about our next campaign. The rest of you are free to leave.”

Meiko shot Rin a sympathetic look before leaving, and once the room emptied out, the manager motioned for the trio to move closer.

“First, do you three have anything you would like to say regarding these changes?” he asked them, sorting through his paperwork to find his notes.

It was quiet a moment, before Len slowly put up his hand.

“Yes?”

“Why are Miku and I involved with this image chance if we’re fine in terms of sales and popularity?”

Big oof. But, honestly, it was a question on Rin’s mind, too. Why were they involved with this miserable attempt at reviving her career?

“While you two are both doing very well, the sales department has noticed that you two have both, er, capped for your sales, and they're no longer increasing. They predicted that it could decrease as people become bored with your current images, so in order to prevent that, we wanted to take a different approach.”

It was Miku and Len’s turn to blush.

“Besides, your popularity will help promote Rin to a larger audience, which is why your next campaign will be together.”

Rin wanted to hide under the table.

“Any other questions?”

Everyone shook their heads, so the manager moved on. “As I said, your next campaign will be together. We were thinking of doing a photoshoot to promote a popular brand of clothing, and using that as a base of your new image. Respectively, Len and Miku promoting a more soft, pure style of clothing, and Rin, promoting a more gothic look.”

Rin? Gothic? Was she going to have to change her stage name to Darkness or Elvira or Raven Way to suit her image, too?

“We’ll see how this goes. If the campaign gains enough popularity, we’ll keep moving forward, perhaps on to new songs and collaborations with each other.”

The manager then relayed the information for the photoshoot, asked for any more questions, and after receiving no further response, dismissed them.

Miku said nothing much once they left the meeting room, simply excusing herself as 'she had business to get to'. Len stayed behind, staring at the carpet between him and Rin.

“So, uh, what do you think?” he asked.

Rin looked at him. “I’m so sorry you two have to get involved with me.”

Len snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. We don’t care about that. But you care, right?”

“I guess I don’t really want to be Satan, but…” she said in a low voice.

He chuckled, and Rin’s face grew warm. “Yeah. I can understand it. But, not saying you’re evil or anything, I feel like some cute devil image would totally suit you.”

“Excuse me?”

Len dodged her elbow, stepping back. “I mean, you’re already cute. Putting angel wings on you would be boring. But you with some devil wings? I can see the appeal—”

Rin didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended. She stepped on his foot to stop him mid-sentence. “Don’t mock it!”

“I’m not,” he said with a grin. “I’m just saying, it’ll be interesting to see what they’ll do with your image.”

She flushed. “Yeah, well, I wonder what they’ll do with yours.”

He laughed and turned away, starting off down the hall. “Don’t knock it until we’ve tried it, Rin,” he said over his shoulder.

Rin sighed. He had a point… but.

Still.

She had tried it, and was ready to knock it.

Rin stared at her reflection in complete and utter mortification. Her wardrobe for the photoshoot was something she'd only be caught dead in. One outfit was a long, black dress that made her look a bit like a nun. The other outfit—her current one—consisted of leather shorts, a black corset top, fishnet tights, and lots of unnecessary ribbons.

Oh, and platform boots, but they were kind of cool.

She grimaced at the stupid devil accessories she had to wear. Seriously? A tail? Wings? Little horns? This was a nightmare.

Meanwhile, Miku could wear this pretty, floral dress and cute, frilly overall skirt. She looked so soft and fluffy and it made Rin want to throw herself into piranha-infested waters.

Len appeared behind her reflection in the mirror. He had matching overall pants to Miku’s skirt, and a frilly, white button-up shirt with a ribbon at the neck. Rin never knew she needed to see him in soft, feminine clothing until now.

“I told you it’d suit you,” he said with a shit-eating grin.

“I look like I just walked out of a 90s vampire-romance manga.”

Len snickered. “Yeah, well, you would fit in really well with the kids in Harajuku,” he said. “Anyway, you’re totally giving off cute-sexy vibes.”

“How can one be cute and sexy?” Rin asked, not sure to take what he said seriously, let alone as a compliment.

He began playing with her tail, using it to hit her in the legs. “I don’t know. But you somehow do it.”

Her face burst into flames. Thank god her makeup was thick enough to hide that (though her ears were giving away the secret).

Len then walked off, as if nothing ever happened, but that was basically his signature move. The guy was really good at making her melt and not noticing it at all.

The first shoot was with Miku, and the photographer seemed to be really into making it weirdly intimate, so it felt rather homoerotic. Not that Rin cared, because, well, even she felt slightly gay for Miku.

That aside, it was pretty uneventful. Miku was polite, and laughed when her tail kept knocking the set pieces over.

Next was Miku and Len. Since they were ‘angels’, they did, like, angel-ly things or whatever. Looking beautiful, eating grapes and watching humans make fools of themselves. (That was what the photographer said.)

Of course, some poses made Rin’s blood curdle with jealousy as she stood to the side watching, in between the makeup and hair artist fussing about her appearance. But her prayers were soon answered as Miku was sent off set and Rin called up to start her shoot with Len.

“So, you two were partners, right?” the photographer asked, as he set them up for the first pose.

“A duet, yes,” Rin said.

“Hmm,” the photographer said, in a way that was slightly concerning.

The first few poses were fairly tame. Rin being evil, Len being good. “Steal his grapes,” the photographer ordered. “Okay, good, now look sad because she stole your grapes.”

Why were grapes even a part of this weird shoot? What did they have to do with heaven and hell, or whatever the theme was?

“So, now, Len, I want you to look sad for your partner. She’s become evil.”

Rin frowned at the directions, and Len burst out laughing in her face. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” he apologised to the photographer.

“Rin, you want to lure Len over to the dark side.”

Len snickered again, his expression faltering just for a moment. Rin rolled her eyes, and followed the directions for how she should pose.

She placed a hand on his cheek, leaning over him and pressing a finger to her lips. He looked up at her with wide eyes, and for a moment she thought it was his actual expression, before she remembered the context of the photo and yada yada yada.

The photographer repositioned them a few times, telling Rin to play with his hair and Len to act as if he was pushing her away.

The whole time, Rin could only think about how bright red her ears were, and how the photo editor would probably have to photoshop them back to a human colour.

Eventually it came to the last photo of them together.

“Okay. Len, you have given in. Your devil has lured you to the dark side.”

Rin wanted to face-palm. Len raised his eyebrows at her and winked.

“Creep,” she muttered to him.

“Hey, you’re the one dressed in leather right now,” he said.

“Yeah, and it’s giving me a massive wedgie.”

Len snorted. “TMI, Rin.”

The photographer began unbuttoning Len’s shirt somewhat. “Rin, hold his collar and motion like you’re trying to take off his shirt.”

“Why,” she said without thinking, and the photographer stopped to look at her questioningly. Len was laughing into his hand. She cleared her throat. “Sorry, I was kidding.”

As if wanting revenge, the photographer then instructed, “Also, I want you to sit on his lap, so that you’re both facing each other.”

Len stopped laughing, checking to see if the photographer was serious. (He was.)

Rin, with the very last remaining bit of courage, reluctantly sat down so that she was straddling Len. Their eyes met, and they pretty much communicated silent apologies to each other.

She held onto his shirt as per instruction, pretending that she was unbuttoning it. A hint of his bare stomach peaked through at her, and she almost screamed.

Len was told to hold her waist. The poor boy seemed humiliated.

Imagine having to shoot something this grossly intimate with someone you’re incredibly not attracted to, Rin thought. That was probably what was going through his brain.

After being repositioned a few times, the photoshoot between them was finally over, and Rin leapt off his legs like she had been sitting on flames the whole time.

“I’m sorry,” she said to him, and Len looked at her with surprise.

“Why are you sorry?”

“Oh, just. That pose was a bit… Uh.”

He shook his head and patted her shoulder. “No need to apologise, Rin. It’s part of the job.”

Right. Right.

It’s part of the job.

She didn’t know why those words stung as much as they did.

The rest of the shoot was fairly tame. Perhaps the photographer sensed their discomfort with that one position, but he didn’t really force them into any intimate positions after that. Thank god (but Rin was also a little disappointed, you know, because …).

Once they wrapped up the shoot and returned to regular human form, Miku suggested that they order pizza and chill out at her apartment.

As they headed there in a taxi, Len nudged Rin and gave her this pouty expression.

“I’m so sad they didn’t let you keep the devil wings and stuff,” he said.

“Why, did you want to wear them?” Rin asked.

“No!” Len exclaimed, looking flustered at such a suggestion. “I—I—”

Miku chuckled at them from the front seat. “You two are really close, aren’t you?”

“What?” Rin said.

Miku and Len both looked at her, surprised by her response.

“I mean, we barely even talk anymore.”

A strange expression crossed Len’s face, and he opened his mouth to say something, before snapping it shut and turning away to stare out the window. Miku watched this, before looking back at Rin.

“Really?” she said. “It doesn’t seem that way to me.”

Then Miku turned back to face the front.

Rin was silent. Had she said something wrong? She thought Len would laugh about it or agree, but…

She sighed and turned to stare out the window as well. She could tell pizza was going to be awkward.

As expected, pizza was pretty awkward.

Len was very strangely serious with everything, and Miku tried desperately to lighten the mood. Eventually, Rin gave up and made some excuse about needing to get home so she could call her parents.

She stared at her long-untouched LINE chat with Len while waiting at the station for the next train home. It was only the truth, though; what she’d said. They'd used to talk every day, whether it be in person or through text. But then one day, he'd just stopped, and so did she.

Was it her fault, or something? She had tried initiating conversation before, but they’d died rather quickly. To be honest, today’s photoshoot was the first time they’d talked that much in like, a year or so.

So why was Len so upset about what she said?

He seemed to ignore her after that, or avoided her as much as possible. Even in the followup meetings between him, Miku, her and the manager, he avoided her gaze entirely.

The manager gave them some pictures from the shoot at their last meeting, saying their photos would be in the next volume of Sara, a pretty popular alternative fashion magazine.

One of the photos he’d given them happened to be that pose.

Rin stared at it. It felt incredibly unnatural and awkward at the time, but as a photo, it looked peaceful and natural, and the expression on Len’s face was something different, almost as if he truly was captivated by her or something. Had they mysteriously photoshopped all their humiliation out of the picture?

When she got home from work, she stuck it on the wall above her bed, alongside other photos from their many escapades in the years before. It hadn’t grown much since they went solo, so it was nice to have a new addition.

Rin still felt miserable about it all. She didn’t know if she should message him an apology, or try talking to him about it, because she just didn’t understand.

She pulled out her phone and called Meiko.

Meiko picked up on the third ring. “What can I help you with, Little Miss Devil?”

“Oh no. Let me guess. You saw the photos?”

“Of course. Miku and Len were showing everyone in the lobby. Your butt looked really nice in those pants.”

“Please don’t remind me of my trauma,” Rin moaned, thinking back to her killer wedgie. She was pretty sure she got chafing from those shorts.

“So, what’s up? You don’t just call me for small talk.”

Rin winced, realising she’d kind of used Meiko as a bit of a therapist lately.

Nevertheless.

“It… it’s Len.”

“Len, huh? What did he do?”

“It’s not what he did, more so what I did.”

Meiko was silent for a moment. “Hmm.”

Rin hesitated. “What?”

“I think I know what you did. Miku told me about what happened a few weeks ago, and was asking for context or whatever.”

“What did you tell her?”

“Nothing,” Meiko said smoothly. “Anyway, I was waiting for you to talk to me about it, because I only have one thing to tell you: Talk to him about it.”

Rin clenched her jaw. “Talk to him about it? Why?”

“Because I’m not Len and I can’t tell you what his problem is.”

“Wait,” she said. “Has Len told you about this?”

Meiko hummed. “Not specifically, but I know some things.”

Rin began to tug at her hair, anxious. “Wait. What. What does that mean?”

“Rin,” Meiko said in a firm voice. “From one experienced adult to a less-experienced adult: communication is key.”

Not letting her get another word of protest in, the woman hung up.

Rin stared at her phone in her hand. She was mentally pooping herself. What was going on? What terrible, awful thing was going to happen next?

Reluctantly, she opened her LINE chat with Len and began writing a message to him.

Much to her surprise, Len agreed to meet up at a cafe on their day off. It was one of those hole-in-the-wall cafes, so not really busy anyway, and they took a seat in the far back corner of the shop, where it was more private for a serious discussion.

He was very quiet the whole time, until they’d settled into their seats. He looked up at her, sitting back in his chair. “So, what did you want to talk about?” he asked, straight to the point.

Rin hadn’t elaborated the reason for the talk or anything, let alone even thought about how she would broach the topic. “Uh, um…” she said, staring down at the menu in front of her. Did she want milk tea, or something herbal? She wasn’t sure how pleasant the conversation was going to be, and if shit were to hit the fan somehow, maybe she should avoid dairy in case her (anxious) shit were to also, figuratively, hit the fan.

Len raised an eyebrow at her.

“About… the day of the photoshoot,” Rin finally said, settling on just getting straight to the point. “I’m sorry about what I said. I didn’t realise it was going to upset you. It… I didn’t say it to hurt you, or be mean, or anything.”

He shifted in his chair, picking up his menu to read. “You don’t need to apologise for it. I know what you meant. And it’s true.”

Rin bit her lip. “But I still upset you.”

Len looked at her over the top of the menu. “I’m not looking for your apology,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t want it.”

“Oh.” Ouch.

He put his menu down. “Have you decided what you want, yet?”

“Yeah."

“What do you want?”

Rin blinked at him a few times, before acknowledging he wasn’t going to move on before she gave an answer. “Er, I’ll just get some yuzu tea.”

“No food?” he asked, pointing at the cake and sweets menu.

She shook her head, and he stood from his chair. Was he going to leave?

Then he pulled his wallet out from his pocket. “Well, I’ll get you something anyway,” he said, and left to order the food before she could protest.

Rin stared down at her knees, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. She quickly wiped them away and willed herself not to cry in front of him. Again.

What did he mean about not apologising? What did he want, then? Was he just really, really mad at her?

She glanced over her shoulder to check he hadn’t just run away, but he was at the counter, making their order.

Right. She needed to pay him back for this, too. She pulled out her purse and checked she had enough change to give him.

“How much?” she asked when he sat down.

“No,” he said, eyes narrowing in on her purse.

Rin ignored his response, counting out her coins to give him. Before she could hand them over, he reached out and pushed her hand back to her.

“Really, Rin,” Len insisted. “You don’t have to pay me back.”

Sulking, she dropped the coins back into her purse and put it away.

They both fell into silence until their order came. Len had gotten honey toast for them to share.

It was like old times; when they used to always hang out together, when they would order something crazy like a giant parfait meant for four people and try to finish it all without making themselves sick.

Rin couldn’t help but frown.

Len paused when handing her a spoon. “Do you not like honey toast?”

“Huh?” she said, glancing up at him. “Oh, no. It’s fine.”

He raised an eyebrow at her.

Rin tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, digging the spoon into the dessert. “It’s just nostalgic, that’s all.”

Len gazed at her.

She looked away from him, embarrassed by the very intense-and-direct eye contact he was giving her.

He then said, “Rin, I know we’ve gone our own ways and fallen out of contact, but you do know I consider you one of my closest friends, right? Just because we don’t talk as much as we used to, or see each other that much anymore, doesn’t mean I don’t think of you as someone special to me.”

Rin flushed. She set down her spoon on the table, losing her appetite. “So, you are mad at me about what I said.”

Len opened his mouth, like he was about to protest, but then he hung his head. “It’s… not…” he said, before sighing in defeat. “It’s more so, I’m sad that… that’s how you think. I’m sad that things made you feel like we weren’t good friends anymore.”

She wanted to cry again, but held her breath in an attempt to stop the tears. “Mmmmmmm,” was all she could say.

He then rested his head in his hand, playing with his spoon in the other. “I guess maybe I’ve been a bit careless about it all and I haven’t really… thought about how you’ve been feeling. And what you said made me realise that.”

“It’s my fault,” Rin began to blubber. “I should’ve talked about it sooner rather than just making the assumption you weren’t interested in me anymore.”

Len glanced up at her, noticing her ugly crying face, and reached for a napkin to hand to her. She hid behind it, trying to silence her loud sobs.

“Rin, we worked together for so long. I couldn’t just throw away our friendship after that,” he said with a pained expression.

Rin wiped her face and sighed. “I know. I’m being unreasonable. But… seeing you with Miku and everything, it just…”

Len snorted. “Miku and I, we’re friends, well, more like colleagues, but we don’t, you know, click like you and I do. Sure, we hang out and talk and stuff, but with you… I can just be me. You laugh at all my jokes. With Miku, it’s not like that. It’s not always fun and easy and natural like it is with you.”

Her ears began to burn. “Len…” she said. God. Just rip out her heart right there. He was saying all these nice things about them being friends, and she didn’t know whether to be happy or sad. Well, of course she was happy, but… she wished it was more than just. Friendship.

Maybe it was time she just. Laid it flat on the table. Killed two birds with one stone. Set the whole kitchen on fire and just get it all out.

Len looked at her from across the table, spoon in hand, waiting expectantly for her to continue with what she wanted to say.

Rin sucked in a breath, pushed back her tears and smacked her hands on the table, making both herself and Len jump, and also everyone else within earshot.

He blinked. “Rin—”

“Len,” she said, before realising she had no idea what she wanted to say next. She’d stood from her seat and was leaning across the table, staring at him. Her face grew warm as panic began to set in. Okay, okay, just say something at least, because this was getting awkward. “Len.”

Len gulped. “Yes?”

Rin sucked in a shaky breath. Okay. Here we go. Here we go—

“Marry me please,” she blurted.

Len dropped his spoon on the floor.

Rin had never run so fast to the bathroom in her life. She didn’t even stick around to hear his response (nor see his reaction). She just high-tailed it to somewhere where she could emergency call Meiko for advice.

“I just proposed to Len,” she cried as soon as Meiko answered the phone.

There was a moment of silence, before she said, “Congratulations?”

“I’m serious,” Rin said. “I literally told him to marry me.”

“Good for you.”

“Meiko! What do I do? I can’t go back out there and face him after that!”

Meiko sighed. “Where are you?”

“In the bathroom.”

She snorted. “So you just left him there after that? Did you even wait for his answer?”

“No! Of course not! Why would I wait for rejection?!”

“How do you know he was going to reject you? Did you see the future, or something, Rin?”

“Well, no , but—”

“Rin,” Meiko said, her tone suddenly very serious. “I’m not your fairy godmother. I can’t help you out of this situation. Go back out there and talk to him. Len is your friend, isn’t he? Do you think he’d completely destroy you as a rejection? Does that sound like him? Think about it.”

Rin did think about it. “Well… no… maybe…”

“So, what are you doing? Don’t leave him there by himself to wonder what the hell is going on.”

She closed her eyes, leaned back against the back of the toilet and pinched the bridge of her nose. A few beats of silence passed, before she let out an exhale. “Okay. Okay. I’ll do it.”

“Good. Now, get your ass out of the bathroom, you disgusting creature.”

“R-right! Thank you Meiko!”

Rin hung up, sat on the toilet for a moment longer, before getting up to check her reflection in the mirror and emerge with caution from the bathroom. A part of her felt relief seeing Len still at their table, another part felt pure and utter terror.

He was on his phone with a serious expression, and she had no idea how to decipher that.

Without a word, she took her seat across from him and had a mouthful of her citrus tea (which had long gone cold).

Len glanced up, looking surprised, and just stared at her with wide eyes.

Okay.

Damage control.

Okay.

Rin took a breath. “So, um, I panicked…” she began to explain.

Len cocked an eyebrow.

“The truth is,” she said, staring down hard at the barely-touched honey toast in front of them. “The truth is that you’re really hot.”

Oh boy. This was going south really fast.

“Thank… you?” Len said, confused.

Rin smacked her forehead. “Yeah, like, so, um, I’m, you know…”

He tilted his head. “I don’t know.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, and it all began pouring out of her mouth like vomit.

“I’ve been really attracted to you for like ever and it’s been eating me up inside and everything just feels a lot worse because I really like you and I don’t know how to handle it but you know I’m happy to just be friends if that’s not reciprocated because I never really wanted to confess my feelings to you anyway and I know it’s not professional or anything but please don’t hate me just because I like you like way more than a friend because I also like being friends with you please don’t hate me.”

Len blinked several times, processing that flood of information, before opening his mouth to speak.

Rin clapped her hands over her ears and cried, “It’s okay! You don’t need to answer! I just wanted to get that off my chest! Let’s forget this ever happened and move on.”

He shook his head at her. “No.”

She lowered her hands. No? That’s it? Just no?

Well, okay then. Alright. Cool cool cool.

Rin sat back in her chair, dazed and uncertain how to take in such a completely cold rejection.

“No, I don’t want to forget this happened,” he continued. Wait. What? He averted his gaze to the table, rubbing his hands together. “I don’t really understand why you think I’d hate you or something.”

She gawked at him. “Wh… what do you mean…?”

Len dug a hand into his hair, scrunching up his fringe in his fist. He looked up at her from under his dark lashes. “Rin, I literally flirted with you the entire photoshoot.”

Rin almost choked on her own saliva. “You—wh—huh. ”

He pressed his palms together, using his thumbs to massage the space between his eyebrows. “I literally called you sexy. I winked at you. Then you sat on me and gave me a boner.”

Her soul left her body. It just upped and left. See you later, humanity. I’m outta here.

Rin slid down in her chair, looking up at the ceiling. “I didn’t even notice,” she said, feeling like the world’s biggest clown.

“I’m surprised you didn’t even notice,” he continued. “That thing was like rock hard. I was shitting myself. I was praying so hard no one else would notice. I never felt so close to death in my entire life.”

“Not the boner, Len,” she said. “I mean, I didn’t notice that either but—the flirting. I meant the flirting.”

“Oh.”

“I just thought your pants were really stiff or something.”

“Aha… well.”

Rin smacked her palm against her forehead again. “I can’t believe it. I just thought you were teasing me for having to be a devil or whatever.”

“While that is quite hilarious, I was way too turned on by you at the photoshoot to mock the fact that we were dressed like the occult.”

She was defeated. That’s it? She’d been panicking over this for… nothing?

Wait. Wait a minute.

Meiko… Meiko had totally pushed her to do this, despite the chance of her getting rejected. Which meant…

Meiko totally knew Len felt the same way.

That… evil…!

“So, like, does this mean we’re dating, or…?” Len asked.

Rin turned beet red at the mention of dating. Dating Len. Wow. Wow. Just wow. Big fat wow.

“Y-yes?” she squeaked.

He grinned at her, a mischievous glint in his eye. “So, does that mean I can have you sit on me again?”

“Never mind I changed my mind—”

“Noooo—”

Rin smiled and sat forward, leaning across the table. She remembered the look on his face from the photoshoot, with his wide eyes staring up at her as she had leaned over him, playing with his hair. She wanted to see that look. She wanted to see it again.

Len gazed at her as she reached out and grabbed the collar of his shirt. She brought her face close to his. “Only if we go to your apartment after this. I haven’t cleaned mine for a month.”

“That’s disgusting,” he said into her face. “Sounds good.”

Then she kissed him on the lips.

It was awesome.

#vocaloid #fanfiction #kagamines #kagamine mirrors #rin kagamine #len kagamine #kagamine rin #kagamine len #rinlen #lenrin #rinxlen #lenxrin #vocaloid fanfiction #wrote this in one sitting and it shows #honestly this was like a crack fic basically #enjoy tho #omg had to go fix all my line breaks realised they Didnt compute #rip

26 notes · View notes

youllallriseintheink · 4 years

Text

Your Own Medicine

Someone once asked me what it would take for Joey to start taking the ink-related problems in the studio seriously. I answered privately that I would show him. Well, here it is. (Or at least, my own best shot at fucking traumatizing the Drew.)

---

“They haven’t even started on the new branch of Heavenly Toys, and you increased their funding? Why?!” Joey yelled.

Grant looked only slightly nervous- a good sign, because lord knew he wouldn’t be if there were something to be mad about. “The basement where you wanted them to set up has a serious pest problem. The extra money is to call an exterminator. That’s all.”

Joey sighed. Of course. It was like everyone in this studio would take the slightest excuse to shirk work. “And they wouldn’t set up because the exterminator would have just torn everything down anyhow, right?”

Grant broke eye contact. This part was rather hard to believe, but it wasn’t his story, or his fault. “No. They said they heard growling down there. Someone described it as being like a wolf’s. They didn’t want to go down there until things were figured out.”

Now Joey understood. His prison for failed ink experiments was in the floor beneath where they were supposed to be setting up new toy-making devices. He’d just show Mr. Cohen the hatch from which the growling was coming from, and everything would get moving again! Time was money, after all. “Oh!” he chirped, getting up from his chair. “Okay, this is an easy fix. Come along.”

As soon as the door creaked open to the basement, Joey could tell that things would be a little more difficult than that. For starters, the lights refused to turn on. By the light of the floor above it, Joey could see a floor littered with ink stains, empty bacon soup cans, and other debris. It was the type of environment that made a person whisper their words, even when there was no need to. “Did they mention anything about the lights not working?” Joey whispered.

“No,” Grant whispered back. “This must be new. Maybe a result of the pests.”

There were some flashlights on the steps- as though someone had set them up for them. Joey stepped into the dark basement, Grant right behind him, leaving the thin beams of their flashlights as their only way of seeing once the door closed. Joey shivered. He really regretted the floor’s maze-like layout now. But, the plan remained the same- show Grant the hatch door, go back. Wouldn’t take more than ten minutes.

As they went on, the environment became more ink-soaked. The black floors and black walls were almost blinding, leaving the duo to rely on touch as much as eyesight to find their way. Not three minutes into their journey, Joey walked straight into a wall with a thud. The growl that emerged in response was none that he’d ever heard before. It didn’t sound like any of his ink creatures. What was more, it sounded close. Suddenly, going on until they found the hatch seemed like a very bad idea.

“You see?” Joey said, somehow finding it in him to sound confident. “I have an experiment right behind this wall. But it’s locked up, nice and safe. Tell the Heavenly Toys department to give me a couple hours, and they can get going. Alright?”

A second growl sounded. This one sounded closer. “You’re sure it’s locked up, Mr. Drew?”

“Yes,” Joey growled. Joey looked around with his flashlight, finding what he was looking for: a fire axe, hung up on the wall. He took it down and nearly threw it into Grant’s hands. “Here, take this if you’re so nervous. Leave the flashlight. I’ll lead.” Lord knew that Joey felt less anxious with one of them armed. Where were those growls coming from? Had one of his creatures mutated and escaped?

They carried on back. Joey thought he remembered the way they’d come- two lefts, two rights, another left... but he quickly found himself with no idea where they were. He could hear that creature coming closer- hear that third set of footsteps sloshing through the ink. Finally, they passed a projector playing a “Nightmare Picnic.” By the increased light, Joey could tell somewhat where they were, and he eased immediately. There was a floor map in one of the nearby rooms- he just needed to figure out which, and maybe they’d be okay. Then, a black, inky hand appeared from behind the wall. Joey screamed and dodged into a nearby room, locking the door behind them. The next thing he did was to hang his flashlight from the ceiling- it wasn’t much light, but it would have to do. Grant looked to Joey, desperate for guidance. He tried to say something, but Joey shushed him. There was paper and pencils on the table in front of them, so Grant wrote out his message instead.

What are we going to do?

Joey took a pencil and wrote back, stay quiet for a few minutes so that thing will go away, then leave. We can’t be far from the stairs up now.

I saw that thing’s face, Grant wrote back. It looked like Norman Polk. He wasn’t feeling brave enough to accuse Joey of anything, but he’d seen what he’d seen, and was very curious about what Joey would have to say about it.

Joey knew it was impossible. Sammy had noticed Norman getting infected about two weeks ago- long enough that he’d feel sick, but certainly not long enough to make him go crazy. He and Sammy weren’t planning on kidnapping Norman for another few days yet- they had plenty of time. It isn’t, Joey wrote.

Are you sure? He went missing a few days ago. And a few days before that, his wife asked me to talk to him because he had been acting really irrational and she didn’t know what was wrong. I don’t know what she expected me to do that she couldn’t- I guess she was just desperate. But he was very clearly on the brink of a mental breakdown. He even said that he needed to ‘go away’ for everyone’s good. Of course, I tried to steer him away from that and suggested he go to a hospital, but that was the last time I saw him. Maybe this was where he ended up.

Cold dread filled Joey as he read the message. There was no way- no way that the ink had affected Norman that profoundly after only a few weeks. But then... Joey thought of just how strange Norman was. His stalking, his strange questions, his reputation in the music room as an awkward creep. He was the kind of person whose movements, whose inflections of voice, whose shifty eyes all read strangeness- if not danger. Joey would have been surprised if the man didn’t have some sort of underlying issues. Maybe the ink had gotten to him quicker because of that.

Maybe you're right. We'll handle that once we've got the lights turned back on. But for right now, let's just focus on getting out. I think it's been long enough.

With that, the duo stepped out. The hallway was partially illuminated now, by a projector playing a Bendy cartoon against a wall. Joey hadn't made it five steps before a hand came out of the shadows and Joey felt himself being picked up by the collar and slammed against a wall. There could be no doubt now- his assailant was- or had been- Norman Polk, and looking none too good for a man only recently infected with ink. His entire right side was ink- his right hand black and cold as ice against Joey's chest while the other was white-knuckled and warm. Tendrils of ink spread across his face like veins, but left both of those angry, savage eyes untouched.

"What are you doing?" he growled. "You here to lock me up? Cause that's not gonna happen. Here to get rid of me So I can't spill your secrets?" It was almost amazing that such an animalistic voice could even produce words.

Grant spoke up. "Actually Norman-"

Norman turned to look at him briefly, then immediately turned back to Joey. "Oh. Or maybe you're here to do with him what you did to me, huh?"

Norman's lips peeled back from his teeth, blindingly white against the black ink. Then, with an animalistic bark, he began raining punches on Joey's face and chest with his right hand. Joey squeezed his mouth and eyes shut in a desperate attempt to keep the ink out. Momentarily, the blows stopped, and Joey heard Norman yell the words, "Stay out of this!" followed by Grant yelping in pain. It was in this moment that Joey managed to wriggle out of Norman's grasp, falling down onto the ink-flooded floor. "Run!" he yelled, before following his own advice. Hearing Norman roar with pain, he looked back to see that Grant had planted his axe in Norman's shoulder before following behind. Thankfully it seemed to be slowing him down. After they exited the illuminated hallway, they were in complete darkness, running into walls and feeling their way through. Finally, Joey saw it- the chink of light beneath the door that they'd escape through. Norman could be heard lumbering behind them, moving quickly but somewhat heavily. Stumbling over discarded cans and slowed by sticky ink, the pair made it to the exit and scrambled out. Joey locked the door behind them.

The two men looked at each other a moment. They were back in the light now, but it was as though they'd dragged the inky darkness back with them. Joey's face was covered in ink, along with the spot on his shirt where Norman had grabbed him. Grant had fared better, with only what resembled inky claw marks across his face. Finally, Grant broke the silence. "We need to talk. Your office or mine?"

Once they were safely out of the view of others, Joey attempted to explain himself. "Okay. I know that looked bad, but... but..." what explanation was there? Joey realized then that he'd have to kill Grant- he'd seen too much. At least it wasn't someone more irreplaceable. "I give up," he sighed, sitting back down in his chair.

Grant was evidently holding back tears. "You need to get this under control- whatever it is," he said, sounding more mournful than angry.

"I agree with you! And I promise I will!"

"Promise? With all due respect, Mr. Drew, a promise is what I make when I tell everyone that their delayed paychecks will be coming next week. I don't know, and I don't totally control it. And I have a feeling that this is the same way! I need more than a promise, Mr. Drew. Please."

"Go back to your office." Joey said in a low voice, hoping to be left alone. It really didn't matter what Grant thought of him if he'd have to kill him anyhow, and Joey was too emotionally drained to deal with this.

Grant got up to leave- normally this situation would terrify him, but after being the encounter with Norman, he was running low on fear. "That was my best friend. If you don't do anything to keep this from happening again, I'm calling in the police. I don't want to lose my income, but..."

"Now!" Joey yelled, and Grant finally obeyed. Joey hated the tone of Grant's voice. If he'd been yelling and hysterical, that would have been one thing, but he'd spoken as though he were only stating truths.

For the rest of the day and into the night, Joey was plagued with worries about how he’d purge that beast from his studio, whether Grant could leak his secrets before he got the chance to kill him, and whether anyone else could, like Norman, succumb to ink too quickly to be noticed. And who was to say that, after being hit in the face with Norman’s infected hand over and over, that he wasn’t infected himself? Everything had gotten so far out of his control.

Once he was unconscious, however, all of his thoughtful, adult worries vanished and only his most visceral fears remained. Only that creature plagued his nightmares, once again standing over him, a beast of black ink over sickly white skin, trickling down into that big, gaping mouth and over those teeth. In his dream, they were as sharp and bloodstained as the teeth of a wolf.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #my fanfiction #joey drew #grant cohen #norman polk

3 notes · View notes

thepersephonecabin · 5 years

Text

Red

So I finally finished my @festivebastion fic for @greaseonmymouth! Sorry it took a while, but hopefully you like it!

read on AO3!

Pairing: Alcibiades/Caius Greylace

Rating: General Audiences

Summary: Returning to life from exile has good days and bad days for Caius Greylace, but Alcibiades is always there for him to lean on. After a particularly bad breakdown, Alcibiades decides that Caius needs some good old-fashioned rest and relaxation in the country air. How will Caius take to life on the farm and meeting Yana and Al's family?

They had a code for when one wanted to see the other. “Red.” It was a nostalgic way of remembering their time back in Xi’an, daring to wear red to the peace talks while also continuing their relationship, their this, whatever this was.

Caius had been the one to come up with it. Over their time together, Alcibiades had realized that Caius was actually rather sentimental in his own way, although he wouldn’t have thought so at first. After all Caius had gone through as a child, Al had expected him to destroy all the reminders of his time with the Esar, but it hadn’t been the case. The first time he’d been allowed into Caius’s Miranda apartment in Thremedon, he’d been surprised to find one such remnant in display.

It was an ornate vase, porcelain blue with gold leaf, sitting atop a white pedestal. The flared top narrowed before flaring into a globe-shaped bird’s cage which broke up the glass top and bottom of the base with delicate, gold bars, trapping a glass bird within. It was the only blue in the purple scheme of Caius’s lounge, making Alcibiades wonder how Caius, ever conscious of the surrounding color scheme and always the first to criticize the clashing tones of people’s clothes and interior design choices, could stand the way it stood out in the room.

Upon inviting Al into the flat, Caius had disappeared into the kitchen to bring out tea and pastries, leaving Al to wander around the lounge. When Caius reappeared, he’d been bending down to pear through the bird cage vase, internally remarking at how he could wave his hand behind the vase and see it through the cage.

“Oh, do you like my vase?” Caius chirped. Without waiting for an answer, he went on, “It was given to me by the Esar when I was barely eight. It had been part of the Bastion’s blue wing, and I spent so much time admiring it, he said I could have it if I did well enough in my velikaia training with Antoinette.”

Ah, Antoinette. That explained it. Of all the people Caius looked back on from his youth, it was his old mentor that he remembered most fondly. He’d always seemed to have a soft spot for her, even going back to their period sequestered in the Basquait with the plague, when he seemed to be hurt at finding out Antoinette had spent all that time in the same building quarantined with them, but never coming by to see Caius.

“It’s ridiculous. You couldn’t put anything in it,” Alcibiades said.

Caius tsked at him, “Not every vase is for carrying water. Can’t it just be visually appealing?”

“No,” Al argued. “A vase is a container. It’s meant to contain things.”

Caius sipped his tea. “You needn’t insult my belongings just because you are incapable of appreciating the aesthetic, dear.”

And that had been that. That had been months ago, and by now, Alcibiades had been to Caius’s apartment enough times that he didn’t pay the vase any mind. He hardly remembered it existed until the day he received a one word note from Caius- “Red.”

Something about the message worried him. It wasn’t unlike Caius to send vague notes, but the handwriting was all wrong- shakey and near illegible. Caius’s normal hand was looping, impeccable cursive. Alcibiades supposed that Caius could have asked a servant to pen the note, but generally, Caius preferred to keep his correspondence private.

“Did he say anything else?” Alcibiades asked, turning the parchment over in his hand.

The courier, a young lad in a flat cap and gloves with holes in the fingers, shifted from foot to foot, scratching his back. “No, sir, will there be anythin’ else?” He held up a hand for payment, and Al scrambled in his packet for a chevronet.

“No, thank you,” he said, dismissing him. He’d better just go straight to Caius, not bother with a reply.

By the time he got to Ciaus’s apartment, it was approaching the afternoon. He knocked on the door, only to be met with a muffled, “Come in,” from inside.

Al entered, finding the foyer empty. “Hello?” he called.

A choked, “In here,” called back from the lounge.

Something was very wrong. Caius sat on the floor, head bowed. Alcibaides couldn’t see his face through a curtain of white-blonde hair, but by the shaking of his shoulders, Al knew he was crying. He cradled a bloody hand in his lap, the blood staining his immaculately pressed silver trousers and frilly white shirt. In front of him were the shattered remains of the bird cage vase.

“Caius… what’s wrong?” Al asked, moving forward cautiously.

“I… I broke the vase,” Caius said, flinching as the glass crunched under Al’s boots. “I didn’t know what to do, who to call.”

Al knelt down, reaching out for his hand. “It’s just a vase. Come on, let me see your hand and get some bandages.”

“It’s not just a-“ Caius began before cutting himself off and looking away. “No, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

But Caius stayed silent. Al sighed, and stood up before moving to the bathroom to find the first aid kit. Caius didn’t offer any further information as Al came back, cleaned away the blood, and bandaged the cuts on his hand.

When he was done, Al pulled Caius up and said, “Come on, pack a bag.”

“Where are we going?”

“Home.”

Al didn’t need to say more. He kept a small flat in the city where he stayed whenever he needed to deal with the Basquait or Magician business, but he and Caius both knew his home was hours from Thremedon.

Caius had enjoyed his time back, relearning the city after years in exile, but Al had long suspected it had taken a toll on him as well. Having missed so much while he was away, combined with the vicious rumors of Thremedon’s elite had left Caius reeling some days. The worst, in Alcibiades’s opinion had been the first ball Caius attended at the palace following the end of his exile. No one had been pleased to see Caius return, never mind the fact that he had saved the peace talks by preventing Emperor Iseul’s attempts to sabotage them and the failed assassination attempt on his younger brother, the new leader of Xi’an. While Alcibiades and the other Magicians returned from Xi’an as heroes, Caius was still regarded as dangerous pariah. The other nobles never faltered in sharing their opinions of him, the freak who nearly killed another Magician ages ago. The night had ended in Caius accidentally shattering a champagne flute with his grip, then leaving near tears. Alcibiades had no doubt living in the city had continued to push Caius’s mental health to the limits. He only hoped that Caius would benefit from being removed from the city for the time being, not relapse even harder from being in the country as he was in exile.

The carriage ride into the country was more quiet then Alcibiades could imagine Caius could be. Usually Caius was so chatty and full of life, even in the most needless and incessant of conversations that Alcibiades had no idea how much he’d grown used to Caius’s voice until now that he remained silent.

Finally, around an hour into their journey Caius spoke, “He was going to have me killed, you know. For the Magician.”

Alcibiades didn’t need to ask who “he” was. The Esar had never been especially well-loved by the people of Volstov, at least not more than any other ruler. However, following the news of his sudden decline into a comatose state and Esarina Anastasia’s rise to the throne, more and more people had begun seeing the areas where his dedication to the empire had been left wanting. As a former member of the Esar’s inner circle of Magicians, even, or perhaps especially, at his young age, Caius had seen the lengths the Esar could go to for success, even when it came with great cost- a cost so frequently paid not by the Esar himself, but rather by one of his endless line of expendable pawns.

“How do you know?” Alcibiades asked.

“Another Magician acquaintance of mine who was also in his service at the time. She had been there when it happened. Apparently, the only reason he decided against it was because Antoinette threatened to abandon him if he did. I’m told he agreed with the stipulation that she cut ties with me,” Caius explained.

“That’s good, though, isn’t it? It means she hasn’t been avoiding you because of you. She was probably just trying to protect you from what he’d do if she tried to contact you after you got back.”

“It’s been months since he fell asleep, though, and she still hasn’t said anything,” Caius refuted.

“She’s a busy woman. What with the change in power, I’m sure she’s got a lot of ground to make up seducing the new empress,” Al grunted, rolling his eyes.

Caius scowled, “Really? What would poor Yana think to hear you speak of a lady like that? Besides if you think she hasn’t already made progress on that front, you aren’t up on your court gossip.” Alcibiades gaped at him and Caius scoffed, “Oh, come now, surely you didn’t think you were the only one in the empire to be interested in more than one sex.”

“Of course not, I just thought she’d wait until the Esar’s throne got cold before moving on to the next monarch.”

Caius hummed. “Yes, well, Nicolas was hardly the most attentive partner one could ask for. I could hardly blame the Esarina for wanting someone to fill the gap.”

“Now that I can see,” Alcibiades relented, just as the carriage began to roll to a stop. “Seems like we’re here.”

It seemed that “poor Yana” was a misnomer. Yana, though barely five feet in height, was a whirlwind of a woman. As soon as he met her, Caius realized he had been mistaken to ever think she was “poor” anything.

Upon first stepping out of their carriage and looking on to Alcibiades’s family farm for the first time, Caius broke out of his sadness long enough to worry that he’d be intruding. After all, Alcibiades had been too busy taking care of Caius’s nonsensical meltdown to send message ahead to let Yana and his other family that company was coming. Not to mention, if Caius had known he’d been coming to a farm in the country, he would have surely have worn something more appropriate and less made for the fashions of Thremedon. He should have worn something more sensible and humble. As it was, he was draped in a blue, satiny dress. He supposed to someone more familiar to the countryside’s overreliance on cotton and burlap he practically looked like a painted member of Our Lady of Fans.

Though, if Yana thought anything like that of him, she sure didn’t show it. She simply took one look at him, then slid her gaze to Alcibiades and said, “I wish you had told me you were bringing your special friend. I would have gotten out our nice china.”

“You have plain china in addition to fancy china?” blurted Caius. “How quaint! Al just keeps the plain kind, and I just keep the fancy kind. Oh, I’m sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. I should introduce myself, I’m Caius Greylace.”

“Oh, don’t worry, child, I knew the moment I saw you who you were. My boy has told me so much of you, I knew you must be the famous Caius. I’m Yana.”

“Yana…” Al said reproachfully.

Yana gently whipped his arm with the washcloth she held in her hands, “Oh, don’t start with me. Dinner is nearly ready, bring your Caius in to the dining room and say hello to your siblings.”

It turned out Alcibiades had many siblings, though he explained that not all of them were siblings by blood. Yana never failed to take in someone in need of a home, and had taught her children and grandchildren to do the same. This resulted in a large, loud group of seemingly endless siblings and aunts and uncles and nieces and nephews.

One woman, brunette and smiling wide, tried to deposit her toddler in Caius’s arms but he had been too shocked to respond, so Alcibiades plucked the child from his mother’s arms, swinging him around and tipping him upside down, eliciting happy giggles and squeals from the boy. “He isn’t used to being around kids,” Al explained. “We’ll break him of that soon enough.”

Another child, this one appearing to be a girl, ran up, clutching Al’s leg. “Uncle Al! Uncle Al! What did you bring me?”

“What did I bring you? I brought you a person, isn’t that enough? This is my friend Caius.”

“Oooo, your friiiiieeeend,” the girl chorused, before looking to Caius for the first time. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. “Are you a princess? You look like a princess.”

“He’s a bo- Ow!” Alcibiades began, but Caius slapped his chest before he could finish. Whatever he said would only be half true anyhow. Caius’s relationship with binary gender was precarious on the best of days.

“I am,” Caius said, “and what is your name, sweetheart?”

“Antigone,” she answered. “I like your dress and your shoes.”

“Thank you, darling. Maybe if your parents say yes, you can come over tomorrow and try on some of my dresses,” he told her. “Though, they may be a little big on you.”

She let out a pleased noise, before running back to her mother , presumably to ask permission right away.

Yana pushed her way through the swinging doors, a steaming pot of stew in her hands. “Alright, alright everyone settle down so we can say grace and eat.”

And they did, and it was good.

It stayed good until the next day after lunch. Caius was in good spirits after meeting everyone and in his new habitat. They had enjoyed dinner and retired to Alcibiades’s childhood bedroom. After a rough day and being introduced to so many new people, he had thought it was best to let Caius have a nice quiet night just the two of them, and Caius had been downright affectionate with gratitude for Alcibiades taking care of him, and they had cuddled all the way into sleep.

The next morning, Caius had been reasonably accepting of being woken up by roosters at dawn once he was awake enough to get excited about being in close proximity to roosters. He had eagerly gotten out to try his hand at feeding the chickens, then nearly wiped out, slipping in the mud. Then Antigone and her sisters had come over to play dress up. Caius was thrilled when they all curtsied to him, as the news of Caius’s supposed status of being a princess had spread, and the troop spent hours marching around in Caius’s high heels and skirts before Yana called them to eat sandwiches for lunch.

No, the trouble had started after lunch, when Caius was helping Yana wash and dry the dishes. He’d insisted in helping because he was a guest in her home, after all. It had all went wrong when under the soapy water, Yana cut herself on a knife. She yanked up her hand, and Caius, unthinking, grabbed it to help.

Alcibiades could see the change from across the room. Yana’s entire body went relaxed, and Caius’s eyes contracted as hers dilated. He was halfway to them before he even realized it, but Caius raised a hand, motioning him to stop.

Caius looked like he was ready to crack, but he took a breath to steady himself and spoke, “Yana, dear, everything is fine.” Tears welled up in his eyes, and his voiced cracked on his last word. “I need you to remain calm. I’m going to leave now, and you need to stay here. Alcibiades will take care of you.”

Caius bolted, running at top speed to Al’s room. Al caught Yana as she snapped out of Caius’s trance. “Yana, are you alright? I’m sorry, I didn’t know he’d do that.”

She shook her head, “You need to go to him. Al, you don’t understand… when he touched me, I felt him, this profound sadness. A sadness like that shouldn’t come from a boy so young. I’ll be fine. It’s just a little cut. He’s hurting far worse than I am. Go. Go!”

Alcibiades went. Caius in his bedroom was doubled over sobbing into his hands. At seeing Al he sobbed even harder, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to I swear. I just wanted to help.”

Al took him into his arms, “It’s okay, Cai. You didn’t hurt her.”

Caius buried his face in his chest, and repeated, “It’s okay, it’s okay…” like a prayer.

Caius and Alcibiades didn’t always stay at the farm, but it never seemed to stop Caius from carving a place out there. Caius helped take care of the animals. He had even refused to leave the barn when Bella, one of Yana’s cows, had her calf in the fall. Caius seemed to have an uncanny way of making the animals calm around him. Alcibiades was half tempted to credit it to some velikaia mind trick, but Caius simply waved his hand at Al and said, “Don’t you recall that I had a pet tiger for a time? Taming a horse or a pig should be short work comparatively.” This was immediately followed by Caius encountering horse dung for the first time, but he never let Alcibiades tell that part of the story.

Caius had also been readily accepted by Al’s family, which wasn’t necessarily a surprise given Yana’s “We take all kinds here,” principles. He had especially bonded with some of the women of the family thanks to their similar reading habits. Every time Caius and Al visited, it seems that the hens of the house gathered for an informal book club meeting in which males, Caius excluded, were prohibited from joining because they, “just wouldn’t understand.”

Al had made the mistake of sneaking a peek at Caius’s book when he laid it down once. He made it through half of one sentence- “Floriana’s chest heaved as she reached down to stroke the man’s girth and-” before he dropped it in disgust, just in time for Caius to re-enter the room and see it.

Caius tsked wordlessly at him, picking the book off the floor and bending the pages that had been bent in the fall back into place.

“You read that filth?!” Alcibiades exclaimed, fighting the urge to wipe his hands against his clothes as if they were dirty.

Caius gasped in mock offense, placing a slender hand to his chest. “This is literature, General. I’m sorry you can’t appreciate it for its worth.”

“Worth?! It’s dime and nickel trash!”

“I do not criticize your testosterone-rich war novels, I shall expect you to respect my reading choices as well. This is why we don’t invite your brothers to sit with us as we discuss our books,” Caius said. “You big strong men have no taste.”

“You mean this is what you talk about with all my sisters?” Alcibiades looked horrified.

Caius rolled his eyes, “I don’t see why you should be so surprised. There’s nothing to be ashamed about some harmless fantasizing. Maybe you should join us, sometime. I think the average man could do well to learn from these books about what their partners want. You would make a rather dashing romantic hero yourself.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Alcibiades said, blandly. “I’ll take a rain check.”

“Suit yourself, general. We meet next Thursday afternoon if you change your mind.”

If Alcibiades had been smart, he would have remembered to steer clear of the den Thursday, but going about his daily business it must have slipped his mind that Caius’s perverted, little book club was meeting until he walked in with freshly cut wood logs hoisted over one shoulder to find half the females of his family gathered in a circle with books on their laps.

“General, what a pleasant surprise. You aren’t here to join us are you?” Caius asked from his favorite wingback chair, ankles crossed and with the close-lipped smirk he always had when he’d found something to toy with.

Al bit back a snappish retort, and replied, “Nope, just here to put some fresh kindling in the fireplace before it gets any colder outside.”

“How gallant of you, dear. I’m sure we’ll all enjoy the heat,” Caius said, earning a chorus of giggles from the women around the room. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to pull up a chair? We were getting ready to discuss the part where the protagonist is whisked up into the man’s arms and thrown over his shoulder, rather like all that wood you’re carrying.”

Al felt his face flush, turning to Caius once more now that he had deposited the logs into the fireplace. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” More giggles came from around the room. “For me to join, I mean.”

“You know I always enjoy your company, General.”

The next time they sojourned to the farm, it was the beginning of winter and time to celebrate the winter holidays.

Once more they found themselves talking for great lengths of time during the carriage ride from the city, this time surrounded by all the shiny, foil wrapped presents Caius had insisted in bringing for all of the family. Even with as crowded as the carriage was now, Caius had fretted for days that he hadn’t bought enough to give to everyone, despite Alcibiades trying to assure him that if anything he had gotten too much.

“I haven’t embarrassed myself, have I, Al?” he asked, gazing at the presents as the carriage took them further away from Thremedon. “I was so worried that I couldn’t possibly repay your family for their kindnesses over the past year that I didn’t consider that I might make them feel bad for not being able to afford such expensive things for me.”

“It’s a bit late to return everything,” Al grumbled. “Everything will be fine. The presents aren’t the real meaning of the holiday anyway, so I’m sure everyone will be pleased with what you got them.”

“Of course, they’re the meaning of the holiday,” Caius scoffed. “You don’t expect me to believe in that tosh about Regina-“ He paused suddenly. “I apologize. Of course you do. You’re the most pious man I’ve ever met.”

“What you don’t? Believe in Regina and the holiday and everything?” Alcibiades asked.

Caius smiled thinly, “No, I never have. I can certainly see the appeal in it. It must feel rather comforting to believe that there’s a higher power looking out for you, controlling your fate. That if things are meant to be they’ll be. But, no, I’m afraid if there is anyone is to blame for my mistakes in life, it is me.”

But, when it came time to exchange gifts, Caius showed no lack of enthusiasm for the holiday celebrations. As expected, the gifts Caius received were significantly plainer than what he had given everyone else, but he was no less excited to get them. Yana had sewn him some nice, cotton dresses to match the ones more common to the countryside farm life. He immediately had tried them on and loved every stitch and seam put into them.

“Al, Al, look!” he exclaimed, sticking his foot out at Alcibiades. “You can see my ankles!”

“Yeah, now you won’t have to worry about all your ridiculous skirts getting dragged through the mud and filth all the time like the rest of us,” Al said, making room for Caius on the couch.

“You love my ridiculous skirts,” Caius replied, pushing the foot he’d displayed earlier at Al’s face in retaliation.

“Yeah, yeah, well, settle down, you’ve got one more present to open.”

Caius cocked his head to the side, “Do I? I thought that was the last of them.”

“This one’s from me,” Al said, handing Caius a box.

“A present from the General. I do hope it’s appropriate to open in front of the family,” Caius teased, already pulling at the box’s ribbon and wrapping paper. He pulled open the box and stilled.

“I hope it doesn’t upset you. I knew it meant a lot to you, so I got it fixed. But if the memories are too much, you don’t have to keep it,” Alcibiades explained, watching Caius pull the once broken vase with the bird cage from the box. The cracks had been sealed with gold-dusted lacquer.

Caius hugged the vase to him for a moment, before reaching for Al and pulling him in for a kiss. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

After returning to the city, they saw each other again at the Esarina’s New Year’s ball. Alcibiades was dressed in a new red military uniform coat given to him by Caius to replace his “ratty” older one. At first Alcibiades had resisted the new coat, insisting that his old one was perfectly fine, but he had to admit that his old uniform had seen better days. After all, what better way to show Caius his interest than by appreciating the gift he’d been given?

On his third glass of champagne, he finally found Caius among the crowd, and he was dazzling.

Dressed in head to toe in scarlet, Caius sported a floor-length gown bejeweled in rubies with a long cape flowing down his back from his shoulders. When he caught Alcibiades looking, he quirked his blood red painted lips, and with a single finger beckoned Alcibiades to him. Alcibiades took one step to him, and he turned, weaving through the crowd, then down the winding palace halls to somewhere more private.

By the time Alcibiades caught up to him enough to wrap his arms around Caius’s tiny waist and pick him up, his ears rang with Caius’s laughs, and all he could see was wonderful, beautiful red.

#volstovic cycle #havemercy #alcibiades #caius greylace #festivebastion #greaseonmymouth #rebloggable

8 notes · View notes

panda-noosh · 6 years

Text

ser•en•dip•it•y {part 5}{Matt Holt x Reader}

Words: 3642

Summary: You and Matt used to be childhood best friends, but that hadn’t been the case for nearly four years now. Whenever your parents insist on going to the Holt family country home for the summer, you may be forced to face old feelings as Matt makes an appearance.

Pairing: Matt Holt x Reader

Notes: p1 - p2 - p3 - p4 - p6 - FINAL; another lil mini chapter with angst yay.

Chapter 5

It felt like you had spiralled right back to square one again, and you hated it.

Days had passed since you and Matt had shared your scandalous kiss at the lake. Days had passed since you had completely dismissed Matt’s advances, despite wanting nothing more than to give in to the lips that had once been pressed against yours in what - now that you looked back - seemed almost desperate, as if in the lake was the only time he could actually do it, and he had taken that chance.

It had also been days since you and Matt had spoken, which made everything worse.

You liked to think your and Matt’s friendship was stronger than this. For it to be so easily jeopardized over something like a kiss made you realise that perhaps the words you had said to him - the way you had denied him - could have been handled a little bit better.

Your own voice echoed back in your head as you cleaned up your bedroom, despite it not being messy. You had told him not to let it happen again, said there was nothing that could ever happen between the two of you. You had lied through your teeth in a fit of panic, because your feelings had erupted inside of you like a storm and you didn’t know how else to handle them. You spoke without thinking, and had very clearly hurt Matt’s feelings in the process.

It was the last thing you had wanted to do, of course, but the damage was done now. Perhaps keeping Matt as far away from you as possible was a good thing, too. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel your heart constrict in his chest every time he walked past you in the halls.

Your room wasn’t a mess, but you cleaned it anyway. Sunday had brought on a cold chill to the hills you were taking refuge in, meaning nobody wanted to go outside. Despite it not being overly chilly - you were still dressed in a tank top and shorts and wouldn’t dream of changing into anything heavier - everybody was cooped up in the house, meaning you had to find some way to get away from everyone as soon as possible.

Matt had gone on a run this morning, but it was no secret that he was back now. You could hear his voice through your bedroom door as he innocently teased Pidge on the way her hair had decided to shape itself today. Jamie wailed in protest, saying Pidge looked fine, and soon, the three of them were bickering like children.

Try as you might, the sound of Matt having a good time with his little sister and your little brother brought back memories that you had pushed to the side ages ago; it made you smile. Remembering when you used to join in on the fun, when you used to play an equal part in the teasing and you and Matt would high five any time it looked like Pidge or Jamie were giving up in arguing.

That wouldn’t happen again, though. You just had to accept that fact and move on.

A knock sounding at your door had your head snapping up from the disarrayed state of your suitcase that you were once stifling through. You had yet to unpack any of your clothes, and quite honestly saw no point in doing so at this point.

“Y/N?” your mothers voice rang out behind the oak. “Can I come in, sweetie?”

You strode over to the door and pulled it open. Your mother stood there, a smile pulling at her features that mimicked Jamie’s to an almost identical resemblance. She wore a flour-stained apron over a checkered shirt, her sleeves rolled up and her hair pulled into a tight messy bun at the back of her head.

You stepped out of the way of the door and allowed her to enter. She took the chance, sitting herself on the edge of your bed and folding her hands in her lap in that way that would only look intimidating whenever done by your mother.

“Is something wrong?” was the first thing you asked, not wanting to beat around the bush at this point.

Your mother shook her head. “Not unless there’s something wrong with you. Which is the whole reason I’m here.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Your mum tilted her head forward, glaring at you. “Please don’t play stupid with me, Y/N. I’m your mother. I know when something is bothering you, and you haven’t been acting the same since that day on the lake. The day we all saw Matt storm home after going in the water with you.”

Your stomach flipped. It had been made fairly clear that nobody had seen you two share your kiss - you had gone too far out for anybody to see you. But still; your mother had a way with words that made even the completely impossible seem possible.

You knitted your hands in front of you and pouted, as if oblivious. “Again, I don’t know what you mean. I’m fine. Having the time of my life here, actually. Can’t wait to come back next year.”

“Y/N.”

“Yes?”

“I thought you and Matt sorted out your differences.”

You closed your eyes. How would you respond to such a thing? With a lie? Would you tell her everything was fine and that you and Matt were best of friends again? Would you tell her the truth - that you had completely broken both your own heart and Matt’s heart in one swift hit.

“We - We did,” you croaked out. “We were okay. We were great, actually.”

Your mother stood up and made her way towards you - she certainly had that motherly instinct you had heard so much about.

“And did something happen at the lake that changed that?” she asked.

You swallowed thickly, the bile tasting like acid as it trailed down your throat. You opened your eyes, barely even registering the tears which were pooling within them until your mother reached forward and wiped them from your cheeks, her face contorting into one of equal pain.

“I don’t know how to fix things,” you said.

Your mother bundled you in her arms. “What happened, sweetie? Why did you two fall out again?”

“All he did was kiss me, mum,” you replied. She stiffened, didn’t let you go, didn’t speak. “I pushed him away and I said - I said the worst things to him that I didn’t even mean! You know how I get when I get panicked - I just say the first thing that comes into my mind. I just want to hurt people whenever I get like that, but I truly didn’t mean to hurt Matt. Not Matt. Never Matt.”

You were on the verge of hysterics. You could hear it in the way your voice wobbled, in the way you clenched your fists in your mothers shirt like you used to do when you were younger, as if she was the only thing keeping you from defying gravity and floating to the ceiling with the size of your heavy heart right now.

“He apologised for it, as well, once I pushed him away,” you continued. “But I carried on, and I ruined it for both of us. All because I’m too afraid of commitment whenever I know he’s not going to be around for long.”

A sob racked your body. Your mother held you impossibly tighter to her chest, small coo’s sounding around you. You buried your head in her collar bone, let the cold tears stain her skin without as much of a thought towards how stupid you must look right now.

“My sweet, sweet girl,” your mother whispered into your hair. “Did you want him to kiss you?”

There was no point in lying anymore. “I kissed him back for a while. Before the realisation set in.”

“If you like him, why are you pushing him away so much? Are you afraid?”

You scoffed, pulling away and wiping a hand over your cheeks. “I’m fucking terrified.”

“Of what?”

“Of getting attached again, only for him to leave. That’s why we fell out in the first place - I don’t like long-distance, and it’s so selfish of me to want him to stay, but I just can’t commit myself to somebody who I’m never going to see.”

Your mother placed a hand on her chin, her eyes never leaving yours. The look had the undertone of mild judgement to it, but on top of it seemed to be one of understanding, as if things were clicking into place for her.

“You and Matt always did have a weird friendship,” she said suddenly.

You looked up, raised a brow. “Huh?”

“Joined at the hip at such a young age. Me and your father always wondered if it would always just be platonic feelings between the two of you - not when you were young, of course. But we always wondered what would come of your friendship as you grew old enough to understand feelings.

“Every time you got a boyfriend back in primary school, Matt would always hate them. Do you remember?”

You didn’t reply, having never thought too much about such a thing.

“And then there was that time you split Matt’s girlfriends head open whenever you were seven. Maybe you didn’t know it back then, but I think that was truly leading up to what you feel now.”

“I don’t feel-”

“There you go again,” your mother sighed. “Denying yourself the ability to feel things, just because you don’t think it’s right to feel this way towards somebody you’ve known for so long. It’s unhealthy, Y/N. You need to just admit to yourself what you’re going through, and then we can go from there in terms of repairing it - whether it ends up with a relationship or not.”

You swallowed again. There was so much you wanted to say, so many emotions you wanted to let out, scream to the world, but you kept them hidden behind the tear-stained mask you were currently wearing.

“I think it’s over for us both, anyway,” you said. “I said some pretty hurtful things. He won’t want to be my friend after this anyway.”

And as much as you hated to admit it, that was the truth.

Dinner time came around at the same time as it did every night - around 5:00pm.

You were called to the kitchen by Colleen, who very clearly had been let in on the breakdown you had had only hours prior. Your mother and her didn’t make their gossiping very subtle, though you expected nothing less. It was difficult for your mum to keep things to herself whenever she saw them as ‘teen problems.’

You sat down next to Jamie, inhaling the scent of the pot roast Colleen and your father had made up for tonights dinner. Reaching forward, you piled your plate full of food in silence, letting the others start the conversation.

Matt had taken a seat beside Colleen on the far side of the table - you had a direct view of him from where you were seated. He was wearing his usual jacket, zipped up to the throat as if the air outside had been blizzard-worthy. His hair was pushed back from his forehead, clearly in need of a wash.

You kept your eyes on your plate, not wanting to be caught staring at him. You could feel your mother looking at you, urging you to say something, do anything, but you simply kept your head down and ate.

“Matthew,” Sam suddenly spoke up. “Seven weeks until school is starting back up again - you excited to go back and see some of your friends?”

You nearly choked on the asparagus you were eating - what a time to ask that question, Mr Holt.

Matt barely looked up from his plate when he replied. “Actually, I’m really excited. I just wish some people would be more considerate to me leaving, though, you know?”

Your mother did choke on her asparagus. You gritted your teeth, chose not to look up.

Sam raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

Finally, Matt looked up. You could hear the sarcastic grin in the way he spoke, could basically feel him drawing his shoulders back in an attempt to look taller, any way to get his point across. “Some people seem to think I’m just going to ditch my life back home after I leave for the Garrison - like I can’t have any commitments here whilst I’m away. It’s crazy, isn’t it? Entirely irrational.”

“Has somebody been causing you trouble?” Sam asked.

“We should keep the hostility away from the dinner table. Why don’t we just-” your mother began, but Matt cut her off.

“No, no, nothing like that. I’ve just been thinking, I guess. Me leaving for the Garrison doesn’t mean I’m leaving behind the people I love, does it?”

Sam stuck out his bottom lip, clearly still confused as to where this conversation was headed. It had come out of the blue. Sam had merely asked his son if he was excited to go back to school.

“I suppose not.”

Matt hummed. Anger swelled inside you.

“That’s what I thought. I still keep in contact with you guys pretty well when I’m away, don’t I?”

“To the point where I’m on the verge of blocking your number,” Pidge replied.

“Well, maybe some people don’t like only communicating with somebody through the phone,” you said before you could stop yourself. You felt your mother move her hand, grip your knee beneath the table as if in warning for you to not take this any further than need be, but you couldn’t help yourself.

Matt looked over at you. “Maybe some people should think about what other people think. Maybe some people should understand that other people are trying their best, and it’s difficult to see to everybodies needs.”

“And maybe that’s what some people don’t want to deal with,” you barked, finally looking up to meet his gaze. “I don’t see why you should be complaining - somebody dropping out of your life just means the list of phone calls you need to make gets a little bit smaller, doesn’t it?”

“Y/N!” your mother hissed.

“I don’t care about the size of the fucking phone call list!” Matt exclaimed. His eyes were a blaze, glaring into your own as if the rest of the room had melted away under his inferno of rage. “I just want some people to understand that I’m trying to make the best of the situation I’m in. You’ve gotta help me out just as much as you want me to help you out.”

“What is so difficult for you to understand that I don’t want that. I don’t want to deal with long distance, okay? It’s as simple as that!”

“And what if I wasn’t going to the Garrison, huh? What would your answer be then?”

The question struck a nerve in you that you had never felt before. Your mother sighed, nodding her apologies to the confused onlookers before she looked towards you.

“I think we all need to-”

You didn’t let her finish. Your emotions were swelling within your chest and you could barely find the space within you to breath, let alone talk, sit back down and eat. You slammed your fork down on the table, shoved your chair out and stood up.

“You know what, Matt? Go to hell.”

And then you span on your heel and stormed out of the kitchen, not looking back.

There was an odd ringing in the air at this time of day, you noticed. An odd little pecking that sounded close to a whistle being blown in the distance - never too close to your ear. In the distance. A safe distance away.

You sat with your legs dangled over the wall, overlooking the forest which stretched out for miles in front of you. So many trees. It would be so easy to lose yourself amongst them, never look back, never have to deal with the problems that were currently littering your life like the plague.

It was funny, really. How you could go from jumping to school issues - studying, friendship drama, never being good enough - to summer issues. Matt. Matt was your summer issue.

You knew it would never just be a summer issue, though. Not with how dearly you felt for him. Your mother had been right when she told you that denying your feelings for the boy would only make it all worse, and as you sat on the wall now, the darkness seeping in around you, you realised that perhaps your feelings were too important to just shove under the rug anyway.

The argument had startled you. You had expected to sit down and eat dinner in the way you had done everyday since the kiss. Matt and you barely even shared glances, but today he seemed to have reached his limit. He had started it, you childishly reminded yourself. It was his fault. You were standing up for yourself.

It would be so easy for you two to just forget about one another. It would make everything in the world so simple. If you two just came to the conclusion that being around one another, trying to remain friendly, wasn’t going to work, everything would see itself out. The drama. The weird glances. The awkward interactions. Sure, the feelings would always be there, but you could deal with those on your own.

With Matt around, it was difficult to control the tension.

Which was why the trees seemed to call out to you now, a welcome for you to just lose yourself in nature for a little while. You dug your nails into the concrete wall, let loose a breath that froze in the air in front of you - you hadn’t even realised it getting chilly, though you should have assumed such a thing would happen. It was becoming night time now, with you only being illuminated by the turned-on lights of the house behind you.

Seven more weeks in this hell-hole, and then you’d be back into a more manageable hell-hole - school. At least school had its patterns. You knew what to expect, whether you liked them or not. Matt had proven today that this drama - these feelings - were much more sporadic than could be tracked.

“Y/N, it’s cold. Come inside.”

Jamie’s voice was like a phantom coming out of the shadows, but you didn’t flinch. Instead, you gently patted the wall next to you, offering your little brother a seat next to you.

He sighed and made his way over to you. He was fifteen years old now, growing into his body. He was soon to be taller than you, though that didn’t stop you from reaching down and dragging him up the wall, just like you always had done whenever he was younger.

He sat beside you and wrapped the flannel blanket he had brought out around you, one side still clipped over his own shoulders.

“What happened at dinner today?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Don’t ask.”

“Are you and Matt a couple?” he continued to pry. It was only natural, you knew. You most definitely hadn’t made your feelings towards each other subtle at dinner today.

Either way, you shook your head. “No, we’re not. Just some best friend problems. Don’t worry too much about it.”

“It sounded like couple problems,” Jamie insisted. “If you don’t want to deal with long distance, you could always just go out with Keith Kogane.”

Your eyes widened, head snapping around to look at your younger brother. “What?”

He shrugged innocently. “Just a suggestion. You very clearly have some built-up tension, and if it’s a relationship close to home you want, Keith is a good man. He and I play Fortnight together sometimes, and I know for a fact he has a crush on you.”

“I don’t want a relationship.” Not with anyone but Matt.

Jamie shrugged again, a common action for him to make whenever he was trying to prove himself innocent. “Don’t bite my head off for the suggestion. But you really should text Keith one day - about something other than studying.”

“Who told you what me and Keith text about?”

“Keith. I told you - we’re gaming buddies.”

“Does he know you’re my little brother?”

Jamie grinned. “He wouldn’t be telling me all of this gossip if he knew I was your little brother.”

You rolled your eyes, but something pulled in your chest - maybe moving on from Matt needed the assistance of Keith Kogane. You would never string him along - hell, you wouldn’t even ask him about. But perhaps finding a friend who was close to home would make the departure of Matt seem a little easier.

“Tell Keith to text me when he can,” you said, not entirely sure what you were doing or why you were doing it. “Maybe we can organise something.”

“Not a date, right? That’s gross. I’m not hooking my sister up with one of my friends.”

“Not a date. As I said, I don’t want a relationship.”

Jamie chuckled. “Sure you don’t. Not until it’s Matthew Holt who’s asking you out,”

#voltron #voltron headcanons #voltron scnerarios #matt holt x reader #matt holt #matt holt scenario #matt voltron #voltron fic #matt holt fic #takashi shirogane #shiro voltron #keith kogane #keith voltron #lance mcclain #lance voltron #hunk garrett #hunk voltron #pidge gunderson #pidge voltron

224 notes · View notes