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chaoticminhos · 3 years

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swim captain (chapter two)

pairing: bang chan x reader

genre: angst again i suppose

warnings: none

word count: 3k

a/n: chaos post consistently and not wait weeks to post a second chapter of something that shouldn’t take weeks to do challenge: failed. anyway here’s chapter two of swim captain :)

you were woken by your blaring alarm the next morning. you dragged yourself out of bed and made your way to your kitchen, breakfast was always the first morning task. you passed through the living room on the way there and jumped upon seeing minho’s sleeping form, you had forgotten he stayed the night. you walked over to him and gently shook him awake. the least you could do was be gentle with him considering that he’d only stayed the night to make you feel better.

he groaned as his eyes opened, hand flying over his face to block out the light coming from the windows.

you laughed, continuing your original journey to the kitchen after confirming that he wasn’t going to fall back asleep.

you poured yourself a bowl of cereal and took a seat at your table. it wasn’t long before minho was sitting next to you with his own bowl, the two of you eating in comfortable silence. you only spoke when you stood to go get ready for school.

it didn’t take long for you to get ready, only switching your sweatpants out for a pair of nice blue jeans and putting a shirt on under minho’s sweatshirt. you’d already decided it was yours now, you might as well put it to use right away.

you left your room to find minho sat on the couch playing on his phone. he had fixed his messy morning hair but was still wearing your brothers shirt and hoodie.. the sweatpants were replaced with the same jeans he had worn the day before.

you gestured to his pants, “do we need to stop by your place on the way to school?”

“nah,” he shrugged, “this works.”

“don’t you need to brush your teeth?”

“already did, found an extra in one of the drawers.”

you laughed. the way he helped himself to everything in your house was kinda endearing. it wasn’t just him either, most of the boys knew your house well enough to do things like that without needing to ask.

you motioned for him to stand up and he took that as his cue that it was time to leave. the drive to school was normal, consisting of the two of you singing poorly along to the songs on the radio. he parked in his usual spot in the school lot and you wrestled your bag away from you just to be difficult before handing it back and heading inside. you were having casual conversation, playfully bickering and talking about the meet that day, when someone else joined the conversation.

“y/n, minho, wait up!”

you turned to see chan lightly jogging to catch up to you and minho, falling into line and walking beside you.

your had flew to your hair, quickly brushing out any bumps that may have happened since you brushed it that morning. having been with minho for more than 5 minutes probably meant that anything taming of your hair had been undone.

“don’t you normally walk unless the weather’s bad?”

it took you a second to realize that chan was speaking to you. minho answered for you.

“i stayed at her place last night, kinda would have been weird if i didn’t give her a ride.”

you laughed a little, not noticing the look that flashed across chan’s face at minho’s comment. minho, however, was not so oblivious.

you didn’t have any reason to be looking for a weird look or a reaction out of chan. to you, it wasn’t odd or suspicious to have minho spend the night. he did it to make you feel safe, and it wasn’t any different to you than having one of your girl friends over, other than the fact that minho snored a hell of a lot louder than any of them.

but chan didn’t know that minho stayed with you because you were afraid to be alone, he only knew that you and minho had always been close and that you had spent the night together.

“oh,” chan tried to steady his voice, an uncomfortable and frustrated feeling pooling in his chest. he cleared his throat, “so, you guys ready for the meet?”

minho pouted, “yeah, i think so. i didn’t get a lot of sleep, though.”

chan felt his stomach drop, what was that supposed to mean? minho spent the night at your place and he didn’t sleep much? what kept him up for so long? he didn’t know why the idea of you and minho possibly being intimate frustrated him. probably because he saw both of you as close friends and it was weird to consider you two as a couple. yeah, that was probably it.

you laughed at your friend, your couch wasn’t that uncomfortable to sleep on.

“it’s your fault for choosing to stay the night.”

he put a hand over his heart, “what was i supposed to do, let my dear y/n cower in fear from the storm while i go home and sleep peacefully because i’m not a pussy who’s afraid of a little thunder?”

you laughed as you scolded him, slapping him on the shoulder. meanwhile, chan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding in.

he had forgotten you were afraid of the thunder. he felt himself relax. he was just relieved that he wouldn’t have to deal with you and minho as a couple, you know, since minho was a flirt and had trouble staying in a relationship for too long. that was all, he just didn’t want to see you get hurt and a wedge to be shoved in the swim team friend group. he was snapped out of his head by your voice.

“chan? you good?”

he blinked his eyes as he looked at you, “yeah, yeah, i’m fine. just a little tired.” he chuckled. his eyes lingered on your face, scanning your features. had you always been this pretty?

the three of you walked through the doors and into the school and split off to go to your lockers. minho’s came before yours and chan’s, leaving you and chan to walk the rest of the way to your lockers as just the two of you.

chan’s locker was only a few lockers down from you, close enough to make conversation as you put your things into your locker.

“how about you, ready for the meet?”

he turned to you, closing his locker. his eyes scanned your figure, just now noticing the hoodie you were wearing. minho’s.

“yeah.” his answer came out with more of an edge than he had meant after having noticed the sweatshirt you had on right before the words came out his mouth.

his hand reached out to grab the fabric of the hoodie you had on, “minho’s?”

he didn’t have to ask. he knew the answer, and he didn’t know why it mattered so much to him that you admitted it. it wasn’t like you were trying to hide it.

you looked down at your shirt, “oh, yeah,” you smiled, “he gave it to me yesterday.”

chan slowly nodded. he felt his jaw clench again. wasn’t sharing hoodies something couples did? his previous worries started to creep back. just as he was about to ask if you and minho had something going on, the bell rang and you turned to head to class.

“see you!” you called as you lightly jogged in the direction of your classroom.

chan sighed, you and minho had always been close, but since when were you two this close?it wasn’t a new suspicion of chan or anyone on the team, anyone in school really, to think that the two of you had something going on, so why now was it suddenly bothering him?

chan spent the school day keeping an extra eye on you whenever minho was around, he even made a point to sit between the two of you at lunch. minho laughed when chan shoved him lightly away from the seat next to you, making no protest to get his seat back. your face flushed red when he sat his lunch down and took his seat beside you, it was obvious he had done it deliberately. normally the boys just sat in whatever seat was open, so for chan to push minho out of the seat to get it was unusual. other than that, lunch was completely normal. you and the boys joked and talked like normal, and chan yelled felix and jisung for eating cupcakes on meet day.

in no time, the day had ended and you and the boys were on a small bus on your way to the meet. being only 9 of you, you each had your own seats. minho was across the isle from you, felix in front of you, and jeongin behind you.

chan cursed himself for being the last one on the bus, meaning he couldn’t choose his seat. he normally didn’t mind, but he felt the need to sit by you that day. you know, to make sure minho wasn’t just messing with you. obviously not because he enjoyed being around you or that he thought you looked particularly stunning that day.

chan spent the bus ride half heartedly listening to conversations, mostly focusing on yours and minho’s. he shifted uncomfortably every time he heard minho call you a pet name or, chan didn’t even know if it was jokingly anymore, flirt with you. he knew it was just how minho acted, but it seemed different. maybe chan was just seeing it different, he didn’t know.

arriving at the meet, you helped the boys carry their things in and walked with them to the dressing rooms. you weren’t allowed to go in since there were other teams in the rooms as well, but nothing said you couldn’t wait for them outside.

you stood with your back against the wall next to the dressing room door, eyes trained to your phone. after about 10 minutes of waiting, you felt someone bump into you. you assumed it was one of the boys, that you had missed them exit the locker room and they were now messing with you, but when you looked up, your eyes landed on someone you’d never met before. he was a swimmer, you could tell by the robe he had on, indicating he had already changed into his meet suit and was waiting for the races to begin. he had his head turned away from you, and he was scolding his friend.

“dude, i told you not to shove, you just made me bump into someone!”

you laughed softly at the interaction. it caused the boy’s attention to fall back on you. he bowed slightly.

“i’m jaemin, sorry for bumping into you. this is chenle, he kinda shoved me into you.”

you smiled at them, “i’m y/n. and it’s okay, i’m used to it.”

jaemin chuckled, “brothers?”

“something like that.” your eyes landed on the embroidered patch on his robe. “oh, you’re from NCT?”

his smile grew, “yeah, you’ve heard of us?”

“kinda hard not to know you guys when you’re, like, our biggest rival.”

he tilted his head on confusion.

“i manage for Stray Kids.”

he nodded, mouth forming an “O” shape.

before either of you could speak again, you felt someone place a hand on the center of your back, coming to stand right beside you.

“engaging with the enemy, i see.” jisung joked, “but now we gotta go. chan wants to talk to us before the races start.”

you waved goodbye to your new friend and followed jisung to where the rest of the boys were sitting.

“obviously we aim for first, but it’s fine if we don’t get it. this meet has practically no effect on placing in nationals, so don’t stress yourselves out. stressing will only tense your muscles up, just stay relaxed and do your best.”

with that, the announcer began to call names and the races began. you watched them intently, cheering the boys along from the sides, and they deserved the support.

minho came in first in his 200m freestyle for the first time in a meet that NCT was in, besting their top swimmer by 2 full seconds, 4 seconds above his previous record. when he came up from the water and the announcer stated that he took first for that race, minho rushed out of the pool and met you on the sides, picking you up in a tight hug. chan, who was preparing for his race soon to follow minho’s, saw the interaction and swallowed hard.

chan tensed up at the sight of minho holding onto you so tightly. he had to remind himself of his own words he had said earlier; relax.

chan and the other swimmers lined up on their boards in front of their lanes and waiting for the signal to dive. as the announcer counted down, chan scanned the sidelines, finding you standing with minho and a few other of the boys that had already completed their races. your shirt was nearly a completely different color on the front from being soaked with water when minho hugged you after coming straight from the pool. he’d dried off a little now, but he still had you pressed firmly into his side with his arm around your waist and rested on your hip.

with that image, chan dove into the water.

chan was a great swimmer, he wouldn’t be captain if he wasn’t, but when he was distracted while swimming, it showed. chan swam his race and came up at the end in third place. third isn’t bad placing, but he was used to taking first or second. performing worse than usual he was in a bad mood, and that wasn’t good for anyone. chan dried himself off and threw his towel over his shoulder, making his way to join the group of you who had finished swimming already.

a chorus of “good job!” and “you did good!” was heard when chan reached the group, which he shut down with a shake of his head. chan stayed with you guys for the remainder of the races, but he barely spoke.

the last match finished and the boys headed back to the locker rooms, once again leaving you alone to wait for them. after sneaking into the restroom to take off your soaked shit and pull on minho’s hoodie instead, you propped yourself against the wall next to the locker room door and waiting for the boys to come out, just like you had at the start of the meet.

when they finally did, jisung suggested the group of you going to get ice cream to celebrate minho’s new best race time and, even though no one said it, to cheer chan up. minho beamed at the idea, and chan let out a dry chuckle. he knew he preformed bad, and he knew it was because he was frustrated with the way you and minho had been acting recently, and to be quite honest, he didn’t really want to get ice cream with you and see more of your interactions before the night ended.

before chan could deny the request, claiming he was tired and wanted to go home and rest, someone called your name.

“y/n!” jaemin jogged up to you, not even bothering to address the other boys around you. “hey, my teams heading to get a bite to eat, i was wondering if you wanted to come along?”

“oh, uh…” you turned towards your team, face flushed red, silently asking for help. before any of the boys could okay you going with jaemin or not, chan interrupted.

“she’s going out to eat with us, actually.” chan took a step closer to you and jaemin. he had surprised himself with his words. he wasn’t even planning on going before, but he suddenly felt the need to do anything to keep you from going with jaemin. he thought to himself that it must be because, although he didn’t like the idea of you and minho together, if you were a couple, he wouldn’t want some other guy to come between the two of you. chan felt frustration pool in his stomach again, unconsciously sending a glare in jaemin’s direction.

“she hangs out with us after every meet, let her miss this one time.” minho spoke.

“are you sure, min? i know your new best time is a big accomplishment for you, if you want me to celebrate with you i will.”

“nah, don’t worry about it,” he ruffled your hair. “we can get boba tomorrow to make up for it, yeah?”

you smiled at him, “okay!”

and with that, you followed jaemin back to his group. the second you were out of earshot, chan turned to minho.

“what the hell, man, you’re okay with that?”

minho furrowed his eyebrows, shrugging, “why wouldn’t i be?”

“i don’t know, maybe because your girlfriend is about to leave with a group of guys we don’t know-“

“woah, woah,” minho interrupted, “i’m sorry, girlfriend?”

chan blinked at him, “yeah, aren’t you two like, a thing?”

minho let out a loud laugh, “oh my god, i swear i have to clear this up with someone every fucking day.” he clasped his hands together in front of him, “no. she’s gorgeous and i love y/n just as much as any sane person would, but i would never do that to you.”

chan frowned. “wouldn’t do that to him?” what was that supposed to mean? regardless, chan would have expected his muscles to relax at the reassurance that you and minho weren’t and never had been together, but for some reason, the frustration stayed in his stomach, increasing when he glanced over and saw you with jaemin and his friends.

according to his previous logic, he should have been fine with you going with jaemin now. it wouldn’t affect yours and minho’s relationship since you two weren’t even in one and he didn’t have to worry about minho hurting you anymore, so why was he still frustrated?

then it hit him.

how stupid was he? the anger he felt when he saw you close with minho or when you walked away with jaemin wasn’t just him being a protective friend or not wanting you to be with someone who might hurt you, it was him not wanting you to be with anyone, unless that someone was him.

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nonstop-haikyuu · 4 years

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Moon and Stars

Looking for Tsukiyama angst? Congrats you found it! Cause this shit really does hurt but don’t worry, there’s a happy ending!

Warnings: Yamaguchi has a panic attack and knocks himself unconscious, lowkey self harm but not explicit , Hayami is a good friend (she’s also an OC), I think that’s all??

Word Count: 3010

Yamaguchi still remembers the day that Tsuki had given him the necklace. It was a simple crescent moon hanging from a silver chain. It was his ninth birthday and the blond child was pink with his embarrassment as he handed Tadashi the little box wrapped in dinosaur wrapping paper. The freckled child grinned up at his friend and accepted the gift, eager to find out what Kei had gotten him.

Too excited to wait, he tore through the paper and flipped open the lid to the box. Nestled against a small bed of velvet laid the silver moon, glittering under the lights of the living room. Tadashi quickly pulled the necklace from its resting place then unfolded the chain as he asked, “Would you put it on for me?” Tsuki rubbed the back of his neck briefly then muttered, “Yeah, sure.” He plucked the necklace from Yamaguchi’s grasp and instructed the dark haired child to turn, clasping the necklace.

He smiled at the moon that reflected back at him and murmured, “I’m going to treasure this more than anything.”

Over the years, the necklace became a form of a good luck charm to Tadashi. He cherished the simple gift as he grew older and the volleyball team soon learned how important it was to him. Hinata was the first to ask why he always toyed with the chain during practice, especially when he became anxious about his serves. The freckled teenager smiled at the ginger’s question and admitted, “Tsuki gave it to me when we were kids. It’s always been sort of my good luck charm, you know?”

Hinata smiled at the explanation then chirped, “That’s so cute! I’m glad he’s at least nice to you, the jerk face.” Yamaguchi gave a laugh and nodded, replying, “Tsuki’s always been a bit cold towards others, but I promise he’s really not a bad guy.” The curly haired decoy pursed his lips together, clearly not convinced by his statement, and muttered, “As long as he’s nice to you, I guess.” The pinch server laughed at the response then turned as Tsukkishima entered the gym, dressed for practice, waving to his best friend.

Yamaguchi’s world practically revolved around Tsuki and he was painstakingly in love with the blond. But it all came crashing down halfway through their second year of high school. He remembered the day that his heart began to be broken by Tsukishima Kei, when he met the girl who would unintentionally start picking at the cracks of his heart. He was heading back to his class from lunch when he was first introduced to Sakiko Hayami.

“Yamaguchi, this is Sakiko Hayami, she’s a transfer from Aobajohsai. She’s in our class.” Tsuki introduced the young woman, waving a hand towards his best friend. She was beautiful, with long dark hair that curled around her shoulders and gold eyes that seemed to gleam. Freckles similar to his own were splayed across the bridge of her nose and cheeks, something that he was surprised at. Not many people had freckles and he was excited to meet someone who had them.

He bowed in greeting then chirped, “I’m Yamaguchi Tadashi, Tsuki’s best friend.” She flashed a bright smile at him after bowing in return and said, “It’s a pleasure! I think we’re going to be great friends.” He smiled brightly at her in response then glanced up at Tsuki, who was staring down at the interaction between the two. Meeting new people was simultaneously exciting and anxiety inducing but there was something uncertain settling at the bottom of his stomach.

He remembers the heart-brokenness he felt when Hayami and Tsuki announced them dating. It was three months after she transferred to Karasuno and they had offered to take Tadashi out to lunch to tell him something. It was a Saturday and practice had gotten out early, he was so excited to spend time with them.

“So why’d you guys want to go to lunch with me?” Tadashi asked, beginning to pick up a piece of chicken. The two exchanged a quick glance then Tsukishima answered, “We wanted to tell you that we’re dating.” The dark haired boy began to choke around his bite, Hayami reaching over to pound on his back, desperate to get him to breath again. They paused as the redness in Yamaguchi’s face returned then he croaked out, “Dating? How long?”

The blond hummed at the question and answered, “About two weeks. We wanted you to be the first to know.” Yamaguchi drew in a deep breath then flashed a tight smile, murmuring, “Congrats you two. I’m happy for you.” They smiled at Tadashi in response and they returned to eating lunch.

But at that point, he was sick to his stomach and the last thing he wanted to do was eat lunch in front of the love of his life while he joked with his girlfriend. Life was cruel and Yamaguchi wanted to curl in a hole and disappear from sight. From then on, Tadashi became a shell of himself. He declined Tsuki’s invites to hang out and avoided Hayami when he could, dodging them both in the hallway to the best of his abilities. However, completely avoiding them was nearly impossible due to the fact that he was in the same class.

One day, Tsukishima decided it was time to corner Yamaguchi and demand answers.

“Tadashi, we need to talk.” the blond stated, hurrying to follow the shorter teen out of their class. The freckled player glanced over his shoulder and mumbled, “I don’t have time, I have stuff I need to do.” He swerved in between the crowds of people, trying his best to lose his best friend, only for Kei to grab his wrist and drag him towards their locker. Yamaguchi struggled in his grasp briefly and snapped, “Just let me go! You have to go see Hayami, don’t you!”

“Why the hell are you acting like this?! You’ve been avoiding Hayami and I since we told you we were dating! I thought you would be happy for me!” Tsukki yelled, pushing his best friend towards the stairway. Tadashi’s chest tightened at the harshness of his tone then his fingers circled the moon dangling around his neck and he mumbled, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve just been busy.”

“You’ve been like this for weeks. My world does not revolve around you, Yamaguchi! You’re not the most important person to me.” And like that, he could feel his heart shatter like glass, with a few words. He drew in a shuddering breath and he yanked at the moon, the chain snapping at the pull, before he threw the necklace in Tsukki’s face. The blond caught the jewelry and glanced down at it briefly, surprise taking over his expression. Tadashi stifled a sob and choked out, “I guess I never really was, was I, Tsukkishima.” He quickly turned on his heel and stormed down the steps, eager to find somewhere to hide away from the world. He bumped into someone as he turned the corner to head outside and raised his head to apologize, only to freeze at the sight of Hayami standing in front him.

They stood in the middle of the hallway, concern sketched into her beautiful features, then she asked, “Tadashi, are you alright? Do I need to get Kei?” At the mention of his best friend, he sobbed and jerked away from the soft hand on his arm, crying, “Just leave me alone, both of you!” It was clear that she was watching as he raced down the hallway, away from the two who had ripped his heart from his chest, smothering it into the floor.

It felt like the world was crashing down around him, the clouds darkening as his mood worsened and he stumbled out of the school. It was as if there’s something crushing his chest and ribs, he can’t breathe, he just wants to breathe.

Tadashi glanced over the school yard and spotted the cluster of trees, thankful to see that no one was underneath them for lunchtime. He crashed to the ground and gasped for air as the tears ran hot down his cheeks. He yanked at his uniform’s neckline then clawed at the skin where the necklace once laid, thankful for the air that crashed into his lungs and the pain that shocked his system.

He pressed a tight hand over his mouth to muffle the sounds of his sobs then pulled his hand away from his neck, surprised to see blood running down his fingers. Yamaguchi leaned against the thickest tree trunk and closed his eyes, desperate for the solace he hasn’t had in so long.

Not even volleyball has offered him the freedom that he was searching for, not since Hayami and Tsuki began dating. He knew the reason behind his silence, the reason why he sat quietly during lunches. Being in love with your best friend was not the easiest thing to be, especially when he’s straight and had a girlfriend. Life was sadistic like that.

Lightning crackled across the Miyagi sky and he tilted his head upwards, thankful for the rain that was beginning to pour. It would wash away the evidence of his blood and tears and hopefully take his pain from him. His head was throbbing from the headache setting just behind his eyes then he let out a scream, relishing in the thunder that covered the sound.

He covered his face and continued to cry, hiccuping through the tears as his head slammed into the bark of the tree repeatedly. Maybe if he hit hard enough, he would be lucky enough to pass out and the storm would sweep him away. And god his wish was granted, his vision flooding with black.

When Tadashi came to, he glanced around the room that he was now in, immediately realizing that it was not his own. In fact, at a second glance, he recognized the location. He was in Tsukki’s bedroom and dread struck the middle of his chest. He jerked up in the bed then he pressed a tender hand to his throat, taking in the knowledge that the scratches were now bandaged.

“Oh finally you’re awake.” Yamaguchi closed his eyes at the sound of his best friend’s voice then muttered, “I thought you’d take a hint and leave me alone.” Tsuki scoffed and snapped, “Right because I’m going to leave you out in a thunderstorm, bleeding and passed out. Because I’m so much of a terrible friend that I would do that to you.” The dark haired teen blew out a slow breath and tossed the blanket off, snapping, “Thanks, but I need to go.”

Tadashi scanned the room then found his blazer and button up, not surprised to see that the blond had washed the two while he had slept, though the blood from his scratches still remained on the collar of the shirt. He made his way towards the door, eager to get home, only for the middle blocker to snatch him by his wrist, insisting, “If you think you’re going to leave here without telling me whatever the hell is going through your head, you’re wrong. Now sit down and tell me what your problem is.”

Tadashi drew in a deep breath and jerked his hand free from Tsuki’s grasp, snapping, “I already told you, it’s nothing. Just go back to Hayami. I know Fridays are your date nights, wouldn’t want to ruin your perfect relationship.” The blond narrowed his eyes at the harsh tone then realization settled in his features, accusing, “You’re jealous of Hayami? Are you serious right now?” The pinch server gave a bitter laugh then tossed his hands into the air, crying out, “Of course I’m jealous of her! She has everything I ever wanted!”

Kei paused at the tears and began to wipe them away, only for the shorter teen to swat away his hand, muttering, “Don’t. It’s clear that you don’t care about me. Not anymore. Now just let me go, I have homework to finish.” The blond scoffed and cupped the freckled cheeks, hissing, “If that’s really what you think, then you’re even dumber than Hinata. I will always care about you.”

“Not the way that you care about her. You’ll never see me the same way I see you. You just don’t understand, Tsukki.” Yamaguchi whimpered, fingers wrapping around Kei’s wrists to pull his hands away from this face. The blond frowned down at his best friend and snapped, “Quit talking in fucking riddles and tell me what the hell you’re talking about.”

“I’m in love with you! I’ve been in love with you since we were nine and you gave me the moon necklace!” Tadashi shouted, gripping the front of Tsukkishima’s shirt. The middle blocker froze at the admission and his jaw dropped as he began to process the words. The shorter teen took advantage of his shock then jerked out Tsuki’s hold to race down the stairs, eager to get home and cry in peace.

He managed to get his shoes only by the time that the blond made his way down the stairs and began to open the door, Tsuki’s hand slamming it shut. Yamaguchi jumped at the loud sound and turned to face his best friend, sobbing, “Why, why won’t you just let me go? Please, just let me go, I just want to go home and forget about this all!”

“You’re not even giving me a chance to process this! Dammit, Tadashi! Why couldn’t you have told me sooner?!” Tsukishima shouted, smashing his fist into the door. The dark haired teen buried his face in his hands then cried, “I didn’t want to lose you! You’re the most important person to me and you’re straight! You’re straight and I’m so fucking in love with you, I can’t imagine a life without you! But now you’re with Hayami and she’s so damn perfect!”

“I’m not straight!” The crack of his voice smashed through Tadashi’s senses and he froze at the admission. Kei wrapped his hands around Yamaguchi's wrists then murmured, “I’ve been in love with you since we were thirteen and you gave me my stuffed triceratops. I started dating Hayami because I didn’t think you were interested in me. I guess I was stupid for not asking.”

The two stared at one another in silence, clearly unsure on how to proceed, then Tsuki’s phone began to ring, breaking their focus. He pulled his phone from his pocket and glanced at the screen then he took a deep breath. Hayami was calling. He answered the call then put it on speaker, asking, “Hey, what’s up?”

“How is he?” her soft voice crackled through the speaker of the phone and Tadashi’s bottom lip began to tremble. She knew that Tsuki had taken him home. And she didn’t sound angry; in fact, she sounded concerned about his well being. She was an angel and Yamaguchi had avoided her like the plague. Some friend he was. Kei sighed and answered, “Physically okay. Got the scratches bandaged up, but mentally… I figured out why he was avoiding us at least.”

“Was I right? Was he in love with you?” she asked. Tadashi stiffened at the question and watched as Tsukishima replied, “Yeah, you were right. Listen, I’m really sorry. You’re an amazing person and I want to be friends with you, but it’s just… he’s Tadashi. We’re over.” Hayami hummed at the explanation then chirped, “That’s alright, Kei. I understand. I really hope we can still be friends. Bye, Tadashi, I hope you feel better soon.” The freckled teen sniffled at her words and murmured, “Thank you, Hayami, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I think deep down, I knew what I was getting into when I asked Tsukishima out. I’ll see you two Monday.” A soft beep echoed her words and Kei slid the phone back into his pocket as he murmured, “She’s too kind. I guess she was much more insightful than either of us was.” Yamaguchi gave a soft hum and stared down at the floor, tears still streaming down his face, then he muttered, “I guess.”

“Tadashi, I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you this sooner. And I’m sorry that I put you through so much. I hope that you can forgive me and that you’ll still love me the way that I love you.” Tsukshima admitted, pressing his forehead against his best friend. The freckled teen gave a soft sniffle then murmured, “You could rip my heart out and saute it for dinner and I would still say, ‘Sorry, Tsukki.’ I love you and I always will.”

The blond drew in a deep breath at the admission and cupped Tadashi’s face before he asked quietly, “Can I kiss you? As the beginning of our relationship?” A small nod and a soft, “I would like that.” answered his question and he leaned down, pecking Yamaguchi chastely on the lips. A bright smile began to stretch across their faces as they backed away before the shorter teenager muttered, “I better get a kiss at least ten times a day.” Tsukishima rolled his eyes at the demand but agreed nonetheless, “Fine, whatever you want. But you need to take this back.”

Tadashi furrowed his eyebrows together at the request and Kei held his hand open, revealing his moon necklace nestled in the palm. Tears bubbled up and he pressed a tight hand over his mouth to stifle a sob, murmuring, “I’m so sorry, I really didn’t mean any of that.”

“I know. I fixed the chain, since it snapped when you threw it at me. Looked like it needed to be changed out anyway. Now turn, so I can put it on you.” the blond murmured, motioning his best friend to spin around. Yamaguchi did as he asked and shivered at the cool metal taking its place on his neck. He glanced down briefly then smiled at the moon settled against his skin. He had his moon back.

Tagging: @haikyuufairy

#tsukiyama #tsukiyama angst #tsukiyama fluff #tsukiyama imagines #tsukishima x yamaguchi #yamaguchi tadashi #tsukishima kei #tsukishima angst #yamaguchi angst #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines #hq fluff #hq imagines #hq angst

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haikyuuscreaming · 4 years

Note

Oh I’ve got requests! How about Nishinoya being slightly upset about the attention his crush receives vday week so he tries to outshine everyone giving them gifts and on vday he confesses and is like THIS IS WHY YOU SHOULD PICK ME

I DEADASS NEVER GET ANY NOYA REQUESTS IM PUMPED

It doesn’t surprise anyone when Nishinoya Yuu turns out to be a not-patient person. In fact, he might be the opposite of patient.

He’s always been spontaneous and comes up with ideas on a whim, and admittedly carries through with said ideas without anyone stopping him. It also doesn’t come as a surprise that Nishinoya has the biggest crush on you.

Ever since his first year at Karasuno and you guys shared that PE class together and coincidentally landed on the same team for each sport, every time, he’s always had an eye for you. An adoring, loving eye. He’s done everything in his power to try and get close to you, and the two of you are actually great friends.

And of course, you guys aren’t really dating or anything, Noya knows. So why is he so mad that you’re getting so much attention from other people?

Every single Valentine’s Day– and week–, you’ve always been the receiver of gifts and chocolates. Guys and girls alike lined up every day of this Love Week to confess and give you flowers, sweets, cards, everything under the sun. Which means you racked up quite a bit of confessions.

(Noya never forgets, though, that you haven’t returned even one of the confessions.)

He brings it up one day during homeroom, when the two of you are snacking on your bentos.

“Hey, [Name],” he mentions casually, and his heart’s beating a lot faster than he intends. The rice in his mouth becomes like glue as he swallows it down. “Have you ever returned someone’s confession?”

(Of course, he already knows the answer. He just wants to hear the affirmative.)

You give him a side-eyed glance, chewing thoughtfully on your onigiri. “Nah. The right person didn’t come up, y’know?” And you smile, shrugging absent-mindedly.

(Nishinoya thinks your smile is absolutely dazzling, like it outshines every single star in the sky.)

“Don’t worry, [Name]!!” he bursts out with a grin, shoveling another omelette into his mouth. “With how awesome and pretty you are, you’ll find the right person soon. Valentine’s Day’s right around the corner!!”

You laugh, and the sound is heavenly to Noya’s ears. “You inflate my ego.”

“Well, you deserve it!”

(The right person’s gonna be me, he promises.)

Valentine’s Day falls on a Friday this year.

Nishinoya notes the amount of people each day who slip adoring notes into your locker, the amount of people who line up to confess their feelings for you.

And Noya’s never patient, but he’s willing to wait till Friday for his big moment.

Every day, since the Monday of Love Week, he’s been leaving gifts for you with a note, always signed with a thunderbolt. He knows you receive them, every day, because you talk about it to him so excitedly.

“Noya, someone left me my favorite chocolates today!”

“Hey, did you know someone gave me my favorite kind of flower? It was so sweet! Too bad they didn’t sign it…”

“Today, someone folded me some really cute origami pandas with hearts.”

“Noya! Someone brought me a teddy bear today!” It’s the Thursday before Valentine’s Day, and you proudly show him your fuzzy friend. “It’s like this person knows me so well.”

“Oh? That’s really cool!!” Noya can’t help the sunniness that pours from his voice, because he knows that teddy bear all too well. He won it at an arcade game just yesterday because he remembered you pointing out the bear so wistfully.

“Noya, look at that cute teddy bear!!” you point to the cashmere, fluffy bear that sits behind the glass pane of the arcade machine.

“You can’t point it out now,” Nishinoya complains and he bumps you lightly. “We just spent all our money on food! Are you tryna mock me?”

You shake your head furiously, laughing a little bit before sighing in contentment. “Nah. We can win it later, don’t worry.”

You smile wistfully at the bear, nuzzling it with your cheek. “This person’s really thoughtful. They’ve been writing notes, too, all signed with cute little thunderbolts.”

“Ya know, thunderbolts are pretty cool,” Noya grins.

“Says you, Rolling Thunder boy!”

Friday rolls around much too quick, and Noya wakes up a good thirty minutes early to make you bento. Just for today. He doesn’t bother with a note, because he’s got this whole speech planned out for you.

The bento he makes is a little lopsided and is shaped rather crudely, but he’s proud that he got the rice balls into a somewhat consistent sphere. He even asked Kiyoko for help a few days ago on how to make good omelette rolls.

Noya tucks the bento box into his backpack, and puffs out his chest for an extra boost of confidence.

He sets off for an anxious yet exciting day of school.

Eventually, he gets to school and he sees Tanaka, who slaps his back and says something meaningful like get the girl, Noya, and that gets Nishinoya’s heart pumping again. He swallows back the lump in his throat as the adrenaline races in his veins, and he waits not-so-patiently for lunch.

Homeroom comes like a crashing wave: way too unexpected for Noya and it feels too natural, like this isn’t what he considers one of the biggest things to happen in his life. In the homeroom classroom Noya’s always adored because he shared the class with you, you sit in your desk eating your bento just like a normal day before lunch even starts. You look up and smile at him, and Nishinoya’s entire body feels like it’s about to overflow with energy. He sidles next to you, after greeting you sunnily and his finger absentmindedly taps against his desk, waiting for the sensei to finish lecturing so he can finally showcase what he’s been so uncharacteristically thoughtful about.

His time comes and he knows you’re about to say something, most likely starting a conversation, but he stands up before you get a chance, His hand dives into his backpack and pulls out his bento box that he so “skillfully” crafted for you and stands up board-straight, his chest puffed out as he stares you straight in the eye.

“[Name], I just want you to know that I really really like you! And I have for a long time!” Noya cuts straight to the point and he watches your eyes widen for a fraction of a second before tilting your head, as if coaxing him to continue. “And, you know, you get a lot of valentines each year, right? But I made you all those thunderbolt notes and stuff, and I got you all those gifts!” With each word, Noya feels like his heart is pumping harder and harder and his chest puffs out too. “So what I’m saying is, I think I’m the best one for you!! I’m better than everyone else ‘cause I really like you, you’re probably one of my best friends, I think you’re really neat-”

“Noya!” you interrupt him, laughing, and he’s a little shell-shocked. What, did he do something bad?? No, he couldn’t, he’s been dreaming of this day for far too long for it to turn out badly. “You.. you’re so sweet, oh my god. I- I thought you knew??”

“K.. Knew what?” He’s a little nervous now, but it’s nothing he can’t handle!

“I like you too, you dork,” you lean in and boop his nose, and your face lights up so much that Noya’s sure you’re the sun. “Ah! You made bento for me?? I thought you couldn’t cook!! You’re so sweet what the heck-”

“I know, I’m a master chef,” Nishinoya puffs out his chest even more than it’s already been puffed out and grins. God, he’s soaring right now. He’s ecstatic and you lean in to kiss his forehead. “Well, happy Valentine’s Day.”

#nishinoya yuu #yuu nishinoya #nishinoya yu #yu nishinoya #nishinoya yuu x reader #yuu nishinoya x reader #nishinoya yu x reader #yu nishinoya x reader #haikyuu #haikyu #haikyuu!!#haikyu!!#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq scenarios

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kashimos-hajime · 5 years

Text

if i time it right, the thunder breaks

Summary: “And he hated himself and hated her, too, for the ruin they'd made of each other.”

WARNINGS: swearing, it’s getting bad, mentions of (sexual, if you interpret it that way) child abuse, violence, angst, these idiots dont know how to take care of themselves but they know how to take care of each other Pairing: Detective Loki x Reader Word Count: 6.1k

A/N: thank you for the crazy response babes. truly thought this would flop and y’all proved me wrong. this is an important chapter and there’s a lot to say. i am open to tagging people so just lemme know if you want to be by sending an ask. GIF not mine

01 | ... | 03 | 04 | 05

“Stop eating my shit.”

“Fuck off,” you snap, tossing the container of gummies onto the dash. It’s only half-empty and it’s not like you won’t buy him more. “God, I fucking hate this case.” You pinch the bridge of your nose as he slams the door, shaking rain off his coat. You swallow the gummy, feeling it all the way down to your stomach. The list of level-three sex offenders is like your death sentence as you cross out another name on the list with jagged black lines. “Nothing?”

“Just some German porn. Fuck.” His palm collides with the steering wheel as you try to sink into your chair. The air is stuffy in here but you don’t have the strength to open a window. “Fuck.” He sucks in a breath between his teeth, the cord of his throat pulsing. You lick your lips, turn away.

“You need some coffee?” You lean forward and pull out the giant thermos you have filled to the brim with coffee from your bag, and he snatches it from you, letting the black roast scorch his throat. You press your temple against the cold window before he nudges your shoulder. He offers the open thermos back to you and you down it, the bitterness waking up your mind as you twist the cap on shut again.

“Where next?” Your nose twitches again as you sniff, trying to see straight at the list. Reading out the address, you fold it back into your pocket and lean into the window as the Sedan rolls into motion.

It is raining now, a gentle pattering that you could fall asleep too if you were home instead of here. David sends you a glance but otherwise focuses his gaze on the road. It’s a long night before you, and you can imagine the thermos would be empty before long.

David’s fingers tap the steering wheel when he drives. You know you’re not supposed to notice such a habit of his, but it’s a part of him, like how you know when he’s under stress, he blinks like someone squirted lemon juice in his eyes, or how he takes his coffee black because he nearly choked on watered down sugar for coffee once when he was fifteen.

But, you do. You can’t help that he’s part of you and you can’t help but smile at his young face, spitting that awful coffee into the street, one of the brightest memories in your head, surrounded by so much smoke and shadow that pulls, claws, tugs you in and then you are spiraling.

“You’re thinking loudly,” he comments, banishing the smoke for mere moments, and you toss him a look from where it had drifted into the dark trees. Bundling your coat around yourself, you recline into your chair.

“I’m just thinking about us,” you reply and he lets out a sharp breath, a gesture often paired with him shaking his head in irritation or disbelief or something. You don’t want to look at the ruins of what you’d done. “When we were younger.”

The fingers on the steering wheel pause, wrap tighter instead, and you close your eyes.

“Really?” He is stiff, every inch of him. You’re sure the cord of his neck is hard as a rock against his skin. The line of his reflection is just visible in the glass and you press your temple against the window, looking into your lap.

“The years you were at Huntington,” you begin, and this time you must look at him. There are only some times you can bring such a time up and by the twitch of the muscles in his jaw, this isn’t the best, but it bottles up inside you that you might… you just don’t want to think about it anymore. “Those were the worst years of my life. I don’t think I’ve ever told you that.”

“You haven’t.”

“Well, I hated seeing you there. I hated seeing what they did to you.”

You can see it play before your eyes, a mere spectator to some biopic film that you are forced to see.

Two figures under the shade of the church, one tall and thin and, another carrying a can and bags and stale bread that spilled over tiny arms, food that could’ve gone to those who didn’t have a home like he did. He’d insisted you take it back, but you simply dented a can against the rock until a tiny hole formed and told him to suck the juice from the mangoes before it leaked into the moist dirt. Moonlight bathed two figures even under the shade of the church as the taller one helped the tiny one over the fence.

“I’ll come back,” you promised in harsh breaths. He held the rest of the food in his arms, granola bars he could eat quietly, bread he could rip apart in small bits and chew on, and you grabbed the front of his ratty shirt desperately despite how much he must feel, a purple and blue plethora underneath his little church uniform that’d been torn in all the wrong places. “My uncle won’t notice. I’ll come back for you.”

You thoughts drift even further back.

A hospital waiting room, reeking of antiseptic and too much bleach. This boy you met just an hour ago, sitting with his respective social worker in that antiseptic waiting room was the most interesting person you’d ever met. He had cards, and said he’d taught himself magic tricks if you wanted to see. You nodded but played goldfish instead.

“They’re not my real parents,” he’d told you almost angrily, and you’d balked at the thought. “I’m only here because they have to do something before they bring me to a Huntington Boys Home. They think I have ‘problems’.”

“Oh.” You had frowned artfully and he asked if you had a seven. You shook your head and said goldfish. “Where are your real parents?”

“I think they died.”

“Oh.” You remember the disappointment, the utter sadness compelling you to watch the boy as he looks into his cards.

“Why are you here?”

“My mom can’t take care of me anymore and I don’t know my dad.” Your shoulders had risen, fallen indelicately and the boy smiled with the teeth he had. He was missing one of the lower ones and you had smiled back faintly, nervously.

“That sucks.”

“I guess. I didn’t like her that much.”

You swallow and close your eyes as if that’ll help bat the image away but it only serves to show you the bloodied knuckles, the bruises on pale, milky thighs and the scars shown in the mist of hot showers and empty locker rooms.

“You, uh, you liked the canned fruit the best. I remembered.” Your voice is faint, barely heard over the rain and rumble of the engine that’s already just a whisper.

He swallows, too, eyes burning into the windshield. You know he’s trying his hardest not to swerve or stop the car, or even look at you, because his arms shake from the strength he holds the steering wheel. You’re quite sure it might detach if he goes any longer.

“You told me there was life outside of priests and sick fucks like them.”

“Well, I didn’t know. It was just something I heard my uncle say, when he was sober at least. He said there was a life outside of your shitty circumstance,” you reply with that indelicate shrug. You haven’t thought of the man who’d offered a roof over your head and nothing else in a while. “It was one of the few things I learned from him, not because of him.”

“You shouldn’t fucking be here,” he says softly. Your eyes trace the arch of his neck, a feather-light gaze that flickers across his cheeks, the slick-back hair, the hands that loosen on the steering wheel as you travel over a bump on the road. “This town will never be good enough for you.”

“It has you in it.” You know it’s something you shouldn’t fucking say but you can’t help it. That boy in the hospital room with the gap-wide smile sits before you and you can’t do anything about it. You turn your body inwards, towards him, and his hand finds your knee on its own accord as you settle into your new position. “I fucking hated seeing you there.” “I know.”

“I’m glad you left when you could.”

“I know.” His hand, a heavy heat on your knee, squeezes before he lifts it and your eyes dart to the warmth he’s left on you, a warmth that spreads through your body like warm wine. “I’m glad you did too, either.”

Terrible, ugly, screaming and the smell of vodka spits in your mouth. You shake off the feeling and you know that David saw you shudder. He doesn’t say anything more. Neither do you.

Time does not heal all wounds, and you wonder if love could’ve ever built a palace on sand.

You can’t sleep. Even with the father in custody, you can’t sleep. David’s arm tightens around your waist as he sleeps, but you know he is uneasy in his slumber.

Fuck.

“Sleepin’?” he mumbles suddenly and you close your eyes as if that’ll help you. “Me neither.”

“Get some sleep,” you murmur back, burrowing your face deeper into the pillow. You can still see the dead man’s body in the father’s basement and your nose twitches. You had held the father above the hole, made him look at the darkness of his basement, at the bones of his work. Made him look into David’s eyes, made him see.

Not his work, a voice in the back of your mind whispers. The devastation beside you is not this man’s work. The smell of dust and cobwebs still lingers. So does David’s voice. The boys home. Sweet fruit nectar and the taste of blood form a strange cocktail in your mouth.

That’s justice unserved, too. You suppress a shiver.

“Come on.” His voice warms your neck as he pulls himself closer, nose pressed against the back of your shoulder. You tug his arm tighter around you, fingers slipping to interlace with his. “Close your eyes.” “They’re closed,” you promise. His lips brush against the bare skin of your shoulder before a feather-soft kiss lands on the juncture between your neck and shoulder. His legs press underneath your thighs and the warmth his body radiates drowns you, melts you away until you’re nothing. He digs his fingers into your bare stomach and you can feel him blinking hard against your skin. “Sleep. Please. Don’t think about that anymore.” You utter the words so softly, so desperately you barely recognize your own voice.

“Fuck,” he whispers and something wet touches your skin. You open an eye to stare through the window, at the moon nearly blocked out by the branches outside your window as he holds onto you tighter. You feel the fire burning, an ice cold fire that makes you hurt so much. Makes you want to throw him off and rip those memories from his head. Anything to make it stop. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, but it is unheard over the sounds of his harsh, hot breaths. More wetness tracks down your bare shoulders as his arm goes taut around you. You twist around immediately, and pull him close to your chest. Your eyes are closed, your hands clutching into his hair, fingers digging into his skull, salt rain sliding over your cheeks.

He tries to speak, puffs of air that could’ve been words had he not been so choked, and you merely let him try and break you, let his hands grip bruises into your skin and trace the scars people have left behind. You trace every crack in the porcelain of his back, every fissure that you know reaches from his neck to his legs.

Why couldn’t you have chosen something other than some broken little thing? Something that does not remind you of pain and sick and ache.

You don’t know whether you ask this of yourself or to him.

When you wake up, it is hard to even get your eyes to open. You don’t remember when you fell asleep and you wonder if you even had at all.

Three days. Has it really been three days already? You screw up your face to wake yourself up as David shuffles around the room. He’s already awake and you glance blearily at the clock. It’s only 4 AM, that means…

Shit. An hour or two of sleep if you can even call it sleep. Fuck.

Pushing yourself up, you drag yourself out of bed on unsteady legs and wade to the bathroom.

You’re done in record time and when you leave, David is out of the room and in the kitchen preparing coffee. You begin to poke your head through one of his shrunken dress shirts. You’d stuff it into a pair of looser pants and tie it with a belt today. You just need something looser than one of your own tightfitting blouses. Maybe it’d help you breathe easier.

He returns moments later to button up his own dress shirt. You can see his eyes rake over your figure, over the shirt you wear, but David doesn’t say anything as you dress. The shadows of the room playing tricks on you, you pull your hair out from underneath your collar and your nose twitches. Sniffing, you try to chase away the exhaustion pulling at your ankles, trying to chain you at your bed. Your hand rubs deep into your eyes as you gather your raincoat and stuff your feet into your boots in the living room.

When the two of you are ready to leave, you a cup of black coffee already in your system and David a piece of chewing gum in his mouth, you grab your bag.

“Here.” You look up. Your huge thermos is filled to the brim with coffee, twisted shut, and you slip it into the bag.

“Thanks.”

Letting David press a lingering kiss to your temple before he opens the door, you dig through your bag to make sure you have everything.

“Let’s head to the station,” he mutters. “I’m not fucking hungry.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Adjusting the straps on your shoulder, you follow after him, locking your apartment door behind you. Neither of you speak the ride to the police station, because there is nothing to say.

Last night is already forgotten.

Not really.

Fiddling with your phone, you run a hand through your hair. You can’t describe the uneasiness, the nausea that swirls in your stomach for the first time in years. Whilst David had left in search of the owner of the home where the RV was parked, you are stuck at homebase. You rewind the tapes, watching the interrogation of Alex Jones. It’s ten hours worth of tape, worth of footage that can mean absolutely nothing and a waste of time, or be a breakthrough in the case. You scroll back as the police officers work outside your dark room.

You can hear them talking, the little tap-tap-tap of their keyboards or the sounds of them laughing at some little joke made in the break room and fight the impulse to scream.

When did you get so fucking tired? When did invisible weights chain you to a desk, make the remote effort of rewinding a task as you watch the footage reverse?

“Detective.”

You raise your head, turning only just enough to see Chemelinski standing at the door. That ugly artificial light streams in behind him and you squint at how bright it is outside the dark room.

“We got something.”

“What?” You stand abruptly and black dots invade your vision as you blink, hand finding the back of the chair as casually as you can. Chemelinski keeps talking and you catch bits and pieces as you walk after him, knuckles brushing the wall just in case your legs decide to give out on you. “What’d the father say?”

“Something. I dunno if you got the sense to make it fit, but it’s something.” The older man opens the door to the interrogation room and you walk in, eyebrows knitting together. The father is sitting there in his grey cardigan, looking rather pathetic for himself, and you sit down.

“Good morning, father.” You lace your fingers on the table, sitting upright as Chemelinski closes the door. “Detective over here tells me you said something specific about the… the child abductor we found in your basement. Care to share it with me?”

“He was… waging a war against God.” One eyebrow rises as you send a glance to Chemelinski who clenches his jaw so visibly you wonder if his teeth are gonna crack. You return your gaze to the father who has yet to look at you. Leaning back into the chair, your hands roll into dragging fists over wood.

“Anything else? About how they were kidnapped or…”

“He said… he took them in daylight. Sometimes, more than one child at a time.”

“Great.” Your knuckles rapping against wood, you wait for anything else. Nothing. Prompting him will have to be the way to go. “Did he act alone? Did he ever mention any family, partners?”

“He said he had a family. He was suffering from a great loss.”

“That’s it?” A numb nod. You stand, the chair scraping against the scuffed floor and you send Chemelinski a foul glare. Blackness swarms your vision and you blink, trying to get rid of it before he notices. “Great. Thank you for your cooperation, father.” Opening the door, you adjust the handcuffs stuffed along the back of your belt and walk down the hall. Chemelinski follows after you but you ignore the detective in favour of jotting down what you’d learned and sending it in a text to David.

Child abductor — took them in daylight, more than one child at a time, had a family. Father decided to talk.

Text me when you can. -xx

You pause, staring as the text goes through. XX.

XX.

You hadn’t thought about it before you sent it. It was merely an instinct that took over you and hollows you out now as you stare at the letters. Two simple taps of the same little shape, but it means a world of things both of you buried. You pause in the hallway, staring at that tiny screen, the pixels forming the twenty-fourth letter of the alphabet. Chemelinski sends you a strange glance, passing by you, but you ignore him as you wait for his response.

I will. -D x

He replies in a manner that means he hasn’t forgotten either. You hold the phone tightly in your fist and lift your head to the ugly artificial light as if heaven has washed you in a golden glow. Leaning against the wall, you press the phone to your chest and suck in a breath, hoping that the wind will not whisk you away.

Heading to the candlelight vigil. Could be a lead. -D x

What makes you think that? -xx

I dont know. Just something I wish we had. Ill see you soon. -D x

Stay safe. -xx

“Fuck.”

You press the ice pack against the bruising on his shoulder, sniffing with a twitch of your nose as he let out a long, drawn out moan. The coloring isn’t bad; you assume the jacket got the brunt of the damage, but you are sure it’s gonna be worse tomorrow.

“I should’ve been there for you,” you whisper, fingers brushing over the crisp gelled curls that fall into his eyes. He groans, leaning forward on his knees. The locker room is empty and you leave the ice pack on his shoulder for a second to get the elastic bandage and vitamin K cream. David lets out a huff as you return, moving the ice pack to unveil the red and purple.

“It’s fine. Shit.” Your fingers dipped in vitamin K cream, you smear it gently over the plane of his broad shoulder. “You couldn’t have known someone would’ve jumped onto me.”

“Yeah, but…” you trail off. You don’t know how to argue a point you are too tired to make. “How’s that feel?” you murmur, spreading a thin layer over his skin as he turns to watch your work. You wipe your hand of the excess and ask him to raise his arm a bit. Beginning to wrap his shoulder, you hum to yourself as you work.

“Too tight,” he occasionally says, or he’ll comment on the looseness of a certain round and you steadily make your progress. Forming a figure-eight pattern around his arm, shoulder, and chest, you murmur for him to take a deep breath before continuing. “Thank you,” he utters as you near the end of the elastic bandage. Your fingernails scratch against the fabric as you unfold a lip in the bandage.

“What for?” Grabbing elastic tape, you follow the same pattern to secure the bandage. The rip of the tape fills the silence David does not and you pause to look at him. “Loke.” The nickname feels fucking weird on your tongue. By David’s expression, he feels the same. He doesn’t even look at you as you smooth over the black tape.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“What do you mean?” You take hold of his arm, curling his hand into a fist to test bicep size. Sticking a finger beneath the bandage, you check for room and mobility. “Is it too tight?”

“No.”

“Okay, try moving it for me.” With your support, he eases into full mobility and you suppress a small smile. “Good.” You cross your arms and move to stand before him. “You need to get some sleep before the Captain calls you in.”

“You don’t have to do this for me.”

Uncrossing your arms, you step forward and run your hands through his crisp hair. He looks up and, with you between his legs, rests his chin on your stomach. His fingers interlock on your back, his arms swathing you in the heat of his shower.

Your hands run down to his cheeks as you stare into his porcelain blue eyes, all at once so dark and fragile. Purple half-moons threaten to swallow up his eyes whilst you trace the hollows in his cheeks.

There is so much you have to say. So much you need to say. But you can’t. Not now. Not in the middle of this case. You know it’ll utterly destroy the pillars of what you two are if you do and you know he’s thinking the same thing.

Your eyes search his, and you sink down to a crouch before him. He looks so much older in your arms and you wonders if that is your fault, too. Your fingers drag from his cheek to the robin on his ribs and he lifts your inked hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles where you are marked.

“Get some rest, Loke. Go home and eat.” The words taste like blood and wine in your mouth, all at once bitter and sweet and sour. You draw away and his arms fall around you as your lips find the spot between his eyes. His eyelids flutter shut, and you wonder about many things that you can’t put a name to. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Come with me.” He grabs your arm, fingers snagging your wrist and your gaze, torn from the door, lands on him. The shadows are there again, and he pulls you towards him. Your boots brush against the tile as you let him pull you between his legs. “Don’t stay here alone.”

“Loke—” Your hands find purchase on his shoulders, and the rough scratch of the bandage on one palm, the silky skin of his other, topple you from within. You remember once, once some version of you would straddle him right here and now and make him yours. When you had room inside your heart for childish little tricks and David and your work. How had you ever done it in the first place? “Loki.”

“Stay with me.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Your heart stops in your chest at the wide eyes, the marble of his cheeks. You can’t.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“We don’t do that shit,” you let out in a breath, tearing yourself away. He stands and you close your eyes as if that’ll stop the heat of him from enveloping you. Even so, David Loki has the body temperature of a nuclear radiator and you can sense him from a mile away. “David, I—” Your words ghost against blazing lips as he presses a severe kiss against your mouth. Your eyes open and you gasp, trying to breathe. He suffocates you, eyes squeezed shut. Urgent and desperate and pleading, his arms hold onto you as if the world will swallow you, take you away.

You wish to tell him that’ll never happen, so you do. Your arms loop around his neck on their own accord, your lips pushing back against his in an agonizing battle of your desire and his as you tug at his skin, fingers raking red over his back. Your palms flatten and touch the scars, tiny little things, the bullet hole from the heist in ‘08, the stabbing from the breaking and entering on Holder Street, some much older than that.

But then he pulls away, and your eyes open, cold air conditioned wind breathing against your burning skin as he tries to stop himself from kissing your aching mouth again.

He only succeeds on the second try.

His eyes are shadowed with fear and anguish, and you close your eyes, You don’t want to see that again. Not again. You hate the feeling in the very core of who you are. It feels like a personal attack, a graverobber digging up a coffin you want to remain hidden as his hands, on your neck, slide to your waist and he leans forward to kiss your cheek. His breath whispers over your chin. His thumb brushes away smeared lipstick from the corner of your mouth and you press your lips together, desperate to hold it in. Your eyes search his face, soak in every little blemish as his forehead knocks into yours.

His other hand plays with your wrist, gently pulling until your fingers interlock and he swallows, looking down at the chasm between you two. Your chests barely brush and yet you feel he is at one end of the world and you are at the other. You are at a stepping off point, and he sits on the other end of the lake.

The smell of him is everywhere, stale coffee and gum and Bearglove deodorant he buys whenever it’s on sale. You inhale sharply, softly, and all too quickly when your gazes meet. It catches in your throat, and you don’t know when your eyes began to burn but they do. His hand holds your face like a fragile little thing, and you find yourself grabbing at his arms, his waist, inked skin that runs for miles and scars that once gave you comfort and now give you heartbreak. You hold him because you are desperate and he holds you because he knows.

You beg, you beg him because you can read his mind and know his tongue, his eyes, his taste. You know his heat and wishes and darkest desires. It is why you cannot hear this — it’ll make it too real.

Do not break a broken thing, you plead. Do not stir up dust in the ruins of the dead. We know, we know, we know. We can live in denial. Don’t do it. Don’t, don’t, don’t—

“I still love you,” he mumbles forlornly, deliberately, at last, and your breath rattles in your chest. The weight that lifts is only momentary before it slams into you and you rip your hands away, fingers burning from lightning. The words barely sink in before your mouth opens, the response so automatic you nearly let it slip out. But he doesn’t let you. He merely kisses your forehead, and his lips press into some sort of smile written in the language of heartbreak and tragedy. It’s a language you wish you didn’t know so well. “You don’t have to say it back. I just wanted you to know.”

He grabs his black pullover and shrugs his injured shoulder. You’re left standing there, lips barely parted and still pulsing from the heat of his kiss despite how much you want to yell at him, scream for him to stay for just a moment more.

I want to say it back. I want to. I want you. I will.

I can’t.

Your legs are frozen to tile as he pauses at the door. Your head dips, eyes slipping closed as hot wet tears stream down your nose. He’s waiting. You know he is. He waits for a thing you cannot give him once again.

“I love you,” he whispers again, and this time the words bounce across walls and lockers, metal and ceramic before it reaches your hollow heart. The door swings open and shut.

You wonder how you can patch a broken heart with the very thing that broke it.

“Are you serious? Loki and I specifically said that we need surveillance on this guy.” It’s a bright 8 AM when you spit these words, collar twisted in your fist. “I know you’re stretched thin, but you gotta keep your word.” Your other hand grips a cup of steaming coffee you want to throw into the man’s face. Instead, you toss the dog collar onto his desk and hope the poison in your voice is enough.

“You said he was innocent.”

“And we also said we wanted surveillance on him. Look, you could’ve called either one of us. We’re a team for a reason. I could’ve went out and kept an eye on him. This was a stupid mistake, and I don’t want this to happen again.” You lean forward, fingers digging into the wood as you make sure the Captain is nearly shitting his pants. “You fucking know how important this case is to the both of us. Don’t fuck it up again.”

“What do you want?”

“You think we can do something different, tell us.”

“Detective, when’s the last time you slept?”

“Unimportant. We need to know where everyone is.” You slam your hand hard against the desk and the pens clatter before you straighten up, taking a long pull of your coffee.

“Point made.”

“Good. Communication lines—” You gesture between yourself and the Captain— “need to be open. I’m gonna work on finding the guy. Communication. You have my number.” Whipping around, you brush past your… the man who had confessed feelings he shouldn’t have and you sigh, leaning against the wall farther down the hall. You suck down the rest of your coffee, the warmth of it chilling your stomach.

He’s in a foul mood, you know, and you’re sure it’s about the dead dog you found last night. Or it could be the fact that you slept in a motel last night. TBD.

You hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep last night. You had sweated and tried sleeping naked, then got too cold and the covers hadn’t been enough. You tried to blame it on the shitty heater in the motel, but your body ached in a way you had only known to happen once before so you’d instead gone out for a late night stroll around the block to jog out the energy.

In the break room, you find it empty and you sigh, opening the fridge to check for food that hasn’t been claimed. Nothing. There’s a stack of icecream, but you’ll eat that later. Slamming the door shut, you catch your warped reflection in the metal. Your eyes are sunken and red, purple smearing your skin like someone punched you right in the sockets and your skin is dull and weepy. You gently probe at the swollen eyebags, tossing your coffee into the trash.

“Morning.” Spinning around, you spot him leaning against the door, hands shoved in his pockets. Concern is etched onto his face, but so is every hour he didn’t have as sleep.

“Good morning.”

Your eyes drift back to the trash can. You’d rather get tossed into a dumpster then face him right now. “I have… work to do.” You fucking hate this. No matter how much you try, you know that if your eyes meet his for even a split second, you won’t be able to control what happens next.

“Yeah, so do I.”

And you walk past him as if he means nothing. As if he does not stare holes into your back. As if you will not seek him out later because the two of you are moths and flames, gold to a thief, the moon and ocean, an inexplicable pull that defies the laws of every science.

“You’re only three hours into the tape.”

The man whips around in the office chair and you cross your arms, the corner of your mouth twitching. He turns around, pressing his face into his fingers as you walk into the dark room. You can see the tapes he’s watching, the ones you’ve obsessed over, and you blink, nose twitching at the sight of Alex Jones.

“You know this shit well,” he mutters. You place a hand on his injured shoulder, you don’t feel the foam padding but he stiffens and not from the pain. Cramps crawl up your arm and your fingers roll into a fist when you peel yourself off of him. “Fuck. I don’t… I don’t know if there’s something there that I’ve missed or—”

“You get any sleep last night?”

“Did you?”

Silence. He runs a hand over his face, leaning into his chair and you look down at him. All hard lines and soft edges, you want to touch him even though you know you’ll burn.

“Why’d you say it?” you ask softly. He doesn’t turn to look at you and you wrap yourself in your arms, squeezing hard enough as a reminder. “We agreed.”

“I know. I know, but— ”

“Detectives.” The two of you spring apart like you’re highschoolers caught fucking at prom and David digs a finger into his swollen eyes. He looks as fucking tired as you feel. “You’ve got a call.”

Sighing, he pauses the tape. “Right. Fuck, you… you don’t have to go.” You step back to give him room, and when he stands, you hate how much he towers over you. Hate how much you want to tell him he’s wrong. But instead, you nod.

“I’ll stay. You, go.”

Your eyes meet for just the briefest of seconds and he blinks hard. Running a hand over his mouth and chin, he nods and turns to go.

He’s muzzling himself. You hate it when he fucking does this, but now, you can’t do shit about it. Words that threaten to spill out of your mouth slam against your lips as you watch him leave, and you sit down where he did mere minutes ago, the warmth of him still lingering like a mist, a cloak.

You pretend you can’t think about him anymore. Love is not for men and women like you.

He goes to Value Mall every week, buys different sizes for kids -D x

Pays with cash, messes with mannequins. Gave her both our numbers. -D x

Thought I should let you know. -D x

I know. Thanks. -xx

Alright. I can go to a motel or whatever. -D x

No it’s okay. I wouldn’t mind if you were there -xx

David crawls into bed with you for the first time in more than twenty-four hours. His back presses against yours tentatively and you turn, the sheets twisting around your legs. Your arm wraps around his waist, eyes closing. His heart thuds underneath your ear, an echo that fits into the hollow of your ribs.

Peace lasts for two hours before you’re done pretending trying to sleep. For lunch, you grab a coffee from the cart near the hospital on the way to the station.

You don’t talk about what he said, pretend it never happened in some unspoken agreement, but you can read it in his eyes every time he thinks you’re not looking. You wonder if things were different, would he have told you still? Or would he have doomed himself to silence forever instead?

The answer to your question is ashes in your mouth.

tags: @woah-jess @jenlrose @mytinybaguette @arcaneloki

#fic: 1996 #prisoners #prisoners 2013 #detective loki #detective loki x reader #detective loki imagine #detective loki x you #detective loki x y/n #detective loki fanfiction #jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal x reader #jake gyllenhaal fanfiction #jake gyllenhaal fanfic #jake gyllenhaal imagine #jake gyllenhaal x you #jake gyllenhaal x yn #jake gyllenhaal x y/n #my writing

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sokovian-imagines · 5 years

Text

Proper Family Child!Reader x Avengers

Warnings: None I think? Summary: After years of only theorizing about your past, you finally meet your mother. Word Count: 1595

A/N: Hi! It’s been a little while but here’s a request!

You never knew a lot about your past. You were put up for adoption around seven years old; you only remember bits and pieces. You remember a place called The Red Room, you remember people trying to train you for reasons you don't know, but one day, they just dumped you at an orphanage. You also remember a red-headed woman you believe to be your mother. You don't know why she gave you up, or if she even had a choice, but your past is behind you, and you'd rather just forget it.

You never really draw attention to yourself, you only have a few close friends, but not even they know about your past. Luckily, for you, a lovely couple decided to foster you until you get adopted or when you turn eighteen.

You walked down the crowded hall, keeping your head low and moving as quickly as you could.

"Y/N!" you heard someone call. You turned around and saw one of your closest friends, Alice.

Once you and Alice got to your locker, the hallway cleared out. "What's up with you? You're quiet, well, quieter than usual." Alice bumped your shoulder.

"It's nothing," you replied, stuffing books into your locker.

"Yeah, sure. Because when someone says nothing is bothering them, that actually means nothing is bothering them." Alice raised an eyebrow.

"It's just that guy Blake-" Alice interrupted you.

"What'd that dick do this time?" Alice made the agitation in her voice evident.

You sighed, "Nothing... Yet... He's just been getting to me lately. He always sees me watching the news and researching the Avengers, and says stuff like 'you can never be like them' and just douchey stuff like that."

"You don't need to be like an Avenger to be awesome!" Alice tried cheering you up.

"Yeah..." you smiled at her and went your separate ways to your classes.

You were in the back of the classroom, taking some notes. "Which Patriot leader organized the Boston Tea Party in 1773?" Mrs. Lekins asked.

"Samuel Adams... Samuel Adams..." you said in your head. Even if you knew the answer, there was no way you were going to say it out loud.

"Samuel Adams?" One kid responded.

"Correct!" Mrs. Lekins wrote it on the board.

"Yes!" you silently praised yourself.

"Attention students and teachers," A voice spoke through the intercom, "We have some visitors. They will be going from classroom to classroom. Please remain calm and in your seats. Thank you."

Whispers filled the room. Alice leaned over to you, "Who do you think it is?" She asked, and you shrugged.

The classroom door flung open, and a tall blonde man walked in, and immediately, everyone recognized him. Thor Odinson. "I am looking for a young lady-" Before Thor could finish every girl in the room raised their hands, except you. "Her name is Y/N (Y/L/N)," your eyes went wide as everyone else's looked at you.

"I think you got the wrong name. I'm no one special." you sunk lower in your seat. You hated the attention that was on you right now, especially from the God of Thunder.

"That is not true!" Thor strode towards you, "You are the daughter of Lady Natasha Romanoff!" Thor knelt in front of you. "My team and I have come to retrieve you,"

"Retrieve? What am I, a football?" you cocked an eyebrow.

Thor laughed, "You are most certainly not a football." He stood up and held a hand out, "So if you would follow me, I can take you to your mother." your eyes shot over to Alice who had a giant smile on her face.

"What are you waiting for? Go! And of course, you can come back for me." Alice chuckled.

You looked back at Thor, who was still holding his hand out, you looked at the people in your classroom. Your eyes drifted to Blake who's mouth was dropped open. You decided it was time to show him how special you really are.

You stood up, threw your bag over your shoulder, and took Thor's hand. "Excellent!" Thor walked out of the room, and you tried to keep up with the giant steps he took.

"I have obtained the girl," Thor seemed to talk through an earpiece.

"Obtained? Retrieved? Maybe I am a football..." you joked to yourself.

Thor led you out of the school where all the other Avengers were waiting. You knew all of them. Iron Man, Captain America, Hawkeye, Falcon, the twins Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, even the Winter Soldier! However, your eyes drifted to a woman; a woman with bright red hair and wearing all black. She seemed to get teary-eyed when she saw you. You couldn't place your finger on why she looked so familiar. Yes, she's Black Widow, but she just seemed more than an Avenger.

"Good job, Thor." Captain America said, "Hi," he smiled at you, "you're probably very confused right now, but we'll explain when we get back to the base if that's okay with you?" He's even as charming as you imagined. You nodded.

You looked behind you and saw all the students pressed up against the windows. The Avengers started walking towards the jumbo jet that was sitting in the grass.

You slowly started walking towards the jet, still in aw that you're going on a jet with the Avengers. THE Avengers! You walked into the jet and looked around. You saw Tony Stark talking to Clint Barton who was flying the jet, you saw Steve Rogers, Thor, Bucky Barnes, Bruce Banner, and Sam Wilson talking, then Wanda and Pietro Maximoff were talking, but you saw Natasha Romanoff just staring at you.

You awkwardly scratched your head and walked over to Steve Rogers. "Um... Mr. America-uh, I mean Rogers. Mr. Rogers?" you weren't sure what to call him, "Am I in trouble or?"

"No, no, no! You're not in trouble. I'll tell you why you're with us soon enough." He smiled; you nodded and walked away.

You took a seat on one of the chairs connected to the wall of the jet. You were fiddling with your sleeves until Natasha walked over and sat beside you. "Hey," she greeted, you smiled in response, "I know this is probably really confusing and scary, but I promise you're here for a reason." you nodded. "D-do, you know who I am?" Natasha asked.

"Yeah. You're Black Widow," you replied, but you knew that that's not what she was getting at.

She stared at you; her mouth opened like she was going to say something. "Yeah, I am..." It seemed like she was going to say something else, but decided against it. Natasha got up and walked over to where Tony and some of the others were talking.

After what felt like an eternity, the plane finally arrived at its destination.

You followed the superheroes out of the plane and into the building. Everyone was casually talking as they all headed in different directions while you stuck near Natasha as she led you through the building.

You two entered what looked like a conference room. You took a seat next to Natasha.

After a moment of silence, Natasha spoke. "I know this all must be incredibly overwhelming and confusing, but I just need you to trust me, okay?" you nodded, and she took a deep breath, "Your name is Zenaida Romanova. You were born in a training facility in Russia called the Red Room. You were trained there for around seven years before they deemed you no good enough and gave you away." Natasha looked to the floor and took another deep, shaky breath before continuing, "And I'm your mother," she looked up at you with teary eyes.

You breathed in through your nose, "I know,"

Natasha's eyes widened, "You know? How do you know?"

"Well, I always knew I was from Russia, hell, that was my first language before having to learn English. I always had terrible nightmares about this weird place; I never knew what it was. When I got older, I took an ancestry test, and my results came back with nothing. I had no history whatsoever. So, I connected some dots. I never really believed it, but it gave me some comfort in believing that I knew my backstory, even if it wasn't true, but it is, I guess, so..." you rambled.

Natasha chuckled, "You would make a great spy..." she mumbled. "Well, I just want you to know that it wasn't my choice to give you up. I fought so damn hard to try and keep you, but... They won anyway. I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you while you were growing up,"

You smiled, "It's okay. You didn't have a choice plus, technically I am still growing, and you're here now,"

"You're okay with me being in your life now?" she hesitantly asked.

"Why wouldn't I? Even if you weren't my mom, you're Natasha Romanoff! The Black Widow! I mean, you're awesome!" you exclaimed, making your mom laugh.

"Come on," your mom grabbed your hand and led you out of the room.

You hurriedly walked down the halls until you came to a stop in what looked like a living room. All the Avengers were spread around the room.

"Everyone," Natasha got everyone's attention. "I'd like to introduce you all to my daughter, Y/N Zenaida Romanoff," everyone started cheering and clapping, happy to see you two reunited once again. You smiled at your mom as she pulled you into a big hug. You took in a deep breath as you enjoyed the feeling of having a proper family.

Requested by Anonymous: Hi could you please do a Natasha x daughter reader? Where the reader is Natasha's by red room experiment but discarded and put up for adoption when she isn't good enough for them? Then years later the Avengers visit the daughters school, but the daughter has become shy due to bullying so she's too scared to talk to Natasha please? I LOVE your work, child reader x Avengers is like my life lol

#avengers #avengers imagine #child!reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff imagine #steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #thor odinson #thor odinson imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x daughter!reader #black widow imagine #captain america imagine

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crazy-bi-btch · 5 years

Text

Heathers : The Musical ( Riverdale Fic ) Part l

Summary: (Part l) Vanessa is trying to get over a boy that seems she can’t escape. Auditioning for Veronica Sawyer was probably a bittersweet move.

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Lodge! OC

Warning: angst, musical scenes, smut (future parts), cursing, drug use ( future parts)

A/N: SOOO I’ve had this plot in my head for so long ever since the musical episode. I hope y’all like it show some love to my other works also :) YES I PUT IN MUSICAL SCENES DON’T KILL ME OK BYEEE

I ran into school my leather jacket clinging to my wet body from the rain. I sighed as I pushed through the moody students of Riverdale high. I hate my life.

“ Get away serpent slut!” A River Vixen screeched as I bumped into her. She looked at me in disgust. I flipped her off, I would cuss her out but I was already late, missing 1st period again.

“ Watch it!” A football player yelled as I accidentally stepped on him.

“ Fuck off.” I mumbled and made my way to the end of the hallway.

As I got closer towards the end of the hall I was faced with the school news and clubs bulletin board. My friends were lined up, they seemed to be signing something. Betty pries at Jugs arm almost pleading for him to sign it. Once I got closer they started chatting on the side.

“ Hey guys.” I commented just for courtesy but mostly just wanting to find out what this sign up was for.

“ Hey- woah, you’re really wet!” Veronica cried as she made her way towards me my wet hair instantly her hands. “ I’m fine.” I sighed, she shook her head in disapproval. It took her a minute to realize why I was staring at the bulletin board.

“ You’re gonna audition?” She asked a hint of excitement in her tone. Then my eyes landed on the bold red letters

Heathers : The Musical

Holy shit

The pen that was once hanging on the yarn was instantly in my hand, and writing my name next to the 2pm audition slot. Right blow me was none other than of course for, my luck, Sweet pea.

“ Who would’ve known Vanessa, a theater kid?’” Jug and Veronica laughed, I rolled my eyes at them.

“ Give me a break guys, I need to do something fun, you know after-” Jug coughed as he realized where my response was going. You were going through a rough time. You were told by your sister Ronnie to “loosen up” and that there were more fish in the sea or whatever. So that’s what you were trying to do. Hopefully this musical will distract me.

“ Yeah, you’ll do great!” Betty cheered with a big smile. I smiled back at her, and sighed.” Well I hope I don’t embarrass myself instead of getting the part.”

“ Well I do know someone that could help you out if you really want to ace this.” Both V and B looked at each other. Jug and me were so lost, but then they were leading me towards the one and only Cheryl blossom. The mythic bitch.

She was already in character, Heather Chandler of course.

“ Well Cheryl, I see your all set and ready for this musical.” Veronica teased as we startled her. She narrowed her eyes at us.

“ Cousin. Ronnie. Newbie Serpents.” I scoffed at my nickname. Cheryl was a cold bitch when she wanted but also she could be the sweetest person on planet earth. She could kill for someone that she loved. As also kill someone that hurts her in any way or shape possible. That’s just a Blossom thing I guess. “ What brings you to ruin my peaceful moment.”

“ Cheryl you were admiring yourself in a small locker mirror in a school full of dickwads. Opposite of peaceful.” I explained sarcastically, she glared at me, she fixed her bow before stepping closer to me. I gulped.

“ Don’t try me Ronnie 2.0”

“ Cheryl!” Ronnie and Betty growled in annoyance. I got up to her level and stared back into her hazel cold eyes.

“ Cheryl I’m not here to fight. I’m here for help. The musical.” She smiled her white pearly whites practically blinding me from the contrast from her cherry red lipstick. “ Please.” I spoke softly.

“ Well you’ve come to the right person, I mean I am Heather, I made myself Heather Chandler because who else,” She spoke delighted, “ I made Kevin agree, and your auditioning for?”

I sighed, blinking a couple times, I felt Betty’s eyes on me also my sisters Ronnie . My cheeks flushed slightly. “ The role...of Veronica…” I mumbled, she rolled her eyes.

“ Clearly I should’ve seen it coming, See me after 2nd period in the music room we can practice their, now if you excuse me I’m going to look for my Titi.” Cheryl flashed one more bright smile before she spun around and pranced to look for her girlfriend. I groaned, mentally face palming myself for having Cheryl as my mentor. How did I agree to this?

“ Hey you’ll do great. Cheryl is good remember Carrie! You’re in good hands!” Ronnie held me in a hug trying to comfort me. Betty joined in on the hug also. Yeah I remember Carrie, who doesn’t a girl ended up dead on stage!

“ Just remember to not get on her ugly side you know how she gets.” The 3 of us laughed and slowly made our way to our second period class.

I sat on the bench in the music room watching as Cheryl paced.

“ Beautiful? Out of all the songs; the opener?!” She hysterically cries, I knew she was being dramatic but it was putting me on edge. I had exactly 3 hours to practice. Yes I am skipping my classes I would much rather focus on this than anything else. ( stay in school kids and don’t ditch!!)

She took a deep breath and exhaled and handed me a sheet of lyrics.

“ Show me what you got.” I stood up straight and began singing, some of the words off key. I was freaking scared. My voice shook , and my knees weak.

Cheryl closed her eyes and put her hands up. “ Stop.” She held my shoulders and looked into my insecure ones.

“ Vanessa, you know what screw it- Your Veronica. Feel it! Embrace it! Get in the Veronica mindset.” She cheered, I look a deep breath and remembered back to my favorite movie. “ Now Veronica let’s give you some inspiration shall we?” She taunted with a playful grin. I shot a confused look at her, when she started to pull me out into the empty hallway.

“ Now what do you see Veronica?” She asked her arms crossed, I stared at the empty hallways, the clock on the ends of the hallways ticking away, the blue lockers.

“ A high school hallway, which is empty and it stinks.” I complained. She smirked.

“ Exactly, but empty? Try again.” Just on cue the bell rang to signal class was over. “ Now let's try this again.” She strutted towards the crowd signaling for me to start.

“We were so tiny, happy and shiny

Playing tag and getting chased” I sang rubbing my elbow as tried following Cheryl.

“Freak! Slut! Loser! Short bus!” The kids in the crowd yelled at me, making me flinch.

“ Singing and clapping, laughing and napping

Baking cookies, eating paste

Then we got bigger, that was the trigger

Like the Huns invading Rome.” I sang back at the angry kids, Cheryl closely watching as she leaned against the lockers.

“ Welcome to my school, this ain't no high school

This is the Thunder-dome

Hold your breath and count the days, we're graduating soon

College will be paradise, if I'm not dead by June!

But I know, I know, life can be beautiful, “ I was shoved by a group of hippies and their I was looking right at Sweet pea making his way my way as he talked with Fangs. I gulped, and glanced at Cheryl who motioned me to keep going. So I sang louder,

“ I pray, I pray for a better way

If we changed back then, we could change again

We can be beautiful… “ Suddenly everyone was staring but I kept going

“ Things will get better soon as my letter

Comes from Harvard, Duke, or Brown

Wake from this coma, take my diploma

Then I can blow this town

Dream of ivy-covered walls and smoky French cafés

Fight the urge to strike a match and set this dump ablaze!” Ronnie my sister came from the crowd and sang with me swaying softly.

“ Dear diary:” I started and then some miserable kids joined in

Why....

Why do they hate me?

Why don’t I fight back?

Why do I act like such a creep?

Why…

Why won’t he date me?

Why did I hit him?

Why do I cry myself to sleep?

Why…

Somebody hug me!

Somebody fix me!

Somebody save me!” We all chanted, a huge smile on my face as I saw the reactions from my peers.

“ I love Heather, Heather, and Heather.” Betty and Ronnie and Cheryl leaned on the lockers singing softly.

“ And ya know, ya know, ya know?

This could be beautiful “ Cheryl sang as she touched my face as if examining it

“ Mascara, maybe some lip gloss

And we're on our way

Get this girl some blush;

And Heather, I need your brush

Let's make her beautiful” Cheryl pulled me into the girls restroom with the girls.

“ Here you go I had taken the liberty to ask Titi for her audition custom to be donated to you since she did plan to be Veronica but you have shown potential.” She complimented handing me some clothing.

“ Now hurry!” I scurried to put the white plaid short shirt, the black long sleeve crop top and shiny black heels.

“Let's make her beautiful...

Let's make her beautiful...

Make her beautiful…” Betty and Ronnie sang softly as they fixed my hair out of a ponytail and into my natural soft curls.

“Okay!” I sang as we made our way out and towards the auditorium.

Just as they walked out Sweet Pea and Fangs where trying to see what was going on with the whole crowd when they were also being shoved around

“Out of my way, geek!” Sweet pea sang as some nerd got in his way.

“You're gonna die at 3pm! “ Fangs sang angrily at some random dude

“Don't you dare touch me! Get away, pervert!” A River Vixen spat at Fangs as he tried flirting with her.

“What did I ever do to her?” Fangs scoffed at Sweet pea in annoyance

We walked into the auditorium where Kevin had just finished a group of people for ensemble, along with some people of the gang sat on the chair waiting for their turn to audition.

“Who's that with Heather?” Toni sang making everyone turn around.

“ Heather, Heather, Heather...And someone!

Heather, Heather, Heather...

Veronica? Veronica? Veronica!” Reggie and Archie sang as they practically dropped their music sheets.

I ran straight up the stairs to face them as the lights from above beamed around me hugging me perfectly as I sang. Narrowing my eyes as I saw Kevin smile up at me.

“And you know, you know, you know

Life can be beautiful

You hope, you dream, you pray

And you get your way!” I pointed dramatically at the sky as I held my chest. And once again my eyes found Sweet pea’s. He sat at the last row of the auditorium. A smug look on his face as his fingers held his chin as he watched me sing

“Ask me how it feels

Lookin' like hell on wheels...

My God, it's beautiful!

I might be beautiful...

And when you're beautiful...

It's a beautiful frickin' day!” I belted out the last note, tears on the brim of my eyes in exhaustion and lack of oxygen. Next thing I heard beside the music ending, was clapping and yelling. I heaved softly and smiled at Kevin who could not stop smiling.

“ So..how did I do?” I asked shyly, Kevin shook his head in awe.

“ Your just who we were looking for Vanessa. WE FOUND OUR VERONICA!” He cheered, making me squeal in delight. I made my to my Heathers (Betty, Ronnie and Cheryl).

“ See, I told you!” Ronnie hugged me tightly as she spoke. Cheryl nodded along.

“ I underestimated you V you are talented, but you’ll grow on me.” She teased,” But I will enjoy degrading you up on stage.” She glared and sat towards the other side where Toni sat. I chuckled softly ignoring her comment, I was too excited to let her bring me down.

Betty held my hand in hers “ I’m so glad your in! Not to ruin your moment but you had an admirer.” She glanced towards the back of us where Sweet pea and Fangs sat. He caught my not so slick stare and waved teasingly his rings shining slightly as he moved them. The disgustingly handsome smirk on his face. Fangs whispering and laughing to him about us. I groaned and sat down in the chair.

“ Hey don’t let him get to you! Remember?” Ronnie reminded me. I nodded rubbing my temples in frustration.

“ Your stronger than him.”

“ Sweet Pea?” Kevin read out loud making me physically cringe. He walked up stage his flannel wrapped around his torso, his ripped jeans hanging low as his tight leather jacket fit him like a glove.

Sweet Pea in this audition confused me. He never seems to be a musical kid or an actor at all. He told me the theater kids were geeks and lame, so him being up on the stage seemed almost like a big fat lie to my face. Another reason why he never to our relationship serious.

“ Sweet Pea what song will you sing for us today?”

“ I was thinking about Dream on by Aerosmith. Of course with the help of my friend Fangs if that’s okay?” He stated twisting his rings, and fangs shortly ran up next to him, both of them exchanging some cliche handshake.

“ Okay show us what you got guys.” Kevin hesitantly stated. My head pounded in angry watching him be up their on the stage. If he nails this song, I will be stuck with him for the remainder of this musical.

God please end this.

to be continued.........

#sweet pea smut #sweet pea x reader #riverdale #riverdale smut #betty cooper #jughead jones #veronica lodge #archie andrews #reggie mantle #southside serpents #toni topaz #Cheryl bombshell #choni #kevin keller #fangs #riverdale southside #heathers #heathers the musical

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lesaltywarlock · 4 years

Text

Chapter 2 to a story I’ll never finish...maybe

Well this chapter was a lot. Some trigger warnings here if you’re willing to read it. TW: Vomit, Self-Harm (forgive me if I miss any others ;3;)

~~~~~~~~~~

Jace stumbled into the cafe and threw his disgusting scrubs into a small bin in the locker room. He wasn't on shift for a while, but he knew that he needed to be here. After coming back into the main room of the cafe, he trudged over to the counter where Alex stared at him with a concerned smile. A large cup of the strongest coffee that Winnie could brew laid right next to her—the mere scent of it punched him in the face with pure bitterness.

"Thanks," Jace grumbled and took his drink to a spare table—setting his backpack on top of it. He spotted Alec as he looked for a spot but decided to ignore him. His only priority was getting this coffee inside of his system.

"Are you...good?" Alec approached Jace's table—a frown on his face as he set some of his stuff down.

"Give me a moment." Jace held up a finger to silence his friend as he took a long, refreshing sip of the scalding coffee. It was insanely bitter and disgusting, but the caffeine was worth every single drop. "Ok...I'm good."

Alec reeled back in disgust, "black coffee...and I thought Mia had a problem."

"He's totally addicted...just give him a few seconds to start up," Alex remarked from the counter as she put in a bunch of freshly baked cookies into the display case. Jace smiled, relishing the scent of chocolate and sugar wafting throughout the cafe. It certainly helped to wake him up at least a little bit.

True to Alex's words, Jace felt the caffeine kick in and he perked up with a smile. He ignored the rapid beating of his heart and leaned back in his seat. The rush of working in that hospital still rang in his mind—but it was worth every second even if he couldn't sleep. The sun shone on his face and warmed every frozen inch of his body. It was relieving.

"Where's Mia?" Jace looked up at Alec who started writing on that same notebook from last night. It was a mess and full of tears, and sticky notes scattered among the pages and creases in an unorganized monstrosity.

"Dance rehearsals...all day. For some school musical or something."

"One of my friends really loves musical theatre, maybe I'll introduce him to the both of you someday." He remarked and leaned over to see what the brunette was writing, but the latter pulled his notebook away. Jace caught a glance of something that was definitely not a typical thing for journalism. It was a sketch. A drawing of some sort.

Alec glared at him for a second before relaxing and shoving his notebook into his backpack. "So...how's that book of yours treating you? Did you get to the—"

"I'm not even that far though, don't spoil me!" He gently kicked the man under the table, earning a small yelp and another angry glare. "S-sorry," Jace said on instinct, backing away from Alec in case he got too mad.

"Don't mention it." Alec rubbed his leg and pulled out a textbook from his backpack—human anatomy. It was certainly odd to see a journalism student taking an anatomy class, but Jace decided not to question anything.

He laid back and tried to relax for however much time laid between his next shift here and this break. He just had to survive the rest of the day without anything disturbing him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The week dragged on and on. It was agonizing like some song stuck on repeat—just doing the same things every day. Jace enjoyed working at both the hospital and the cafe—albeit getting very little rest in between his breaks—but he can only go on for so long.

It's not like he had a choice though. He didn't want to go home.

Jace trudged up to the counter and slapped the fatigue out of his face.

"Alright...um...welcome to Thanks A Latte...what can I get for you today?" He greeted the influx of customers with the same generic smile he put up every day until his face muscles started to hurt. Alec and Mia didn't come, unfortunately, maybe because they had class or just had better things to do than come here or see him.

"That's not the nicest way to treat your best friend." Through his blurred vision, Jace spotted a short man with a smirk on his stubbled and angular face. He was a bit like an elf, sharp green eyes that darted around the room and examined everything for whatever reason. The man shrugged his flannel hoodie off and pointed towards the window with his thumb—flashing a silver dog tag. A torrent of rain battered against the pavement and the distant sound of thunder echoed across the sky, overpowering the soft music playing from the cafe's speakers. "Rain's being a bitch, so I decided to finally come check this place out."

"Quinn...what are you doing here?" Jace groaned and rolled his eyes at the sight of his friend. "I thought you were still at the hospital."

"I decided that I should stop working overtime for once and take a break. Unlike someone I know." Quinn tilted his head at Jace and sighed, "you really have to get out more."

"You know I can't do that." Jace murmured barely above a whisper. He gestured to the small line of people behind the man and said, "now, is there anything that I can get for you?"

"A sandwich and a frozen mocha with extra chocolate chips. Add whipped cream and graham cracker crumbs. Two pumps each of vanilla and chocolate. Heavy on the chocolate and caramel drizzle."

Frozen coffee. Essentially the store's version of a frappuccino at Starbucks and also the most popular due to it tasting like pure sugar. "Would you like some coffee with that sugar?" He deadpanned.

"Nah...two percent coffee and ninety-eight percent sugar please."

Jace obliged but felt a bit disappointed considering it was more sugar than coffee at that point—but it's not like he could stop his friend. After receiving payment, he hurriedly crafted the best drink he could even though his teeth started getting cavities just by looking at it. How could someone just enjoy a coffee drink that didn't even taste like coffee?

Although...it did look pretty nice. The streaks of dark brown and caramel danced together in the drink and the whipped cream added brightness to the whole thing. It was like a piece of art. He wished that he could at least get a taste of it.

"Hey, uh, the gang's staying here past closing. Wanna join?" Jace reluctantly gave the drink to his friend who smiled and took a few sips before responding.

"Sure, why not. Good thing we're off tomorrow, maybe you can actually get some sleep for once." Quinn remarked and went off to find a seat in the cafe. Jace felt his heart shudder. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself. Every part of him wanted to agree, but they both knew that it wasn't going to happen. Realizing that there were customers waiting, he put on his customer service smile and kept working in hopes that the pit in his stomach would disappear by the time work was done.

"Hey, time to switch." Alex popped her head out of the kitchen a few hours later and tapped his shoulder as she always did. "Reed needs some help scoring the bread Winnie made."

"Alright, can you get Quinn a sandwich? Oh and make it turkey." Jace hummed and smiled as Alex looked at Quinn with a shocked face.

"Oh my god, I can't believe you're here for once!"

That's all that Jace managed to hear before closing the kitchen doors behind him. He scurried to the back where Reed was mulling over a large ball of dough with a small knife in his hand. "Do you need help?" He asked as he leaned on the counter and smirked in a teasing manner. For some reason, Reed always somehow messed up with the scoring process and only made the bread come out horrible.

"It makes me feel bad to hurt them. Can't we just bake them like this?" Reed waved the knife around and groaned in frustration. Before he could kill anyone, Jace snatched the knife out of his friend's hands and pushed him out of the way.

"Just...let me handle this, ok?" Jace snapped and carefully pierced the top of the dough. He slowly moved the tip of the blade along the length of the ball until a large gash ran along most of the top.

"See? It's not that...hard." Jace stared at the cut he made. It looked familiar. Horrifying, even. What did it look like? He placed the knife down and glanced at his arm. Something welled up inside of him—like a memory that was buried a long time ago.

A memory filled with red.

His breath grew heavy and labored—Reed must've heard his heart pounding out of his chest. Jace grabbed the baking sheet and frantically shoved it towards his friend saying, "I-I'm gonna go on break if that's fine with you."

He left the kitchen before Reed could say anything. He just had to get out of there—away from that knife. Away from that place.

Jace exited out the back door—rubbing his forearms—and bumped into a girl. She had steel blue eyes and long jet black hair—a basket of cookies and a small red purse nestled at her side. A light blue scarf swayed in the wind along with a small cardigan wrapped around her white t-shirt with the small logo of a dog. She wore ripped blue jeans that looked like they were very much worse for wear. "Lilith?" He exclaimed.

"Hey, babe!" Lilith grinned and leaned up to peck him on the cheek, sending sparks flying down his spine and into every nerve. Just the feeling made his heart want to do somersaults. "Mom made some cookies and asked me to deliver them."

"Oh, I-I thought you were at the kennel?" His girlfriend worked at this small kennel on the other side of town pretty much all day. She loved animals all her life and treated them with so much kindness—one of the qualities that made him ask her out so long ago.

"I'm on my way there. Sorry if I disturbed your break or something." Lilith elbowed him in his side as she stepped into the kitchen to drop off the treats. He took a deep breath and sat down on the concrete steps leading inside the cafe. His heart felt like it was going to burst. Why did it have to happen now of all times? It was just a stupid piece of bread that he scored as usual, so why now?

Jace shrugged his black hat off that Winnie made them wear and looked around the area. It wasn't a pretty sight to look at quite honestly—trash bins and cars lay scattered on the cracked pavement that was this parking lot. On garbage days, this place mostly had the lingering scent of rotten food and whatever gunk people leave in these businesses. He looked down at his shaking hands and hoped that the panic was going to stop. Why was this happening?

God, of course he knows why this is happening. Jace feels like an idiot—letting himself be like that over some fucking bread. It was so pathetic. It's not supposed to look like himself. Like he was going to carve a deep gash in his arm. And yet...it did to him.

He jumped at the sound of the door opening and turned around to see Lilith—now without her basket—looking down at him with a worried frown. "What happened?"

"It's nothing...just tired." Jace rubbed his eyes and felt that his cheeks were stained with moisture. He didn't even realize he was crying. Despite Lilith already seeing it, he tried his best to force a smile as if nothing was wrong. Obviously, it didn't work. He felt like a piece of glass that everyone could just see through. He didn't want to talk about it, but they both knew it was better than to keep it silent.

"I brought something else." She zipped open her bag and took out a nondescript orange bottle of pills. Jace grabbed the bottle and read its label—Zoloft. "You haven't been coming home, so I started to get a bit worried you weren't taking your meds."

"O-oh...uh, thanks." Jace opened the bottle and swallowed his regular dosage dry. He wanted to do anything but take it, but Lilith wouldn't have stopped bothering him over it. "I should head back inside." He stood up and headed towards the door but Lilith grabbed him by the wrist, making him flinch and pull his hand away in fear. "Wait, please don't—"

She reached up and kissed him on the cheek before waving goodbye. "I love you." And for some reason, he felt like the world was crashing down on him. The breeze had died to a mere whisper, and a rotten taste filled his mouth—possibly from his medication.

He went inside without a word.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fridays were both his favorite and least favorite days of the week. He and his friends had a tradition of playing board games or studying after the store closes. Being friends with the owner had a lot of perks. Jace swept the area, knowing that the cleaning wasn't going to do itself.

His least favorite part about Fridays was his day off the next day on both jobs. Each hour lasted so much agonizingly longer. It's not like he could go home—or at least he didn't want to go home.

Alec and Mia lounged on the floor with the same Neapolitan milkshakes they liked very much in hand. Reed was in the corner scouring through all the board games that Winnie had bought, his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth. Alex was the only one helping Jace clean up as she stacked chairs on tables and wiped them clean.

"It's party time, folks!" Quinn burst through the door holding a few paper bags presumably with alcohol. Jace flinched at the sound and dropped his mop with a loud crash—his vision blurred and, for a second, he thought that he could see a gun in his hands.

"D-don't scare me like that!" He yelled in a fit of anger, clutching his chest and feeling his heartbeat accelerate. Jace bent down and picked up the mop before silently cleaning the floor—although it looked like he was about to snap the handle in half from how hard he pressed against the floor.

"Hey, special times call for special occasions." Quinn shrugged and placed the bags down on a table next to the entrance. "So who are these newcomers?"

"Oh, I forgot to tell you. This is Alec and Mia," Reed said from across the cafe, "they've sort of joined the group recently. We forgot to introduce you."

"Hey!" Mia waved with a smile as wide as the ocean.

"Quinn?"

"Alexander, you sly man." Quinn shook his head judgingly. "How dare you infiltrate my friend group without my permission?"

Alec rolled his eyes and stood up to give the other a friendly hug. Jace looked on, distracted from his anger, feeling more confused than anything. "It's good to see you too, bud."

"You two know each other?"Alex stopped and tilted her head in confusion as the two still held their embrace.

After an eternity, they let go of each other and stood shoulder to shoulder with Alec towering over Quinn. "We were buddies back in our army days." The former put his arm around the other and flashed a cheeky smile.

Buddies? Jace stopped mopping and switched his gaze between the two—then to the shirt he wore. He reached inside and retrieved his own dog tag, caressing it and feeling repressed memories start to arise from within the depths of his soul. "Wait, what?"

"What?" Alec raised an eyebrow and pointed at Jace's dog tag. "Oh, hey! Wow...it really is a small world, huh?"

"But...Quinn and I were in the army together. I-I...." Jace massaged his head and tried to unearth whatever memory of Alec that he had under however many layers of trauma and death that he buried.

"Please tell me we're not having war flashbacks right now." Quinn slugged Alec's arm off of him and gently hit the top of Jace's head. "Long story short, yes, you two were friends. I'm surprised you two don't remember."

"Thanks, it's the trauma." Alec remarked. "Are we going to play board games or what?'

"I...ok, fine." Jace reluctantly set his mop on the wall. Alex had already finished cleaning all the tables, so they were pretty much done with everything.

And he ended up regretting that decision. They switched from game to game, from multitasking between Clue and Monopoly to never have I ever. It definitely didn't help that Quinn had brought alcohol to spice up the occasion. Jace didn't like to drink—even if he did, his medication wouldn't allow him to.

Jace hated taking his medication. It was supposed to help deal with his PTSD, and it did in some ways. The neverending nightmares and fear of approaching anything that remotely sounds like a gunshot are still there. The anxiety dissipates and he doesn't feel like utter garbage anymore—not mentally, anyways. Even as the games progressed into the night, he could feel his stomach churn and his vision start to blur. This was the worst part. The nausea and the headaches. The mood swings and the like. He's tried to change medications, but it always ended up giving him the same problems. Both his therapist and his girlfriend try to make him take it despite all of that.

"Are...you ok, dude?" Alec elbowed him in the side and brought Jace back into reality. He looked around and noticed that Quinn and Alex were in the midst of an intense staring contest—and UNO. They both had only a few cards, and the anger radiating off of them hit him like a truck. It only made him feel even worse. Reed and Mia swayed to some sort of rhythm—tapping straws and plastic utensils against the floor and tables.

"I-I'm gonna go get some fresh air." Jace leaped up from his seat on the floor and stumbled out of the front door, cursing under his breath as the loud sound of the bell rang in his head. He only barely made it to the side of the building before he slumped over and expelled his lunch onto the parking lot.

The rain beat down on Jace and soaked through his clothes, but he didn't care. The numbing cold helped to distract himself from the painful ache and nausea. Something rose in his throat and he vomited once more before collapsing against a wall. Without these meds, this wouldn't have happened. He felt more guilty than anything for possibly interrupting the group by leaving so suddenly.

"Jace, what are you doing out here?" He turned to look at Delphine standing over him with an umbrella and a worried look on her face. His stomach recoiled in fear at the realization that someone was there, but he did his best to ignore it. At least he could trust her.

"Del! I...I just needed fresh air." He lied.

"Don't give me that crap, you're lucky Winnie and I decided to stay at the store while your gang got drunk." She picked him up with ease despite her old age and shoved him towards the front of the cafe. "That medication still giving your stomach a fight, huh?"

"Yeah...Lilith keeps making me take it, and you know how your daughter is." Jace reached for the door handle with a slight tremble in his fingers. His friends haven't seemed to notice, although he could tell that Alec looked more worried than the others. The man's mouth opened and the others said something in reply, although he couldn't quite glean what they were saying.

"I'll make her get some soup ready, you just stick tight, ok?" Del ran off and into the bookstore, leaving Jace all alone.

Reaching for the handle again with a tremor in his hands, he forced the door open and yelped softly at the sound of the bell ringing. A blast of the air conditioning chilled him to the bone and made every muscle in his body shiver. Everyone but Quinn and Alex turned to look at him with a mix of shock and concern. Reed was the first one to stand up, heading through the kitchen doors to grab a towel. Mia and Alec came up to him asking about what happened. He felt himself gag at the slight scent of alcohol wafting off of them.

"I'm fine, guys, just caught up in the rain is all." Jace lied, but he felt like they could see through him. He pushed them away, careful not to get any of their clothes wet.

"Dude, you were gone for like twenty minutes!" Mia said, "we were getting worried."

Reed came back shortly with a towel in his hands. He wrapped it around Jace and said, "Winnie and Del are in the back making something. You good?" Jace noticed that it was times like this that the man's clumsiness just disappeared all of a sudden like nothing could stop him from helping someone. He was grateful for his friend's help.

"Are those the owners?" Alec turned to look at Reed. He took off his jacket and wrapped it around Jace despite the latter's soft objections.

"Yeah, they own this and the bookstore next to us."

Jace wanted to take the jacket off and run away back into the rain. His head still pounded and he was starting to get numb in his fingers, but he also felt too drained of energy to fight the others off. He wrapped the jacket around him a little tighter and focused on the softest scent of pine that it carried. It transported him back to his childhood, exploring the forests that he knew like the back of his hand with Alex and Lilith. Back before he felt like utter garbage all the time—when life was good. The pain in his head slowly faded away into the deep recesses of his memory.

Did Alec always smell like this?

Winnie burst through the kitchen doors wearing an apron and her reading glasses. Her caramel brown hair had been tied into a messy bun. Alex seemed to have broken out of her trance as she immediately stood up at the sight of their boss. "Alright, you two get in the kitchen and whip up our partner the best damn comfort food you've ever seen."

"Yes ma'am!" Reed and Alex shouted in complete unison, marching into the kitchen with Winnie following. This was her standard aggressive care maneuver in which she'd cook something up for one of them if they ever felt down. Most of the time, it was Jace on the receiving end of it, and it always reminded him just how much an impact she and Del had on his life.

"Aw come on, I was just about to win," Quinn remarked with a quiet groan as he stood up and noticed all that's been going on. He took one look at Jace—exchanging glances and silent words for a mere second before Quinn rolled his eyes and sat back down.

"Um...what's going on?" Mia pointed at the doors to the kitchen. "Was that the owner?"

"Yeah...Winnie's just cooking up some stuff." Jace answered. "I can ask her to make something for everyone."

Mia shook her head. "Would it be fine if I could help out in there?"

"Just ask before you do anything." He chuckled—the kitchen was sacred to Winnie, especially the one here at the cafe. She needed everything to be spotless and had daily rituals during both opening and closing every time so that everything was to her liking. Most importantly, she generally didn't like it when people who haven't earned her trust went into that kitchen. Not even Del, her own wife, was allowed to enter unless it was to grab something and leave.

Mia grinned from ear to ear and skipped over to the kitchen, humming some sort of melody as her voice intermingled with the cacophony of voices coming from inside.

Alec was the only one left. He clasped Jace's shoulder and smiled kindly. "Uh, keep the jacket for now. You can give it back to me another time."

"Are you sure?" Jace asked but silently hoped that Alec would be fine with it. There was something so nostalgic about this. Familiar, even.

"Call it...uh, paying a favor." Alec rubbed the back of his neck and smiled—he sat next to Quinn and started a conversation that Jace couldn't hear.

Paying a favor, huh? Jace sat down at one of the tables overlooking the street. The rain fell and tapped against the window like a melody—street lamps bathed the wet pavement in a soft orange glow. He rested his head against the glass and nuzzled against the soft leather jacket tightly wrapped around him. The panic and nausea were but an echo in his mind as he felt every bone in his body collapse in exhaustion. He was tired, and he wanted to do anything but relax.

But pinewood is pretty convincing to his senses. Right before sleep claimed him, a distant memory revealed itself from the darkest parts of his mind. He almost forgot that this happened. An image of him and Alec sitting at the edge of a dock looking up at the stars—his standard army jacket wrapped around the other.

The night before everything changed.

#writer #writers #lgbt writers #writeblr #original story #original fiction #original writing #lgbt stories #wip #my wip #writers on tumblr #author #romance #lgbt romance

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ishibbyy · 5 years

Text

Acceptance

Hair rustling in the autumn wind, Jimin walks into school, headphones plugged in his ears as he softly hums the tune of the new song from a popular boy group. Smile on his face, he greets the students he sees along the path on the way to the main building. Warm air hits his face as he enters the building, students litter the halls, grabbing books from their lockers and chatting with their friends.

Being the “model” student means that there’s a lot of pressure on his shoulder, but Jimin has always been an overachiever. Distracted, Jimin bumped into a student and fell to the floor. groaning in pain, “Sorry”, he wanted to say, but the words were stuck in his throat.

There, standing right before him, was Min Yoongi, bad boy heartthrob of the school. Every girl who has ever seen him wanted to be with him, even boys but they’ll never admit it out loud. Jimin was still gawking at Yoongi “Watch where you’re going next time cutie” he smirked and extended his hand “Here, let me help you there.” Jimin nodded and took the offered hand, Yoongi pulled him up and helped him pick up his bag.

“Thank you, Yoongi-ssi” Jimin bowed his head “That’s alright kid, call me hyung, I’m not that old you know? ” he laughed, patting the younger’s head. The action caused Jimin to blush, even if only by a little bit, he cleared his throat and straightened up, he never really got a close look at the older, Yoongi was taller than him by a bit, eyes a beautiful shade of brown. He was wearing his uniform in a stylized way, his tie was gone, unbuttoned shirt as well as a blazer, Jimin could lie and say that he looked bad with his uniform looking like it is now. The older swept his hair back, dyed a silvery blond, and looked at Jimin's eyes “Well, I don’t want to make you late for class.” With one last pat on the younger’s head, Yoongi walked off. Jimin stood still, ears red from embarrassment, he snapped out of his stupor as the bell rang, signalling for the start of class.

The day passed by swiftly and before he knew it, it was the end of the day. Jimin sighed as he packed up his things. Walking out of school, there stood a figure who has their hands on their pockets and back on his shoulder. Upon closer inspection, Jimin figured out it was Yoongi, the latter seemed to notice him jogged up towards him “Hey,” Yoongi smiled, mouth wide, showing his gums “Good afternoon, Yoongi-ssi” Jimin greeted.

“Aish, I told you to call me ‘Hyung’ didn’t I? Yoongi-ssi makes me feel old” He said in a mock-annoyed voice “Sorry hyung” Jimin giggled.

“Anyways, what are you doing here still?” The younger questioned, head tilted curiously.

“Well, I wanted to walk with you home”

“O-oh” he stuttered, cheeks flushing a cute pink.

Yoongi smiled, eyes glinting with something Jimin couldn’t understand but it was gone before he could think on it, the older reached his hand out, caressing his flushed cheek, making them darker, his ears were hot and he feels embarrassed under the older’s attention. His hand was big, bigger than Jimin’s cheeks, he could just imagine what it would feel holding it, his right hand creeping up slowly on its way to hold his hyung’s hand but stopped.

“You’re cute, Jiminie,” Yoongi said voice fond “Is it okay if I could call you Jiminie?”

“O-of course hyung”

Letting out an amused chuckle, Yoongi handed Jimin a motorbike helmet that the latter didn’t even notice he was holding “Tell me where you live and put this on’’ he gestured towards the helmet. Jimin nodded and told Yoongi his address, the latter gestured to follow him and led them to a bike parked a couple of metres away from the school. The older jumped on and started the engine “Hop on shorty” he said, voice loud over the roar of the bike's engine. Jimin climbed behind him, hands wrapping around the older’s torso and cheek resting on his back.

Jimin felt serene riding behind the elder, with street lights passing him by as well as the orange sunset gleaming down on their small figures from above, Jimin wanted to stay like this, he’s never felt more relaxed and comfortable. Unfortunately, it has to end as they near his home, kicking the stand by the side of the bike Yoongi parked in front of Jimin’s home. It was big yet simple.

Yoongi looked around, slowly whistling at what he’s seeing “You really live in a place like this Jiminie?” He asked, Jimin ducking his head while fiddling with the ends of his blazer “Yes, it’s quite nice isn’t it?” Jimin laughed. The older pat his head “C’mon, let’s get you inside before your parents kill me.”

They both walked to the front door, Jimin bringing his keys out but before he could insert the key to its lot, the door opened and there stood Jimin’s dad sporting a deep frown on his face. He looked at Yoongi then Jimin “Welcome back son” he greeted, voice deep and monotone “Say what you need to say to your” he looked at Yoongi up and down before saying “Friend and come in and help your mother with dinner.” With that, he closed the door.

An awkward silence passed through the air, Yoongi coughed and touched his neck “So..” Letting out an embarrassed chuckled Jimin looked at the silver-haired male in front of him “Thank you so much for driving me back home’’ he bowed.

“It’s alright, how about this? Let’s exchange numbers” Yoongi took his phone out and gave it to Jimin, the latter taking the hint and quickly saving his number in the older’s phone then gave it back with a smile. “I’ll see you around, hyung” Jimin muttered as he looked at Yoongi from underneath his lashes, a shy smiled forming to his lips once more.

“I’ll text you”

“I’d like that hyung.”

Yoongi dropping Jimin off has become a regular occurrence and the younger finds himself excited for the school day to end. Over time, they’ve grown closer and the flower which they call Feelings has bloomed, but it confused Jimin. His dad has always told him that it was a sin to love another man. He doesn’t want to disappoint his dad, however, he couldn’t stop spending time with Yoongi.

Jimin started to be comfortable with a part of himself the longer he and Yoongi were around each other, a part where he shunned but because of his hyung’s openness and reassurances, he accepted who he was. Although he knew his dad views about people like them, he thought confessing this to him would change his mind.

It was a Saturday afternoon when he decided to talk to his dad about his feelings, but before he could start his dad spoke first “What’s your relationship with that Min Yoongi boy?” Even though it was a harmless question, Jimin felt his heart quiver “He’s a good friend of mine” he responded, voice small.

“I don’t want you to be friend’s with him anymore. I just heard from the neighbours that he’s a bad kid, I should’ve known that he was no good the minute I saw him on our doorstep!” Jimin’s dad exclaimed eyebrows knotted, eyes hard. Chills were running up his spine, heart thudding loudly in his chest “As much as I know your fondness for him, I don’t want you hanging around someone like him. He’s going to affect your school career.” His dad said, voice firm “Dad, I swear, my grades are still as good as before! He’s a nice guy, please don’t do this” Jimin pleaded, chest heavy.

“Son, I only want what’s best for you and what’s best for you is not to hang out with a homo like him” Those words were spoken with a tone of care but to Jimin, it was the loudest clap of thunder he’d ever heard of. Dread starts filling him from the inside, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He nodded, slowly making his dad smile “I know it’s hard but it’s for the best.” Jimin stood up and bowed to his dad “As much as I want to do what you say like I usually do, I don’t want to do this.” He didn’t know where this courage came from, but adrenaline is slowly pumping through his veins “Jimin, what are you doing?” Tension filled the room “What I’m doing is telling you that your son is gay! You can either accept that or let me go!” Voice loud, Jimin was panting, heart, beating erratically from the words he just said.

He said it, he finally said it. Jimin smiled and started laughing, he looked at his dad who was furious, finally standing up from his chair “You take that back right now!” He shouted but Jimin ignored him “Your son is gay! Why can’t you accept that?”

Violent screams and shouts were exchanged that afternoon ending with Jimin storming up to his room to pack. Grabbing a large suitcase, he threw his clothes, toiletries and other necessities, he also grabbed a smaller bag for his books and school equipment. Jimin’s mum, hearing the racket upstairs went up and checked on her son, heart, breaking to see what he was doing “Jiminie, stop, your dad didn’t mean it” she pleaded but her words fell on deaf ears as he continued packing. Zipping up his suitcase and bag, Jimin grabbed his phone “He did mum, he did. I love you both very much, but I want to be free to love who I want” with those words, he left. His mother crying and his father furious.

Jimin unlocked his phone and texted the only person he knows will let him stay. Yoongi.

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oknstark · 6 years

Text

His Fantasy ━ Thor [smut]

Pairing: Thor x fem!Reader

Summary: The god of thunder is back at the tower, but he’s not feeling fine. Maybe you can help in a lot of ways you didn’t know...

Warnings: smut, oral sex, rough sex, Thor fantasizing dirty things about the reader.

Word count: 2,406.

A/N: I don’t have any idea of why I wrote this. I thinki I have this obsession with AoU Thor... sorry not sorry.

And as always, I don’t speak english so forgive me for any error.

And gif’s not mine.

Tags: @steve-rogers-personal-hell @champion-ofthe-sun

MASTERLIST

***

Your steps filled the aisle on the empty tower. It was late and none of your mates were there from the mission they left for some hours ago.

Your hands are grabbing tightly the notebook with your new project on mind, which you were very excited about. Certainly, you couldn’t wait for Tony to come and tell him your recent discover. You made your way to the elevator and waited for it to come. Once the doors opened, you walked inside and pressed the button to the first floor.

Pressing to your chest the small laptop, you closed your eyes, enjoying the silence in the whole place. Those days weren’t very rare, where the rest of the team was out trying to fight bad guys and saving the world. They needed your help very few times, mainly because you worked as a scientist and creating new technology, so you were required on the lab with Tony or Bruce, and it wasn’t something that you complained about. It was your work after all.

Suddenly, a striking noise of something hitting the ground outside made you open your eyes and getting you out of your thoughts. Moments later, the elevator stopped on the first floor and you got out of it, walking to the living and expecting to see the person who landed on the yard.

“Oh, hi, Thor...” you said. Your voice started to sound happy, but his uncleaned armor, his messy hair and all the wounds on his arms and face made you frown.

“Hi...”

“What happened?” you left your computer on the coffee table that was separating you from the god and started to walk to him. “You weren’t with them, weren’t you?” you stopped in front of him, studying his appearence.

“Everything happened” was his only answer. His eyes were lost behind you, watching the elevator like it was the most interesting thing on the planet.

You could see that he was tired. Tired of everything and he did look like it was so done with his duties of being a warrior. You knew Thor was out, he left some weeks ago to go to Asgard. It wasn’t new coming from him, everyone knew he would return eventually, but you didn’t expect him to come like this.

“Why don’t you come to the lab? I can help you with your injuries, that looks pretty bad” you said, pointing at him... All of him.

Thor blinked his eyes one last time, just to wake up of his daydream and just nodded at your help. You told him to follow you downstairs to the lab, and in some minutes you were in. You ordered the god to sit down on a stretcher as you took out a first aid kit and some things to attend at his bruises. He did, setting down on a desk his hammer.

You folded the sleeves of your lab coat and put on gloves, as you started to clean his arms with a gauze and water. You worked on his arms first, and cleared his skin. Thor closed his eyes, his breath became calming as he felt your covered fingertips touching him so carefully.

When you finished to clean his wounds, you took your tools and put them again on its place, down on a locker some steps away from him.

Thor followed every movement that you made, and when you leaned down he couldn’t stop watching you. The pencil skirt that you’re wearing holds every curve of your body and lifts up your ass a little, something that he never refuses to look. It wasn’t the first time he did that, nor the last.

The blonde god always seemed to get something into you. All the team noticed it, except for you. He’s always watching you when you enter the room with your usual clothes; those tight skirts and blouses that marked your cleaveage. Since Tony started to make ‘compliments’ about your body some years ago, Thor semmed that he agreed with everything that he said, but those things have evolved into something more on his mind.

He could imagine your bare skin and every curve of your body exposed to him and just him, to touch your breasts and kiss you roughly while he caress your ass with his huge hands, he even could hear you whimpering at his touch at the very moment…

A bulge started to tighten on his pants just with his thoughts. He gulped at it as he saw you walking again towards him, feeling the heat spreading on his body.

“You should go to shower right now” you said, getting your eyes on him. “It’s going to make you feel better” you smiled at him, playing with your hands nervously.

“I will, thank you” he gaves a simple answer and turns to call his hammer and with that, leaves the lab, going ahead to his room, thinking that you must have read his mind with your suggestion, one that he will take immediately.

When he arrives, all Thor can think about is your smile. Oh, that mouth just drive him crazy everytime. How well he thinks you could take his lenght on it, and taste him, rolling your tongue around his dick… Just imagining all the things that you would do to him with those lips…

He drops his hammer on the floor, deciding that is enough. Quickly, he tooks off his armor and walks to the bathroom, to give himself a goddamn shower. Maybe he can stops thinking about you now, but there is something about midgardian women that Thor finds fascinating. You were like a myth to him, even though you always seemed nice to everyone, he wanted to go further... in all senses.

But he can’t just go and ask you to have sex with him, can he? Thor just waits for the cold water to run on his naked body and calm his nasty toughts, even when he’s still stressed for his recent battle.

***

That night, you stayed on the kitchen. Thanks to the lack of sleep, you decided to work some more with your project, remembering every detail of what Tony has told you to do. Currently focused on the keyboard and the bright screen, something knocked behind you.

“God, you scared me...” you turned around fast just to see Thor, who had bumped on the refrigerator some steps afar from you.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to” he answered, opening the fridge.

You felt that something wasn’t good with him. Since he came, he was completely lost about everything, and you didn’t see him later on dinner or out of his room, talking to someone. The rest of the avengers knew that he was there because FRIDAY notified everyone when they came. You saw him, taking some ice cream from the container and just when he was about to leave, you called for him, worried.

“Thor, are you okay?” you spilled.

The god heard your voice on the door frame and turned around to see you with your arms crossed on the bar.

He took one last spoonfol from his night meal. “Why you ask?”

“You seem off and you’re not usually like that” you shrugged. “You can talk to me if you want” you turned off your laptop and closed it to face him on the stool you were sitting.

Thor hesitated for a second, but he realised that he needed someone to lay everything on, and hoping not to disturb his mind with his previous images about you, he walked and took a seat by your side. You smiled to him, the little light that was on the kitchen came from the outside, but it was enough for Thor to see you.

“So, what happened?” you lifted a brow, as Thor left his bowl on the table and saw you, expecting something from him.

“I’m tired, I guess” he frowned.

“We all are...” you nodded slowly.

He looked at you. By surprise, it was the first time he saw you in what humans used to call ‘casual clothes’, or pijamas in that case. It was more than one in the morning, and he knew you should be sleeping, but instead of doing it, there you were, in tiny shorts and a random white shirt. His gaze followed from your chest to your exposed legs, and, in a blink, he felt aroused once again.

In his shower, Thor couldn’t stop thinking about you and didn’t control his thoughts, which weren’t lovely at all. You seemed like a good girl, someone who’s nice to everyone and everything, always smiling and doing good for others, but he realised he wanted to break that. He felt it like it was some kind of necessity to him.

Your hand reach his, resting on his tigh, and wakes him up from his dream. Your eyes meets his deep blue eyes, and it’s maybe the first time you make real eye contact with the asgardian god.

“You’re not gonna eat that?” your odd question surprises him.

Before he can reply, you move your hand from his and take the spoon full of ice cream, just to lick it slowly in front of him. Thor watches you, breathless, seeing your tongue around the cutlery. You take another spoonful of ice cream, without breaking your eye contact, and repeat the action again. Thor feels his length, tightening on his loose pants and gulps at your sight.

Your eyes getting full of lust as he watches you, teasing him with your mouth, which he’s been dreaming of for some time now. You left the spoon on the table and stood up to sit down on his lap and started to attack him with your a surprising rough kiss. For the first time, Thor doesn’t know what to do with a woman, but his thoughts went blank and just decided to correspond to your kiss. Your hands grabbing his cheeks and his are suddenly exploring your body, feeling your bare legs, your hips and then your breasts, covered just with your shirt, no bra on.

You managed to lift his sweater and throw away the fabric. His tongue making its way on your mouth, exploring it, while his hands are occupied taking your shirt off. You separate for a moment just to remove your blouse before you join your mouths again, in a wet kiss.

Thor felt your hands, getting on his pants and palming his growing erection, and he decided that it was enough. He broke the kiss and grabbed you to get into your knees. He managed to rip off his pants and trousers, now his cock is pumping in front of you.

“Suck”

You let your eyes on his as you obey his order happily and immediately take him into your mouth, going at a fast pace. You lick him and suck him like it’s the greatest lollipop you ever tasted, causing him to moan. His hand grabbed your hair tightly to keep you on your pace, and he groans with pleassure.

Just with the sight of you, pleassing him without hesitation made him feel complete and now his darkest fantasy was fucking true, having you there at his whole mercy.

His hips moved, and you felt him hitting the back of your throat, making you gag around him as he fucked your mouth. Your eyes are closed strongly as you managed to take all you could from him. Thor took out his hard dick from your mouth as he knows he would be close, leaving a string of saliva on your lips and you open your eyes to see his expression full of lust.

He grabbed your arms and pushed you down on the bar, your back facing him and he tooks off your shorts and panties with dispair. He takes a moment to admire your body, that one that he’s being dreaming about, and it’s just as perfect as he imagined it.

The god spread your legs further and slams himself into your wet cunt without warning, making you moan in pain and pleassure. His cock slides into all your spots when he started moving quickly in and out from you.

Your eyes kept closed and your lips open to the sensation, holding a loud moan. You had no voice for a moment, your mind still procesing what’s happening as the god of thunder is pounding you here, with a hard grip on your hip that you know it’s going to leave marks for the next days, and you love it.

Here is where Thor wants to have you, moaning and whimpering for his touch. His hand grabbed your hair and lifts you up a little from the bar, making a new angle to hit in your pussy.

Thor was close and when he felt your walls tightening around as he fucks you hard, just to find his own release. Again, the sight that he’s having from you is more pleassant than any of his dreams about you, and then, he fills you with his hot seed with a loud groan as you moan his name, reaching your peak...

“Thor… Thor… Thor…” your hand waves in front of him.

He breathes heavily and blinks a couple of times. He sees you, moving your hand on his face as you frown at his sight.

There you were, sitting on the stool in front of him, with a confused look on your face, watching the blonde god. “Are you okay?” you asked.

He watched you completely, still on your clothes and sitting down there just like you were minutes ago. Even the little light that came from outside was still illuminating your face… Then, it hit him. It was just a fantasy; another daydream from him. He sighed, feeling the heat spreading on his cheeks. It felt so damn real…

“Yeah, just… I, um, I have to go. I’m not feeling well…” he lied, still shocked about what happened on his mind.

He stood up and walked out of the kitchen, leaving you with your mouth open, and a warming running trough his entire body for that vivid experience. Walking across the living, he pinched his own arm just to wake up, but he knew it was better to go to sleep. Or maybe have a shower. He needed to forget you, or forget what just happened...

It was too good to be true.

#thor x reader #thor imagine #thor smut #avengers imagine #thor fanfiction #thor odinson x reader #avengers age of ultron #thor x you #thor x fem!reader

2K notes · View notes

crewhonk · 6 years

Text

Papa Don’t Preach ii

Authors Note: I know i usually dont to these but you guys are the loves of my life! all 306 of you!!! MANY HUGS AND KISSES TO ALL. And see if yall can catch my Power Ranger references in this one!! :D

Words: 2,637

Summary: After a week of silence from Billy after the family dinner gone wrong, you confront him about it and talk it out like adults. He propses a crazy idea after a public fight with your dad, Chief Jim Hopper

Requested: HIGHLY REQUESTED GOD LOVE YOU ALL! If you want more, just lemme know!!!!

Masterlist

Part One | Part Two

It had been an entire week since you had spoken to either Jim Hopper or Billy Hargrove. Jim had taken to grumbling around the cabin every night, and slamming doors and cracking a new beer every ten minutes. Eleven had been quiet, spending more time with the Party and up in your loft reading books and listening to you talk about your day at school and how Billy was. Eleven had developed quite the fascination with Billy, as they had similar experiences growing up. She and Max had spoken about him sparingly and without your friends true and undying support in your affections for Billy Hargrove, it had been nice growing closer to the younger girls who seemed to understand. You and Billy hadn’t been growing closer over the past week, however, and it had left you disgruntled (and almost offended) since you had been inseparable these past few months. It was a shock to your system not having him in your life as a constant, and it had been even more of a shock to you to have to ride in the backseat of Jonathan Byers car. The biggest shock, however, was watching Jonathan and Nancy interact with each other, and feeling nothing but resentment towards them for even the slightest actions (Nancy had brushed a piece of hair that was hanging in his face and you wanted to vomit, honestly) despite them being two of your closest friends.

So, here you were, staring at your locker at nothing but your thoughts and fiddling with the necklace Billy had given you one random day. He saw it on sale in some store downtown and when he had given it to you two weeks into your relationship he had mumbled something about ‘I don’t know. It reminded me of you— don’t make a big deal about it’. Since then you hadn’t taken it off- even when it left green marks around your neck, and even when the fake silver had made your chest break out in bumps. Your eyes flashed in sudden anger towards everything in your life, and your fist gripped your necklace before you slammed your locker door shut, calling the attention of a few passerby’s.

Including Carol and her gang.

“Trouble in paradise, Y/N?” She asked, smiling and brushing a piece of your hair over your shoulder and fiddling with your necklace.

“Last time I checked, it wasn’t any of your business.” You glared, and pushed past her. She grabbed your arm to spin you around and you ripped your arm out of her grasp.

“He’s beautiful in bed, Y/N, just in case you forgot.” Tina piped up from behind Carol, cackling before walking away. You shoved past Carol and Casey and wrapped your fist in her brown hair, pulling hard enough for Tina to spin and glare at you, raising her fist. Before she had a chance to hit you, you pulled your hand back and slapped her hard on the face.

“Did you just slap me?” She shrieked.

“Yeah, I guess I did.” You replied before shoving her back into the lockers behind her. She let out a high-pitched scream that you could barely hear because your pulse was racing in your ears and your rage blocked most of your senses. You drew back a fist before bringing it down hard on her face and splitting her lip with the ring you had stolen from Billy’s makeshift vanity.

“Dont— you— ever— speak— about him— that way!” You yelled, punctuating every syllable with a punch or a slap to the face. Before you could damage her face any more, you felt yourself being heaved over someone’s shoulder. “Let me go!” You screeched, hitting the denim-clad back that you were faced with.

You fought and wriggled until you were put down on the grass but the parking lot. You were face-to-face with the bare chest clad with a virgin mary pendant. You glared up into the blue eyes of your boyfriend and pushed past him.

“Y/N lets talk.” He said, grabbing the back of your shirt and pulling you into his chest. He wrapped his arms around your waist, not letting your run from him. You spun in his arms and slammed your palms against his chest.

“No! You don’t get to want to talk to me after avoiding me for a week. You don’t get to!” You yelled while hitting him over and over. He took his hands and wrapped them around your wrists. “You’re a dickhead, and I deserve better than someone who ignores me after one shitty date with my dad. My dad is mad at me too, thanks for asking. He’s not even speaking to me and all he does is drink and grumble and everything is shit right now. So, no. You don’t get to talk to me.” You cried, tears flowing from your eyes and running down your face. He removed his hands from your wrists and brushed them over your cheeks, wiping away the blush you had applied on your cheeks that morning. You slid your hands around his waist and under his denim jacket and cried into his chest. You cried for Billy, and your love for him and you cried for him because your dad didn’t see what you did.

What you saw in Billy was a beautiful star of a man. You saw someone who was filled with repressed potential, and you saw someone who compensated for their home life at school. You saw someone who loves chocolate milkshakes and Krispy Kreme coffee. He loved when you cooked your favorite greek chicken and was genuinely so excited the first time you made it. You saw someone who portrayed themselves as a dog person but melted whenever they saw a cat or kitten on the street. You saw someone who wanted to be a social worker. Someone who wanted to fight for children who showed up to school with bruises, or to fight for the women and men who had to put on makeup to hide the dark circles under their eyes. You saw someone who wanted to save people but hid that desire to be respected in their school community. You saw someone who was beaten and abused and manipulated by toxic masculinity and broken families. You saw an inherently flawed man who was the love of your life.

“Come on, Princess. Let’s go somewhere else.” He whispered in your ear. You felt his lips brush against your ear, and the closeness made you shiver.

“What about Max?” You mumbled, rubbing your nose into his shirt, and continuing to rest your head against his chest.

“She has Nerd Club tonight.”

“Be nice.” You warned. He laughed and grabbed your cheeks, bringing your face to his and pecking your lips softly and pulling you to his Camaro. His arm was wrapped around the back of your neck and you held the hand that was resting on your shoulder, fingers intertwining together. He opened the door for you to climb into his car and you curled up in the seat. He got into the car, started it and turned down the music until it was nearly inaudible. The crooning voice of Steven Tyler reached your ears and you wiped your eyes, blinking rapidly. He pulled out of the parking lot and tore down Main Street ignoring cars that honked and anyone who cursed his driving.

“Where do you wanna go?” He asked, resting his hand high on your thigh. You rested your hand on top of his and played with his fingers.

“I don’t care.” You sighed. He grunted lightly and drove down to a nearby lakeside. You both got out and you walked around to the front of the car to watch the small waves crash against the rocky shore. There was a small dock launch, and algae collecting around the pillars that held the dock up. You felt a tiny weight on your shoulders and looked down to see that Billy had draped his extra leather jacket around your shoulders. You hummed in thanks as he joined you on the hood of his car. He offered you a cigarette and you took it silently and leaned into the flame from his Zippo lighter.

“You can’t do that to me, you know. You can’t just stop talking to me.” You exhaled the smoke from your lungs and coughed at the scratchiness is left in your throat.

“I’m causing issues in your home life, baby. I can’t do that to you.” He replied, his voice strong.

“You don’t get to decide that shit alone anymore, Bill. We’re in a relationship that I know neither of us plans on leaving, so we need to start working as a team. There’s no ‘I’ anymore.” You replied, kicking rocks with the tip of your white (not really white. they were once upon a time) converse shoe. The wind blew both of your hair in your faces and you could smell the seaweed and fish living in the lake. The clouds were rolling in, promising a storm and despite knowing this, both of you had no intention of leaving this spot.

“I know. I’m scared of how much I love you, though. I want to take you away from that cabin, and from that asshole cop and I want to take you home to California where we can sit like this in front of an ocean instead of this shit pond.”

“He’s my dad, Billy. I can’t leave him. Not again— you know this. And Eleven would tear me a new one if I left her. She likes you by the way.” You tried to convince yourself. Truthfully, you had never felt welcome at Hoppers cabin and the only thing that chained you here was Eleven. You could feel Billy’s gaze on the side of your face, but you didn’t turn to get his gaze and instead, taking a long drag from your cig.

“Who? Jane?” You nodded in response. “What’s her deal, by the way?” He asked.

“Legally, I can’t tell you much, but she comes from a pretty bad place and was abused in every way imaginable. They didn’t teach her anything, so mentally she’s behind for her age. She’s smarter and stronger than everyone I know, though.” He only hummed in recognition of your statement and rubbed his cold nose with his sleeve.

The two of you stayed on the hood of his car until the sky darkened and thunder began rumbling in the distance. He drove you home soon after the first rain fell, and you two sat in the car, talking about nothing and letting conversations come and go naturally, comfortable silences lasting between each one. He drove back into Hawkins and pulled into the Benny’s Diner parking lot and you both laughed and ran into the building, using his jackets to avoid getting soaked by the March rain.

Your laughter died quickly, however when you saw Jim standing at the counter waiting for food to take home to you and Elle. He sent a hard glare towards Billy, before settling his eyes on you and motioning for you to come closer. You told Billy to go and find a booth before walking over to your dad and leaning on the fake marble countertop. He tapped his pack of cigarettes three times on the counter before turning to finally look at you. You saw the eyes of a genuinely worried father staring back at you and you just looked down at your fingernails in shame.

“Where’ve you been, Kid?” His voice had an underlying command that made you look up to meet his eyes.

“Down by the lake. I had a bad day today, and Billy was there to help me out.” You replied, trying to ignore the way your voice sounded a little too full of emotion. You expected many things when you would finally confront Jim about your situation, but being on the verge of tears after a two sentence conversation wasn’t on the list of things you had thought about.

“Eleven was wondering where you were. She’s worried.” He looked away from you and you watched his thick brow bone furrow in a little bit of frustration.

“Okay, so you weren’t worried? Good to know.” You rapped your knuckles twice on the counter and turned to walk away towards your boyfriend who was watching you and your dad protectively.

“Y/N, you know that’s not how I meant it.” He said sharply. You turned around to look at him slowly and clenched and unclenched your fists together.

“How did you mean it then?” You challenged.

“I meant it in the way that I’m not going to be around forever, and you are all Eleven has after I leave. You’re her family.”

“So what am I? Chopped liver, Dad? I’m your actual daughter! Or did you miss that wave when it washed over you? I get that Elev- Jane is your favorite, but I’m your actual skin and bones and blood and you’ve been treating me like the gum on the bottom of your shoe.” You growled at him, pointing at his feet and glaring hard.

“Y/N! Would you just listen to me!” He yelled. You were suddenly grateful that you, Billy, Jim and the chef were the only other ones in the diner. “You are a new thing to me! After Sarah died, your mom refused to let me talk to you and then all of a sudden, ten years later she throws you on my front doorstep without one word of explanation, and you’re suddenly expecting me to be a good father? I need time to deal with this too!”

“How do you think I feel, Jim?! My own mother abandoned me and made me move three states and expected me to live with an alcoholic of a father! I didn’t even get a chance to understand what was going on before it actually happened!” You said, angrily wiping away tears that had leaked from the corners of your eyes. “I get that shit’s hard for you right now, but you’re not the only one in this story!”

With this, you spun and fled the diner, not knowing where to go but knowing you needed to get out of that diner because suddenly the walls were closing in and the temperature was too hot for you. You ran out into the rain and stopped as the cold of the evening hit you. You tilted your head to the sky and took in a deep breath of fresh air. You jumped and were immediately pushed into fight mode when someone grabbed your hand and intertwined their fingers with yours. The scent of cheap cologne and cigarettes stopped you, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

“What do you expect me to say, Bill.” You whispered after a second. You were met by silence, and you let it draw out until you felt as if you were going to implode. You looked up at your boyfriend.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” He mumbled, stepping closer and making you turn to face him. He cupped your jaw with one hand and gripped your hand tighter with the other. He leaned down and brushed his lips lightly over yours. You could sense his hesitation.

“What is it?” You asked, stepping closer until your chest was pressed flat against his.

“I’m gonna say something crazy, and you’re not allowed to freak out.”

“After the day I’ve had, anything would be hard pressed to phase me,” You said, kissing his nose softly.

“Let’s go to California. Just for a trip. I mean, spring break is coming up soon, and we wouldn’t miss much school time, and I mean I’ve always wanted to bring you home and when we were at the beach I just wanted to see you in the sun and playing in the sand in a sexy little swim number and I know it’s a little too much to ask, but I’d really like for you to—“

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

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the-pontiac-bandit · 7 years

Text

bring your good times and your laughter

amy santiago is the youngest captain in nypd history, and a freakout of corresponding magnitude ensues (feat: mentions of peraltiago babies, husband of the year detective jake peralta, and a ref to kokomo). title from celebration. as always, i owe my life and all my worldly possessions to @jakelovesamy and @elsaclack. also on ao3.

The door shuts behind Captain Amy Santiago (she’s been in official possession of that title for a full three hours, and she has every intention to use it on even her takeout orders, just to hear the sound). The click of the doorknob is louder than expected, and she pauses for a moment, hand hovering, to see if anyone outside noticed, but the chorus of “Celebration” is blasting so loudly that the blinds are rattling against the windows. She shuts them, suppressing a reflexive sigh at the thought of the confetti littering the bullpen - her bullpen - and focusing on the overwhelming joy of this moment.

She moves behind her desk, savoring the feel of the new, heavy medals against her shoulder and the hat resting atop her perfectly smooth bun (she’d spent at least an hour ensuring every hair was in place. It could’ve been half that time, but Rae and Ana, nothing short of tornadoes, had spun through their bathroom halfway through the preparations, already in their pajamas for the babysitter, to grab Amy by the bun and plant large toddler kisses on her forehead, leaving bumps in Amy’s ponytail that refused to settle). Her desk is nearly bare, with only two framed photos perched below her desktop. There hasn’t been time for case files to accumulate, for her detectives and beat cops to need signatures or approvals or second opinions. The thought of the work excites her and terrifies her simultaneously, and it’s only as she’s sitting at this desk, so similar to that of her mentor’s, two precincts over, that the gravity of her situation hits her.

She, Captain Amy Santiago, is the youngest captain in NYPD history.

She takes a deep breath, and then another. Then she lets her eyes flit to the frames. In the one on the left, four smiling faces fill a simple 4x6 wooden frame, messily decorated with her daughters’ misshapen squiggles that Jake swore a hundred times were supposed to be hearts (the ones that he actually drew, decorating one corner, are only slightly more discernible). Wide smiles and scrunched up eyes from her three favorite faces ease the sudden tension in her shoulders at the thought of the work ahead, and her own eyes crinkle, the smile she hasn’t been able to wipe off her face all night widening at the memory of clutching Ana closer to her chest, tickling her chubby two year-old belly, while Jake pressed his cheek against hers and held Rae in a vice grip to prevent her escape attempts, Charles tearing up a bit as he furiously snapped pictures.

Then, almost on instinct, her eyes move left, to the far older picture, faded with time and years at a desk that got afternoon sunlight. Her ugliest selfie-worthy grin on a face nearly six years younger, with Jake grinning goofily beside her. The picture had been on her desk since she was a detective in the Nine-Nine, when he’d been in prison and she couldn’t bear to look up from their shared desks and see anything other than his wide smile. She updates everything in her life with meticulous detail - the picture in the frame on the right is updated every six months like clockwork - but this one, this one has stayed.

Her hand has drifted to the medals, pinned to her dress shirt only an hour before to thunderous applause from Gavin, her partner from when she was a brand-new beat cop whose kids - toddlers when she met them - sit in college sweatshirts beside him; from her current precinct, with a crew of unruly, talented detectives holding up meticulously decorated posters; from her family at the Nine-Nine, grins so bright she thinks she’ll go blind; and from Jake, making a Taylor Swift-style heart with his hands, pride shining from his eyes with such strength it’s nearly palpable. It’s all a little overwhelming in her head, this much love and this much success and seeing her dreams all come true in front of her, knowing there’s so much work ahead. She just needs a minute.

She’s startled, drawn out of the memory, by the sound of the handle clicking open, and she’s already babbling excuses, pushing out of her chair to get back to the party being thrown in her honor just outside (the song changed to “Happy” at some point when she wasn’t listening). But then, almost as though she’d summoned him, Jake’s sliding through the small crack in the doorway, his eyes shining with so much affection that a lump rises in her throat at the sight, mixed with a tinge of concern.

“Hey,” he says quietly, turning the lock on the door behind him as he moves further into the room. “You good? I saw you leave earlier, and—“

She’s already moving to meet him, has her head buried in his collar before he can finish his sentence. His arms wrap around her on instinct, careful to avoid creasing her freshly pressed new uniform as he envelops her in his warmth. His breathing is steady against her chest, the air tickling the back of her neck on its way out to the room, and for just a few seconds, it feels like she could be back at home in his flannel shirt, Rae and Ana sandwiched between them as he holds them all close. It feels like home.

She can feel the manic energy draining from her body, sense the tension flowing out of her shoulders in his embrace. Her breathing slows as the job ahead becomes instantly more manageable. She knows Jake can feel it, too, because his arms shift around her, loosening just a bit so that she can look up at him.

“So, you’ve had a weird day,” he comments, a glint of laughter in his warm brown eyes. “Too bad mine was better - there were bacon-wrapped quiches at the after-party, and I had twenty.”

A giggle forces itself out of Amy’s throat at the thought. “So that’s where they all went,” she replies, noting with surprise that her voice is a little shaky. “No fair – I wanted some!” She slides one hand up his back to hit him in the shoulder.

“Well, you snooze, you lose,” he shrugs. “You were busy, and they just kept bringing more out. Someone had to eat them.”

“I was busy being congratulated by the chief of police of the NYPD for my ‘outstanding achievements’!” she retorts, hints of braggadocio and their old competitiveness driving the uncertainty from her voice.

“Damn straight you were.” His voice is unexpectedly soft in a way that brings a lump to her throat. He’s looking at her as though she hung the moon and the stars, and it melts her just as completely as it did this morning, when he caught her eyes over their daughters’ heads while he made oatmeal and she pulled silly faces to entertain them, and as it did nearly nine years ago when she pulled away from his lips in the evidence locker of the Nine-Nine.

It’s only when he pulls one hand off her shoulder blade and brings it up to swipe his thumb across her cheek that she notices she’s crying, that his thumb is wet and there’s a matching damp spot marring the collar of his dress blues.

She starts to babble an apology, her hands jumping to his collar to straighten it before the words spilling from her mouth find any semblance of coherency. But then he’s laughing, swatting her hand away, and reminding her firmly that a day when tears are the only thing that end up on his shirt counts as a win. At that, she lets out a watery chuckle, her fingers finding the spot on his chest, strategically concealed beneath his medals, where he’d spilled the applesauce he stole from their pantry in the car as they drove to One Police Plaza and poking it pointedly.

“Yeah, so maybe you took all the wins today, Ames. Some of us had to make sacrifices to the karma gods for this.” He pretends to be offended, but he can’t wipe the smile off his face long enough to look affronted.

“I swear, you’re worse than Rae,” she laughs, the memory of her daughter’s ketchup-covered Sesame Street pajamas soaking in their kitchen fresh in her mind.

“She had to get it from somewhere,” he reminds her, unexpected pride in his voice. “I mean, the badassery, that comes from you, but I’ll claim the messy eating.”

“Badassery isn’t a word, Jake.”

“Fine, then,” he replies with an exaggerated eye roll. “Badassicism, badassness, badassion, bada--point is, you’re it.”

She laughs as she leans in to give him a firm kiss, her lips smiling against his as his nose presses into her still-damp cheek. “I love you. So much,” she mumbles quietly as she pulls away. Her voice cracks a little bit on the last syllable, so she buries her face back in his shoulder.

“For realz, Ames, are you okay?” He asks, concern once again coloring his voice as he rubs small circles on the center of her back. She pauses for a second, trying to find her voice, to reassure him that she’s fine and thrilled and totally freakin’ capable and definitely not panicking, but the words don’t seem to come. Three seconds pass, and then three more. And then Jake takes a deep breath, moving his shoulders against her cheek. “You know, it’s fine if you’re not.”

She looks up then, a little surprised. “No – I’m ok. I’m happy, for sure. And excited for the challenge. And still a little shocked that I actually pulled it off. I’m just…really overwhelmed.” Her voice gets smaller at the end, shrinking to almost a whisper as her eyes drop away from his down to the buttons of his shirt. “What if I can’t do it?”

“Ames. You nerd,” he replies, without hesitation. “You just got promoted to your dream job, and you’re so badass that you’re the youngest person to have the job in history. That’s a pretty great reason to be overwhelmed, and it’s okay to be terrified. You know I would be.”

He frees an arm from her back, uses it to push gently against her chin so that she’s forced to meet his eyes, before he continues. “But you’re gonna do it. And you’re gonna do it better than anyone else yet. Because that’s what you do. And it’s okay to be scared, but tomorrow you’re gonna come into work and you’re gonna start kicking ass and as soon as the first case shows up on your desk you’re gonna relax because this is what you do. And you do it unbelievably well. Okay?”

He holds her gaze, his brow furrowed in concern. She’s busy remembering a similar speech, on a rooftop a billion years ago before what she was sure would be the scariest moment of her life. But for the gray touches by Jake’s temples and the hat perched on her head, she’d swear they were in the same spot, that she was an eager detective terrified of moving forward on her life calendar. But she’s not anymore. She’s done a billion things scarier than that test in the years since, Jake’s hand in hers, and he’s never once been wrong – she’s always been fine. So she squares her shoulders and nods firmly. “Okay.”

She wants to find the words for how much he means, for I love you and thank you and I couldn’t have done it without you. But she’s not sure her voice can manage to convey the sentiment, so instead she settles for a kiss on his cheek, her fingers brushing through his fluffy curls (she makes a mental note she needs to schedule him a haircut).

His eyes are closed, savoring the moment, for a few seconds after she pulls away. By the time he opens them, she’s busy smoothing her uniform, dabbing at her cheeks with the edge of her sleeve.

“Am I good?” she asks him, standing to attention for a uniform check.

“You look gorgeous, babe,” he replies, his entirely serious tone contrasting sharply the goofy grin slowly breaking across his face.

“Not what I meant.” She rolls her eyes at him – a breach of stance nothing short of shocking – and waits patiently for his proper answer.

“Perfect uniform, Captain Santiago,” he replies, standing to attention and saluting, his face as serious as she’s ever seen it. At the sound of her new title, though, a smile so wide it threatens to crack her face in half breaks across her own.

“Ready to face Charles’ playlist?” he asks, only half kidding as he holds out a hand for her to grab, lacing their fingers together when she takes it.

“Never, but I don’t think I have a choice,” she groans, remembering for the first time in a while the party that awaits her on the other side of her door.

“Nope! I heard he added ‘Kokomo’ - perfect dancing music!”

“Don’t break a hip on the dance floor,” she grumbles, her smile widening as she gives his hand a squeeze and he opens the door, beyond which friends and laughter and octopus donuts await.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Captain Santiago.”

#b99 #brooklyn 99 #my writing #jake peralta #amy santiago #peraltiago #peraltiago fanfiction #rey and ana and eli #yes i know rey is rae here there's a whole post abt it ok #anyway #i'm love u all and writing again was fun even if this is Tiny Af

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letstrysomefanfic · 7 years

Text

Frostbit PART 3 (Peter Parker x Reader)

Word Count: 3.1k (wow what a doozy)

Warnings: there’s a robot attack on the school which I just realized, in the way I wrote, it might be triggering so be aware of that, swearing, fighting, mention of death

Request: n/a

A/N: woweeee it’s been waayyyyy too long, about two months AT LEAST for original writing in general and more than that for a writing from THIS series. anyway been rly pushing to get this one out (as it’s been sitting in my head for you-would-not-believe-how-long) I’m gonna try get part 2 to YCHHW out within these next few days, some of those fic requests that have been staring at my face for the past few months, and maybe even my first drabble too? (if you have requests for those please do send in i rly want to do one but ideas = 0000)

anyway hope you enjoy! (sorry the ending isn’t very exciting but it’s late and i’m v tired so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

EDIT: Edited this to change it from specifically fem!reader to gender inclusive, and also grammar stuff

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Peter did not end up running into ‘Pretty Much Elsa’ that night, nor the night after, nor the night after that. In fact, a whole month had gone by without any sight of the ice-masked vigilante.

“Ok so they’re probably just, like, really good at hiding from camera’s.”

“You already said that, Ned, but what if something happened, you know?” Peter muttered. “They’re kind of a newbie at this, and it’s a pretty dangerous gig.”

Ned shrugged, “Well they did say that they’ve been icing-it-up for what, four months? And after all that time there was only 20 seconds of footage! And you’d only seen them that one time too, so…?”

“They said three months,” Peter muttered. “But I dunno man. Something doesn’t feel right.”

“Maybe if you set a fire somewhere, they’d definitely have to go right? Because them having ice and all that and ice could beat fire—OH! Maybe they’re like a type of like hybrid water bender, but instead—”

Peter shut his locker. “I’m not gonna start any fires, Ned!” He tried to avoid the weird looks from a passing group of girls. He started walking down the hall, turning his head a little towards Ned following alongside, “Look, I’ll just keep my eyes peeled, and you see if you can find anything else online or—”

A tingle shot through Peter’s arm.

Thunder ripped through the hallway. The entire building lurched and shook. A wave of heads shot down, the rapid descent rippling through the hallway like a wave. Screams echoed after the thunderous booms, and metal clanging followed, bounced off the walls.

Vibrations began shaking the floor, reverberating up from Peter’s feet. His knees were set in Jello. His chest rattled. His jaw clenched against the additional thundering between his ears. His brain was ready to explode.

“Ned,” Peter croaked. Ned was doubled over also, hands gripping the sides of his head.

“What the hell is that?!”

“I dunno! Just go!” Peter shouted over the clamor. “Get people out and go!”

Ned looked at Peter. Students had begun scattering past them. “No way. Not here—”

Peter’s eyes pleaded, “You know I have to, Ned, please. Please help get people out of here and go!”

“Why don’t YOU get people outa here too?!”

Peter struggled to scramble up, yanking Ned with him. “Ned please!” The vocal chaos began to rival that of the metal roaring.

Ned reciprocated Peter’s shoulder-grabbing. “Fine,” he sighed. “But please. Be. Careful.”

The hold on Ned’s shoulders was lifted as Peter bounced away, gripping the bag on his shoulders. He launched toward the crossing hallway, but not before looking back at Ned, who saw the “GO” leave his mouth more than he heard it.

Your hand gripped the railing, straining more than you should to lift yourself back to your feet.

“What the hell?” you muttered. You could hear a few other students in the stairwell were having a harder time. The walls were definitely closer together than they were before the slam, which still felt like it was happening over and over.

“Is the door up there opening?” a voice echoed up the shaft. You reached for the handle, already fearing why someone would be asking. Push. Nothing. Push harder. It budged a little. You launched yourself at the door. All that moved was your shoulder out of it’s socket (or it at least felt like it). Great job, idiot.

“No. Is that one not?” you called, gripping your left shoulder. Evan from first period stuck his head up from the second floor as you glanced down from the third.

“No. Neither is first floor.”

“Shit.”

Voices began traveling between the three floors.

“Oh my God are we trapped?” “Holy shit.” “Was that an explosion?” “I think so…” “Oh God…”

You raised your not-dislocated arm at the door as the panic continued.

“Fuck no, please no, fucking hell—” “What do we do?” “Where was it?” “I don’t think explosions can squish entire stairwells…”

Glance around and down; make sure no one is coming.

“Okay, nobody panic.” “How the hell do we not panic?!” “Yeah! That was a freaking explosion!”

Everyone was heading for the bottom. Good. You pressed your palm to the cool, painted steel.

“What do we do?” “Maybe it’s just locked?” “Why the fuck would it be locked, Janice?!” “I’m just trying to be—”

Please let no one be on the other side.

“Have you guys tried kicking them down?”

The surge traveled down your arm. You concentrated it to puncture beneath the surface.

“Can anyone kick it down?!” “Are we not gonna talk about that, though?”

Soft tinkles and crackles spread out from under your hand.

“What’re we gonna do, people?!” “Guys let’s just shut up and think this out, okay?”

Frail wisps of smoke curled around your fingers.

“I can’t even think during class, dammit, how am I supposed to think now?!” “I think I’m gonna faint, guys.” “Explosion, everyone. A goddamn explosion—” “WE GET IT!”

Push.

“Let’s just find a way out so we can get to the fire exits—” “This IS the fire exit you dumbass!” “HEY—”

Your arm was throbbing. Push harder.

“Guys please calm down, we don’t need to—” “Who the fuck you callin’ ‘dumbass’?!” “Fucking forgot my fucking inhaler…”

Cracks turned to crevices. You hoped this would work.

“Guys—” “Why is no one saying anything about what to do?!” “How do you not remember this is the fire—”

Ice began to grow, a thin layer coating the splitting piece of metal.

“This isn’t even the exit, it’s just stairs—” “I’m not a dumbass—” “Ohmygod what if we die here.” “Can everyone just shut up?” “Still no suggestions on what. The hell. To do.”

Push. You concentrated. Willing more ice, more concentrated than the spreading before, it shot through, bursting inside the metal. Too much pressure. Good. More. Just a little more…

“Wouldn’t have to take that Bio test, though…” “Ohmygod, Zane?!” “Shut up!”

Push, dammit. You were scared; what if you were doing this wrong, ended up shattered your arm or something?

“Should we be at the top guys?” “No, what if everything falls?! Then we fall!” “But then we’d get crushed down here.”

Just PUSH.

“I heard somewhere that you’re more likely to—” “Shut. Up.” “You shuddup, dumbass!” “I wasn’t even saying anything!” “WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE GONNA DO—”

BOOM

Wind sucked around you and chased after the cracked pieces of the door into the hall. Your hair danced up, your palm still feeling the presence of the door against it.

“Guys, I think this one’s open now,” you called. You grinned ferociously, trying to let out all your pride and excitement before anyone got there.

“What the hell?”

“Did you do that?!”

You scoffed, feigning surprise, “No. It kinda just got sucked out that way? And I saw someone running to the other stairs after.”

Everyone came running up the stairs. Most stared in bewilderment. Others ran past after momentarily pausing to register the sight, “I don’t care, let me the fuck out.”

Once they all had run out (you had to drag one of them out; they were trying to deduce how the whole door thing happened), you ran off in search of the original explosion that had squished the stairwell.

Peter felt like the cliche “salmon fighting upstream,” but there was no better way to put it. Bags and shoulders knocked him side to side like a rag doll as he struggled to stay on his feet enough to advance to where people were running from. His “excuse me”s and “sorry”s fell upon deaf, fleeing ears. He strained his ears to concentrate on where the vibrations were coming from. Peter pushed past teacher’s shaky directions, panicked cries, adrenaline-filled screams, and even the obnoxiously echoing pulses themselves; he could faintly hear them drifting in more from the West wing.

As the river of students thinned, the intensity of the clanging intensified. Peter broke out into a run. It was his turn to bump people with his bag and shoulders, still muttering apologies as he raced past. To his dismay, he began to see more and more pairs—sometimes even threes—holding each other up as they hobbled past him. Thankfully no one looked too seriously injured. For now.

The jackhammer pulsing all around and through Peter hammered away more feverishly than ever. The ground shook so bad that he could barely run in a straight line. As soon as he turned the corner past shattered display cases and ceramic pieces, he saw the cause of it all. He immediately stuck his outward foot planted on the ground, pivoted, and pushed himself back around. He braced himself against the wall, back facing the direction of the giant humanoid drill.

Peter leaned his head out from behind the wall slowly to peek. Yes. Humanoid drill. It was a large exoskeleton that resembled a human body, but five times bigger and with massive drills for arms and a head. The robot’s knees had funnels attached, open side out, sucking up certain bits of the ground that had been drilled. It looked like it was made entirely of various thick metal scraps. Peter wondered if maybe someone was inside, operating it. Maybe it was remote-controlled. He hoped it was remote-controlled.

Something was glowing yellow on it’s chest, casting an amber light in the hole it was digging. It wasn’t too much like a flashlight, more like…

Peter groaned. Again with this alien rock shit.

Oh yeah. It was digging a big-ass hole. Right there in the hallway. Literally two small steps from the art class and reaching out past the hole in the wall (which was probably the result of the explosion). Had to be at least five feet wide, easy. Peter struggled to get to the bathroom just a classroom away.

Moments later, Peter ran out, clad in the spidey uniform, firing webs as he slid into view of the drill. They stuck on the funnels, which he easily ripped off. The robot seemed unfazed as the metal boxes bounced past Peter.

“Okay… so it’s definitely a robot,” he huffed, leaping to the wall. He crawled onto the ceiling until he got behind it, shot more webs, then leaping down. He yanked with all his might, effectively yanking the robot backwards onto its back.

“Web grenade!” Peter threw a bunch around it’s neck area as he clambered onto its chest. The drills continued whirring above him, but he had much easier access to it now that the whole robot couldn’t move to block the orb. Just as he was assessing how to get it out, the earth shook. Peter stuck his hands on the metal as the mass heaved below him. The drill-bot had plunged it’s now-still drill-arms into the ground and was pushing itself upright.

“Aw come on!”

With the start of the drills came the start of the whirring and rumbling once more. As Peter began furiously pounding on the metal around the stone, he could feel the air behind him blowing increasingly rapidly. He whipped his head around to see the blades of the drill dangerously close to his face. With a yelp, he dropped down to the ground, uncharacteristically ungracefully collapsing onto his back. The drill-bot began bending down, drills pointed right at him.

“Ricochet web!” Peter screamed, pointing at an area on the ceiling a few feet away from the robot. The web bounced off and shot right back, attaching onto the back. He began reeling it as much as he could, slowing the robot’s descent. But it wasn’t enough. The drill-bot pulled the webbing as it fought to bend, drill extended as far as it would go. Much too far for Peter’s liking.

His arms were shaking. Biceps were cramping. Hands were sweating. The screeching of the drill blew air around his face, growing closer and closer and closer and clos—

WHAM

And then it wasn’t. The webbing in Peter’s hands suddenly went slack, and his fists whacked his face. Nose felt broken. Great. He shoved himself up onto his elbow. The drill-bot was halfway down the hall, careening forward. Suddenly, Peter felt the air lightly blow behind him. He sprawled flat on the floor, face up, watching a stream of water blast above him.

No, not water…

Small bits of hail dropped from the stream. He glanced back.

After a whole month, there they were.

You tried to get a shot at the yellow thing in the middle of it’s chest, but it wouldn’t let up. Icing it’s face-drill wasn’t doing anything to distract it, and the other two drills caved forward, blocking a shot at the orb. That had to be the source of it’s power. If not… you didn’t feel like thinking of a backup plan right now.

“Can you get it to bend backward?” you called to the red a blue figure sprawled pathetically on the floor. Seriously? Queen’s proclaimed hometown hero, just lay there… staring. He didn’t even respond.

Whatever. I’ll do it myself.

You kept one hand trained on the robot as you took off toward it, your right hand building up a ramp in front of you. As you ran up it, it tilted higher and higher, attached to the wall on your right, making an ascending curve around the robot that was struggling to pivot as quick as you were running. It suddenly lurched forward, the direct opposite way you wanted it to be lurching if it was gonna lurch anywhere. You saw Spider-man pushing himself backwards, holding a web attached to somewhere in the middle of the robot.

“What are you doing?!”

“Cut through it!”

“What?!”

Spider-man reached behind him to grab the wall, still struggling against the bot to pull it toward him. You blasted ice at a drill that was raising toward the web.

“Cut through to that yellow thingy there in the middle! You see—”

“I know where it is!”

“Well—” he slid forward as the robot staggered back “—ice expands, so if you can get it—”

“I know!” You didn’t need to be lectured on how ice worked. You, of all people.

You jumped off the ice ledge you had created and onto the robot’s back, forming a chunk of ice on it to grab onto. You immediately regretted your decision.

The robot turned into one of those bull-riding machines you see on fail videos. A constantly-earthquaking bull-riding machine. And you thought the vibrations were bad on the ground; the entire world was a never-focusing blur, a jackhammer pounded away in each ear, every sense of orientation was lost. You gripped the fast-melting ice for your newly-shortened-in-length life with and pressed your right palm onto the machine. Your shoulder was throbbing almost as bad as your ears were.

This was going to be so much harder than the door.

“Could you maybe hold it still?!” you called.

“You’re kidding me, right?!” you barely heard over the clanging.

“Just do it!”

The surging pulsed through your arm and quickened until it matched that of the drill’s. You concentrated once more, lessening the pressure to seep through the metal but not let the ice rebound against it. A little harder. A little harder. You didn’t let the ice spread throughout the metal; you focused it like a spearhead, driving it straight through from your palm directly into the body and through to the other side.

“I can’t stop it!” you heard.

The robot was stepping backward, threatening to sandwich you into the wall. With a roar, you shoved the ice through with as much pressure as you could muster. Metal groaned and cracked until—

The whirs died, the static movement halted. A tiny clink sounded from far below—you had to guess that was the orb. The robot didn’t fall to the ground (like you expected) or self-combust either, for which you were thankful. It just stood stiff in place. You slowly turned to look behind you, at the wall the robot almost squished you into, just inches away bouncing your hot breath back to you.

Your hand gleefully let go of what remained of the ice chunk and slid down. Grimacing and groaning, you lowered your arm to your side.

“Wow… great teamwork.”

You turned to see Spider-man stoop to pick up the glowing yellow stone. Part of you wanted to immediately jump him before he used it to claim this victory as his own, but you decided against it. You were tired enough already, and besides, what the hell were you gonna do with a glowing rock?

“It makes the dream work,” you shrugged but mumbled. “Even if you were getting your ass kicked before I stepped in.”

“What?”

“Hm?”

Spider-man just shook his head. Unbeknownst to you, he was wondering the same thing you were wondering about him. How did they get there so fast?

He cautiously turned the orb over in his hands. “I hope you’re not gonna try to take-then-break this one, too,” he teased.

“Well—” you were about to retort when something caught your hearing. Even though you barely could hear from the thundering still echoing in your mind, you picked up the faint sound of sirens. Shit. “Just, uh, you keep it,” you called as you turned to run back the way you came. “Let it make up for you almost getting your ass kicked!”

“What?!”

You pushed aside the questions racing in your mind as you focused on your race down the hall. The lonely sound of rubber slapping tile made the only sounds of life within the school walls. Pounding through corridors, past the gym, around corners, you remembered to dissolve the mask on your face just before you rammed into one of the science rooms. Your shoes squeaked as you dodged desks, lunging for the back emergency exit.

Creeping around the corner, hugging the brick wall, you peered out to see the clamor outside. Some students crying, some recording, some just dazedly walking around confused, teachers frantically trying to count heads and unsuccessfully create some order, ambulances, firefighters, police cars parked this way and that, their operators dashing about. Perfect. You slipped into the crowd and started calling for your best friend, easily blending in among the chaos.

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aelysalthea · 7 years

Text

Wisdom In Words

Summary: Sherwin was quiet. Unobtrusive. The kind of person to duck his head and strive to be overlooked. That was always the way when starting at a new school. Except that this one was different - just barely, and almost indiscernible at first, but apparent nonetheless. And all because of a few passing words.

Rating: T

Tags: Pre-Film, Changing Schools, Muteness, School Life, Messages In Quotes

Chapter 1: Changes

The tolling of a bell could mean a number of things. A beginning. An end. A call to attention. It could be a melody of poignant sound crying a change in routine, or a solemn ode of loss.

A school bell was all of these things in its own way. Regardless of the school, the specific pitch of that bell, and the hour at which it sounded, Sherwin knew that much. He'd had his fair share of experience with a variety of the sort.

The school loomed before him, all grey walls and shuttered windows. Students in navy sweaters and grey slacks slung bags over their shoulders, rising from where they sat upon the modest spread of the school's front lawn. The chatter of voices, laughter, and moans of disgruntlement overrode the ringing residue of the bell's echo.

Sherwin swallowed. Starting anew. Starting anew was… always hard. It had nothing to do with the change in uniforms. It wasn't because of the struggle he would inevitably face with the confusing layout of the school. He was prepared for that – or at least as prepared as he would ever be. Those changes were the same at every single school he'd attended.

It was the people that made it the hardest.

Fingers digging into the strap of his own bag, the satchel bumping his side as he clung to it as he would a lifeline, Sherwin took a deep breath. It didn't help. Breathing, coaxing himself into slow breathing, never really did. If anything, he felt just faintly lightheaded for the fact, and it didn't serve to slow his pounding heart either. So loud, it thundered in his ears. Sherwin perceived that surely, surely someone must hear it.

No one turned towards him, however. No one glanced his way as they bypassed where he stood rooted to the path leading to the front steps of the school. Unfamiliar faces of unfamiliar people who barely spared him a glance but to turn away a moment later and skirt around him.

Sherwin was relieved for that fact. He didn't like being stared at.

It took a herculean effort to unstick his sensible shoes from the path. An even greater effort to start his trudging way towards those steps. Eyes fixed directly ahead didn't stop him from seeing those around him.

Are they looking? Do they know I'm new? Do they think I'm strange?

How many times had Sherwin been plagued by such thoughts? He didn't know, couldn't remember. They likely wouldn't ever leave him alone, either; most of the time they proved to be valid suspicions. With a tuck of his chin, he picked up his pace and slipped into the flooded halls of the school.

Vinyl floors. Dinghy lockers that were better than some he'd seen but worse than others. Schoolrooms and noticeboards pinned with posters and reminders, a water foundation patterned in a mosaic at its base for all of the colourful gum spotted around the piping. And people. So, so many people.

A bump to the shoulder, a dodge out of the way of a senior, another backpedal to avoid the trail of juniors that hastened past and almost tripped over Sherwin's feet. He scuttled to the side of the hall, clinging to the wall as he made his way down the corridor. He'd seen the map. He'd studied it as soon as the principal had sent his mom a welcome package. Homeroom was around two corners and the third door on the right. Mr Simpson, his teacher was called. Hopefully, Mr Simpson knew to expect him. Even more importantly, it was Sherwin's hope that he didn't draw attention to him.

Sherwin hated when the eyes turned and the focus was drawn. He hated it even more than changing schools itself.

The classroom was barely half full when he stepped inside. Shoulders still hunched, fingers still clinging to his satchel strap, he edged his way around the room of buzzing students, eyeing those around him with a ducked head. These would be his new classmates: the girl with the high, blonde ponytail perched on the edge of a desk, the boy at the window nibbling on an apple, the pair of other boys seated towards the front of the room appearing nothing if not engrossed in the books they were reading. A scattering of them in various states of ease; Sherwin's gaze darted around the room, committing faces to memory even without their names.

It was better to know people. Better to recognise, to be able to tell them apart, to define each from the general crowd of 'new'. That way, at least, he could pretend to be something other than 'new' himself.

The back corner seat was blessedly empty. Sherwin slid into the creaky chair, tucking his satchel under his desk, and hunched upon himself with eyes still studying the room. Plain, simple, all but interchangeable from every other homeroom he'd ever been in, it was nonetheless a necessity to commit every detail to memory.

The desks, in rows of five by six.

The teacher's station, front and to the left of the room and sparsely spread with whiteboard markers and papers.

The pattern of student arrangement, tending not too far to the front – so as to avoid the teacher's attention – and yet not too far to the back, either – for such would be indicative of potential troublemakers.

Except for Sherwin, that was. Apparently there was something about him that bespoke 'not concerning' to each and every teacher he'd ever had. Maybe it was his tendency to sink all but completely under his desk. Maybe the silence that he wore like a protective scarf seemed suggestive of obedience.

The slightly grimy windows.

The stacks of dog-eared textbooks at the back of the room.

The fluorescent lights overhead that whirred so quietly that it was almost inaudible.

And on the board –

Sherwin blinked. The board was wiped clean, as was almost expected of a Monday morning, except for a single line of text in slightly slanted hand written with meticulous straightness. A single line… and it seemed to drown out the rest of the room entirely.

There is nothing permanent except change.

Underneath, written in the same slanted print, the name Heraclitus sat like a footnote. Sherwin didn't know what it was – a name? The person who'd said the words like a quotation? – but that hardly mattered. It felt like the quote was written entirely for him.

Everything changed for Sherwin. Everything and always. Cities and towns, schools and friends that became less about the friends over time and more simply just the schools. His mom's job and their placement, and the house they stayed at, and the neighbours and rental cars and shopping malls. So much change, and Sherwin had perhaps, maybe just a little bit, hoped that such changes might someday cease.

Maybe he was reading too much into the quote that had likely been left by the teacher only that morning. Maybe the words were simply a throwaway mention of the inevitability of that change, and something to be read, nodded at, and discarded.

It likely wasn't meant to resound so strongly. It likely wasn't meant to place both a heaviness of the inevitability of constant change upon Sherwin's shoulders while at the same time offer a strangely satisfying hand to hold. Nothing would remain the same, and for Sherwin, that likely meant more towns and more schools. But change – that could always be anticipated.

Sherwin stared at the slanted words as the room slowly filled with students. As the boy with the apple crunched idly and the girl with the ponytail kicked her legs where they swung off the edge of her desk. As the boys at the front of the room flicked through their books to the disregard of the rest of the students, and the seats around them scraped upon the ground when filled and the slap of bags dropped at feet picked up frequency.

And Sherwin waited. He only caught a hold of his attention once more when the man who was likely Mr Simpson entered the room.

A tall, heavy-set man, he was balding and wore a pair of wire-framed glasses perched slightly askew atop his nose. The stack of folders he carried under one arm dropped heavily onto his desk as he took himself to the front of the room, but the students before him barely quieted for his presence, though several heads turned and more chairs scraped as they were filled by obliging bodies.

Not until Mr Simpson glanced towards the whiteboard. He absently patted his belly, plucking distractedly at the button-down front of his shirt. Then he turned back to the room, and a smile spread beneath the bristled tufts of his moustache. "A very appropriate way to start this week, I should think," he said, and the murmur of student voices died. "Once again, we appreciate the written words of the wise men of old." A gesture towards the whiteboard behind him, and then Mr Simpson was inclining his head to the room at large. "Thank you for your contribution again, Mr Philosopher."

As though by reflex, a ripple of laughter passed through the room. Practiced laughter, old laughter, the kind of laughter uttered by those who had heard the joke before and yet still found it somewhat amusing. Sherwin glanced briefly around himself, eyes darting towards mouths that murmured words like, "Have you heard of Heraclitus before?" and "He probably got it from one of his books." Someone even snorted with a, "Suck up. Every single day…" that Sherwin almost, almost frowned at.

He didn't really have the time to grow affronted on behalf of someone else, however. Not even someone – a student, it would seem – who seemed to have written the quote directly for him. Instead, his attention snapped towards Mr Simpson again as he continued. "On the note of change, however, we have one such change in our classroom today." The teacher squinted slightly as he cast his gaze around the room.

It scanned.

It passed once, twice – and then it stopped.

Sherwin truly wished he could sink beneath his desk at that point. Change or otherwise, the introduction of the 'new student' into the cohort was one so consistently arising as to be almost predictable.

Please don't, please don't, please don't, Sherwin all but begged in a mental chant. Only to smother a wince when Mr Simpson spoke. "Sherwin, was is? I'd like you all to welcome our newest student to our year."

Mr Simpson smiled at him, but Sherwin hardly noticed. He noticed only for the response it caused when Mr Simpson gestured towards him, warm and welcoming. That warmth was lost before the sea of turning faces; the girl with the ponytail and her friend alongside her with the too-big jumper. The boy who'd long since finished his apple to turn with raised eyebrows and curiosity towards him. Even the two boys with the books twisted in their chairs to regard him; one of them went so far as to lower his book entirely to turn his gaze with mild curiosity.

Sherwin could hear as much as feel his heartbeat in his ears. He could hear, too, his ridiculously overloud breath and hoped – hoped – that no one else heard them both quite so loudly. His eyes darted around the room once more, and he could feel his cheeks redden with the readiness they always did.

The students would likely smirk. They would likely tease. Why wouldn't they? There was nothing quite interesting about a skinny new kid with hair too red and a propensity for blushing in his too pale cheeks. The chanting reprimands beating away inside Sherwin's head were so loud that he almost didn't hear Mr Simpson continue. "Sherwin? Good effort on finding homeroom on time; the corridors can be a little tricky to navigate sometimes." He smiled benignly, then gestured to Sherwin once more. "Would you like to introduce yourself?"

And there it was. The worst possible words to hear. Sherwin only managed to refrain from truly sinking beneath his desk by grasping the sides of his chair so tightly his fingers whitened even paler than they usually were. He hated, hated, hated having the attention drawn to himself. It was almost the worst part of changing schools.

Almost.

Sherwin didn't stand. He didn't introduce himself. With cheeks flaming, chin tucking once more, and doing his best – and thoroughly failing – to ignore the stares of the curious, the dismissive, and the resigned as his fellow students turned to regard him in wait, Sherwin shook his head.

There was a pause, a long pause, after which Mr Simpson finally seemed to realise the futility of his own wait. Then he dropped his gesturing hand back to the front of his shirt and cleared his throat quietly. "Well," he said with false cheer. "Not to worry! Sherwin, welcome to the class. I'm sure everyone will be more than ready to assist you should you need a hand with finding anything. Now, I'll ask for the usual quiet while I just take roll call, if you would…"

Sherwin tuned him out as he sunk forwards until his head nearly rested upon the desk. He'd almost expected it to happen, because it almost, almost always did. It didn't make it any easier to endure, however. He still hated the attention, the introduction, the staring and the unconscious judgement from those around him. To the sound of Mr Simpson's drone, Sherwin sighed and closed his eyes once more.

Two things in Sherwin's life were permanent, it would seem. Change, he'd recently discovered, and perhaps obviously so, was one of them. And the other?

Sherwin hadn't spoken a word to anyone in nearly three years. He doubted that was likely to change, either.

A/N: I have every intention of continuing this story, have already finished the first draft, and would absolutely love to know your thoughts! This is such a wonderful Short Film and it deserves all of the love and support in the world. A thousand Kudos to Beth and Esteban for their incredible work!

If you’d like to follow this story, please take a look at it on AO3 here!

#in a heartbeat #iahb #short film #fanfiction #pre-canon #school life #starting at a new school #muteness #tentative beginnings #social awkwardness #bullying #Rating: T

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amillionsmiles · 7 years

Text

you only live forever in the lights you make (Keith/Shiro)

Title: you only live forever in the lights you make Summary: After the championship game, Keith is still learning about victories—both big and small. / High school basketball team AU. A/N: 90% of this was written just because I am a sucker for the varsity letterman jacket aesthetic. Bonus ~vibes~ to listen to while reading can be found here. Also check out @sheithzine if you’re interested in seeing this in PDF form + accompanying art by @ditaauraart ! :)

[Read and review here] or continue under the cut.

“How’s the ankle?”

The cushions bounce slightly as Lance collapses next to Keith on the couch, smelling of Old Spice and perfume. A Coke glistens in his hand; Keith uncrosses his arms to accept it, popping the tab. He takes three big gulps, bubbles tickling the back of his throat as he looks at his right foot, propped up on Kimberly Moreno’s coffee table.

“It’ll be fine.” His eyes flick toward Lance. “You’ve got lip gloss on your face.”

Lance puffs his chest, pulling his letterman higher on his shoulders. “What can I say? Everybody loves a champion. And by everybody I mean Nyma and by loves I mean—”

“Stop.” Keith rolls his eyes. “I do not want to hear these details.”

“Your loss,” shrugs Lance, smile refusing to dim as he bumps Keith’s shoulder. Loss means nothing to either of them tonight, not when they’ve won, despite Hunk getting elbowed in the nose; despite the turnover that turned into their getting dunked on; despite Keith twisting his ankle during the second quarter and having to sit out the rest of the game, sweating through his jersey as their team eked out a 59-57 victory over Galra Tech.

It won’t make any headlines—Galra and Voltron are known more for their robotics teams than their basketball—but Keith can’t think of a better way to end the season.

“So, at the risk of sounding like a douche,” starts Lance, “but I’m really, really glad I got to play, even though it took your messed up ankle to put me in.”

Keith blinks. It’d been a sore spot for them right after tryouts, when Keith had gotten starter and Lance had gotten benchwarmer. Especially since Lance had saved up to attend training camp that summer while Keith had waited tables. To think that after all this, Lance still believes he didn’t deserve to be on the court—

“You would’ve gone in regardless of whether I got hurt or not, Lance. You were good, tonight. You are good, period.”

Lance grins, less bravado, more belief.

“Good enough to start next year?”

“Definitely.”

Lance opens his mouth to say more, but his eyes catch on something; abruptly, he stands up instead.

“You know, I just remembered—someone wanted me in the kitchen.” Wink.

“What—” Keith swivels his head, confused, before a different figure enters his view.

“Nice speech.” Shiro hands Keith a fresh bag of ice, dropping into the newly vacated spot. His arm presses against Keith’s with the motion, and Keith swallows, distracting himself by flexing his foot and leaning forward to replace the water-filled bag on his ankle.

“It wasn’t a speech,” he mutters. “And anyways, it’s not as good as one of yours.”

Shiro shrugs. “You have plenty of time to work on it. Captain.”

The word, though playful, holds a certain weight, a mantle Keith’s not quite ready for—not when he still considers Shiro the true team captain, warm beside him. Coran had broken the news in the locker room after the game, to Keith’s stunned expression.

(“Oh, don’t act so surprised,” Lance scoffed later, clapping him on the back. “Even I voted for you.”)

“You’ve got the stats to back it up, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Pidge comforted, adjusting her glasses as she riffled through the book. She, too, had big shoes to fill, what with assuming Allura’s duties as manager.

And Keith has faith in his talent as a player. It’s just the leading part that’s off—sometimes he gets tunnel vision, pushes people too hard, is too abrasive. He isn’t a natural motivator, he isn’t—he isn’t Shiro.

Shiro, who on the first day of practice partnered with him for dribble drills because Lance and Hunk had already paired off. Shiro, who took him shopping for basketball shoes when his old ones fell apart. Shiro, who made sure that Keith ate before every game.

Shiro, who is graduating.

“Hey.” A gentle tug on his ponytail, reminiscent of all the times right before the huddle when Shiro would look into his eyes and ask, how are you feeling, and just like that, Keith is grounded again. The music’s heavy bass pumps in his ears. Lance leans against a wall, talking to Nyma. Pidge is destroying at beer pong under Matt’s watchful gaze. Hunk and Rolo are arm-wrestling, the rest of the team in the backyard, upstairs, scattered through the house—joking, laughing, celebrating—and Keith gets a flash that this could be them next year, too, if he does his job right.

“You’re going to be a great captain,” Shiro reassures.

Keith lets himself lean a little closer. “You think?”

“I know.”

Keith where r u

Hunk helping clean up, gimme like 15 min, sorry

Slipping his phone back into his pocket, Keith leans against the fence, trying not to put too much weight on his bad ankle.

“Need a ride?”

Keith shifts, unsurprised at Shiro’s appearance this time. “Um…yeah, actually.”

Keith nvm, going with Shiro

Hunk HA. Lance owes me $10. have fun ;)

Hurriedly, Keith swipes the message away, clearing his throat. “Okay. We can go.”

“Do you want to wait here? I can bring the car around, I parked a little far.”

“I can make it,” insists Keith, already turning to limp down the sidewalk. It takes three steps before his toe catches, tripping him forwards—“Shit—”

“I got you.” Shiro hooks an arm around his waist and drapes Keith’s left arm across his shoulders, fingers encircling Keith’s wrist. They make a strange, hunched figure in the moonlight, hobbling together; Lance comes to mind, leering over his battered copy of Othello, mouthing “the beast with two backs” and Keith pushes it away, scowling—now is not the time—

The metal of Shiro’s car against his back is sweet relief. Keith rests against it, takes a few short breaths while closing his eyes.

When he opens them, Shiro is gazing at him softly. “You always make things hard for yourself.”

“Says the one joining the military.”

“Hey, ROTC pays for my tuition. It’s not a bad deal. Something to consider, next year.”

“Yeah, okay,” but Keith doesn’t want to consider a senior year without Shiro’s booming laugh, the way he leans into Keith’s space without overwhelming.

His fingers find the door handle.

He turns.

Shiro kisses his cheek.

Keith freezes.

“What—”

“Sorry.” Shiro’s cheeks glow pink in the moonlight, hands open at his side, and Keith leans harder against the car, suddenly unsteady. “I should have asked—I don’t know if you remember—”

“Wait.” Keith’s mind races. “Is this about…”

Two months ago, Keith had decided to confess in the locker room, of all places, a choice that haunts him still. It’s too easy to recall the curve of Shiro’s back as he’d pulled his shirt over his head. His look of surprise, then hesitance: “I feel the same way, but let’s wait until the season is over, okay?”

Keith had thought that was Shiro’s delicate way of rejecting him; he hadn’t mentioned it since. But now��

“I didn’t know you were going to make a move immediately after the season finished,” he blurts.

Shiro shrugs. “It’s 1 AM. The stars are out, you’re leaning against my car…it’s all very romantic.”

A pause.

“Better than a locker room, anyways,” he adds, grinning.

“Shut up,” Keith groans, reaching for Shiro’s letterman jacket and tugging him forward. Shiro catches himself, forearm braced against the window, other hand hovering over Keith’s hip. Tentative, still. Keith’s call.

In the dark, Keith follows the bob of Shiro’s Adam’s apple.

“I get why you wanted to wait, now,” he says, soft, the realization rolling around his mind like a ball circling the rim. “If we were going out, and then I got captain…people would have talked.”

“And you think you’re not people-smart,” teases Shiro. His eyes belie the lightness of his tone, heavy as they pin Keith in place.

“Maybe I’m only smart when it comes to you.”

Shiro chuckles. “There’s a thought.” His next words are closer, brushing the shell of Keith’s ear. “Besides, I needed you focused on basketball, not me.”

“That’s a little conceited.”

“Is it?”

Fingers dance along the hem of Keith’s shirt and then they’re under it, pressed against the small of his back; Keith shivers, thinks of victories—big and small.

“Your hand’s cold.”

“Sorry,” murmurs Shiro, but there’s little remorse in it, just a smile pressed against Keith’s temple, a buzzer going off in Keith’s head. A knee between his legs, their bodies aligning, and Keith thinks of that moment of grace when he releases the ball from his hands, watching it arc away from him with a held breath—and when Shiro finally, finally kisses him, it’s bleachers full of people rising to their feet, the thunderous roar of a crowd, the sweetest of sighs as the ball tumbles, headlong, through the net.

#voltron #shiro #keith #sheith #vld #my writing #fanfiction #otp: good to have you back #ff: voltron

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