#(- the bare minimum and nothing more. I know that if I Left today I’d believe that everyone would love on within the week but I also know-) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

httpsserene · 7 months

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ʟᴇᴛ’ꜱ ɢᴏ ɢᴏʟꜰɪɴɢ ᴡ/ ʟɴ4

📖ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: maybe you shouldn’t be late to any event you go to, or bare minimum don’t make any bets you know you’re not going to win. having no hand-eye coordination is not great when you’re being forced to play golf.

📖ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: i think i’m funny. one or two dirty jokes. and reader does have a lil injury (nothing bad). not edited at all 😎

📖ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: the doc says 900 words?? it feels longer idk

📖ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: lando x black!fem!reader (it’s mainly twitch trio focused-alex,george & lando)

📖ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smau

📖ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ: swang • rae sremmurd

ᴘʀᴇꜰᴀᴄᴇ: i’d like to remind everyone that the people asked for this hellscape! you 🫵🏽 asked for it. it’s long, like LONG. anyways: max is definitely the type of dude to use the cat emojis. my bad to my charles girlies, he did not make the cut for this 😔 i had to get rid of like three or four ig posts and stories to make this all fit into one tblr post, and none of that had charles content 🫠. also, the plot damn near ran away from me, but it’s barely there—it’s kinda more friend focused than lando x reader until the end! uh there’s one part in here that was inspired by tik tok comments, y’all will know which one 😅 inspired by the fact that my brother hit me with a golf club when i was a child 🙂i think i’m pretty funny so i hope you guys find this funny asl, otherwise what did i do this for?

if you want me to post the outtakes lmk

send me some requests or talk to me pls 😅

want to be on a tag list? tell me in my inbox <3

georgerussell63

liked by lilymhe, mercedesamgf1, and 4,100,123 others

georgerussell63: off to a terrible start for golf day. my girlfriends “wife” is crashing the party, and my mates gf is already -4 after two holes 🙂

view comments

lilymhe: light work 💪🏼 no reaction🥱

user: not his girlfriend’s wife ☠️

➥ user: who does he think keeps carmen’s bed warm when he’s not at home???

alex_albon: welcome to watch mojo! and today we’re counting down our top 10 times our gf’s ditch us for each other 🤨

➥ user: and?

➥ user: what else are they supposed to do alexander 😀

y/ninstagram: put some respeCK on my name princling, or next time i see u its on sight 😡 im aiming the golf club straight at you

➥ georgerussell63: you can’t even hit the golf ball in under three tries, or aim anywhere near the holes

➥ georgerussell63: i think i’ll be fine

➥ y/ninstagram: 😟😐 i'll remember this george william russell, ur asking for it

carmenmmundt: george failed to mention that he’s +3 already

➥ georgerussell: like, literally nobody asked you to say that 😒

➥ landonorris: drag him !!! he doesn’t get to say shit about our wife 😤

➥ carmenmmundt: *my wife

➥ user: lmfaooo im 💀

alex_albon

liked by y/ninstagram, carmenmmundt and 3,431,543 others

alex_albon: ladies and gentlemen, introducing: *my* girlfriend 🤤✨

tagged lilymhe

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y/ninstagram: we MUST stay focused sisters

y/ninstagram: gawd damn‼️ wifey could hit me with that golf club any day

➥ carmenmmundt: fuck the club, i’ll let her run me over w the cart🥴

lilymhe: next hole, i’ll show you guys what a proper stoke is 😏

➥ lilymhe: since our bf’s seem to underperform…on the golf course obv

➥ user: AYOOO?!!

➥ carmenmmundt: okay 😇

➥ y/ninstagram: why r my thighs wet rn

➥ user: dO THEY KNOW THIS IS PUBLIC

alex_albon: i’m at a loss for words

➥ landonorris: this is literally your fault

➥ georgerussell63: can’t believe you mate 🫤

➥ alex_albon: how is this MY fault??! whattddiddiddoo

lilymhe • 5hrs ago

view replies

y/ninstagram: idk y ur complaining? the cart is parked. on its side, but it’s parked😊

carmenmmundt: i think we’ve punished ourselves

alex_albon: should’ve left her ass at home like i said 😒

francisca.cgomes: idk even know why y’all let her drive the cart😨

y/ninstagram • 4 hrs ago

view replies

maxfewtrell: ur joeeee kingggg. ur joe king 😐

francisca.cgomes: i wouldn’t even trust u with the scorecard—but pop off !!! girl boss shit

danielricciardo: SO I HAD TO, GRIND LIKE THAT TO SHINE LIKE THIS 🗣️🗣️‼️💯

lando.jpg

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, and 3,862,431 others

lando.jpg: “i have the highest score out of everybody here! +26 up on y’all hoes!” - y/n

tagged y/ninstagram

view comments

lando.jpg: BRO SAID ABSOLUTELY NOTHING 🥶🥶🔥🔥🔥

➥ maxfewtrell: SHE SOUNDS FIRE 🔥 ON MUTE ‼️💯

lilymhe: SHE GOT A HIDDEN TALENT 🔥🔥🔥 KEEP IT HIDDEN 🔥🔥🔥

➥ alex_albon: no talent ✅ JUST STRAIGHT ASS 💯💯🗣️🗣️🔥🔥

georgerussell63: THIS IS FIRE 🔥 PUT IT OUT ‼️

user: SHE SPITTING BARS 💯💯💯 PUT HER BEHIND THEM 🔥🔥🔥

user: THE SILENCE IS SO LOUD WHEN THIS HITS 🗣️🔥🔥

user: WE STARTED FROM THE BOTTOM 🔥🔥🔥 NOW WE’RE DIGGING 🗣️🗣️🔥💯‼️🙌🏽🙌🏽

y/ninstagram: y u hurt me 😪

➥ carmenmmundt: i think you’re underrated, honestly <; 3

➥ y/ninstagram: aw ty carmie :)

➥ carmenmmundt: I HOPE IT STAYS THAT WAY 🥶🥶‼️‼️🙌🏻🙌🏻

➥ y/ninstagram: bee-eff-eff-aur: be FUCKING for real 😒

y/ninstagram • 3 hrs ago

view replies

maxverstappen1: i don’t want to laugh—man who TF am i kidding 😹😹😹

alexandrasaintmleux: how THE fuck did u manage to give yourself a concussion??!

carlossainzjr: pobrecita😪 how 😭 terrible 😭 can you tell lando to come over when ur done

carlossainzjr: hello

carlossainzjr: niña i can see you reading my messages

landonorris

liked by carlossainzjr, mclaren, and 6,234,765 others

landonorris: thank you for all the wishes about y/n (not u carlos, you’re in time out). she only has a mild concussion, and verbally assaults me when i wake her up every two hours 😒 to make sure she’s alive 🤗

view comments

landonorris: god forbid i stop her from dying 😱

➥ carlossainzjr: heyyy be nice to her she’s in another world right now

➥ landonorris: u r not slick sainz. don’t expose our affair to my gf when she’s injured

➥ carlossainzjr: she won’t even remember this 🥺

➥ user: sir👁️👄👁️, this is a wendy’s drive through

➥ user: they know this on the internet 4ever right…?

lilymhe: this girl swung the club, missed the ball, and let go of the damn club no follow through

➥ carmenmmundt: it hit the ground and ricocheted back at her

➥ alex_albon: and she got knocked on the forehead hard asl

➥ georgerussell63: the noise it made was hilarious 😂 y’all should’ve been there

➥ user: geORGE WILLIAM????

➥ georgerussell63: i’m mad we didn’t get it on video smh 😔

taglist: @saintslewis @cherry2stems

626 notes · View notes

i-hope-youre-hopeful · 2 years

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I’m living in the future

Why does it always feel like too much is going on but it’s never enough? I feel like I’m not doing half as much as I should be and twice as much as I’d like. This week I drove to Wisconsin, had a birthday and all the excitement that comes with it, and today I was offered a job. And I loved and I hated every bit of it. It’s too much. It’s not enough. It’s everything and nothing. What if I’m not good enough for this job? What if I hate every moment of it? What if it’s too much for me and it piles on top of everything else and crushes me? I’m really not sure I can handle feeling that anxiety, that stage fright, that insecurity every single week. Every single week. I know my mother doesn’t want me to get a job. I know my father doesn’t want me to get a job. So why do I feel like I need to have one so badly? Am I wasting what little time I have left? Why is there always too little time but far too much? I feel a constant sense or urgency to move forward and to accomplish and to experience before it’s too late. I feel like time is running out too quickly, like I’ll be dying before I know it, and yet when I look ahead at the vastness of how long my life could be I can barely handle the thought. I don’t have enough time to live, yet I don’t want to live long. It is fear. Catching up from the past and closing in from the future, it’s fear. It’s longing. Is that all it is? Is that all I’ll ever feel? Anxiety? Yearning for something and dreading it all at once? I can’t handle this desire to escape forever. Surely it won’t feel like this all the time, will it? Or does everyone wish they could be anyone else? And if so, what’s the point? Why bother existing if all it involves is longing for something more? What can ever fill that void? Heaven. Jesus. Salvation. Those are the right answers. But no one believes them anymore. And we aren’t given any confirmation that there’s anything much to look forward to in believing in them. “Heaven is real because the pastor said a book says that someone said God said so.” Great! That is like, minimum fourth hand information. Blah blah just trust. I know. That’s not what this is even about.

Will heaven be the only thing that can fulfill all this yearning? I want it to stop. I don’t want to feel so strongly that I want out of my life. I have a really good life! It has really good people and so much safety and laughter and joy! But I hate being a part of it most days, at least at one point in the day or another. Some days I can almost push it all away and say in earnest that I’m content, that I’m happy with my life as it is. That I’m not desperately desiring something else - anything else. But almost every day it creeps in around the corners and I wish everything was different. Different parents, different school, different body, different brain. I know it’s all working for the best. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. I’m grateful. I’m petrified of being ungrateful because if I’m not grateful enough for what I have it might be taken away from me. I don’t want to lose more. I always hear my mother’s voice in my head telling me how much better I have it than her, how very little I really have to complain about. That’s not helpful. I will keep trying to let go of desires and enjoy life for what it is. But not because I don’t want things to be better than this. Simply because i can’t live with all of this desperation unfulfilled forever. It is either get rid of the desperation or drown in it entirely. I will let you know which one happens.

I never thought the future would be like this. I never expected this much. I am still trying to come to terms with it all. It’s hard. I still grieve a lot. I spent my whole trip in Wisconsin wanting to be home and have spent the whole week since wishing I could go back. I hate that about me. I suppose it’s just because I didn’t get what I needed in either place. Maybe I could combine the two places.

Things have been harder this week because I had a rough trip, and I turned a year older, and my mom hurt me and disappointed me once again and once again didn’t apologize. And once again I ignored it. I forgave it. I kept my chin up and pushed on like it didn’t happen. I didn’t expect her to apologize. In fact I don’t really want her to. I don’t want to talk. I’ve said everything I have to say. And she rarely apologizes, so I wouldn’t expect it, but even if she did it wouldn’t mean much because I know she’ll do it again. She knows she’ll do it again. She has no intention of avoiding that inevitability. I will get hurt again, it is only a question of when and how much. But I can’t leave her. I don’t want to be without her. I want her to be happy. So will I live forever being hurt again and again just because it’s easier? Just like she did? Probably.

I’m older now. This is the future. I’m 24. I wish I wasn’t. I don’t feel 24, and I wish I could hold off on saying I was an adult until I felt like one. Some days I feel more mature than my parents, other days I’m sure I don’t know anything. Nobody does. I’m just terrified of being perceived the way I perceive myself: small. Physically, emotionally, mentally, everything smaller than everyone else. I’m afraid people will realize I’m as immature as I feel. I feel like a failure for not having a job but having one sounds terrifying. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. That’s a good thing right?

Show me what to do about this job. Show me what to do about everything. I’m still trying to heal from being hurt. Please help me feel a little joy or contentment or whatever. Please help. Thank you so much. I’m sorry.

0 notes

kiyosamu · 3 years

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remember.

----♡----

pairing: rintaro suna x female reader.

genre: yandere, dark, light romance. // one shot, 4k words.

synopsis: abusive relationships can seem impossible to leave. when you open up to a classmate, your life takes a dramatic turn in the best and worst ways imaginable.

content warnings: assault, domestic abuse (not from suna), descriptions of violence, yandere themes.

----♡----

“hey, kid.” suna’s voice caught your attention as you passed by him in the university corridor. he was quiet, only speaking loud enough for you to hear right as you were walking by.

“hey, rintaro.” you stopped for a moment, refusing to look up at the tall man towering over you.

“i haven’t seen you in a while. everything okay?” he leaned against the wall and clutched a textbook to his chest. “you haven’t even been to class. kinda been missing my project partner.”

“you got my work though, right?” you asked him, partially covering your face with your hair. “i emailed it to you.”

“i did.”

“okay… good.” you cleared your throat, awkwardly shuffling and offering a suspiciously sudden goodbye.

“hey, wait-" suna grabbed your wrist to keep you from leaving. the small amount of pressure more than enough on your deep bruise to make you wince.

suna noticed your pained expression and immediately let go, stepping back.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to hurt you. i just wanted to ask you if-“

“it’s okay!” you interrupted, knowing you’d already spoken to him for too long. you needed to get out of there before anyone noticed. “you didn’t hurt me. sorry, i have to go. bye!”

your behaviour was erratic. your speech was rushed; forced and strained with every word as you tried your best to appear normal.

unfortunately it was much harder to pretend everything was okay than you’d originally thought it’d be.

you quickly turned and headed down the hallway to drop off the assignments to your other professor. the last one you’d have to see for the day before heading home. you were almost there. so close you might not even run into him.

you’d hoped, anyway.

----♡----

after seeing your professor, you walked out into the fresh evening air. the cold stinging your cheeks and the wind pushing your hair out of your face.

your cheeks burned from the freezing air, but it was your black eye was that hurt the most.

“i’m sorry, i just lost my temper.” his words echoed in your head, “you shouldn’t have pissed me off.”

you nodded, essentially agreeing with him. it’s true, if he didn’t get mad, he wouldn’t have hit you. and why was he mad? because of something you did. so really, it was your own fault.

you were the one apologizing to him that night. doing anything you could to make it up to him. all of this with a deep purple bruise forming on your face.

when he finally left your dorm and went back to his, you were mentally exhausted. you fell asleep and woke up right before your second class of the day.

he had started forcing you to miss classes, to do everything at home and only go in to submit your work. this was for two reasons.

the first, you could spend more time with him due to your schedules. if yours was freed then you’d have more time together.

the second was to stop you from talking to other men. completely.

...and then he found out suna was your lab partner.

“i don’t want you working with him.”

“i have to. the professor is the one who chooses.”

“then work from home and submit the stuff online. that guy is a manipulator. he’s dangerous and will take advantage of you. i just know it.”

you’d never gotten that type of vibe from suna, but you obeyed your boyfriend because you didn’t want to know what would happen if you didn’t.

secretly, though, you missed class. you missed working with him. laughing, getting to know each other. he’d become a good friend over the past year and since you had the same majors, you two shared quite a few classes.

he was calm. funny and quiet, but definitely not timid. his energy made him come off tough, but not scary. if anything, he made you feel… safe.

just for those few hours you had together.

and whenever class would end, you found yourself missing that feeling.

----♡----

“i have to go to class tomorrow.” you said, refusing to make eye contact with your boyfriend who’d invited himself over to your dorm.

just like he does every. single. night.

“why? you gonna go talk to that suna guy?” he approached you, giving you a terrifying smile that you know wasn’t coming from a place of happiness.

“yuji… please.” your words were barely a whisper when you felt his fingers wrap around your throat. “my professor told me i need to start going. my grades are falling behind.”

his fingers tapped rhythmically against your skin. dancing skillfully as he toyed with the idea of choking you. you held your breath, expecting the worst.

“you should try harder.” he growled, digging his fingertips into your neck and you clenched your eyes closed. “get your grades back up so you don’t have to spend any more time with that guy.”

“okay, okay!” you grabbed onto his wrist and his eyes widened. “i will! i’ll get my grades up so i don’t need to see him anymore.”

“good girl.” he smiled, the evil expression he’d previously worn had melted away into a false image of a kind man. “always listening so well for me.”

yuji leaned in and kissed you. you kissed back, barely, but just enough for him to be satisfied and leave you alone.

“time for me to go.” he sighed as he heard the dorm advisor do a final walk through to knock on the doors and let the students know it was time for guests to leave.

“see you tomorrow?” he asked, tilting your chin up to look at him.

“sure…” you whispered. you trembled under his touch and wanted nothing more than for him to leave your sight.

“good. it’s a date.” he said happily and gave you another kiss, practically skipping down the hallway back to his own room.

you shut and locked your door, desperately wishing that was the last time you’d ever have to see him.

----♡----

“well, well, well.” suna cooed as you took your seat next to him. “as i live and breathe, i never thought i’d see the day. you finally made it to class.”

you nodded and pulled out your books.

“had to. my grades are slipping.” you sighed, looking around at the science classroom. “what are we doing today?”

“lab day.” suna said as he nudged an instruction sheet towards you. “should we put on our coats and get to it?”

“okay...”

you started to have an internal panic attack. your wrists were as bruised as the black eye you were hiding behind your hair.

suna stepped away to get your lab coats.

this would all be visible, and you didn’t want suna (or anyone) to see any of it.

you nervously approached your professor and she looked up at you with a disinterested stare.

“ma’am, i need to be excused from class today.”

“absolutely not.” she scoffed, “unless you want to fail my class, which i know you can’t afford to do, you’ll stay and do your lab.”

you opened your mouth to reply but she kept speaking.

“go put up your hair, roll up your sleeves and get your lab coat on. you should be thankful you have such a competent partner.” she crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair, “actually, i think the two of you should spend some time together. he’s my top student and you definitely need some tutoring.”

“i don’t think that’s necessary-“

“mr. suna, come up here please.”

suna walked up with a confused look, unsure as to why he was being brought in to the conversation.

“something i can help with?” he asked.

“yes,” the professor smiled, “i’d like the two of you to do tutoring sessions a minimum of twice a week, an hour each time. could you do that?”

“oh, sure. i don’t mind.” he smiled, “was that all? we should get to our assignment.”

you felt backed in to a wall. of course you were okay with this, you enjoyed spending time with suna.

unfortunately, you were terrified of the repercussions.

even worse, there was nothing you could do about it.

when you got back to your table, you put your hair up and silently thought of a plan. keep your head down, don’t make eye contact. maybe he wouldn’t notice.

you rolled up your sleeves and put on your white coat. it was barely long enough to hit your wrists, but did a decent job of hiding the bruises.

the first half of the lab went well. suna explained things in a way that made it easy to comprehend and you were genuinely enjoying yourself.

until you completely forgot.

you began to pour the green liquid into the tube. suna was writing his lab report when he looked up and noticed your mistake.

“oh, hey,” he stood up, putting his hand over yours to tilt the container back up. “you need to pour it slower, like this.”

when it started to pour just as he’d wanted, he let go and you found yourself missing the brief comfort of his touch.

“good job! you did it.” suna smiled and you looked up at him with an excited expression. finally. finally you were getting something right.

when the two of you made eye contact, his smile immediately dropped into a look of concern.

“what happened to your eye?”

“oh,” you stepped back, covering it with your hand. “i fell.”

suna carefully held onto your wrist and you winced in pain. his intentions were to move your hand away from your eye, but he took immediate notice of your reaction and pushed your sleeve down.

the bruises in the shape of fingerprints stained your skin a deep purple.

“what about here?” he stepped closer. you tried to read his expression but he looked completely emotionless.

“from the same fall, i’m just clumsy.”

“and your neck?”

suna pushed back your lab coat to see the same fingerprint bruises scattered around your neck.

you were suddenly thankful you’d chosen the table in the far back end of the classroom. nobody was ever watching.

“yeah.” you said, practically a whisper. “i’m just really clumsy.”

suna leaned down and looked into your eyes.

“why don’t i believe you?”

“five more minutes!” the professor called, interrupting your intense conversation and the two of you snapped back into action.

you finished your lab report and quickly packed up your stuff before rushing out the classroom door.

suna followed closely behind.

“it’s your boyfriend, isn’t it?”

you stopped dead in your tracks and turned around to look at him. suna’s expression was no longer emotionless. he was angry.

“okay,” you sighed, grabbing his wrist to pull him to a secluded space outside. the two of you sat down under a large tree, away from everyone else.

“yuji gets upset with me and… hurts me… sometimes.” you choked out. “i haven’t told anyone because i’m scared of what he’ll do to me. i haven’t left him because i’m scared of him. i’m stuck.”

you hadn’t said these words out loud to anyone, ever, and the way they were flowing so freely had you crying before you were even aware of it.

“please don’t tell anyo-“

“i’ll take care of it.”

you looked up at him. suna looked completely calm, his voice smooth and gaze held on you.

“what do you mean?”

suna stood up and ran his hands through his hair.

“i mean i’ll take care of it.” he smiled, “see you tomorrow afternoon for tutoring?”

“wait, suna-“

“later!” he gave you a passive wave before walking back towards the university building.

----♡----

that evening you waited for yuji to come by your dorm, but he never did.

you waited for him to call you, but he didn’t.

you worried about what suna had meant. maybe he was going to talk to him, maybe even threaten him. you’d hoped he wouldn’t do that, but you really didn’t know what he was capable of.

surely the rumours about him couldn’t be true. an honour's chemistry major being involved in a more sinister, underground group that nobody even knew if it was real or made up?

he was too nice. there was no way.

----♡----

after class you headed back to your dorm to get ready for your evening. suna had asked you to meet him under the same tree from the day before. around 7pm.

you debated on calling yuji, but ultimately decided against it. maybe he’d come to his senses. maybe he was remorseful, and just wanted to move on. to leave you alone and pretend your relationship never happened.

that was what you wished for the most.

----♡----

you stepped out into the cold evening air. the wind blowing softly and brushing the hair out of your face.

you clutched your books to your chest and took a short cut through the back fields separating the dorms from the main university campus.

you checked your phone, you were early. suna would be there in about 15 minutes.

you reached down to grab your phone when it was immediately snatched from your hands.

“you did this, didn’t you?” a familiar voice snapped at you. you glanced up to see yuji, sporting a similar black eye and a bandaged cut on his cheek.

“i- no, of course not!”

he rolled his eyes at your reply, clearly not willing to listen to a word you were saying. yuji grabbed your wrists, forcing you to drop your books and pushed you against the back wall of the university.

“you did. tell me right now. everything you said. who you said it to. and why.” the look in his eyes was horrifying. scarier than any other look he’s given you before.

this made it seem like his previous bouts of anger were nothing but minor inconveniences.

“i didn’t-“

yuji pulled back, immediately hitting your chin with a hard punch that knocked your head back into the concrete wall.

“try again.”

your vision was hazy. mind blurring memories together and you couldn’t even form a proper sentence.

you felt a warm, wet sensation cascading down the back of your neck and were immediately soothed by the feeling. the warmth was comfortable, even though you didn’t know what it was from.

yuji’s hand wrapped around your throat and he pressed his forehead to yours. his fingers dug roughly into your windpipe, causing you to choke out the remaining air in your lungs. you felt yourself get sleepy, closing your eyes and letting darkness overtake you as your body went limp.

----♡----

“hey, wake up.”

snapping fingers in your face had you looking around curiously. you couldn’t focus on your surroundings. it was unclear who was with you, unclear what was happening around you, and unclear why you were there.

the sounds of multiple men. grunting, panting. speaking quietly between deep breaths and harsh exertion.

what were they doing?

“hey.” the fingers snapped in front of your face again.

“what…” was all you could manage to say. your body felt heavy. weak. you were just so tired. all you wanted to do was fall asleep. you submitted to the exhaustion, closing your eyes again.

“don’t go to sleep.” a soothing voice lifted the back of your neck, pressing something soft against your head. “stay awake and listen to me.”

“ya like beatin’ up girls, huh?”

whack

“wanna put a girl half your size in the hospital, for what? to feel like more of a man?”

whack

“a real man would never hit a woman.”

whack

“a real man would beat the shit out of losers who do hit women, right ‘tsum?”

“right. maybe we’ll even put him in the hospital.”

whack

“oh, he’s gonna be there once we’re done.”

you finally recognized the last voice. it was suna.

he spoke again, his voice raspy and dark but still audible from where you were.

“i hope to fucking god you didn’t hurt her so badly that she’s knocked out…” suna trailed off and let out a small chuckle. “because there’s nothing i want more than for her to hear you cry like a little bitch when this blade goes right…”

the sound of yuji’s sudden scream was immediately muffled by what you were sure was the hand of the other man.

“…through you.”

your eyes widened and you were starting to understand what was happening.

all you could feel around you was danger.

you started to hyperventilate. panic was taking over.

“focus on me. come on, we need to get out of here.”

“who…” your head started to hurt now. badly.

“my name is osamu.” he bent down and cradled you in his arms, bringing you close to his chest and picking you up bridal style. “hold on to me if you can.”

“i’m scared…” you whispered.

“i know.” he murmured, carrying you away from the scene and back through the field. “i’ll keep you safe. we need to go to the hospital.”

“what about…”

“the only thing you need to worry about is stayin’ awake right now, okay? it’ll all be okay.” osamu’s voice was soothing. his body was warm and his strong arms supported your body in a way that made you never want to leave his hold.

you gave him a weak nod. even if you wanted to get away, you couldn’t. so you decided to trust in this man and hope for the best.

----♡----

“hey, sweetheart.” the calm voice of a nurse slowly woke you up. “you’re finally awake.”

“where…” you choked out, your throat was dry and you could barely make out where you were. it was all so… confusing.

“you’re in the hospital.” she said as she stood on her tiptoes to change the fluids on your iv pole. “you were assaulted. your injuries aren’t good but you’ll make a full recovery.”

the nurse leaned back down and held onto your hand. “you have a real knight in shining armour, you know. your boyfriend hasn’t left your side since you were admitted. he’s going to be so happy when he finds out you woke up.”

boyfriend?

your heart started to race at the thought of yuji coming in. you looked around, preparing for the worst when you heard footsteps enter the room.

“hey, sleepyhead.”

“speak of the devil.” the nurse smiled, giving your hand a squeeze. “i’ll let you two have some privacy. please press the call button if you need anything, i’ll come back and check on you soon.”

the footsteps grew closer and you heard the squeak of a chair being pulled up next to your bed. you opened your eyes to see suna giving you a compassionate smile.

“rintaro?” you whispered, “what are you doing here?”

“making sure you’re okay.” he crossed his arms, “been here since you were admitted.”

you tried your hardest to remember even coming to the hospital, but you just couldn’t. everything was gone after your head hit that wall.

“what… happened?” you asked, your eyes pleading for him to be honest.

“someone attacked you and your boyfriend.” suna leaned in, “do you not remember anything?”

“i remember yuji being upset with me…” you blinked, your mind working as hard as it could to remember something of importance. “my head hit the wall and it’s kind of fuzzy after that.”

“i see.” suna nodded.

“wait, how did you know i was in here?”

“some people mentioned an attack on campus. i got worried when you were late for our study session, and when your phone rang and you didn’t answer i felt like something was up.” he shrugged, taking a moment to think of his next words. “i called the hospital and asked if you were here, and then came right over when they confirmed it.”

“oh. okay…” you went to scratch an itch on your scalp and were met with searing pain at the slightest bit of pressure. “ow!”

“careful.” he smiled, taking your hand away from your head. “it’s gonna be sore for a while.”

“yeah…” you trailed off, trying to make sense of the situation. “what happened to yuji?”

“why do you care?”

“huh?” you glanced at suna who’s expression had turned sour.

“why do you care about what happened to him? he could've killed you.”

“i just wanted to know if he…” your voice was shaky and you tried to compose yourself. “if there was a possibility of him coming after me again.”

“not a single chance.” suna leaned over the railing of the hospital bed and took your hand. “besides, even if there was, i won’t let anything happen to you.”

----♡----

you’d found out yuji had suffered from severe injuries almost taking his life. he was beaten, stabbed, and his spinal cord suffered so much damage he was permanently paralyzed from the waist down.

while you were relieved the abuse would be over, you constantly wondered who had assaulted him.

you remembered telling suna and him saying he’d take care of it, surely that wasn’t him, right? there was no way suna could do something like that.

----♡----

months went by while you recovered from your injuries. you’d been discharged from the hospital after 3 weeks, and suna had stuck by your side every day.

“i’m happy to say you’ve essentially made a full recovery.” the doctor smiled, shaking your hand. “i’m so proud of your progress. you’re truly a walking miracle.”

“what about my memory?” you asked, “when will i remember what happened?”

“oh, you might not ever remember. you hit your head hard and from what we gather, you were unconscious.” the doctor stood up, clutching his clip board before walking out. “it’s probably for the best that you don’t remember what happened. you should focus on moving on, now. take care.”

----♡----

“well, should we celebrate?” suna asked as you walked out of the hospital together. you stopped, causing him to turn and look down at you. “what’s up?”

“i just wanted to say thank you…” you said, feeling your face getting hot. “i don’t think i could’ve done this without you.”

“you could’ve. you’re the strongest person i’ve ever met.” he leaned down, brushing the hair out of your face. the same hair that used to cover the deep bruises, now showing your true complexion. “and the most beautiful.”

you felt your heart flutter at his sudden compliment. suna’s hands found your waist and you instinctively draped your arms over his shoulders.

“you really mean that?” you asked, looking into his eyes.

“of course i do.” he smiled, leaning in to give you the long awaited kiss the two of you had been dying for. his lips were soft and you melted into his arms. he pulled away, resting his forehead on yours. “beautiful in every possible way.”

you felt tears well up as you were being complimented. the sweetest, kindest, most handsome man touching you so delicately and speaking to you with nothing but respect.

you'd completely fallen in love with him, and it was everything you ever could’ve asked for.

----♡----

a few weeks after the two of you made it official, your honeymoon phase was in full force. you couldn’t keep your hands off of each other. you were experiencing your first true relationship that made you feel loved and you cherished at every moment.

one evening, you decided to go to suna’s dorm to surprise him.

knock knock

“rintaro?” you called out, opening the door to let yourself in. “are you home?”

“in here, baby.” he replied from the kitchen. he was sharing an apartment style dorm with two other men, but you hadn’t met them yet. they weren’t ever there when you were.

“we finally get to meet your girl, huh?” one of them cooed as you walked in. he had dyed blonde hair and smirked at you as you walked by. “damn, she’s a looker, huh ‘samu?”

samu… why did that sound familiar?

“don’t be such a pig.” the other boy replied. you realized they were twins when he stood up and walked over to you. he smiled, holding out his hand. “nice to meet ya, i’m osamu.”

osamu.

no.

“my name is osamu…”

it couldn’t be.

“…hold on to me if you can.”

no, no, no.

the memories of the night of the assault came flooding back to you.

it only took a moment to realize...

...it wasn’t a random assault at all.

#suna drabble #rintaro suna #suna angst #rintaro suna angst #haikyuu angst #yandere haikyuu #yandere suna #yandere #haikyuu #suna #osamu miya #atsumu miya #miya twins #inarizaki angst #atsumu angst #osamu angst

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qitwrites · 3 years

Text

breaking ground

Fandom: boku no hero academia

Pairing: Kirishima Eijirou / Bakugou Katsuki

(AO3)

The thing about your best friend/roommate/long-time crush/probably the love of your life being in a coma is that it sucks. Like, a lot.

‘Kats, if you don’t wake up, I will hide a dirty sock somewhere in your room. Somewhere you’ll never find it. And you’ll just have to live with that.’

The machines beep in the back, like a ghastly metronome.

‘I will move your desk 3 inches to the left.’

The soft rise and fall of the blonde’s chest is uniform, lungs contracting and expanding and contracting over and over.

‘I will literally stop watering the orchid Kats, I swear to god.’

Bakugou’s hands are by his side, nails longer than he’d ever keep. Kirishima makes a mental note to trim and file them later.

‘Ok, that’s going too far. I’d never kill Lucy, at least not on purpose.’

Bakugou continues to breathe with the help of a machine too complicated for Kirishima to understand, and the redhead just wants his best friend back. Because it’s been 16 days of Bakugou being fed and kept alive by a machine, it’s been 16 days since he heard his voice, saw his feral smile, looked into his bright, bright, bright eyes. And Kirishima is so ready for this nightmare to be over.

‘Come on Kats,’ Kirishima mumbles, laying his head down on the hospital bed and gently lacing his fingers with Bakugou’s, ‘you gotta wake up man. Our kitchen misses you. Our plants miss you. The neighbour’s cat misses you. Your mom misses you. I- fuck, I miss you.’

The machines continue to beep, his chest rises and falls uniformly, and Kirishima really just wants his best friend back.

The Bakusquad (the official immortalized name of the gang) lets Kirishima stay in the hospital in 3 days bursts, following which they bodily throw him out. For fresh air and some sunlight, they say, like he’s a dying plant.

‘You need to shower in your own home,’ Kaminari grumbles, stuffing his dirty clothes in a bag.

Sero pulls a beanie over his head. ‘And also water the plants in the balcony.’

Ashido stuffs his wallet into his pant pocket and slips his phone into his hand. ‘Also, don’t forget to dust the bookshelves! And leave some fresh water for Queens.’ She pulls him down for a soft kiss on the cheek.

Jirou pulls the phone from his hand, fiddles with it for a moment before slipping it back into his palm. She places a pair of wireless Beats headphones over his beanie, and he hears the first notes of a piano piece, calm and really lovely.

‘Playlist is on there,’ Jirou says, pointing at his hand.

And so Kirishima goes home, the home he shares with Bakugou, and he waters their plants, and dusts the bookshelves, and does some laundry and cooks easy fried rice the blonde had drilled into his brain.

He doesn’t look at Bakugou’s room door, doesn’t venture inside, doesn’t touch his space. He sticks to the common areas and his own room, and he keeps it clean and tidy, the way Bakugou likes it.

He’ll get to the blonde’s room eventually, just not yet.

Red Riot and Ground Zero are a hero pair. What this means is that they work individually when they want, and they pair up for bigger, more difficult missions.

And what a pair they make.

Riot is a wall, a shield, an unbreakable defence, always the last man standing. And Ground Zero is an explosion, a burst of light, an offence so quick and forceful the villains never stand a chance. They’re one of the best pairs out there, and they’ve done some amazing work.

It's almost stupidly ironic that Bakugou gets hurt during one of their paired missions.

The case involved several strong villains that attacked schools, and between rescue and evacuation and dealing with villains, Red Riot and Ground Zero had their hands full. Riot was mostly with the civilians and Ground Zero was keeping the damage to a minimum, but before Kirishima could go to Bakugou’s side and assist him, the damage had been done.

Because the last villain Bakugou had to deal with had decided to implode, killing himself and taking Bakugou out with him.

The damage had been immense.

Several concussions and broken ribs, bruises and internal bleeding that could only be controlled with a mix of surgeries and healing quirks. And finally, a waiting game. Bakugou had to wake up, his body had to heal itself and decide when and if he was going to wake up again.

And so Kirishima waits with him, silently supporting him from the side, ever patient, brimming with love.

25 days after the attack, Kirishima finally walks into Bakugou’s room.

The air smells faintly like sugar, like his quirk. The walls are bare but for the few polaroids Kirishima tacks on the wall above his desk. The laptop and file folders are sitting atop his table, a thin layer of dust coating them, and the only messy thing is his unmade bed.

Kirishima crawls under his sheets, breaths in his scent, and for the first time since Bakugou had decided to be an ass and slip into a coma, the redhead cries. Giant sobs that seem to come from his core, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, snot dripping out his nose.

Kirishima cries with the force of a thousand suns, and falls asleep right there, twisted in Bakugou’s sheets, in his unmade bed, in the middle of a room covered in a thin, fine layer of dust, smelling only slightly like burnt, warm sugar.

A month after the attack, Kirishima finally cleans Bakugou’s room.

Mina had made a good point. ‘If you don’t clean his room, it’s like you’re saying he’s not coming back so there’s no point. So, clean his room Eijirou.’

He appreciates that they don’t offer to do it. It’s usually impossible to keep them out of their apartment, impossible to keep them from getting belligerently drunk and playing monopoly on the living room floor while blasting 2000’s hits and throwing pieces of pepperoni at each other. Impossible to not love them.

But right now, the apartment is off-limits, and they seem to understand this. And respect it. And they understand that he needs a push here, a nudge there, and a gentle shove here to get his ass moving, to do the things he’s scared of doing, the things that just need to be done anyway

Kirishima loves them, so so much.

And so, he cleans. He dusts everything, puts Bakugou’s sheets in the wash and hangs his comforter out to dry. He fluffs up the All Might plushie and makes the bed, vacuums the floor, and puts his folded laundry back where it belongs in the closet.

He finds the box when he’s reorganizing Bakugou’s hero gear drawer. It’s a black box, smooth to the touch, no bigger than Kirishima’s palm, with just 2 words printed on top.

Death Box.

Its existence isn’t shocking to Kirishima. After all, he has one of his own, tucked neatly under his hanging jackets, pushed to the very back.

A Death Box is a pro-hero thing. It’s no secret that the life of a hero is riddled with danger and that one bad day could be the end. Every pro knows this. And most pro-heroes have a Death Box.

The contents of the box vary from person to person. Some leave behind letters addressed to friends and family. Others leave wills and assets and final testaments. Some leave behind cryptic messages or dramatic last words.

Kirishima never wondered about Bakugou’s box, and Bakugou had never asked about his own. But today, 31 days after the attack, 31 days of no Bakugou, 31 days of waking up with an ache in his chest because Kirishima’s heart is literally breaking, he finds himself gently pulling the box out and sitting on Bakugou’s bed, turning it over in his hands.

It’s really simple- no patterns or designs or anything. It's black as midnight, the lettering orange. Kirishima gently pops the box open and inside lays a single pen-drive. Nothing else.

Kirishima stares at it for a long, long time. He almost puts the box back in the drawer with the pen drive safely nestled inside, he almost forgets what he ever saw, he almost acts like he’s fine.

But he’s not fine. He’s so far from fine he can’t even spell the word. And he misses his friend with a pain so sharp he feels it in his bones. So Kirishima picks the pen drive up and takes it to the laptop. He switches the system on, plugs the drive in and waits for the program to load up.

Surprisingly, it isn’t password protected. He skims over the contents briefly. There’s a folder named Will and Final Testaments that he ignores completely. There’s another folder named Personal Project that he also leaves alone. The third folder is titled for everyone, and Kirishima clicks on that.

The folder is filled with video files of varying lengths. Each video is named after a specific person, and Kirishima smiles when he sees one for Bakugou’s mom, his dad, each of the Bakusquad, one for All Might, and one for Midoriya. The Deku video is easily bigger than all the others, all except one.

Because the one titled Shitty Hair is close to 45 minutes long.

Kirishima inhales shakily, and for once, he hesitates. Because once he watches this, he knows Bakugou will well and truly kill him. These videos, this content, it’s meant to be consumed after he dies. Not when he’s in a coma, not when he’s alive and fighting for his life. Not when he’s doing his best to come back.

But here’s the thing- Kirishima isn’t watching this because he thinks Bakugou’s as good as gone. He doesn’t believe that one bit. No, Kirishima is watching this because he misses Bakugou so much, so much that his insides feel like they're shredding up into little bits and pieces, and Kirishima just wants to hear him bark out his ugly laugh, he wants to see his eyes dance with mirth, he wants to watch Bakugou dump too much chilli into the curry and wrap himself into a blanket burrito on their couch in the dead of winter, cursing the weather viciously. He never thought he’d miss the way someone said fuck so much in his life, yet here he is.

So Kirishima inhales shakily, breathes out in a whoosh and hits play.

2 years ago

Bakugou had put off recording Kirishima’s message for years.

The one to his parents was simple enough. Dad, thank you for being some kinda balance in the house, and for loving me ridiculously unconditionally. Hag, ma, we’ve always had our own issues and we love so violently, but I do love you. I always have. Thank you for making me the devil spawn I am, couldn’t have been so great if it weren’t for you.

The Bakusquad (ugh, what a dumb name) had a video each. They weren’t super long, but he loved them all, more than they’d ever know when he’s alive, and he thought they deserved to know if he ever died before getting around to drunkenly confessing it or something.

Sero, your stupid fucking jokes have made some shitty days so much better.

Jirou, you’re insanely strong and you’ve had my back on more occasions than I can count.

Mina, my girl, you’re the OG. Thank you for never giving up on me, for always pushing me to be part of the gang, for becoming my friend.

Kaminari, you’re always gonna be hella fucking stupid, but you’re my stupid friend, one of my closest buddies, and it was a pleasure knowing you.

He might actually die if they find this when he's alive, but that’s the whole point of Death Box- it's to say the things you can't when you're alive or to remind people of the things you felt after you’re gone.

Midoriya’s had been hard. Midoriya’s had been really hard.

Unpacking so many emotions, talking about the past, UA, the present; it made his blood boil but also made him immeasurably sad. After their first year, Midoriya and he had grown close. They still found it difficult to communicate like normal human beings, but they always had each other’s backs, no matter where or what. And even as pro-heroes, they worked together wonderfully, competed for #1 fiercely, pushed each other to incredible heights, and picked each other up after terrible missions.

Deku, I know so much of our past is water under the bridge for you, and that’s been great for us because it lets us have a sort of friendship. But I haven’t forgotten. I will never forgive myself and all I could do is be better.

For all the fucked up shit that we’ve been through, for how much I still get angry when I see you and how much I want to be better than you all the time, you are the brother I never had, the comrade that never left, the friend that I’ve never deserved.

Izuku, thank you. I’m sorry.

Admitting to most of these things isn’t difficultly because it’s all true. And honesty has always come easily to Bakugou. As an adult hero, he’s learned things about himself, his own feelings, his own version of love for the people around him. And he can’t bring himself to say those exact words to Izuku, but he hopes his actions (Bentos pressed into Midoriya’s hands after long patrols, sharing beers on rooftops, patching each other up after shitty missions) are message enough.

But Kirishima? How is he supposed to find the words to tell Kirishima how he feels? How much the redhead means to him? Where does he even begin?

Bakugou huffs and slaps himself on both cheeks. Kirishima is out for the day, taking Mina shopping at the mall and catching a movie with the gang, a plan Bakugou had gotten himself out of just so he could sit here, in the apartment he shares with the only person he has ever had the good fortune of being in love with, to record a final message. What a happy thought.

Bakugou thinks Fuck it, takes a seat in front of the camera, ruffles his hair, and hits record.

‘Hey Shitty Hair.’

Hey Shitty Hair.

There are handprints on Bakugou’s face. His hair is a ruffled mess, his bed is unmade behind him, and his face looks almost nervous.

Kirishima doesn’t think about any of that.

Because seeing Bakugou on-screen with his red eyes boring into Kirishima, and hearing his voice, rough and loud and well-worn feels like the first breath of fresh air the redhead has gulped down in a month. It feels like a well-placed punch to the gut, and Kirishima almost bowls over, overwhelmed beyond comprehension.

He misses him so much.

Fuck, making this video is fucking hard, I’m not even sure where to start. Also, you better not be crying like a baby Ei, I sweat to God, I might be dead, but you still need to go out there and kick ass cause someone needs to take care of all those shitty villains.

Kirishima makes an aborted sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, because this is his best friend in the entire universe, the man he knows better than he knows himself. This is his person.

Anyway, I made a bunch of other videos for all the other losers, but yours has been the biggest pain in my ass. I guess the closer you are to someone, the harder it is right?

First off, I need to say thank you. For like, so much shit. Thank you for taking those first few steps in our friendship. For constantly pestering me and inserting yourself into my life. For training with me, including me in all kinds of stupid activities, and getting me into the gang. My time at UA would never have been so fun, so memorable, so amazing without you. You made it great, despite all the shit that went wrong.

The blonde sucks in a deep breath and his eyes pierce straight through Kirishima, peering right into his soul.

We don’t talk about Kamino because there’s never been the words. Ei, I was so scared. Fuck, I was so scared I couldn’t stop shaking. And then there you were, flying above me, hand outstretched and yelling at the top of your goddamn lungs ‘Come!’ And that’s it. I knew I’d be ok. I knew I’d be just fine.

And yeah, I mean, the pros were there and maybe we could’ve figured something else out and maybe things would’ve worked out a different way. But you guys coming for me, YOU reaching out to me? It was the first time I felt like I had friends. I had comrades. I had people. Of course, my emotionally stunted ass refused to accept these feelings, but they took root then. And continued to grow.

Bakugou sighs deeply and sits back in his chair. He looks at the ceiling and continues.

I’m not sure I know what love is. As a feeling, I don’t know how to categorize when I’m feeling love and when I’m not. At least, I didn’t for the longest time.

Bakugou looks back at the camera, and Kirishima’s vision is starting to blur dangerously.

I know I love my parents, but it feels different than the love I feel for the idiot brigade. It’s different from what I feel for Izuku. And it sure as hell feels different from the love I feel for you.

Bakugou sighs again, and his face breaks into the softest smile Kirishima has ever seen and everything hurts.

A few years ago, I think weeks after we’d moved into this place, we were making breakfast and you looked me dead in the eye and said ‘I think the morning glories are trying to kill me.’ And I laughed out loud and you looked so proud of yourself and I thought, ‘Shit, Ei is such an idiot.’ That’s when it hit me.

Bakugou’s smile grows fonder.

I don’t call people by their names even in my head Ei. You were Shitty Hair for most of our first year at UA. Then you became Kirishima, and then somehow it became Kiri, and then Eijirou and then Ei. Nobody, and I mean absolutely nobody else, is the same. Not a single fucking person.

The first time I called you Ei in my head, that’s when I realized I was in love with you.

Kirishima hits pause immediately. He closes the window, safely ejects the pen drive, puts it back in the box and returns it to its spot. He shuts the laptop down, walks out of Bakugou’s room and sits on the couch in the living area, the same one they’ve passed out on countless times, the same one they bought together with their first paychecks, the same one that’s stained with coffee rings and spaghetti sauce and pepperoni grease.

He picks his phone up on autopilot and dials a familiar number.

‘Kiri?’ Mina sounds like a hot cup of coffee on a chilly Tuesday morning.

‘Please come home.’

He hears some rustling and yelling in the background before Mina says, ‘Stay right there, we’ll be over as soon as Midoriya gets here ok?’

Kirishima hums out an affirmative and hangs up. It’s time they come home.

67 days after the fight, Kirishima gets a call.

‘He’s awake.’

Red Riot is back on the streets, patrolling during the day, staying with Bakugou in the hospital at night and barely keeping his shit together. But it’s ok, it kinda works. Works well enough that he can do his job and do it well, and his friends are always there, picking up his pieces, keeping him sane.

Before Kirishima can say anything, Midoriya continues, ‘Chargebolt is almost at your location to relieve you, so go.’

He takes off running. His lungs burn and he can barely see where he’s going but he’s made this walk so many times he can do it in his sleep. He runs as fast as his legs can take him and makes them go faster.

Kirishima bursts into the hospital and takes the stairs 3 at a time. He finally gets to Bakugou’s floor and sprints to the door, and he can barely pull in enough air. He’s lightheaded, his heart is palpitating, and his vision is blurry but he slides the door open anyway.

Carmine eyes snap over to his and time just comes to a complete standstill. There are no doctors, no nurses. There’s no Bakugou Mitsuki, no beeping machines that breathe for him, no beeping machines that feed him, no white sterile walls and ugly hospital gowns. There is only Bakugou Katsuki, his bright, bright, bright eyes and a hand outstretched at Kirishima.

‘Ei-‘

And that’s it. One moment he’s standing in the doorway, the next he has Bakugou gathered in his arms, and he’s so warm and alive and it’s absolutely everything.

‘Kats,’ Kirishima mumbles. ‘Kats.’

‘Ei, if you start crying, I will smack the shit out of you.’

Kirishima’s laugh is watery. He pulls away and cups Bakugou’s face, smooshing his cheeks a little.

‘Kats, for once, shut the fuck up and let me feel my feelings. Do you have any idea how much the plants missed you?’

Bakugou’s mouth twists in a grimace but his eyes soften till they’re just liquid ruby and Kirishima falls a little more in love.

‘Just the plants?’

‘Shut the fuck up Kats.’ And Kirishima hugs him again, presses Bakugou’s face firmly into the crook of his neck. The blonde’s arms tighten around his middle, and the world feels whole again.

A week after they return from the hospital, Bakugou finds a white envelope in the morning glories, the very same ones that Kirishima had insisted were trying to kill him.

To Kats it says in Kirishima’s untidy scrawl. Bakugou puts the watering can down and picks the letter up gently, opening it with trembling hands.

Dear Katsuki,

My Death Box has a bunch of letters in them. I wrote one for mom, one for mama, one for all our friends, I wrote letters to all of them.

Yours was the hardest because even after writing and rewriting it 5 times, it was always the same- all I can write to you is a love letter.

Bakugou doesn’t read the rest, just snaps his head up and looks around wildly.

‘EIJIROU, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YO-‘

‘I love you Kats.’ Kirishima is right there, standing by the balcony door, eyes wide and hopeful. He’s wearing sweatpants low on his hips, and in each hand, he holds a mug of steaming hot chocolate spiked with chilli. Mexican cocoa. Bakugou’s favourite.

He puts the mugs down on the balcony ledge. ‘I’ve loved you for so long, I don’t remember what it’s like to not be in love with you.’

‘Eijirou-‘

‘I love you.’ Kirishima steps forward and frames Bakugou’s face with his warm, calloused hands, and smiles big. ‘What about you?’

Bakugou scoffs. ‘What do you think, Shitty Hair?’

‘Gotta hear you say it, Kats.’

‘You’re a pain in my ass.’

‘I know.’

‘You’re so annoying.’

‘I agree.’

‘Your hair still sucks.’

‘Your nose twitches when you lie.’

‘And I love you so much anyway.’ Bakugou finishes and places his hands over Kirishima’s and squeezes.

‘Don’t start crying Ei.’

‘Let me feel my feelings, Kats.’

‘I’m not kissing you if you’re covered in fucking snot.’

Kirishima laughs at that, pulling Bakugou close. ‘Your nose still twitches when you lie.’

Bakugou doesn’t deign that with a response, just smirks his trademark smirk, looks at Kirishima with those bright, bright, bright eyes and kisses him stupid.

‘Again,’ Kirishima mumbles.

Bakugou does just that.

#boku no hero academia #bnha #bnha fanfiction #mha #my hero fanfic #kiribaku #bakushima #bnha kirishima #bakugou katsuki #bakusquad #ashido mina #sero hanta #kaminari denki #THANKS TO MY BEST FRIEND FOR NAMING THE FIC AND READING IT ONE BILLION TIMES #so this story is hurt/comfort and so much fluff #I LOVE KIRIBAKU SO MUCH ITS ABSURD #hope you enjoy :D

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like-rain-or-confetti · 3 years

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Request: Grief Always Lifts (Volturi x Reader)

You didn't expect to be sent away from the Cullen's. You were quickly chastised, never to look at it as being sent away, rather putting you in the care of someone else for your benefit. Losing a parent was never easy and it didn't need to be said that you were struggling. You went on day by day, the simple mundane things reminding you of your father and in turn, your loss. Carlisle and Esme thought it best you had a break from America. Somewhere new to really work through your emotions. The last place you thought they'd send you is to the Volturi.

Sure, Italy was nothing like you were used to but the coven they said would care for you isn't entirely the caring type. You weren't even sure as to what made them agree to having you in their care but you had no doubt Aro probably latched onto the possibility of rekindling his friendship with Carlisle. Regardless, you agreed. A symptom of your grief that they had noticed. You weren't entirely present, agreeing to be convenient and not having a particular want for anything. Carlisle and Esme insisted that if you weren't comfortable, you didn't have to go but you left reassuring them you'd be fine.

Marcus recognised the look in your eyes, beyond the exhaustion and blank stare your emotions were loud and clear to him. You felt so much pain that with some irony, you looked to be dead. As though the loss had killed you. However such a statement couldn't be further from the truth. You were very much alive, nearly drowning in whatever was going on in your mind.

The three leaders welcomed you and made sure you knew the higher ranking guards names. Anyone you came across was introduced. Many matching your own blank expression take away the exhaustion that hung over you like a blanket since a few days after your fathers funeral.

Demetri and Felix were the ones who took you to your room. You took in the room before turning to the two guards. "Thank you for all of your help." Your voice was as monotone as the minute you had arrived. Although your facial expressions were at bare minimum. You didn't blink very much and it gave off the illusion that your face was trying and very much failing to emote and keep up with your words. Demetri nodded once and the two took their leave, letting you settle in.

"They look like they haven't slept in days." Felix said quietly. "Apparently they have been sleeping, that's just how they are currently." Demetri responded. Felix looked perplexed. "They were sent to us for a reason Felix. The Cullen's wouldn't have asked us if they weren't desperate." Demetri said. "Sure, it's just odd to see them so lifeless." Felix replied. Demetri nodded. "Seeing them like this in comparison to how we last saw them is very strange. Even the twins seemed to be caught off guard."

"Is the room to your liking?" You looked over your shoulder to see Caius approaching you. "It's great." You responded. "Thank you so much, I don't think I've ever stayed somewhere to extravagant before." Caius cracked a smile. "We have expensive tastes here. I imagine that isn't the only thing you have noticed though." "You're right. The decor isn't exactly modern yet you still have the random TV, electricity and such. I think what I'm trying to say is that it's a perfect combination of old decor and convenient modern day technology." Caius hummed. "That is good. I can't say many of us use most of the modern equipment, although it has its uses every now and then. Such as warm water for you." It was your turn to crack a smile. It was nice they remembered the little details. "I've never had a room with a balcony. Not had one with such an amazing view either." You could see out to the ocean beyond the cliffs, the sun setting creating a cool breeze. "Yes, it is very beautiful. My wife adores the view. She doesn't see the buildings as much from the tower but she sees the sun rise and set. That's enough for her, she says." Caius said looking in the direction of the setting sun. You noticed Caius was never this talkative with anyone, never mind a human. It had gone from polite pleasantries to a conversation and you weren't sure what to make of it. "We must ask something of you, (Y/N). A few things actually." "Okay...I mean, it makes sense since you're letting me stay here." "We only ask that you do not leave your room when we are feeding. A guard will tell you when we are going to feed and when you can leave. At most you'd be in for an hour. We must also ask for your phone. You are more than free to make calls using the phone at reception but due to all of the things mobile phones can do, we must insist." You nodded. "Sure, that's reasonable." You dug into your pocket for your phone before handing it over. "Oh wait, can I turn it off first?" Caius looked down at the device in his hand. "I believe that would be best because I don't know what I'm looking at with these things." You cracked a smile, holding down the power button. "There." "Thank you." Caius nodded.

They noticed that you slept, a lot. Sure they were told between 8-12 hours is enough but they let you sleep a little longer in case of jet lag or time differences. That was until it became apparent that these were no longer an issue. It couldn't have been healthy. It was no surprise to anyone when Demetri and the twins opened your door to find you asleep. They already knew that of course, as did the rest of the castle. You were tucked into the covers, your face buried into your pillow, only the top of your back being visible to them. It would have been amusing or even adorable at the time, if it wasn't very concerning.

Demetri crouched at your bedside. "(Y/N), it's time to wake up." Demetri said softly. You shifted before shaking your head. "Come on, darling. You'll sleep the day away." "Let me." Was the quiet grumble you responded with. This was confirmation that you weren't in high spirits today. Demetri rubbed at your arm that was under the covers. "We can't let you do that, darling. We'll be more than satisfied if you get out of bed and get changed. It'll make a lot of difference." "No, it won't." There was a whimper in your voice that time. Your grip on the covers tightening, your knuckles going white. "It doesn't bring him back. It doesn't make the day any easier because he's gone." Demetri moved closer. "I dreamt about him." You said, a sob breaking through. Demetri rubbed your back as you sobbed. Anyone with a sliver of empathy would have found it difficult to watch. Demetri had no doubt that he seemed like a villain to you right now. Asking almost the impossible but it was better for you. Not to mention, the leaders had already decided that this couldn't continue. "I know you're suffering right now sweetheart." Demetri rubbed back again soothingly. Demetri looked to the twins, nodding to them. A silent message to relay what had happened here to the leaders, to confirm the distress they could likely hear. "One step at a time. This is all you have to do today. In fact," Demetri paused, looking around the room. "why not get changed into those softer clothes you have. The ones you say are more comfier like your night clothes. Can you do that?" It took a lot of coaxing but you caved, doing exactly that.

A couple of more days passed and you seemed to just cry your way through them. Aro was the first to approach the matter. "I know that this all feels like an ending but you may find that-" Your gaze shot up to Aro's like a deer in headlights, feeling tears build up once more. "Aro, I don't think I'm ready to hear this right now." You managed out in a whisper. The only way the words would leave your mouth. "I thought I'd have my sister with me forever." Aro told you with a sad smile. "We were many years apart but she was my sister. We may not have grown up together but we were going to make up for that...with forever. One day that changed. I lost her. I won't lie to you, I will always remember that pain, and I'll still feel it every now and then but with time, it isn't so raw. It doesn't consume you as it does when it's fresh." You dropped your gaze from his once more, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. "This feels like a pain that will never go away." "It lifts every day, my love." Aro responded. "Loss creates wounds and sometimes they scar but that's alright." Aro nodded.

A tear ran down your cheek as you bit back a sob. Aro's words were actually comforting. It validated your feelings, telling you that you could feel that way whilst not undermining or dismissing it as something to be ignored as it would go away. Furthermore, it was a meeting point to help you understand that the pain you felt wasn't going to drown you, no matter how deep the pain went. It would get easier and you wouldn't forget.

A day passed and it was possibly the most draining day you had yet. You felt tears constantly. Sometimes they fell yet it was for no reason, they'd leave as quickly as they arrived without explanation. Therefore you couldn't give any explanation to the Volturi. You were somewhat reluctant to see Marcus when he asked for you but you also knew you weren't in any position to refuse.

You found the door was open as you entered. The room only illuminated by the fire to the right of the room and surrounded by two couches that looked old and exceptionally expensive- a dark brown wooden frame with padding covered with a rich red fabric. You quietly sighed to yourself the moment your eyes landed on Marcus. His back was turned to you, a very old, large book holding his attention. Or so you thought. "I know your pain, child." He said as you moved towards the fireplace, your arms crossed over chest. "I'm sorry for your loss." You grumbled. Marcus turned to look at you before moving towards you. He gestured for you to sit in the seat behind you. As you did, he sat down opposite you. "I'm more concerned about yours." He responded. "We find ways to cope with loss. You have lost your way whilst trying to find yours." "I'm fine if that's what you're asking." You said. "I'm not asking. I know how you are feeling, (Y/N). I know not what you are thinking." Marcus replied. "You could always ask Aro. He's seen inside my head-." "Aro's sight is nothing to me in this case." Marcus interrupted. "It's meaningless. Hearing it from you gives it meaning." "You want me to talk about it." You said flatly. Marcus said nothing but looked at you expectantly which had confirmed your suspicions. You looked away, contemplating if you should. You came to the conclusion that it wouldn't hurt. "I can't really figure out where I've to go from here, in life. I've never had to live without him." You answered. "You go on, little one. There is no direction. No one is pointed in the correct direction. At the end of the day, you go there yourself. With everyday, you go on and that's exactly what you're supposed to do." He responded. "When someone puts their all into you, their love, their effort, their time, they grow a bond to you that can never be broken, not really. It's always there. So when someone loves you so much...it's never goodbye." Marcus continued. "The truth is...losing someone is never easy. It changes you and it changes your life but it's never more important to remember that life goes on and people will miss you when you're no longer around. I know you well enough to know you'd want your loved ones to carry on. That's what is being asked of you now." Hearing Marcus' perspective was actually important to you in hindsight, seeing as he endured such a painful loss that still haunted him to this day. It meant he understood the feeling of something missing in your life. He knew that better than anyone. Although much like Aro's advice it was difficult to put into practice.

Four days passed and you were fed up of the grief and the constant tears for the tiniest thing. When Caius wanted to see you, you couldn't help but think that he was going to lecture you. Tell you to get over yourself like you had told yourself time and time again. So when you met him on the balcony, you asked. "I suppose you're going to tell me to toughen up right?" You asked Caius. Caius turned his head to look at you, instead of the ocean view. "Is that what you need to hear?" Slowly you shook your head. "So what would be the point?" He asked and you shrugged. "I don't know. I'm just thinking about everything he wanted from me. If my time with him was enough." Caius hummed. "A parents wish is to never outlive their children. They raise you wanting you to be better than they could ever be and live your life as much as you can. Even more so, enjoy it. Be safe and happy, free of doubt." Caius continued. "He got so many years of your life and I bet if you asked him...he wouldn't give up even a moment of the time he had with you. I'd say your father did a wonderful job raising you." "Was it enough though? Was it enough to make him proud and continue believing in me?" Caius cracked a small smile. "I think your father couldn't be more proud of you every day he walked this earth and if there is life beyond the living, he's just as proud." "How do you know? That I made him proud?" You asked after a moment of silence. "Simply because I am proud of you and not only are you not my child...but I am also very difficult to please." Caius responded with ease. You had to swallow hard against the lump in your throat. "Everyone in this castle, every vampire no matter the rank has outlived their parents. Although you may be surprised to know that many among us, had their own children that they have since outlived. All of different ages, from the old to the young. Every single one would tell you the pain of outliving their children was much worse." Caius assured you. Your eyes narrowed. "is that supposed to make me feel bad for my feelings?" You wouldn't have expected any less of him. Caius hummed in amusement. "Not at all, it's something to consider that your father wouldn't have had it any other way." Caius responded.

You weren't sure when things had changed but the grief wasn't so heavy on you. So much so, you got out of bed at a decent time, got changed and came down for breakfast. Felix checked in on you as soon as it was evident you were awake but left you to get ready for the day in peace. After breakfast you found both Felix and Demetri in one of the living rooms watching TV.

You had gotten closer to the two over time. Demetri went out if his way to make sure you were looked after and Felix tried to be something of a friend or even a distraction as he tried to include you in almost everything.

"Well look who's here!" He grinned. "Come and pick us a movie. You've got good taste as we've learned." Felix patted the empty seat next to him. "No, I need to sit on that side of you- that's my good side." You said. "If I need to have your magnified gaze on me it should at least be on my good side." Felix paused, a small smile growing on his face. You couldn't help but giggle at his expression. "I'm sorry? You're good side? What does that mean?" He said through chuckles. "Is this a human thing I don't know about? You have sides to you now?" "No!" You started but began giggling hysterically. "Listen, I need to know how many sides you have. Is this like personalities? Which side came down to breakfast this morning?" Felix continued and you laughed even more. "Or is it an angel and devil kind of thing? Did you leave your bad side upstairs, sitting in the sink? Which is another conversation all together by the way." "No!" You laughed. Felix turned to Demetri. "I was sent to check on them Demetri, do you know where I found them? Sitting in the sink! When did humans ever do that!?" "It was to get closer to the mirror!" You cried out in your defence. "To check on your good side by any chance?" Felix responded. You had doubled over so much in laughter and uncontrollable coughing Felix looked at you quizzically. "Breathe, (Y/N), it's kind of popular amongst your kind!" Felix's statement didn't help you. Instead you laughed more, curling up into a ball where you stood. "What are you doing now!?" Felix said in mock exasperation, beginning to chuckle himself. "I have to or I'm going to pee myself!" You managed out and Felix suddenly roared in laughter. "Friend, Demetri, listen, Carlisle needs to order a new human. This one is broken." Felix laughed hysterically as Demetri smirked with a playful eye roll. You wiped at tears that had built up in your eyes. "Ah, see, now that you've stopped yourself from relieving yourself on our floor, it's coming out your eyes instead. Humans are great!" "Felix, that is not how that works." Demetri said, his eyes wide as you continued to laugh. "Yes I kn- you ruined my joke! Of course I know that!" Felix face palmed.

Felix stood up, pulling you to a stand and bringing you to sit with him, his arm over your shoulder. "There, there, deep breaths. I've got you kid." Before you could blink he was on the other side of you. "Soothe both sides of you." A other giggle escaped you as he grinned. Demetri looked at you both with a smile. This was much more like the human they were accustomed to.

The day before you left, you visited Caius at his office, wanting to thank him for everything he had done for you. You were beyond aware he didn't have to say anything to console you. Yet he went above and beyond. "Come in." You heard his stern voice behind the door. "Hi, do you have a moment? I can come back later if it's more fitting?" You asked, looking at him as he moved a few sheets of paper to the side of his desk. "Not at all, you chose a very good moment. What is it?" Caius stood up, moving away from his desk and approached you, closing the door behind you. "Hm?" Caius promoted, slightly softer in tone than he had before. "I wanted to thank you, for taking me in and being there for me when I needed it most. I didn't have the expectation but you went above and beyond more than I could have ever asked of you. I'm grateful." You said. "Well, you certainly needed it. That I can tell you. It's a joy to see you've been more like yourself lately." Caius responded. You felt yourself gradually grow a little more emotional by the second. In some strange way, you were going to miss him and others of the Volturi. Despite being rather rough around the edges. "I don't know if anyone has ever told you this." You began. You feared his reaction but couldn't keep the thought to yourself. "You'd have been a really great father." You said swallowing against the lump in your throat. Caius looked slightly taken aback. His expression changed to something you couldn't quite describe. Awe wasn't the correct word but looked to be the closest thing. His eyes softening as though you had melted his heart with those words alone. He said nothing, unable to believe what he had heard. You immediately closed the gap, hugging him tightly. Caius inhaled sharply, uncertain what to do as you hugged his waist and your head against his chest. You couldn't see it but felt as Caius relaxed, a small smile growing upon his face. You felt a hand cradle the back of your head softly as his other arm wrapped around you. He bent ever so slightly, his head resting on top of yours. "You take care of yourself. Understand? I expect to hear of your transformation soon." He said quietly. When you broke away, he wasn't so emotional. Instead he gave you his signature smile. "I promise." You responded as he led you towards the door.

Marcus was the next you visited, around two hours later. Softly, you had knocked on his door to his own study and received a soft "Enter." in response. "Hi." You began meekly. "Do you have a second?" You asked as Marcus was putting a book back on book shelf. One of many that covered the whole wall with cabinets at the bottom. "I do." He nodded, turning towards you. "I...Oh hell, this gets harder to do each time." You said, eyes wide. Marcus tilted his head. "Take a breath. I won't bite." Marcus offered you a comforting smile. You smiled at the irony. "I wanted to thank you. You took me in and helped me through probably the most difficult thing I've ever endured in my life. You didn't have to and you did anyway. I wanted to say thank you. I appreciate it more than I could put it into words." Marcus smiled slightly. "Then allow me to thank you, dear (Y/N)." You raised an eyebrow, confusion crossing your features. "It's not often we have such young hearts here, all of ours have faded. You may have shown us that humans can be such wonderful things. Some of us might argue you to be the most wonderful of all. So thank you for blessing us with your presence, little one." You felt tears build again, rendered speechless. Marcus smiled, if anyone understood. It was him. "Your father would be so proud of you and every moment you've spent with us has been nothing short of a gift to us. Never forget that." You nodded. "I'll never forget what you've done for me. I can't express how thankful I am to you and the Volturi. I don't think I could have gotten through this without you." "Ah, ah, remember my dear. You were always going to come through. You've always had that strength in you. That was never strength that we could give. You've had it from the very beginning. It just takes some time." Marcus softly took hold of your arms. "I know it's going to make longer than our time together to properly heal from this. Although I'm more than confident that you will be just fine." As tears threatened to fall, you smiled at him. "I really don't get how you don't have children." You said and Marcus chuckled. "It wasn't supposed to be." "They'd be so lucky!" You responded as the two of you moved towards the door. Marcus chuckled. "If I ever had a child, I'd hope they'd turn out like you."

When you finally got a hold of Aro, it was in the throne room with Marcus and Caius. You bit your lip. "There's so much I want to say..." You said to him. "...but every time I go to talk I nearly cry." You admitted, the lump returning in your throat. Aro chuckled slightly. "Allow me then, my dear. You've shed enough tears." Aro stood up, descending the stairs with his hand extended towards you. You held out your hand and he took his, cradling it close to his chest. A warm, genuine smile grew on Aro's face. "We have such high hopes for you, young (Y/N)." He said softly. "Your time with us has been wonderful. You are a beautiful soul, my dear. The pleasure was ours, truly. You have no need to thank us." Aro finished. "I trust you will join our kind soon enough. Until then, be safe and send my regards to my dear friend Carlisle." You nodded and Aro nodded behind you. There stood Felix and Demetri who escorted you to the entrance.

The twins stood in waiting, dismissing the receptionist as you approached. "Is that everything?" Demetri asked, nodding to the bags beside the desk. You nodded. "Yeah." You looked at the four of them, silence overtaking the room. "I wanted to thank you guys too. I know it's not easy to be around a human like you have since I've been here. Especially an emotional wreck of a human." You noticed Alec's slight smirk at this. "Oh come here!" Felix finally said loudly, hugging you tightly. "I'm going to miss having a human around here." He grumbled. "...the receptionist?" You reminded him. "It's not the same! I actually like you!" You smiled into his broad shoulder. "I'll miss you, Felix." You said. "Don't! I'll find a way to keep you!" Felix grinned, squeezing slightly. "They'll never know. I'll find a way!" You giggled as the two of you broke the hug.

You stepped away, your attention moving to Demetri. "Of course I have to thank you!" You smiled, hugging him before he could respond. He smiled down at you, patting you on the back lightly. "Be safe." He said to you quietly. Finally you looked to the twins. "I know you two don't do the hugging and I've put you two through enough." Neither responded but Alec's gaze wasn't so harsh. It was an improvement as neither of them were glaring at you. "Thank you for putting up with me. I know it must have been annoying for you to have me around- being a human and all that." You smiled slightly at them. The twins were silent but you caught Alec sending you a smile. Whilst they didn't say anything to you, Alec's smile told you a lot. They didn't completely hate you. You weren't as bad as they had thought. Although they weren't quite willing to let their guard down around you. "You two take care." You nodded to them with a smile before turning away. "I believe the car is outside waiting for you." Demetri said with a small brief smile.

#request #twilight #volturi #the volturi #reader #aro volturi #caius volturi #marcus volturi #one shot #oneshot

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emilia3546 · 3 years

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You’re Adorable - Nessian NSFW

Nesta finds Cassian actually doing paperwork for once, and starts a light teasing match that quickly heats up.

*****

Nesta snorted at the sight of Cassian sat at a desk,

"I never thought I'd see the day that you did paperwork." she chuckled as she sauntered over to him, leaning on the desk next to him to peer over his shoulder,

"Believe it or not, sweetheart, my job isn't just hitting people."

"Really? But that's all you're good at," she teased, and yelped when he prodded her in the side,

"You've changed your tune then,"

"What?"

"You seemed to think I was rather good at a lot of things last night," Nesta flushed, and quickly glanced around the room,

"Nes, who is going to be in our private study? Chill out."

"Shut up," she snarled half-hardheartedly, and snuck another glance at the papers, "I thought it was usually Rhys who dealt with Darkbringer reports?"

"It is. But with Feyre on bed rest now, with only a month to go, he's too worried to focus properly, it's a struggle getting him to do the bare minimum." Nesta chuckled,

"Sounds like him," Cassian raised an eyebrow, "Overbearing, and ridiculously overprotective. She'll be fine, Madja's the best healer in Velaris, and she says that it should be a straightforward birth, so unless that changes, I'd try not to worry." She knew her mate to well to believe that it was just Rhys who was worrying about her sister.

"I know. I'm mostly just excited to meet the kid." Nesta chuckled again and rested an arm on his shoulder,

"You do know that they'll be a baby first, they'll have a bit of growing up to do before you can claim to be 'the best uncle the world has ever seen' y'know." Cassian smirked at her impression of him,

"I sound nothing like that,"

"Yes, you do," she chuckled, mimicking him again, "I'm Cassian, I'm a cocky shit. Nesta, I loooove you."

"Oh, fuck off, I do not sound like that," Nesta laughed again at Cassian's attempt to sound tough, but noticed the corners of his mouth creeping up slightly.

"Awwww, is the poor baby general being bullied by his mate?" She crooned, leaping out of reach when he made to prod her again.

"Shut up, Nes," he half-chuckled, half-groaned, and reached out to prod her, once again missing, "Get back here you,"

"Oh no, I know that look,"

"Sweetheart, get back over here,"

"I could, but this time, you will have to catch me first," with that she shot out of the study, giggling at the sound of Cassian's chair clattering to the floor and his footsteps behind her. She darted into the kitchen, using the island to keep Cassian away from her as he skidded in just behind her. He narrowed his eyes at her, but she just grinned and waved in response, watching him trying to think of a way to get her before she escaped again. She glanced sideways to check her escape route, and didn't notice him start to move. By the time he had leapt over the island, she barely had time to dart away and sprint back up the stairs, her mate's chuckles following her,

"Well, that was stupid, you're trapped in a dead end, sweetheart, just make this easy for yourself." She ignored him and ducked into a bathroom, hoping he hadn't seen where she went, and held her breath. She waited ten seconds, twenty, it seemed he hadn't seen her, but she had no idea where he was, she couldn't hear his footsteps any more. Daring a glance out of the door, she couldn't see anything amiss on the landing, no traps, no Cassian, a free run.

She broke out of the door and was a few steps from the stairs when she was dragged backwards, Cassian's arms around her waist,

"No!" She screeched, trying to wriggle away, to no avail as she was dragged back the way she had come, into the room where her mate had been hiding, back to the desk he had been sat at before. Cassian righted his chair with one hand, restraining Nesta with the other and pulled her into his lap.

"Uh oh, looks like I caught you," she made a face at him, and he chuckled, running his hands up and down her sides, "But what to do with you?" He frowned, and pursed his lips, remaining silent for so long that Nesta started squirming in his lap again, and he squeezed her waist to stop her. "I suppose I should punish you for running away from me, should I do that, sweetheart?"

"N-no," she managed, wriggling again, and gasping when his hand came up to grip her throat, not squeezing, but just holding firm, "Please."

"Please what?"

"Please, General," she whined, "Don't - don't punish me, please." She tried to turn to face him, but he held her firm,

"We'll see, perhaps if you're good now, you can redeem yourself," she whimpered at the promise in his words, and nodded, barley holding herself back from wriggling as he fell silent again.

She was staring to wonder if he was actually going to do anything when he surged up and pinned her face-down on the desk, paper scattering around them. She gasped and he held her still with a hand between her shoulderblades, pulling her pants off and tossing them aside. He panties quickly earned the same fate, and she whimpered at the feel of him nudging her legs apart. He let go for a few moments, but she stayed where she was, not wanting to risk a punishment tonight. She tried to rub her thighs together at the sound of Cassian peeling away his own leathers, but a sharp smack on her ass made her freeze,

"Only I'm allowed to touch you, sweetheart." She froze and allowed him to nudge her legs back apart, and moaned when his hands dipped underneath her to unbutton her shirt and pull it off, and Cassian groaned himself when he saw that she had forsaken a bra,

"What? I wasn't leaving the house today," he didn't respond with words, instead he leaned down and left a trail of kisses along her spine, before stepping away,

"You look so beautiful like this," he almost-whispered,

"What?"

"Bent over my desk, naked," he paused for a second, "Wet, wanting," He stepped back up to her and ran a finger through that wetness, and Nesta could almost sense his smirk at her moan. He circled her clit once, then pushed that finger inside her, a second joining it before long. As she began to wriggle, his second hand found its way to her hair, holding her still against the desk as he fucked her slowly with his fingers, dragging whimpers and moans from her,

"Please, General, please, please,"

"What? You've gotta use your words, sweetheart,"

"I - I want-" she broke off with a gasp as he pushed her face against the hard wood a little harder,

"Didn't catch that sweetheart,"

"Prick," she muttered under her breath and he must have heard it because instantly his fingers were removed and he pinned her hips still,

"That's not very nice, sweetheart," she whimpered at his voice, dropped lower than usual, a slight growl in his tone, "Count for me,"

"What?"

"Count for me," he repeated, the only warning he gave before his hand landed back on her ass, hard, enough to hurt a little bit, but not too much. She scrunched her face up and shook her head, a little flash of fear finding its way into her at his answering chuckle. When his hand came down again, it was harder, and she jerked forward on the desk a little. He squeezed her ass, giving her a chance to count, but she still refused. It only took one more before she whined, and whispered, almost too quietly for him to hear,

"One,"

"I can't hear you, sweetheart,"

"One," she repeated, louder this time,

"Good girl," he rubbed her lower back, "Just a few more now," she whined but nodded her head, reassuring him that she was okay. She whimpered when he spanked her again, and just remembered to whimper,

"Two," he continued, praising her after each spank, until she squealed out "Five,"

"There, all you had to do was count to five, was that so hard?" She shook her head, still whining softly, "I said, was that so hard?"

"No, General," she whimpered, and screamed when he pushed into her in one go,

"I think I'll be nice tonight," he said, pulling out before slamming his hips back against her, still holding her motionless, "And let you come whenever you want," she couldn't answer him, not as every movement had her seeing stars, had pleasure rising inside her, washed away any pain left form the spankings.

One of his hands dipped beneath her to find her clit again, and he rubbed it in time with his thrusts, quickly sending her flying over the edge, screaming his name, but he didn't stop, not as she became too sensitive afterwards, not when she came again, and again, not when she was sobbing with pleasure, and collapsed limp across the desk.

He gripped her hair, and pulled her up a little, just enough that he could suck at the skin of her neck, leaving a mark there,

"Mine, you're mine," he whispered in her ear, and she just whimpered in response, trying to roll her hips against his when he stopped moving. He bit down gently on her ear, tugging lightly with his teeth and her eyes fluttered shut, her breathing speeding up as she neared another climax. This time, he flew over the edge with her, spilling inside her and shouting her name. Her own moans were loud enough that she was sure anyone outside would have heard, but for once, she didn't care, she screamed his name like it was the only thing holding her to life, and her surroundings faded away, until it was just her, and him.

He released his grip on her hair, and flipped her over so that she was lying on her back, with him standing between her legs, already hardening again. She smiled up at him, and hooked her legs around his waist, tugging him closer,

"Not had enough yet, have you, General?" She teased, and he cut her off by kissing her, his tongue sliding into her mouth, taking full control, and she let him, there were times to take turns calling the shots, now was not one of them, she didn't want to think, to choose what she wanted him to do her next, she just wanted him to fill her so thoroughly that nothing else mattered. She didn't register him shifting his hips, nor him lining up with her, but she screamed wordlessly into his mouth as he pushed back into her, his thrusts even harder than before, and only his hold on her kept her from falling off the desk. She cried out his name again and again, tears of pleasure rolling down her face, and Cassian kissed hem away, all the while muttering words of praise to her, and holding her head gently to keep it from hitting the desk. He came once more, and she followed him immediately after, dropping limp in his arms, and he hefted her off the desk, into his arms, kissing her temple and face as he carried her to their bedroom,

"Alright, sweetheart?"

"Uh-huh," she turned and buried her face in his neck, hiding from the sudden brightness of their bedroom lights, "I love you," she mumbled against his neck and he kissed her hair,

"I know. I love you more,"

"Nuh-uh," she mumbled, still hiding from the lights,

"Yes, I do,"

"No. Impossible," she finally pulled her face out from his neck to look him in the eyes, and he just chuckled,

"Shall we just agree that we both love each other very much, and not compete about it?" She frowned, considering,

"Okay," and scrunched up her face when he sat down on the bed, his wings no longer shielding her from the lights,

"You're adorable, you know that?"

"No, I'm not, I'm scary, terrifying, death incar-" she sneezed as a feather from one of the pillows wafted upwards, and Cassian chuckled, and mussed her hair,

"You're my adorable mate, now shut up and let me love you." He flopped back onto the bed, pulling her down with him so that she was lying on his chest, and wrapped a wing around her. He kissed her nose gently before she snuggled into him, mumbling just before she fell asleep,

"You're adorable."

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #fanfiction #fanfic #nessian #nesta #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian #Smut #smut and fluff

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galactic-magick · 3 years

Text

Life and Happiness: Logan x Reader

Summary: You’ve been really depressed lately and Logan helps comfort you in his own way. (sort of college AU?)

Words: 1100+

Warnings: Some angst, hurt/comfort, reader is kinda sassy, reader is also depressed (not su*cidal depressed though so no mention of that)

Author’s Notes: Got the idea for this while rewatching “Why Do We Get Out of Bed in the Morning,” basically a self therapy fic lol. I’m more likely to listen to Logan than I am to myself so why not put the words in his mouth? Also I’m thinking about opening Sanders Sides requests again after I finish my WandaVision requests so this is kinda a warm-up for that ig lol

Taglist: @luluwinchester @nerve-ous-love @zarieslayer @amayaisokay

“Are you alright?”

You look up to see a somewhat familiar face, or at least you think so. It’s a guy you’ve seen in one of your classes, the one always sitting at the front and wearing a tie as if it’s a special occasion. He seems nice enough, but you’ve never really talked to him.

His words bring you back to reality a bit, your attention moving from your thoughts to your surroundings. It’s dark, it’s late, and no one else is around except for you and him. You’re sitting on an uncomfortable bench with a bag of work you’ve barely touched, and honestly you’re not even sure if you had any intention to do it at all tonight.

“Oh...I’m fine,” you finally say, forcing a smile.

He shakes his head, “It’s not safe to be alone at night. Do you want me to walk you to your dorm?”

“I…” you sigh. “I don’t really want to go back there,”

“Roommate troubles? I understand that,” he laughs.

“No, it’s not that,” you fidget with your hands. “I guess I just feel like I don’t deserve to go get some rest right now, ya know?” you try to play the heavy statement off as a joke, but his face clearly molds to concern.

He sits down next to you, “Taking a break and sleeping aren’t things you earn, they’re necessities. Why don’t you think you deserve to rest?”

“Because I haven’t gotten anything done today, I guess, I don’t know,” you shrug, clenching your fists a bit to hold the tension in. “And I hate myself for it. I just…” you reach for your bag to pack it up. “Never mind, it doesn't matter. You probably don’t get that anyway, you seem like the kind of person that’s good at everything,”

He stops you, taking your bag and setting it aside, “That’s not true,”

“Really?” you exhale. “You don’t have to be modest, man. It’s just a fact,”

“No, that’s your opinion, actually,” he says. “There’s a big difference,”

“Fine, then my opinion is that everything’s probably come easy to you all your life and you don’t understand how I feel right now. Happy?”

“Actually, come to think of it, that’s an assumption, not an opinion,”

“Whatever,” you smirk, almost letting out a genuine laugh. “How about you tell me the facts then, Mr. Know-It-All,”

“My name is Logan,”

“Know-It-All refers to your last name,”

“My last name is Sanders, actually,”

You chuckle, “Alright, Logan Know-It-All Sanders. I’m Y/N,”

“Geez, you’re almost as bad as my roommate,” he huffs. “But pleased to meet you, Y/N,”

“Your roommate gives you nicknames?”

“At least eight times a day, yes,”

“Ah,” you nod. “Alright, I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

“I was saying,” he emphasizes. “That your assumptions about me are completely untrue. I do enjoy learning, yes, but that doesn’t mean it comes easy to me. I have to work hard and study just like everyone else, and sometimes I fall short and fail. Many times, actually. I’m not ‘good at everything,’ I put effort and practice into the things I want to be good at, and eventually I get good at them,”

“Hmm,” your smile fades. “Still, you’re very naturally motivated to do all that. I’m just...not,”

“Why’s that?”

“I’’m only here because I have to be. If I don’t get some sort of higher education I have less of a chance of getting a good job, and I’d like to have at least a somewhat stable life. I gave up on my dreams a long time ago, I’m just trying to survive,” you don’t know why you’re venting to this guy you barely know, yet now that you’ve started you can’t stop. “But it’s not just that. Everything feels wrong, I feel empty, I feel nothing. School isn’t the only thing that brings me down, it’s just life in general. It’s like the weight of the world isn’t just on my shoulders, it’s actively pushing down on them, and it’s just a matter of time until I break,” your face falls to your hands, covering your watery eyes. He probably thinks you’re crazy or overreacting, you should’ve just let him walk you home and not bothered him with your problems.

“Is it happiness that’s left you, or living?” he asks.

You look at him, your voice croaking from holding everything in, “What?”

“You said you don’t feel anything and you’re just trying to survive. So which has truly left you, happiness or the figurative ‘feeling’ of living?”

“I’m...not sure,”

“The way I see it, we are never promised happiness. It’s never a guarantee, it’s not a right, it’s not something we can always count on. Emotions come and go, and just because it’s a positive one doesn’t change that. But living…” he grins. “Living is a gift. Just the fact that you’re here is amazing. You’re breathing, you’re you. It can be easy to forget that, but it’s true. Your life in and of itself has meaning, no matter what you choose to do with it. You may feel like you’re only surviving and working towards the bare minimum, but you’re alive. I guess that’s why I’ve never understood when people feel worthless if they’re not achieving their dreams and greatness and the like, just being alive and experiencing the world seems like enough to me,”

You stare blankly at him, not sure what to say.

“I really shouldn’t keep you any longer,” he checks his watch and hands you your bag. “How about that walk back now?”

You nod, getting up and walking in the direction of your dorm.

It’s a relatively silent stroll, nothing except your breathing and a few cricket chirps. Logan offers to carry your things, leaving you empty handed until you hit your destination. You appreciate the gesture, you just hope he’s not only doing it out of pity.

“I know you believe you don’t deserve it, but I really urge you to get some rest,” he turns to you at the doorway, handing you back your bag.

“I’ll try my best,” you nod with a smile. “Thank you, Logan. For everything,”

“Of course,” he smiles back, handing you a piece of paper as he leaves. “Let me know if you ever need anything,”

You look down to see his number scribbled on the paper, and he waves to you again before turning around the corner.

You never thought Logan Sanders would be the one bringing you comfort on a night like this, but here you are.

And you really hope he’ll do it again.

#logan sanders #logan sanders x reader #sanders sides #sanders sides x reader #ts logan

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mor-beck-more-problems · 3 years

Text

Keeping Vigil || Morgan & Eddie

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @specterchasing & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: When Morgan can’t carry her hope, Eddie is there to help.

CONTAINS: body horror, discussions of death, mortality, decay

After reaching another dead end in her search for answers, Morgan broke down and took an extra long shower to get rid of her smell and wash the rough parts on her body that had been hurt or picked at by bugs. The water pattered on her just right, steadier and softer than rain. When she let it fall into her ear and make the room feel like underwater, she could hold onto the water and nothing else and the aches and cramps faded, and everything was fine. She savored the change in water temperature as it faded from hot to cool as much as the change in the sky from light to dark.

A little later, as she picked at cold fried rice and brains, the waistband on her sweats started to feel a little tight, and when Morgan looked down her coloring had gone another shade of wrong and when she touched her stomach (first in the middle, then all around) she got the sinking feeling she used to once a month: bloating. Maybe it was water damage, maybe it was just that time in the un-life cycle. It didn’t fucking matter, did it?

“Great. First I’m dead, then I’m falling apart and ripped up like a rag doll, and now I’m a dead ripped up balloon doll waiting to pop.” She thought about how she’d announce this latest development to Deirdre when she got home and decided she didn’t want to. So she made some tea, remembered all the chamomile in the world wouldn’t actually calm her and threw it against her studio.

The mug bounced off the wall. Tea splattered the yard.

Morgan picked it up and holed herself up inside the four little walls where she was supposed to be alone. Maybe if she disappeared in a book or a playlist she could forget about what was happening to her body. Funny how she’d dreamed of feeling the world again every day for the last fourteen months; now she’d try just about anything to go numb and float off again.

As Eddie approached the front door of Morgan’s home, an unexpected sound from the backyard caught his attention. He took a few steps back and looked over the fence in time to see the studio door close. If that’s where Morgan was, it would be pointless to try getting into the main house. Admittedly, tracking her down would be a nonissue if she knew he planned to drop by, but Eddie had a sneaking suspicion she didn’t want visitors in her current condition. Be that as it may, he needed to see her. For all he knew, this might be his last chance.

Eddie reached over the fence’s gate and unlocked it from the other side, immediately re-locking it once inside. Even in his haste, he didn’t want to be the reason something unwanted took an open door as an invitation. Eddie quickly bypassed the garden that usually imbued him with a sense of calmness. Today, all it did was put more space between him and Morgan.

At the studio door, Eddie knocked only to enter without waiting for a response. The second he saw her, his heart fell into his stomach. Morgan, for the first time since meeting her, looked dead.

“I heard about what happened,” Eddie announced. He figured wasting time on small talk would be insulting at this point. “I wish you would’ve told me yourself, but I guess it doesn’t matter now.” As he spoke, he walked further into the studio. “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of people in your corner right now. Is there room for me to throw my hat in the ring?”

Morgan only managed a few minutes of stillness before she heard a knock. She flinched, dreading what she would have to explain to Deirdre, but before she could work up the nerve to answer, Eddie came in. She was so startled she forgot to cover her face. Her blue-purple pallor was growing new colors, black in some places, yellow in others. Somehow, her skin was peeling and shriveled and swollen at once. Her eyes, now clouded like frost on a window, looked smaller than they should and her lids sagged around the empty space. For a woman who would never age, she sure looked like she had outlived her time.

In the brief instant Eddie held the door open, three flies flew in and circled lazily toward her. They knew a good thing when they saw it. She should probably have been more grateful that maggots and fungi hadn’t found her yet, but the only thought she had room for was, Eddie shouldn’t be here.

“W--what? I--” It didn’t really matter how he found out, did it? “I don’t want to be one of those people that puts their bullshit on kids and makes them carry it,” she sighed. “And I don’t...know what I’m going to do about any of this. If I can do anything about this. I went through the books I had, I tried looking through some others and--” Nothing. She slumped back in her corner on the day bed and covered her face with a pillow. Then, feeling ridiculous, tossed it away and settled for pulling her legs up and hiding that way. “You should probably grab some air freshener from the kitchenette,” she mumbled.

Eddie had never seen Morgan look so small before. In the past, her petite frame always seemed like an act of misdirection. When she spoke, the weight of her words commanded attention. Her laugh charmed a sigh of relief from the world around her. Out of everyone Eddie knew, he couldn’t think of a single person he respected more than Morgan Beck. Seeing her this way didn’t change that, it only proved the severity of the situation. It was time for him to start repaying her for everything she’d done.

“Well, this kid would rather help carry your bullshit than let it bury you,” Eddie replied as he took her advice and walked over to the kitchenette. He wanted to tell her he didn’t mind the smell but lying wouldn’t make the situation any better. Eddie pulled the trigger and a clean-linen scented mist mingled with the smell of decay. It would have to do.

“So,” he continued, moving closer to her before taking a seat beside her on the day bed. “Catch me up to speed, I only know the bare minimum.” Eddie didn’t think being told the details would lead them to a solution but that wasn’t why he came here. Other, more capable people would help Morgan in that area. What he wanted to accomplish was simply to make sure she knew she wasn’t alone. Maybe it wasn’t as glamorous of a purpose as finding a cure but believed it to be important all the same. “You woke up and, out of nowhere, you were alive again?”

Morgan grimaced at the hiss of the air freshener. She had suggested it, but smelling it and knowing how little good it would do was another matter. “You might wanna go a little heavier on that,” she deadpanned. “I’m almost a week into this, and whatever is fucking with me the slow, painful way, has a year’s worth of decay to catch up on.” She let her head rest against the wall and closed her eyes. All her physical senses back, and she still had to endure this latest cosmic ‘fuck you’ in complete sobriety. No rest. No relief.

She curled up a little tighter as he sat by her, as if her death-sickness was contagious. “Uh, if you haven’t noticed, I apparently don’t need to be buried. I can decompose all by myself.” She worked his question thoughtfully, trying to find the right words for it. How stupidly excited she was for so little, and how suddenly it was a little too much.

“I wasn’t alive,” she said at last, face still buried in her knees. “No heartbeat. No warmth. I could just...feel again. The bedsheets were cold. And soft. Weirdly soft. And my girlfriend was soft and cold but different, and the carpet was...coarse and thick and plushy...it was like I’d never been on this planet before. Everything was new. The words I had weren’t enough to describe it. I spent a whole two days convincing myself that whatever was happening it wouldn’t be so bad. Some weird town thing we’d have to reverse. But then I got hurt and it took me forever to heal. And then I didn’t heal at all. And I ate, I had so many brains, but my body was shriveling up, turning color, smelling, all that gross stuff that’s not supposed to happen to me if I do everything I’m supposed to. And do you know how it feels, literally feels, to have your body dry up? Or to--” One of the flies landed on her cheek and began exploring the new terrain. Morgan raised her hand and let it, waiting til it reached her hairline where she wasn’t so sensitive. She slapped it dead and left the goo where it was. “Be food for the bugs? Because that’s something I know now. Can’t wait for everything else to go, or for whatever’s keeping me wide awake for the whole horror science show to...decide what comes next.” She didn’t want to die. She wouldn’t be this frustrated if she did. But being nothing but wobbling bones and leather and dust frightened her just as much as oblivion. She didn’t know which she was really supposed to hope for.

Eddie listened as Morgan described the past few days. At first, her condition sounded like a gift. He remembered when she told him how badly she missed being able to experience the world as a living participant. No heartbeat or warmth meant certain sensations were still off limits but, other than that, he imagined those first two days felt pretty damn good. A false sense of security, obviously. He hated this.

Morgan swatted the fly and Eddie’s lips pursed in response. “Hold on,” he announced, standing up to make his second trip to the kitchenette. Facing the counter, he tore a few paper towels from the roll and wetted them in the sink. After wringing out the extra moisture, he carried them back to the daybed and took his seat again. Eddie tentatively reached out and, as gently as he could, washed away the insect’s remains. When his hand lowered, he kept the damp wad of paper in his hand in case another decided to land on her.

“Morgan, do you remember what you said to me about hope, that it’s a choice?” Eddie asked. Of all people, he knew how unqualified he was to preach the importance of hope but he wanted to try. “You also said that to stop believing in the future is to stop believing in existing.” Even if he lacked the experience to explain the importance of looking for good, he knew Morgan didn’t. He could use her own words to help him navigate the situation.

“This isn’t the first time life’s given you its worst,” he said. “Obviously, you can roll over and accept hopelessness. Or, you can do what you do best and tell death to go fuck itself.”

“Yeah, this is an anomaly—so are you. Nothing is written, right? Don’t give up. Not yet.”

There were a lot of words Morgan had spoken in the past that haunted her now. Magic is going to save my life. All I need is to break the curse. Hope is a fucking choice. What was there to hope for when the only thing on the horizon was another shade of suffering? How could she continue believing in existence, when existence seemed to be shutting her down at both ends? Was she supposed to bone-jangle her way downstairs to breakfast every morning? Or be carried on a stretcher in so many pieces, to and fro? Or would the magic take away her mind too, and this was simply a farewell tour she didn’t have a say in? Morgan didn’t see much hope in that. What had all her suffering been for? A year of half a life, and then this?

Morgan scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and said nothing for a while. Then, just peeking over her knees with dead, swollen eyes, she said, “Death comes for everyone, Eddie. That’s what gives life balance. We end. We go...somewhere. Home. Even if it’s not until this planet implodes or gets struck by the right meteor. Everything is change. To stay stuck one way, that’s the biggest waste of what we have.” She shrugged. “But...stars in the fucking sky above…” Her voice drowned with held-in tears. “I couldn’t find anything about this, Eddie. I haven’t figured it out. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to imagine to hope for. And I’m so tired...I am so tired of climbing back up, of fighting the universe for one scrap of good. And right now...I almost wish I could give up. But I don’t even know what to give up on. All of it looks like giving up something right now.”

Eddie knew death came for everyone. Until recently, he clung to that fact with everything he had. Even now, his grip was only a little looser than before. Death, to him, sounded like a release. Morgan was tired, it made sense for her to want rest. A few months ago, Eddie might not have argued that it wasn’t the answer, but now he knew what loss felt like. If Morgan died, a piece of him would too. Ironically enough, the more he cared about someone, the more selfish he became.

“Lots of things that happen in this town don’t have books written about them. That doesn’t make them impossible to handle,” Eddie insisted before adopting a softer tone. “I know you’re tired. If anyone deserves rest, it’s you, and you’ll get it.” Eddie reached out with his free-hand and took hold of Morgan’s. “Like you said, death’s inevitable but it doesn’t have you yet. As long as you’re here, there’s a chance for things to get better. And—and, no, I don’t know what your pain feels like, but I know my own. Most days, getting out of bed is a fucking triumph, but I still do it; for you. For Alfie, for Bex, and Kyle, and everyone else who’s been kind to me. I don’t know what I’m hoping for exactly. Maybe I’m just hoping for hope.” Eddie paused before speaking again. “Think about that scrap of good, are you ready to let it go?” He meant the question genuinely and without pretense. “If you do, there’s no getting it back. No more garden, no more Deirdre, no more laughter, no more anything. Is there really nothing left worth fighting for?”

Morgan hid her face again as it crumpled with grief. But she let Eddie take her hand, and though her fingers were stiff, she squeezed his back. Mina had told her once that life was a curse of its own; Morgan had brushed it off as a flash of witty irony. But it came to her again now: was this living? Was crawling out of one hole only to fall into another what life looked like from the inside? She couldn’t think of a person she knew who wasn’t crawling out of something right now. The difference was only in terms of degree. When she was alive, human-alive, she had coached herself into accepting happiness as a stolen gift, a thing she would be caught red handed with and have to surrender. It would all be okay, because when the curse was over, she could have as much as she wanted and more. She could chase down every bright thing and know that however it turned out, it was fair as anything on earth could be, and she had given her best. It made her dry organs shrivel just a little more to suppose this was the way of all things, not just a thirty-nine-year blip of existence.

And yet there was no better choice before her. It was just like Eddie said. If she tried to will this bullshit to the end, she would be releasing everything she’d fought so hard to hold. And if she surrendered to the thought of an eternity of true living death, it would be much the same. The world struck no natural balance in the course of a life, and in White Crest it arched toward cruelty, and yet there had to be another horizon. These scraps of good had to be enough because they were all she had. And maybe In another week, a month, in a decade, things would be different. Magic always had a key to unlock itself. What was done might someday be undone. (Might, and with so little evidence to make it feel like anything at all.) She tried to imagine it, coming out of a stupor like sleeping beauty, kissing her own skin for holding its shape and keeping her here just enough to try and make a better balance in the world, kissing Deirdre, and the cats, and having every fresh memory from those early days to guide her toward contentment. She couldn’t hold the image very long. It burnt in flashes. Somehow, it hurt worse than either path of doom she saw. Morgan nodded and let hope in and sobbed, breaking with the weight of it.

She tried to muffle her cries with her other hand, but it was no good. She shook and soaked her sweatpants with her tears and turned Eddie’s fingers red with her grip. At last she noticed the change in the feel of his hand and let go. “Sorry. I’m...s-sorry. Um.” She wiped her face on her sleeve and tried to look at the boy. “You know you’re...a really kind, brave kid, right? And that’s why we all want you to be more careful? Because we need more of that around. We need you. And I wish you could be there for yourself like you are for me right now.” She heaved another dry sob and scrubbed her face again fighting for composure. It was always harder to show up for yourself, especially when you were alone.

“I’m not--uh, this isn’t because--” She gestured vaguely at the mess of herself. “I mean, you’re right. You’re right and I know you’re right and it’s just--” Kind of wish you weren’t. It would be so much easier if you weren’t. She shook her head, abandoning words in favor of meeting his gaze. What she didn’t know how to say was this: it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, holding out for hope and hoping for its own sake. But Eddie knew dark almost as well as she did; maybe he would know this just by looking at her, too.

When Morgan broke down, Eddie knew he’d struck a chord. He could only hope that meant something good and that he hadn’t made things worse. Her grip on his hand tightened exponentially but the pain barely registered. All he could focus on were her anguished sobs—he wondered how long she’d been trying to swallow them. Despair like that didn’t come to term in an instant. It laid in wait, brewing and accumulating more grievances both big and small until it could no longer be contained. If he had managed to help her rethink the release of death, maybe a release like this one would suffice for now.

“No, no, it’s—” Eddie’s dismissal of Morgan’s apology cut off when she spoke again. His expression slowly relaxed, brows raising in gentle surprise. A few people had called him brave now but he never seemed to get used to it. After spending so much of his life in hiding, he didn’t think he deserved that kind of praise. At the same time, he wanted to believe he was wrong. Eddie smiled sadly at Morgan. “One day, maybe. It’s a work in progress.” He didn’t know what to say about being needed but he tucked the compliment away somewhere he could find it when he lost sight of what mattered.

What she said—or, more accurately, didn’t say next resonated exactly as she expected it to. “It feels impossible, doesn’t it?” Eddie asked before his smile returned. “Kind of like when you’ve been in the dark for so long your eyes adjust to it and suddenly a light comes on and blinds you.” He gingerly rubbed the back of her with his thumb. “We’ll adjust to the light the same as we did the dark, just gotta give ourselves some time.”

Morgan nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Slowly, she unfolded her legs. There wasn’t much of her left to hide, and the second fly was already crawling along her skull. She thought about what Eddie said when it came to the light and the dark, and wondered how long it would take for her vision to get screwed up from so much back and forth that everything hurt. It would have to be a long time from now, wouldn’t it? She would have to make it that way.

After what seemed like a long time she said, “You know, for someone who lumped in hope with the evils of the world, you’re getting pretty good at being hope’s cheerleader.” Then after another silence, “You don’t have to stay with me though, okay? I’m not gonna go off the deep end, or do anything I shouldn’t. Deirdre will probably be home soon anyway.” Time had a way of moving funny when you were miserable, something Eddie was probably familiar with too, but the last thing she wanted him to carry was more worry about her. She nearly reached over to pat his arm, reassure him in a performance of her good ol’ self, but she remembered how she looked and let it fall empty instead. “Thank you though,” she said quietly.

Since Eddie last gave Morgan his opinion on hope, a lot had changed—was still changing. He didn’t find comfort in misery as much as he used to. Now, he understood happiness took a little elbow grease and that brains need to be re-wired every now and then. Some days were harder than others, he didn’t always believe his positive affirmations, but he was trying. For himself and everyone he loved, he was trying.

“When you’re wrong, you’re wrong,” he said with a shrug. “I thought I might as well give your outlook a shot. It’s going pretty okay so far.”

When Morgan next spoke, Eddie considered her carefully. He didn’t want to linger if she needed time to decompress but he also didn’t want to risk leaving too soon. Finally, he said, “Okay, if you’re sure.” Eddie stood up and took a deep breath before turning to face her. “If you need anything, anything at all, call me. I don’t care what time it is. I know it sucks to feel like you’re weighing people down but I love you, Morgan. I like helping you.” He leaned down to wrap his arms loosely around her. “Don’t ever feel like a burden.”

“I love you too, Eddie,” Morgan whispered. “Go on now. Be good and I’ll see you soon.”

Eddie straightened up and walked over to the kitchenette to toss the wadded up paper towels in the trash. Afterwards, he headed for the door. “See you soon,” he said, glancing back at Morgan before taking his leave.

#keeping vigil #wr eddie #wr chatzy #wr eddie chatzy

11 notes · View notes

fanfics-of-marvel · 3 years

Note

Are you up for writing winter13? 40. “Once you’ve tasted me, you’d never want anybody else”

Hello there anon! Thank you so much for the great prompt! ♥ I’m really sorry this comes so so late but I’m very busy in my daily life and I had to leave tumblr for a while. Anyway, I hope you’d still get to read it even though you’re anon and I hope you’ll enjoy it! ♥

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REQUESTS ARE CLOSED

Release date: 25/01/21

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Sharon Carter

Summary: Bucky seemes to have recovered after his rescue from Hydra but Sharon continues to be reluctant anout it and believes he still works for the Nazi organization. One day while she follows him in hopes to catch him on the act she discovers his secret which turnes out to be much more different than she had imagined.

Words count: 3 292

A/N: The side S.H.E.I.L.D. agents are made up for the story and do not resemble any other Marvel characters

Warnings: Mentioning of a bad word

Requests | Masterlist

I’m not a native English speaker, so there might be spelling or grammatical mistakes.

This fic is my own work, it is not to be re-posted on this site or posted anywhere else without my knowledge and consent!

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Sharon wasn’t remotely impressed by Bucky. He was nothing more than the next mission, the next target in the endless list of targets. Even though this one was quite different from the others.

With this target came the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. But with S.H.I.E.L.D.’s destruction came Hydra’s demolition as well. Everything and everyone was shortly eliminated, all but one. In Steve’s request Bucky’s life was spared.

He was kept in a dark dungeon – one of the few parcels of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s that had remained. For months he was supervised by the remaining agents, including Steve himself and Sharon. At first he didn’t show any signs of recovery. He still seemed to be in the state under Hydra’s control. There were moments of clarity in his mind when he seemed to have recognized Steve, when he seemed to have questioned everything and everyone he had faced with Hydra. But he still wasn’t his own self. He was still somebody else – the person Hydra had turned him into.

Steve didn’t give up on Bucky. Month after month he was always by his best friend’s side, worked with him, told him stories of their past until little by little his buddy was back. It was most sensational news when Fury gave the order to release Barnes and took off his status “Danger to S.H.I.E.L.D.”. There were many protests including from Sharon. She insisted that Bucky wasn’t to be trusted, that once altered he most probably would never change back, and that he was a ‘ticking bomb’ left by Hydra’s legacy and could explode in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s face any moment. Especially during such a fragile moment while the agency was still recovering itself.

However, Fury was firm in his decision. He knew that maybe Barnes wasn’t to be trusted but he knew that Steve was. And if Steve said Bucky was ready to go back to the world, then he was ready. Steve knew his buddy better than anyone else and spent months to make sure of that.

At the beginning Bucky was under stringent surveillance. He could barely take a shower without S.H.I.E.L.D.’s supervision. But as time went by the control got milder. There were moments in which Bucky was free to do activities on his own and even smaller walks among the society.

Sharon never let down her guard. She was always extra cautious with Bucky and often supervised him on her own. She still believed he might be a part of Hydra and that he was faking everything. She didn’t know Bucky was slowly turning into his older charming self.

One afternoon Sharon followed Bucky as he went out on a short walk. He had been out many times without any troubles occurring but she was still reluctant to believe. She followed Bucky as he walked through the nearby park, watched him as he bought a hot dog from the street stand and slowly ate it while watching some youngers doing the craziest flips and acrobatics with their bikes and skateboards. He seemed to be genuinely fascinated by today’s youth and how much the world has changed. Sharon wasn’t impressed.

After Bucky finished his meal he walked towards the town’s market. He stopped at a florist shop and bought the prettiest bouquet. Sharon was a little surprised. Bucky paid for the flowers and strode down the road. Sharon needed to fasten her pace in order to keep up with Bucky. But he disappeared with the agility of a panther. Or more specifically – a deadly killing machine designed for efficiency and minimum failure.

Sharon’s breath stopped for a moment. Was this it? The moment in which the ‘ticking bomb’ was about to explode? Was the hot dog, the flowers and everything else beforehand just a bait which S.H.I.E.L.D. bought? Was this really the end?

Sharon circled the perimeter but she couldn’t find a trace of Bucky. Her blood cooled, she felt her stomach turning upside down, and cold sweat emerged. She failed. She was hoping to catch something suspicious in Bucky’s behavior which she could report back to base and finally have him chained again. But it seemed like he was so skilled that he had managed to fool her as well in his plans.

“Base, this is Agent 13,” she said on her com with a trembling voice. “We have a Code Winter. I repeat – Code Winter. The subject has showed suspicious and abnormal behavior. I repeat – the subject is suspected in treachery.”

“Agent 13, this is Base,” she heard the even and unbothered voice of Agent Finery. “Can you clarify more upon your report?”

“What is there to clarify, Roy?” Sharon screeched on the com. She was getting out of her skin – her biggest nightmare seemed to be closer to reality.

“Agent 13, I’d ask you to calm down,” Agent Finery seemed to be caviling. Sharon nearly broke the device in her hand with her squeeze. “Bucky Barnes is no longer under permanent surveillance and is a level 2 threat. No one is even supposed to be supervising him now. What in his behavior prompted your report?”

Sharon took a deep breath. Stupid bureaucracy. Everything would have been so much easier without it. “I was following the subject on my own,” she never referred to him as ‘Bucky’ or ‘Barnes’, always as ‘the subject’. “I think he had noticed me somehow and disappeared from my sight in no time. You know how skilled he is. I believe it was his intention to lose me, so I wouldn’t know where he’s going.”

After a short pause Sharon heard, “Or maybe you were a little slower?” Agent Finery asked unpleasantly. “You seem to…,” Roy’s words were interrupted.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked imperiously. “I heard somebody talking about ‘Code Winter’ back there,” the rumor had spread with the speed of light.

“Oh thank god, Steve,” Sharon sighed with relief. “Finally somebody with a brain,” she said returning the carping.

“Are you sure in what you’re saying?” Steve had overtaken the communication from Agent Finery. The latter looked like a little boy compared to the Super Soldier’s physique.

“I noticed abnormal behavior, Steve,” there was an intense pause. “I think he noticed I was following him and he vanished from my eyes skillfully.”

There was a long painful sigh.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Sharon said. “I wish it was otherwise.”

“Alright, where are you now?” Steve finally said.

“At the town’s market,” Sharon said overexcited. Somebody finally listened to her. “The alley with souvenirs. Approximately where I saw him last.”

“Stay where you are unless you see Bucky. Keep us updated if anything happens,” Steve ordered Sharon and left the base with a battalion of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s finest agents.

Sharon sighed in relief. S.H.I.E.L.D. were on their way led by Steve himself. She looked around for more traces trying to stay as close as possible to where she was. She thought she was alone when she turned around and suddenly noticed a bouquet of flowers in front of her face. Her sharp deadly reflexes were activated in a millisecond. She took her weapon out of the holster while her other arm swung towards the flowers and the hands that were holding them. But before she managed to do any of that the opposing person disarmed her with the finest skills. Her gun was on the ground and her back was pressed at her attacker. How did he manage to turn her so fast? A cold sharp blade was pressed at her neck. She couldn’t breathe and her pulse was accelerated.

“Shall we try this again?” Sharon clearly heard Bucky’s voice.

With the same dexterity Bucky turned Sharon towards him. When she looked at Bucky still slightly dazed the knife was already put away. Damn, the speed! Bucky bent down to pick up her weapon and the bouquet he had thrown during the little scuffle. He sighed. It had gotten a little dusty and some of the stems had broken.

“Your gun,” Bucky said and handed Sharon the weapon. There was a hint of disappointment in his voice.

Sharon took her weapon cautiously with her eyes fixed upon him. She doubted she could be faster than him. It was probably for the best if she sustained a conversation until the back-up came.

“Aren’t you going to put it in the holster?” Bucky asked with a foxy smile. There was something on his mind. “There are people in here. Civilians. We wouldn’t want any accidents, would we?”

‘Well played’, Sharon thought to herself.

After her gun was put away Bucky looked at the damaged flowers, hesitated for a moment, sighed and handed them towards Sharon. “These are for you,” he said sounding somewhat frustrated.

Sharon looked at the bouquet with a rapid breathing. Was there a bomb in there? A weapon? Chloroform spray? For the first time in her carrier she didn’t know what to do.

Bucky sighed. “I know they’re not as pretty. But it was your fault they fell on the ground.”

Sharon was standing frozen. For the first time in her career she was facing a threat far more skilled than herself. Furthermore, they were standing at a lively part of the city which could have led to many casualties. She wished she had called for back-up earlier.

Bucky pulled the bouquet backwards. He sensed how terrified Sharon was even though she was hiding it professionally. He realized he might have startled her with that sudden appearance.

“Are you alright?” Bucky asked cautiously. “Did I scare you earlier?”

Sharon was still standing motionless. She knew she had to start speaking, so he wouldn’t run away. After all, S.H.I.E.L.D. were on their way.

“I’m fine,” Sharon finally said with a shuddering voice. “You just startled me a little bit. That’s all,” she even forced a slight smile.

“I definitely didn’t mean that,” Bucky replied with care in his tone. “I just wanted to give you the flowers but,” he looked at them and seemed a little embarrassed. “It’s been like 70 years… I’ve lost form,” he smiled shyly.

Sharon got quite confused. Bucky seemed to refer to his life hitherto Hydra’s capture. But what did he mean?

“I don’t know why I thought surprising you in such a way would be fun,” Bucky continued talking with bitterness. “Girls used to like it. But that was in the ‘40s, of course,” he faintly smiled remembering the good old days. “Now everything is so different,” he looked around him thoughtfully.

“I’m sorry?” Sharon said after a short pause. She was completely tangled.

Bucky looked at her seemingly terrified. “Oh, no. No, no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you or anything,” he was slightly panicking. “It really has been so long and after all… I was somebody else for a while. I really didn’t know what to do. Somebody suggested buying you flowers and here they are,” he handed the bouquet towards her again.

Sharon looked at the flowers. Then at Bucky’s hopeful expression. Then at the bouquet again. After a pause she looked at him again.

“Are you hitting on me?” Sharon’s voice sounded both shocked and angry.

Bucky got terrified again. Did he mess up? He pulled the flowers at him. The hopeful expression switched to a hopeless one.

“Well, I was trying,” Bucky said wearily facing down. “The bouquet was definitely prettier before and I guess I shouldn’t have startled you,” he puffed. “And I used to be so good at this,” he added quietly, obviously talking to himself.

“Wait,” Sharon really needed to clear the matter up. “What is going on actually?” she sounded demanding.

“Um, well…,” Bucky started stuttering. “You know… the flowers for you and… a surprise, I hoped… which you’d like,” he smiled as if he had actually made sense.

“What!?” Sharon yelled. She really needed to hear it all clear.

“I like you!” Bucky shouted back pressed from her behavior.

Sharon stared at him with her eyes and mouth wide open. He didn’t look like the most deadly human-weapon. He looked like a terrified puppy.

“I really like you, okay?” he continued. He thought it’d be best to just talk straight. “You were there. The whole time. While I was recovering and remembering. There were many people, yes. But I had eyes only for you,” he said those last words so romantically that Sharon’s knees nearly bent. “I noticed you sometimes followed me and when I gained enough confidence I decided to act,” Bucky looked down at the flowers. “I was a little too shy to ask anybody for advice what to do. I mean, I said I like a girl but I didn’t say who the girl is. And the advice was to just buy flowers. I guess that’s why I didn’t do the right thing. Maybe you don’t like flowers,” he smiled bitterly.

Sharon was still trying to figure out whether Bucky was being sincere or acting up in order to fool her. But he seemed so genuine in his reactions and facial expressions. She has had a closer look at the Winter Soldier. His only expression was the frowned eyebrows and his only words were channeled towards conversations for killing. But now Bucky sounded entirely different. So genuine. So human.

“Oh, no, no. It’s not you,” now Sharon felt embarrassed. “It’s me. I got quite nervous,” was it really sane to be saying those words out? “When you disappeared from my sight I thought you were escaping. I thought The Winter Soldier had woken up and you were running away from S.H.I.E.L.D.,” she said the final words cautiously.

“Oh,” Bucky laughed adorably. “Understandable, yeah. I only did it because I wanted to surprise you. You didn’t leave me out of your sight. I had to be creative,” he smiled so charmingly that Sharon subconsciously giggled.

She couldn’t deny Bucky was an attractive man. He had cut the long Winter Soldier hair, his beard was stubble, his appearance – most intriguing. Sharon didn’t admit at herself but she definitely had sympathies for Bucky from the very beginning. Those steel blue eyes in which you could stare at for all of eternity. Those luring naughty lips which she desired to bite playfully. His firm tight body that she had observed many times during his recovery. And that damn metal arm. Why was it so arousing to even think about it?

Suddenly, Sharon felt a little dizzy. There was something in the air. Bucky’s charm was ravishing and on point. She completely forgot about the back-up from S.H.I.E.L.D. which she called earlier.

Sharon didn’t realize it but she was smiling like an idiot. She giggled again and subconsciously played with her hair like a school girl. When was the last time somebody flirted with her?

“I do like flowers,” she finally said with twinkling eyes and a provocative smile.

“Good,” Bucky replied curving his lips.

Sharon looked down at the bouquet and spoke playfully. “But you’ll have to buy me new ones.”

“Is that so?”

The shyness and suspicion had entirely faded from the conversation and were replaced by flirting and provoking.

“Can I compensate some other way?” imperceptibly Bucky had made a step closer to Sharon.

“Like how?” Sharon was totally consumed by Bucky’s enchanting powers. Even an exploding atom bomb wouldn’t move her eyes from his.

“A kiss, maybe?” he said unceremoniously.

Sharon gasped. How dared he?

“Judging by the bouquet your kissing abilities are questionable,” Sharon didn’t realize she was playing a dangerous game.

“Doll,” Bucky said in the sexiest voice ever. “Once you’ve tasted me, you’d never want anybody else”.

In a matter of a second Bucky grabbed Sharon’s waist and pulled her so close that he took her breath away. He pressed his lips at hers so passionately that her knees weakened. If Bucky wasn’t holding her Sharon would’ve fallen on the ground.

Shivers ran through her back, her whole body trembled, her pussy tingled, her body filled with so much oxytocin that she got dizzy again. Sharon felt the kiss on so many levels.

When Bucky finally moved his lips away she was like plasticine in his arms. Just hanging there letting him do anything he wanted with her. A quiet sigh exited her lips. Oh, what a day.

“Nice,” suddenly they heard Steve’s voice.

Sharon jumped out of Bucky’s arms so startled that she nearly fell. She looked at the back-up she had called. There were so many people, maybe even a whole division staring at her and Bucky smiling smugly. At the front was Steve. His smile was even wider than the others’.

“So,” Steve looked at Bucky. “That’s the girl?”

Bucky smiled shyly looking down while Sharon closed her eyes wishing the ground would suddenly open and swallow her.

“Like I said earlier,” Steve continued. “Nice,” he was smiling so much that it was ridiculous.

“Carter,” she heard the voice of Agent Johnson. The protégé of agent Finery and the second most annoying person in S.H.I.E.L.D. “Code Winter is for abnormal behavior. If you haven’t been kissed until now, well, this isn’t abnormal,” he was caviling at her just like his ‘original’.

Everyone started laughing. Now Sharon wished the ground would suddenly open and swallow them.

“Alright, alright,” Steve shouted at the excited crowd. “There’s nothing more to see here,” he barely held his giggle. They weren’t supposed to see anything whatsoever. “Apparently, there’s been a mistake. There’s no Code Winter. I repeat – Code Winter is called off. Everyone back to base,” Steve gave his orders and looked at the embarrassed couple after all of the agents had left still laughing and commenting. “So,” he started with a smile.

“I’m really sorry, Steve,” Sharon said embarrassed. “It’s all my fault. I’ll take full responsibility over my actions. I shouldn’t have called Code Winter before I had seen firmer evident…”

“Sharon, it’s alright,” Steve said warmly still smiling.

“No, Steve, it’s not. I called for back-up and so many agents came and got involved. I deviated everyone’s attention. What if an actual and more dangerous threat had appeared? I could have jeopardized everything.”

“Sharon,” Steve’s voice and smile were so warm that they could’ve melted the nearby ice-cream stand. “You had every reason to assume the worst. Bucky is a mystery and definitely looks like a bad boy,” Steve said facetiously.

“What?” Bucky objectified with a smile.

Steve giggled. Then returned to Sharon. “Agents like you are the ones who keep S.H.I.E.L.D. from falling apart completely. You did the right thing. Don’t blame yourself about anything.”

“Thank you, Steve,” for the first time since everything Sharon smiled genuinely.

“Well, I guess it’s best to leave you two to… whatever you were doing before we interrupted you,” Steve said playfully and winked at Bucky. “Just like the old times. You still got it.”

Bucky and Sharon smiled shyly as Steve walked away. Then they spent the rest of the day together. Bucky bought her a new bouquet, they went for a walk, and tested their shooting skills at the local shooting gallery. Sharon seemed to be the better shooter. Bucky justified himself that The Winter Soldier’s skills seem to be fading away. He never admitted to Sharon that he withheld his skills that day, so that she would win.

For a while everyone at the base joked with them. Some started referring to the happening as ‘Code Love’ or ‘Code Kiss’. Bucky and Sharon did everything possible to not pay attention to their annoying colleagues. And expectedly as time passed by everyone started getting bored with the jokes. Sharon and Bucky turned into the ultimate couple. They were the best agents S.H.I.E.L.D. had and never failed a mission. The jest turned into respect and after a while nobody made any more jokes about Sharon and Bucky.

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Thank you for reading! If you liked it please react - reply/like/reblog! Your support is appreciated!

This fic is my own work, it is not to be re-posted on this site or posted anywhere else without my knowledge and consent!

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years

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I Scream a Truth, You Hear a Lie - part 3/ 5

for @ban-aard <3

read on AO3

previous / next

On the day of the festival Jaskier was antsy. Geralt could feel the nervous energy pouring off of him. Jaskier’s hand was sweaty in his and he kept tugging at his doublet as they walked to the town square where the festivities would be held. With every step they took, Jaskier was fidgeting more.

“We don’t have to go through with this, you know?” Geralt said softly and stopped, forcing Jaskier to halt as well. “If you want to we can turn around, leave this town and this charade behind us and never speak of it again.”

A complicated expression twisted Jaskier’s face. “You want to leave so badly?”

Geralt’s chest heaved with a silent sigh. “You know I don’t care much for celebrations.” But I care for you. “But I promised I’d do this with you. As long as you really want to.”

“I do.” The answer came so quick, Jaskier was almost cutting Geralt off. “I need to. I can’t have them think those horrible things about you when you are so… when you are you.”

Geralt blamed the knot in his stomach on the nervousness that radiated off of Jaskier being infectious.

“Alright,” he said and cursed his voice for sounding so hoarse. “But if you change your mind – if I do anything you are not comfortable with – give me a sign and we’ll leave.” Or more realistically, Geralt would leave and let Jaskier enjoy the rest of the celebrations with people who knew how to appreciate such things. Jaskier nodded hesitantly.

“The same goes for you. If I ever take it too far, please tell me. I wouldn’t – I don’t want you to be uncomfortable around me.”

It took all Geralt had not to laugh. As if Jaskier could do any such thing. As if Jaskier wasn’t the one who’d have a mutant hover by his side for the whole day and lean into his personal space. If anything, there was a risk of Jaskier being intimidated by Geralt, but Jaskier’s affections, however false, ever being too much for Geralt? Impossible.

“Alright,” he said anyway and took a deep breath. “You ready to go then?”

“Not quite.”

Jaskier let go of his hand and Geralt had barely enough time to mourn the loss of contact before Jaskier reached out for him, so close, almost close enough to touch his cheek – and settled on the collar of Geralt’s doublet, straightening it with a critical eye.

It was only Geralt’s imagination that made him think that Jaskier’s fingers traced the flower embroidery Geralt had so foolishly requested after Jaskier had spoken about flowers, but Geralt held onto the thought regardless.

Still, the almost contact was enough to get Geralt to tense up and set his heart racing. It was already too much, and as always too little.

“Now we can go,” Jaskier announced and Geralt knew his voice wasn’t shaky for the same reason Geralt’s own throat was too tight to form words.

He didn’t reach for Jaskier’s hand again. Instead he put his hand on the small of Jaskier’s back, reassuring and thankfully less intimate than handholding.

Or so Geralt had thought.

He wasn’t prepared to feel Jaskier’s side press up against his, was prepared even less for the closeness of their faces when Jaskier turned to look up at him to give him a reassuring smile as he let himself be guided to the town square to face a beast Geralt didn’t know he could defeat.

Geralt couldn’t tell if the contact to Jaskier was increasing his tension or helping him stay grounded amidst his spiked nerves. The only thing he knew was that he desperately didn’t want to let go as if Jaskier was the only thing keeping him from drifting away to he knew not where.

When they finally found the colourfully decorated town square and were engulfed by the laughter and smells of the floral decorations, Geralt felt himself release a strangled breath.

For a merciful moment he thought people didn’t recognise them, didn’t notice them as something not fitting into this celebration even. No one seemed to spare a second glance at the couple walking among them as if they belonged there.

But then more and more people did a double take; laughter died down and smiles faltered as they nudged their friends with their elbows and nodded towards the intruder, the witcher, the unfeeling mutant. They noted the white hair and the rigid posture that could only belong to one trained to always be ready for a fight.

But the worst part wasn’t how they looked at Geralt. He was used to those stares of mistrust and fear, of wanting him gone if only that didn’t require talking to him and risking his wrath.

No, what was a hundred times worse was the way their eyes would then flicker to Jaskier, to the beautiful man with the bright smile who looked so small pressed against Geralt. He didn’t need to hear the whispers and see the openly pitying looks to know what people thought.

How did he do it? How did the mutant bewitch the bard? What had he done to the bard to make him want to bind himself to someone like the Butcher?

It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. And yet, a deep ache settled into Geralt’s chest, the urge to prove them all wrong, to be good, to be someone who might come close to being deserving of Jaskier, though he knew it was impossible for him to be that person.

Geralt risked a glance at Jaskier who didn’t shy away from the townsfolk’s eyes or squirm in Geralt’s arms. Jaskier likely hadn’t heard what they were saying about them, but he must still know. Of course he knew. How could he not, when it was so glaringly obvious that he deserved better? There was not even a slim chance Jaskier wasn’t looking at the number of pretty people attending the festival that Jaskier could and should have gone with in Geralt’s stead; people who could have given Jaskier the good time that he should have.

A treacherous thought – or was it a merciful one? A selfless one? – crept up on Geralt. This performance they were putting on…it was supposed to prove something about Geralt. Jaskier’s fidelity was not a requirement. If anything, Jaskier going after other people might benefit them both. It would give them an out from this situation. Geralt could play the heartbroken husband all while nursing his truthfully wounded heart and Jaskier could go be with people who would be a much better fit for him than Geralt could ever hope to be.

Geralt opened his mouth to suggest just that, but the words died in his mouth as soon as Jaskier looked up at him with those bright eyes.

Jaskier had taught Geralt to be a selfish man. With beaming smiles and laughter that was just for him, Jaskier had made Geralt want. And oh, how he wanted, how he didn’t care if he let himself be selfish just for today.

So he closed his mouth again and turned away sharply, away from those eyes that seemed to bore into his soul, intend to drag from him the secret he was so openly wearing today.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a flicker of hesitation cross Jaskier’s face before he leaned in. Soft lips brushed against his cheek and for a moment Geralt forgot how to breath.

“Try to relax a bit. At least try to look as if you don’t hate my touch,” Jaskier whispered against his ear. He spoke in a voice not unlike a lover’s sigh, contrasting painfully how his words spoke of falseness and deception. “You’ll be fine. I’m right here with me, just follow my lead.”

Geralt could do nothing but nod, the skin where Jaskier’s lips had touched him burning.

Jaskier pulled back when Geralt forced his shoulders to be less rigid and his face to be less stern. It was harder than it should have been, but it earned him a brilliant smile from Jaskier, as if he was proud of Geralt for doing the bare minimum to keep their pretence alive.

Slowly the laughter around them returned and people turned away from them as if they were an attraction that had lost its appeal and went back to their own conversations.

As soon as the judging eyes had left them, Geralt felt a weight drop off his shoulders. He let Jaskier drag him around, watched with blatant fondness how Jaskier’s eyes lit up when he saw the stalls selling sweets, traditional foods and drinks.

“You want some wine?” Geralt asked with a half-smirk. The gods knew he wished he could get drunk on normal alcohol. Being sloshed might make this whole ordeal more bearable.

Jaskier looked like he very much wanted to say yes, but he shook his head. “I don’t want to get drunk. Not today.” Almost as an afterthought he added, “Though I might need it.”

The words stung. Geralt knew he was being hypocritical. A mere moment ago he had thought the very same thing, but hearing Jaskier say that he thought he needed alcohol to get through pretending to be in love with Geralt cut into him like a blade.

The bitter thought must have overtaken all his senses, for he was ripped out of his thoughts by a soft moan.

His head snapped up and his eyes focussed in on Jaskier who had his eyes closed with a dreamy smile.

“This is the best chocolate I’ve ever had,” Jaskier said when he finally opened his eyes again. Geralt’s eyes zeroed in on the small crumb of chocolate clinging to the corner of Jaskier’s mouth. “You really have to try it.”

“What?” He couldn’t possibly mean… and yet Geralt wanted nothing more to find out what Jaskier’s chocolate stained lips tasted like.

“You should try it,” Jaskier repeated and lifted the square of chocolate he must have bought a little higher.

“Oh.” Irrational disappointment washed over Geralt. Of course that was what Jaskier had meant. He should have known better than to let himself imagine even for a moment that Jaskier could have asked for what Geralt so desperately wanted.

When Geralt made no move to reach for the offered sweet, Jaskier huffed with a roll of his eyes and held the chocolate up to Geralt’s lips.

It was just for the act. It wasn’t as intimate as Geralt’s foolish heart told him it was.

Maybe if he told himself that often enough he would start believing it himself.

Geralt carefully bit into the chocolate, his lips brushing against the tips of Jaskier’s fingers, his eyes never straying from Jaskier’s. The blue eyes widened at the contact. For a moment all he could focus on was the feel of that, of wanting more, of wishing the sharp intake of Jaskier’s breath had a different reason than disgusted surprise.

Jaskier swallowed audibly and took his hand back slowly. Geralt’s eyes followed the movement. It would have been so easy to seize the hand and press a soft kiss against it.

Geralt resisted.

“How do you like it?” Jaskier’s voice sounded strangely breathless. “The – the chocolate?”

“It’s good. Good.” Geralt couldn’t tell if it was a lie. The taste should have been overwhelming, but he couldn’t get his mind to pay it any attention.

“Good,” Jaskier agreed, sounding strangely stiff before eating the last bit of the chocolate and turning away.

Geralt’s hand caught him.

“You have –“ he gestured to Jaskier’s mouth where that last tantalising crumb still begged to be kissed away.

Jaskier’s brows furrowed, before he dragged the back of his hand across the wrong corner of his mouth. He looked back up at Geralt questioningly.

“Uh, no,” Geralt said awkwardly. “It’s…”

He didn’t think. He just reached for Jaskier, brushing the chocolate away gently.

“Oh, thanks.” There was that complicated look in Jaskier’s eyes again as he stared at the chocolate on Geralt’s fingers almost as if he wanted to ….

No, Geralt couldn’t think such things. Putting a quick end to his treacherous thoughts, he popped the crumb into his own mouth, pretending not to notice the way Jaskier’s gaze lingered on him when he licked it off his own finger. He probably thought he was disgusting doing so in the middle of a festival. Eating without manners in the privacy of a forest clearing was one thing, but doing so while surrounded by people and pretending to be Jaskier’s lover? It surely embarrassed Jaskier to be seen with Geralt like that.

Quickly, Geralt wiped his finger on his trousers and swallowed thickly.

It was a blessing and a stinging disappointment when Jaskier’s attention finally turned away from him and found another stall that interested him. One selling flower crowns. How could it have been any different?

Geralt huffed, but he didn’t fight the soft smile as Jaskier caressed the petals with feather-light touches that Geralt longed to feel on his skin.

“Which ones do you like best?” Geralt asked. He wished he didn’t have to. He wished he knew which flowers looked best together, which would make Jaskier smile the brightest, which held the most meaning. He wished he was like those people who managed to charm Jaskier with romantic and thoughtful gestures like that without having to ask what he wanted. But he wasn’t. He never had been.

Jaskier made a small noise of surprise. “No one’s ever asked what I liked before. Wait, let me think.”

Something ugly twisted inside of Geralt. It was no wonder that no one else had ever needed to ask. Clearly, there were flowers that didn’t show any romantic intentions. After all, Jaskier had woven flower crowns for him any chance he got. For Jaskier it had just been a way to chase away the boredom of the path. Different flowers must mean different things. It was likely common knowledge which flowers were appropriate. Common knowledge that Geralt didn’t have, just as he had not understood why people gave each other flowers in the first place until Jaskier had explained to him that they were meant to be a show of love, a reminder that one cared about their beloved.

Geralt had tried to give such signs, of course, for years. He had given Jaskier the best parts of the meals he had prepared for them. He had made sure to clear the forest floor of sticks and stones that would prick Jaskier in his sleep before Jaskier set his bed roll down. He had offered him the warmest blankets when the nights grew colder.

But those weren’t things that would charm anyone, let alone a romantic heart like Jaskier, were they? Especially not, because Geralt was the reason why Jaskier had to sleep in the woods and eat rabbit stew in the first place instead of having a nice warm bed in some duchess’ court and eating lavish meals as he deserved.

“I’ve always liked yellow flowers,” Jaskier said. His head was cocked as he contemplated the flowers before him. “They remind me of your –“ he cut himself off, a faint blush rising in his cheeks. “It’s a shame they don’t have buttercups, then we could have matched.” Jaskier nodded at Geralt’s collar.

“What about the cornflowers?” Geralt turned slightly to show the other flowers embroidered in the fabric. “I know they’re not yellow, but then we would still match. That is, if you wanted to…”

Jaskier’s eyes went wide and his smile was so bright Geralt had to look away, lest he let himself believe it was meant for him and not the flowers.

“I’d love that!”

Geralt nodded, unable to reply and bought the flowers. There was no ceremony, no romantic words when he placed them on Jaskier’s head. His touch was not as soft as that of a true lover when he brushed Jaskier’s hair out of his forehead and made sure the crown would stay.

“Thank you, Geralt.” And there it was again. The way Jaskier said his name as if there was no endearment that could encompass all that he wanted to say, other than the name itself. “I love it.”

The words spoken so earnestly made it hard to breathe. It was so close to another sentence, one that Geralt yearned to hear, one that he never would hear from Jaskier, not directed at him.

He couldn’t have protested even if he had wanted to when Jaskier took his hand again. He was a fool willingly offering his heart up to be broken, but he didn’t care. Not when Jaskier looked at him like he didn’t wish there was someone else holding his hand.

#fake dating #witcher #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #geraltxjaskier #fic #my writing #gift for a friend #I scream a truth you hear a lie #witcher fanfic

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angelkurenai · 4 years

Text

Imagine Dean using pick up lines on you because he likes you and wants to ask you out but you keep taking things too seriously, not getting his flirting.

“Police says that while they couldn't find the object of the murder it is believed to be a-” Sam had been eagerly talking about what he had discovered but all words died out in his lips when he noticed that his brother wasn't paying even the slightest attention to him “Dean?” he asked instead “Dean are you even listening to me? Dean!”

“Wha- huh?” he blinked, his eyes finally falling on his brother but only for a short amount of time. He glanced in your direction once more, though, quickly after that. His eyes even followed your form as you kept looking for the books you needed.

“Sorry Sammy, I was-” he cleared his throat “A bit distracted.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Sam snorted but his amusement was running low, especially after all this time.

There was nothing funny he could find about his brother's attempts at flirting with you and you failing to understand the most simple pick up line the older Winchester could come up with. Amusing it was at first, yes, because no matter how hard his brother tried there didn't seem to be a single thing he said that would convince you he was indeed flirting with you. Why, Sam couldn't understand. Maybe it had to do with Dean having been flirty from the first day and thus making you think of it as nothing more than just another trait of his. Or maybe it had to do with you always being too busy to help them out with any case that you took everything Dean said either too seriously or not in consideration at all. Whatever the case, it all made you look incredibly clueless.

And as that, Dean would always end up frustrated or caught on a dead end that would leave him at a loss for words which was always fun if someone took into account the fact that Dean never had had this kind of problem with a woman before you, not like any woman before you could even be compared to you – that Sam was sure Dean would swear his life on. But his brother being in love with you didn't make things any easier, if anything it only took away some of his usual confidence and calm to the point it made it even funnier. Or at least it used to, the first couple months. Right now, Sam's patience and amusement were at minimum. Especially when his brother refused to pay attention to anything else but ways to get you to go out on a date with him or, at the very least, acknowledge that yes he was flirting with you and yes he was actually interested in you in more ways than one and hopefully that you'd let him know if you felt the same or not. That was all that was in his mind, day and night, and of course Sam could no longer find that amusing. There was hardly any joy in trying to solve the case all alone, really, because Dean one way or another kept you more busy too.

“Will you just give up already?” he couldn't help the huff that left is lips, voice low so that Dean could only hear him “I don't really think there is any use in-”

“Sammy!” Dean's eyes widened, as he looked back at his brother “Whose side are you on? Of course I'm not going to give up. She'll- She'll get it at some point.”

“Some point. Yeah. I hope not when she's about to have grandchildren though.”

“No of course not. Much sooner, but- Even if it's then, it's gonna be our grandchildren. Mind my words, you'll see it one day.” he said so confident and, mostly, sure that it would be the case that Sam couldn't help but scoff a small laugh.

“Hey, how about-” Sam sighed “Have you ever thought of, oh I don't know, taking another approach and just sitting down in front of her and tell her in all seriousness about your feelings and ask her if she feels that way too? You know, like normal people do? Through straight-forward talking and-”

“Are you crazy?” Dean whisper-hissed at his brother, casting a glance in your direction to make sure you were not listening to them which, judging by the distance and the focused look on your face, you were already immersed in your search and the case itself more than anybody else in the room. More than Dean would ever be for sure “You know I don't do that kind of thing! It's- it's far too complicated man and I- I'm just- I'm not good with... words, you know that. And when it comes to (Y/n), hell, it gets ten times worse.”

“Right.” this time Sam did smile in amusement “I almost forget. You lose every ability to speak and breathe like a normal human being.” he tried to conceal a laugh at the memory of you calling Sam in worry when you had thought Dean was about to have a heart attack the last time he really – too fed up with you taking him too seriously or being so oblivious – had tried to tell you how he felt.

“Yes and don't make fun of it because it will be no fun story to tell your future nieces and nephews about how their daddy died so young and-”

“Alright, let me stop you right there for a second because-” Sam shook his head, stealing a glance at you as well – far away from them still “Too many things have been said in one sentence that just- they really make my brain cells hurt. You know that in order to have kids with her you need to ask her out first. And in order to ask her out you need to tell her how you feel too.”

“Yeah, I know. I know. Isn't it all so easy for you, Sammy?” he rolled his eyes at his brother before he sighed “But just- Bear with me, for once-”

“Once?” Sam's eyebrows shot up as he scoffed a laugh “What do you think I've been doing for the past ten months Dean?”

“Yeah, alright. Alright, I get it. It's taking too long, but- Really, this time it's going to work. I've got it all figured out, Sammy!” he said with a grin so bright and hopeful that, Sam knew, wasn't going to last for long.

“Oh really?” he crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair “So you mean you've come up with something more catchy than the last hm- What was the number?” he frowned deeply in though “Oh yes, 58 pick up lines. You think that this time, the 59th time it is going to work? That it will get her to realize you are seriously flirting with her because you're interested in her and not being that's your default mode?”

“My de- what? No man! I mean, yes. I mean- No, it's not my default mode and yes it is that good of a- Wait, it hasn't been 58... Has it?”

“Trust me, I've been keeping count of it. It has been at least 58, not including the couple times I wasn't there to hear you. Honestly, I'm more surprised at you being able to remember all those so well than her not getting that you're trying to-”

“Trying to what?” this time Sam didn't get to finish his sentence not because of his brother, but a third party and the person of the moment as a matter of fact.

“(Y/n), hey!” Dean said so... casually, but also in such a forced way, that Sam had to keep himself from wincing. You paid it no attention though. Raising an eyebrow at him you ignored it completely and placed the books on the table “These are all the books I could find on Greek mythology and gods that I haven't gone through before, so they should hold an answer to the case. So-” you sighed and added “What were you guys talking about?”

“Oh nothing in particular. We just started speaking about the case and then it moved to more... general topics.” Sam said with a tight smile, glancing at his brother who – no surprise – was preparing himself to try his luck again.

“...Alright.” you said slowly, pouring more of your drink into your glass “If that's what you-”

“Hey, (Y/n)-” Dean started and Sam almost held his breath as he prepared for what was to come “I didn't get to tell you, but you look great today!”

“Uhm thank you?” you frowned but didn't question it any further.

“No need.” he brushed it off with a casual wave of his hand “I mean it. Really!” he grinned as charmingly as he could “I mean, are those jeans new? Because wow, they look amazing on you!”

“I think I told you I was going shopping though, didn't I? Anyway-” you shook your head “Thank you, they were 30% off. That's always a good deal.”

“The sweetest deal would be another one though. You see-” he smiled, leaning forward on his elbow as you sat next to him “I'd prefer if they were 100% off.”

Alright, Sam had to admit, despite what he had been preparing himself to hear that one was actually very smooth – maybe more confident than Dean had ever sounded before too – and there was a chance of it working. But he wasn't going to judge things too quickly, instead he only held his breath harder than before in anticipation of what you were going to say. And really, maybe much like any other time, this could either go really well for Dean and you'd finally get to realize he was flirting with you or-

“Uhm thank you but-” you laughed casually “You know that can't happen.”

“Wha- Huh?” Dean blinked and Sam was almost on the edge of his seat.

“Because the shops can't give away their products just like that!” you scoffed a laugh as if it was the most simple thing in the world, taking a sip of your drink “That's just a terrible way to run a business. Everybody knows that.”

Sam couldn't help but snort at that, barely holding his laughter, and tried to cover it up with a small cough.

“I-” Dean started, blinking several times but completely ignoring his brother before mumbling “That's not what I- Nevermind.” he cleared his throat “I actually wanted to tell you something more-” he started again and Sam's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

If he really was going for a second try, then he definitely felt confident today.

“Hmh sure, go ahead.” you said with a sweet smile, chin resting on your palm.

“See I felt like I needed a change in my life and I was wondering if you could help me with that.”

“If there's anything I can do, then sure, anything for you. You know that.”

“Well, that'd be great actually. Because you see, you're actually the only person that could give me a hand with this.” Dean said so smoothly that Sam really had to keep himself from looking to surprised or even more letting that thought carry him away and thus prevent him from hearing your reply. He knew that whatever the case, that would be priceless much like the previous one.

“Yes, of course. Anything as I said.”

“Well, I-” he shrugged with an almost cute smile as he looked at you “You see I wanted to spice things up a bit, and-”

“But you know I'm allergic to chilli.” you cut him off with a frown and a tilt of your heard.

A cough from Sam as he tried to hide his laughter.

“Wha- No.” Dean shook his head “No, I meant in the bedroom.”

“Doesn't matter in which room I eat, Dean, I'm still going to be allergic to chilli!” you said matter-of-factly and also so casually that Sam almost forgot to hide his amusement. Almost. Because with a pointed look from his brother he tried to conceal it with some coughing.

“That's not what I was trying to say, (Y/n), I-” he cleared his throat once more, trying to regain his composure as he straightened his back a bit “I'm just saying I had this thought and now can't get it out my mind.” he started and as you nodded for him with a soft curious smile to go on, his own smile got even bigger and he kept going “I think, and I'd love to find out for real too, that you'd be cute grasping at the sheets of my bed. What do you say?”

Your smile didn't flatter so for the first time Sam curious to see how it would turn out.

“Cute?” you asked with a raised eyebrow “Well, thank you for the compliment but let's both agree and I bet I'd be more than just cute.” you actually smiled more widely and Sam had to keep his eyes from widening, much like Dean really, who couldn't believe it had worked.

“But-” you spoke up again “No matter how much you sweet talk me, Winchester-” you looked him in the eyes “I ain't making your bed.”

“Wha-” Dean blinked “I didn't-”

“You're a grown ass man. You can do your bed on your own.” you got completely serious with those last words, before leaving both of them in utter silence and focused back on the book you'd placed right in front of you.

“But I- I-” stammering and incoherent words were the only things you heard before there was some scraping of he chair as Dean pushed it back and got up, mumbling to himself “I need a beer. A whole pack of beers.”

…

“Right.” Sam cleared his throat after the silence that had set between the two of you, a small laugh leaving his lips “Well, since you're the only one so focused on this case, I'll take a look at your notes. Don't think we can count on Dean anymore.”

“Mhm” came a soft hum from you after which you were left in silence for only a couple seconds before- “So what was this now?” you asked, making Sam look up with a frown.

“Huh?”

“What number. Does it count as 59 or is it, because he technically tried to use three different pick up lines in one conversation, that it counts for three and therefore we're on 61?” you looked up with a smirk and a wide smile slowly spread on Sam's face.

The man laugh and nodded his head in understanding “Of course. Of course.”

“Hey, the day when Dean Winchester outsmarts me has not come yet. And it won't anytime soon. I plan to keep this up for a long time to come.”

#supernatural #supernatural imagine #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural one shot #supernatural x reader #dean #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean imagine #dean winchester imagine #dean fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean one shot #dean winchester one shot

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twiistedgalaxies · 3 years

Text

Genesis: Chapter 9: Hisashi Wakes up and Chooses Violence

How two brothers can take two opposite paths. How a man can be made into a monster and how the other must pay the ultimate price to save everything he knows and loves.

Or, alternatively:

The origins of All for One and One for All.

Previous Chapter

First Chapter

Tomura’s hands shook as he sat in the matron’s office in a stiff, uncomfortable plastic chair next to his brother. What could she possibly want? He had heard horror stories whispered in the hallways, nervous looks exchanged among his few friends at the mere mention of her name. Of people coming back from one of her more severe punishments looking... off. They’d jump at loud noises, or cry at the sight of a measuring tape. Tomura knew they were just ghost stories, meant to scare kids away from doing anything too stupid. Or, at least, he’d think they were just ghost stories if he hadn’t seen the haunted look in Jose’s eyes after the incident on Christmas.

As if sensing his mental spiral, Hisashi put a hand on Tomura’s shoulder. A gesture of reassurance. As thanks, Tomura gave him an unsteady smile. Hopefully, this wasn’t going to be too bad. Maybe she just wanted them to run an errand? Still, it was strange that she’d pull them out of lunch for something like that.

The door behind them opened, and Tomura nearly shot out of his chair with fright at the unexpected sound. It was only his brother’s steady hand that kept him from doing so. Matron Abra cleared her throat, and slid into the seat across from them behind her desk. “I expect you both know why you’re here?” she asked, shuffling stray papers.

“No?” Tomura squeaked. The matron paused and raised an eyebrow at him.

“No ma’am,” Hisashi replied politely, though Tomura suspected that the teen would rather be scooping up dog poop with his bare hands, “We were just sent into your office without explanation right before lunch, at the end of class.”

Matron Abra let out a distressed sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose, “I really should invest in more competent staff.”

They just sat in silence for a moment, Tomura didn’t really know what to say to that.

“With all the political issues going on, I trust you know what I mean -” Hisashi nodded, Tomura had no clue what she was talking about, “ - It’s been impacting several industries, that means it’s been harder to get supplies like food and water into the orphanage.”

Tomura shifted in his seat uncomfortably, “Is there anything we can do to help?” he asked, the thought of anyone going hungry scared him. He couldn’t go through that again. Hisashi shot him a look, a warning.

The matron shook her head, “No, I’m afraid not. However, I called you both in here today to inform you that your medications may be.. delayed.”

“What do you mean?” Tomura asked, and the matron looked at him as if he had declared Europe a country.

“I mean that you may have to go a while without your prescriptions,” the matron huffed, clearly trying to remain patient, “There’s nothing we can do.”

Tomura glanced at his brother for his input, only to be met with… a serene smile? Why? No. The set of his jaw, the way his eyes narrowed. Hisashi was anything but calm.

“Thank you,” Hisashi said, voice tight and cordial, “for informing us. You do know that my brother is non-functional without his medications, correct?” The Matron nodded, so he continued, “I expect this establishment to be able to provide him with adequate accommodations. After all, it is the bare minimum as laid out in the ADA. That is, of course, unless something unfortunate were to happen to this lovely institution.”

“Are you threatening me, you little urchin?” Matron Abra sneered.

Hisashi batted his hand in the air, seeming almost carefree if it weren’t for how sharp his smile was, “I would do nothing of the sort, beloved matron.”

Her eyes narrowed, the tension in the air was electric, coiled, like a snake prepared to strike. Tomura awkwardly coughed, “I think our lunch period is almost over, shouldn’t we be headed back to class Matron Abra?”

The matron opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but then closed it with a clicking of teeth. “Fine,” she finally bit out.

Tomura hurriedly collected his things and gave her a small bow, “Thank you for the heads up, Matron Abra!” He scampered out the door, desperate to put as much distance between himself and whatever feud was budding between his brother and the woman as possible. Tomura heard the door shut, he looked over his shoulder, it seemed that Hisashi had followed him.

“Are you okay?” His brother asked, putting his hands into his coat pockets.

Tomura chewed on the inside of his mouth, “I’ll be okay, I think. I’m worried though. I haven’t gone without medications in a long time.” It was while his family had been homeless, drifting from shelter to shelter. The pain had been unbearable and most of his memories from that time were of being stuck in bed, filling in coloring books.

From above them, the church bells rang. It seemed like they’d missed lunch. Hisashi nudged Tomura’s shoulder with his own, “C’mon, I’ll walk you to class.”

Normally, Tomura would have protested at being babied in such a way, but he couldn’t muster up the energy to care. Instead, he nodded and kept in step with his older brother. The hallways soon flooded with loud, rambunctious children. The flood of people only parted for a handyman working in the middle of the hall, trying desperately to fix the damage Jose’s basketball had wrought. Caution tape surrounded the blue-collar worker, and live wires sparked dangerously around his head like a halo as he worked to fix the mangled lighting. Tomura was surprised, he hadn’t realized it had been so bad.

They were almost to his class when his foot caught on something and he tripped and was sent sprawling on the carpeted floor. Laughter filled the hallway. Tomura groaned, disoriented.

“Wow retard, are you so stupid that you can’t walk straight?” he heard a familiar voice jeer. Bruce. Tomura sat up and tried to collect his papers from where they’d been scattered. The bully continued, “It’s no wonder that you hang out with those freaks, they’re the only ones who’ll-” Desperately, Tomura tried to tune him out. This wasn’t anything new, he’d been antagonized before. People like Bruce just wanted a reaction. If he stayed quiet maybe he’d just go away?

A foot kicked him on his rear, and Tomura face planted. His face heated up with embarrassment. “Hey, you deaf and dumb?” Bruce crowed, “You should know better than to ignore me!”

Suddenly, Tomura smelled burnt flesh and heard a bloodcurdling scream. He got to his feet and spun around, heart racing. Bruce looked like he was dancing. Like one of those frogs in old school cartoons his mother would let him watch sometimes. Standing over him was Hisashi, sparking wire in hand and dark eyes glacial.

“Hey kid, what the hell?!-” The electrician shouted, but Tomura didn’t listen.

He tackled his brother to the floor, frantically trying to get him to stop, “Hisashi you’re hurting him!” Bruce collapsed to the floor with a wet thud once the electric current stopped animating his smoking body.

Something hardened behind the teens eyes, “He was hurting you, how long has he been doing this?” Hisashi discarded his makeshift weapon, “When were you planning on telling me?”

“I- I thought you already knew!” Tomura stammered, panic making everything too bright, too sharp.

“Oh, but if I knew would you really think I’d just stand by and let him torment you?” Hisashi crooned, he cupped Tomura’s cheek with his left hand, “Truly, this is your fault for not telling me sooner, if you had I wouldn’t have needed to do something so drastic.”

Tomura felt tears leap to his eyes as they widened, “What..?”

“What is the meaning of this?!” Tomura heard Matron Abra yell, her voice growing louder as she drew closer.

Seeing that the threat of bearing witness to a murder had passed, Tomura scrambled off his brother and rushed to see if Bruce was okay. The teen’s heart was beating. Thank God. Hisashi stood up, dusting his hands off on his jeans, “Well, you see dearest matron, poor Bruce here tripped on a stray tile and fell into one of the live wires. Really, you should fire this electrician, who leaves something so dangerous dangling around for someone to walk into?”

Distantly, Tomura wondered if the electrician was related to Finn as he watched the man’s face rapidly shift between reds and violets. “Why you little-!”

The man was cut off as the matron clutched the collar of Hisashi’s shirt - an impressive feat seeing as how he towered over her - and sneered, “How stupid do you think I am, brat?”

Hisashi just raised an eyebrow in response. For a moment, Tomura thought he was about to be struck across the face.

“Tomura,” Matron Abra said, as if just remembering he was there, “Come to my office after dinner, I’ll need your account of what happened. Go to class.”

He was taken aback by her use of his first name, “Yes Matron Abra. What’s going to happen to my brother? Will Bruce be okay?”

Her lip curled, “Did I tell you to stand here and ask questions with obvious answers like a slack-jawed moron? Go.”

For once, Tomura did as he was told. He tried to steady his breathing to no avail. It was hard to believe that had just happened. Was this all really his fault? Couldn’t he have prevented this? He knew his older brother had poor impulse control. The preteen chewed on the inside of his mouth anxiously as he stood in front of his classroom door, just a few rooms down from where the incident had happened. He hesitated before opening it, the barrage of questions his peers would throw at him might be just as bad as what he just saw.

-@~*^*~@-

Hisashi hated small spaces. He hated the way his pulse quickened, how panic caught in his throat as he spent hours clawing desperately for an escape.

The first time he had been locked away was when he was five, when his father caught him crouching over a dead rabbit. Their apartment in Japan was small, cramped. It stood to reason that their closets would be too. No matter how much he cried, pleaded, begged, his father would look at him with that hardened look in his eyes. With disgust. It was something burned into his memory. He hadn’t understood it then. All he could focus on was the throbbing pain of rejection and betrayal. The days he spent there without food and water blurred together. The last he remembered of the incident was being let out before his mother returned home from a long business trip.

It began to be a frequent occurrence after that. His mother would go away on business trips or vacations and he’d be shut into that closet over the tiniest infraction. All the while, his father would stand outside the door, vowing to fix him.

When they moved to their house in America, before the economic crisis, the closet was traded for the basement. It was larger, yes, but the dark was just as oppressive and suffocating as the closet’s wooden walls. The damp, stagnant air would reek with the smell of his waste discarded into a bucket his father had left. A courtesy, the man had called it. From time to time his father would come into the room and turn on the light - a single lightbulb dangling from a wire - and read passages from the Bible. At the age of six, Hisashi grew angry. This wasn’t fair. He hadn’t done anything to deserve this! He was a wild thing then, and would hiss and spit and scratch and bite when his father approached his underground prison. That was when the beatings started. He’d beat him on the head, on the torso, on the legs, on the arms with an old yellowing phonebook. The entire time he would rant about how broken Hisashi was, how ungrateful he was and how dare he. Resentment was cultivated within him then. He wanted to lash out, to hurt, to scream. He’d inflict suffering on small animals, something that, contrary to popular belief, hadn’t started until after they moved. Their squeals and writhes gave his suffering form. An outlet. Gave him control over something outside of himself. Of course, after the third family pet disappeared, his father caught on to what was happening and his punishments grew much, much worse.

This all came to a head when he was seven and his mother caught him in the act of burying their dog. When she confronted him about it he cried and wailed and wept, crushed by the weight of grief and guilt. That dog had been his. His father was right, Hisashi was broken. The imprisonments became more frequent, any time his mother wasn’t home and brother was preoccupied Hisashi would spend his time curled up in the basement, watching ants skitter across the cold stone floor. They sent him to therapy for a few years and he learned how to reign himself in, to appear perfectly normal so he could have more freedom. The therapy appointments stopped right before the economic crisis pushed them out of their house. His parents were overjoyed when his psychiatrist declared him miraculously cured. Hisashi wanted to wipe that smug look off of his father’s face.

When they drifted from shelter to shelter he took a sick sort of pleasure in watching his father suffer. In watching his cheeks grow gaunt and eyes dull as he got turned down from job after job. It was his brother and his aggressive optimism despite worsening illness that spurred Hisashi to action. Tetsuya and Hana could burn in hell for all he cared, but Tomura didn’t deserve this. Never this. That night, he’d stolen his first wallet.

It should have been obvious that Matron Abra would have known the exact punishment to dole out. She had a talent for needling out weaknesses from those in her care. Hisashi sat in the janitor’s closet. It was dark, and cramped, and various cleaning supplies poked him at awkward angles. All of his concentration and willpower went towards keeping his breathing even, no matter how much he felt like he was teetering on the edge of a panic attack.

“You’re staying in here until you understand what you’ve done,” the matron had hissed when she shoved him into his new prison, a perfect echo of his father’s own words, “We’ll find a much more suitable punishment for you yet.”

Hisashi didn’t want to mull on those last words. Agonizing over a future that had yet to pass would get him nowhere. He didn’t feel remorse for what had happened to Bruce, the brat had it long coming, and the wire was just convenient. If it hadn’t been there he would have settled for more… hands on measures. No one was allowed to harm what was his like that. He swallowed, thoughts once again snaking back to his current predicament. It was unfortunate that the closet was pitch black, there were no windows, no source of light, not even from the crack that should have been under the door. Otherwise, he’d be in the process of MacGyvering his way out by now.

He buried his head in his knees and breathed deeply. Hisashi hated small spaces, the way the walls would close in, giving him the sensation of being buried alive. Of suffocating.

A/N:��Alternate title: You fucked up a perfectly good villain is what you did, look at him, he has claustrophobia. I've been wanting to write this chapter for a while! I ended up writing most of it in two sittings (which is unusual because my attention span is terrible) then gave it a little polish yesterday. This weekend I planted some seeds to start a garden, our growing season is in the winter here, and I hope my babies survive this time. Anyways, I'm going to stop rambling. As always, feel free to leave a comment!

AO3

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pergaias · 4 years

Text

soon we’ll be home ; pt. i

umm here i am with more writing ?

here’s a short story i wrote based off of almost home by mxmtoon, innocent by taylor swift, and never grow up by taylor swift ; um, i personally adore it - maybe i’m just biased, but i love the emotions and descriptions in this :))

i hope you love it as much as i do !

word count ; 2470

When I was eleven years old, all I wanted to do was grow up.

They told me that I wouldn’t want to - being a child is … it’s the time of your life, Mama promised. She wore spicy-sweet citrus-blossom perfume and always-smudged eyeglasses that hung on long beaded strings. Mama was glittering smiles and woolen cardigans and a tired, sad sort of energy, like coffee that had been left to go cold.

Mama made a lot of empty promises.

And because of it, all I wanted was to grow. To me, growing up meant laughing with friends, going to bed past midnight, driving in a bright-red sedan - eleven-year-old me had an extensive vocabulary, even if I didn’t know how to properly apply it - kissing boys and wearing dresses and lipstick. Things that I couldn’t have back then. Things that I thought were only attainable if I was grown.

Why - why did I want it?

The coffee shop was filled with a droning buzz, the hum of university students up too late with too much caffeine in their systems. There was nobody coming to place orders, so I was leaning on my elbow on the bar, the smell of coffee and caramel syrup thick in my nostrils. No shouts of Emmie! As my friends - if they could be called that - barged in, eyes bright, cheeks flushed, scarves caught with snow.

Growing up had hurt. The realization that I wasn’t a child, that there was no place of retreat that I could go back to, that no one would comfort me or stroke my hair or hold me as I cried myself to sleep. It was easier in my lunch box days - when I believed in everything.

And everybody believed in me.

There was a tinkling, and the coffee shop doors open. My eyes snapped wide, and a group of people sauntered to the counter, coats dusted with snow and cheeks high with color from the cold. Strangers in red and green and gold, stories in their own rights.

I wondered what they were waiting for - it was obviously something more than a hot cup of coffee on a late, snowy night.

A mocha for the girl, extra whip. Green tea for another girl, who was picking at her chipping gel nails. Americanos for the two boys who were holding hands. A peppermint special - sorry, love, pumpkin spice is still on the menu. Oh, yes, I’ll take that.

My hands shook as I wrote names and orders onto cardboard coffee cups, the scent of tea and coffee and spices almost overwhelming for a moment. Growing up was like Mama’s candied orange peels, mostly bitter but sweet if you looked for it.

And I - well, I was too tired to look for it.

Vega was in the back, her colorful highlights barely visible under a black knit cap. Vega had a septum piercing, a tattoo, and a girlfriend at home. She was the kind of person Mama - and Papa, for that matter - would have told me to stray away from on the street, but the kind of person I secretly admired nonetheless.

Curvy, brunette Emerson Quinn-Whitley, the girl with the fake friends and shattered dreams and eyes the color of the coffee she made for minimum wage on a late shift, admiring an almost-delicate petite girl who did what she wanted when she wanted it, a girl with dyed hair and emotionless, luminous fox’s eyes, lips stained red with the blood of her conquests.

I shook the thought away. Vega was nice enough - Asian American, scholarship, hard worker, girlfriend at home, etcetera etcetera. I handed her the orders and leaned on my elbow again, my backpack full of shattered dreams, sleepless nights, and the sexy promise of an all-nighter.

Vega filled the orders, her thinly-plucked brows pressed tightly together in concentration as she drizzled something onto another something. The thought of why why why why why nagged me almost as much as the homework did. Why did I want to grow up? Why did I?

Because you were impatient, a sour part of my conscience nagged. Because you hated the rules your mother imposed on you, reminded another. Because you were waiting for Neverland, a different part sighed. A wistful picture painted behind my eyelids of a castle waiting for me to be queen, which slipped away like a tear down a cheek.

They didn’t tell you that all the love you give might not be enough. Was it when I had that epiphany that I grew up? A thousand possible moments, snapshots, memories, tinted dark like Polaroid photos.

The chatter in the room crescendoed as Vega finished with the group’s drinks, her usually brooding expression firmly in place as she pressed a pumpkin-spice-not-peppermint-mocha into a girl’s mittened hands and shooed her out the door.

Bad vibes, Vega mouthed at me, hazel eyes twinkling. Vega liked witchy things - crystals, detox tea, chunky jewelry and drapey black dresses. Vega had personality - you could see it on the rings on her hands, the swoop of her black, color-streaked bangs, the hand-painted night sky on her bookbag.

I tapped my fingers against the counter, counting minutes - seconds - until . . . what? Would a prince drop waltz through the glass door and offer me his hand? Would a fleet of owls - no, crows - no, how about peacocks, those sound cool - appear out of nowhere with summons for me, the lost heir, who had family and promise and a story, far far away?

If I wanted to grow up, this wasn’t it. I didn’t want to sit on a high stool behind a cash register, the smell of burnt coffee pressing in on me, the insufferable buzz of students doing homework droning on over the music playing slow and low in the background?

Our other employee, an unpleasant dudebro who went by Albie - his name, I had discovered, was Alberto de la Cruz the fourteenth or something - had chosen today’s coffee shop playlist. I had no idea who he was trying to drive mad first with the rapping; Vega and I, who bitched about his taste in everything from music to cars to girls - and one time, interestingly, tomato sauce, or our customers. They came here for cool beans and caffeine and classic rock or indie music, not Billboard’s Top 100 Rap Failures.

“Almost closing time,” Vega remarked, idly brushing an eyelash off of her cheekbone. She was tired - I could see it in the hunch of her shoulder and the tone of her already-husky voice.

I turned away from her as my head rushed to make excuses as to why I noticed that. Vega is dark chocolate and spellbooks, old bookstores and flickering chandeliers.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice as droning as it was tired. “If coffee could power me the way it powered them -” I gestured to the students starting to slowly pack up their laptops and notes, their hours of free wifi, heat, and shitty music coming to an end, “I would have foreseen sleep in my near future.”

Vega cackled. She didn’t have a laugh - she cackled, wheezed, snorted. It was equal parts entertaining and annoying, especially when you were working with scalding-hot espresso and your coworker started honking like a demented goose next to you.

“That was a good one, Quinn-Whitley,” she barked, a gleam in her eyes. She was emotionless when she made coffee, and only talked to me around closing time and during lunch. I liked to think that I was the only one who got to see this side of her - probably high, very very gay, and incredibly enthralling. Vega was a story that I wanted to read.

I half smiled, preemptively untying my coffee shop apron and haphazardly hanging it on a hook. As much as I disliked working at the coffee shop - which had, ironically, been a vaguely romantic, soft sort of fantasy when I was younger - it was comforting, in a way. Comforting in the way the smell of coffee brought you back to when you were nine and your mother had a mug curled in her hands, staring out the window as rain pattered on its panes.

The last of the coffee shop’s patrons gloomily filed out, coats turned up to block out the wind, and Vega and I silently closed up, making coffees for each other, muttering don’t tell Carney - Carney was the shop owner - pressing day-old muffins into each other’s hands, Vega rolling her eyes as I hastily stuffed another bite of pastry into my mouth.

Leaving the coffee shop was routine. I’d scuff my boots along the lightly-snowed-over pavement, Vega would put her headphones on and tune out the world, and I’d drag her out of the way if she veered into some poor unsuspecting soul’s way.

“Vega!” I exclaimed, dragging her across the street. Her eyes were closed, her dark-red lips moving along with the song, completely blissed out. Or maybe she was just that sleep deprived.

Vega and I had the same student housing building, but other than that, I knew nothing about her - not really, but I wasn’t a stalker-watcher-psychopath or anything - yet Vega wasn’t heading to the gothy, romantic brick building. I described too many things as ‘romantic’ nowadays.

Growing up had been romantic, too - the idea of being on my own, making my own decisions, getting taller and more voluptuous, as if my flat-chested boyishness of sixth grade was the root of all my problems. ( Spoiler alert, Younger Emmie - they weren’t. )

“Vega,” I said again, pulling at her coat sleeve. Her eyes were half-closed, her headphones firmly over her ears. I was getting exasperated - every night as we walked back, she zoned the world out. It was admirable - I was paranoid and hyperaware of everything around me, the opposite of slim, petite Vega in every way.

But she opened one of her luminous hazel eyes, lashes dark against her cheeks, and beckoned me forward. Towards the river.

“Come on, Emerson!” she laughed, and I was stunned. Vega Zhao was dark chocolate and mysterious smiles, dark loose dresses and the fringe of a woolen scarf. She didn’t laugh or smile wide or drag me down an icy street to an equally icy river.

“Vega - what?” I said weakly, still holding onto the sleeve of her crowlike coat. She rolled her eyes. Beckoned me again. Didn’t take her headphones off.

She had always been strange - the brooding, emotionless expression. The personality in her clothes and makeup and hair, but not in her unless we were on break. Vega was a mystery, a novel that was still being read.

And I think I had gotten to the plot twist.

She carefully clambered over the low stone wall over to the rocks that made up the riverbank, me a few moments behind her like a beanie-bedecked, anxious shadow. It was late, I was tired, my homework a constant thought in the back of my mind.

Vega was taking her dark coat off now, revealing an equally dark shift dress over a short-sleeved white shirt. She slid her headphones off now, stuffed them into the coat pocket, reached for my hand. “Come on, Quinn-Whitley!” she repeated, as if she were inviting me to a bakery - or better, an alternate universe where my essays were already written - and not to an icy river.

“Vega,” I said hesitantly, trying not to blush as she took my hand. “What - what’s going on?”

Vega’s eyes only glowed, luminous hazel, like the harvest moon at its peak.

“You don’t believe in fairy tales, do you, Emerson Quinn-Whitley?” she said, her husky voice taking on a strangely melodic quality.

“What did fairy tales do for me in the end?” I snapped, my voice surprisingly sharp. There was bitterness behind that statement, so much that my tongue could almost taste it. My once-golden dreams crumbling away when Mama left, when Papa’s hand made a claw on my shoulder. When nights reading in bed dissolved into studying in tears, screaming into my textbooks because I wasn’t good enough.

Vega’s eyes darkened, almost sadly. And then she waved her hand over the ice-frozen river and stepped in. Winked at me, held out her slender hand invitingly, and disappeared.

“VEGA!” I screamed, reaching out. But it was like she was there and gone, like she’d slipped away in a moment in time. Somehow, between blinks or heartbeats or breaths, she simply vanished.

The water still glowed where she stepped in, gold and amber and almost warm. Emerson, Emerson, Emmie! it seemed to call. My mother’s voice on the day of the first frost, Emmie, I can smell the pumpkin spice in the air! My father’s gruff baritone, grudgingly admitting Emerson, you - you did well.

And then Vega. Quinn-Whitley. Step in the goddamn portal. Live a little, Emerson.

I stepped back from the shimmering water, fear holding me back and fatigue making me question everything in front of me.

Do you believe in magic?

You don’t believe in fairytales, do you?

Soon we’ll be home, Emmie. Soon we’ll be home.

A cacophony of voices. Everyone I had ever loved, gone. All gone. Were they ghosts? Was this river a swirling cumulation of every broken dream, every shattered hope, every happy memory that faded in time like the fading of bright autumn leaves?

Soon we’ll be home.

But where was home, my home? I was Emerson Quinn-Whitley with the divorced parents, the mother who was glittering smiles and woolen cardigans and coffee left to go cold, the father who was the smell of brandy and ice-chip eyes and bear hugs that filled you up like hot cocoa. I lived at a gothic-romantic dorm with three roommates and a mountain of homework. Where was home?

I didn’t know that growing up would come and meet me. Wishing on a star, waiting for a glorious daydream to take me away into its world of glittering gowns and sequinned smiles, a world where all my worries melted away.

I crept closer to the patch of water where Vega vanished, and first it was like a mirror - my round face with its worried eyes and smattering of freckles - and then like a birds-eye view of some other place. Vega in her white shirt and black dress, trees with leaves the color of pumpkin and spice.

Behind me, a group of drunken strangers passed the river, wearing red and green and gold. I wondered what they were waiting for - a shooting star, a cab driver to take them away?

What was I waiting for? I liked to think that I’d grown away from the fairy tales that I had lived by when I was a child. But maybe everyone had to be a child sometimes.

I took a deep breath, briefly closed my eyes, and stepped in.

Soon we’ll be home.

#cece writes #soon we'll be home #short story #writing #sorta a songfic ?#please don't let this flop i love this one

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stones-x-bones · 3 years

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Dreammaker || Morgan and Bex

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems and @inbextween SUMMARY: Bex goes to Morgan’s for another crafting lesson, despite the strange weariness that seems to be clinging to her. CONTENT: Allusions to Dometic Abuse as well as mentions

There wasn’t enough cover-up in the world to make the bruises go away, and Bex had half considered cancelling on Morgan. But she’d already texted her, and this was the one thing she’d been looking forward to this week, and fuck did she need it after everything that had happened. Instead, she’d donned the longest sleeves she could find, a nice decorative scarf that wouldn’t be too weird to wear inside, and she’d brushed her hair over the side of her face where it looked the worst. Maybe Morgan wouldn’t ask about it, anyway. Maybe she would just respect the safe word, if she did. She didn’t know, but she did know, despite the anxiety she carried with her, she felt safer heading to Morgan’s than she had coming home that Sunday night. The walk was quick and the cool, brisk air felt nice-- it gave her time to contemplate, to think, to decide what she wanted to do next with her project once she finished cleaning all the pieces for it. There was so much she could do, but she liked the idea of bringing a little color to it. Perhaps something with yellow flowers, or ribbons. Maybe something with cerulean. She let out a yawn as she turned up the driveway to Morgan and Deirdre’s and checked her phone before raising a hand to knock, still not comfortable with just walking in. She waited, rubbing the weariness from her eyes. “Mornin’ Professor,” she said when the door opened as she gave a weary smile.

Morgan had just enough time to get her clothes back on and give goodbye kisses to Deirdre, who was timing her visits to work around avoiding Debbie. Debbie’s wedding re-planning had taken on a new level of terrifying fervor, worse than the one she had meant to have in the fall which had been cancelled by--Morgan couldn’t really remember what. It didn’t matter as much now that she had a few of her friends back and Bex’s bone art lessons. Maybe she should be pushing the magic control harder (and the books were right there in her studio, so many answers were surrounding them if the girl would just look and believe) but in her company, she just wanted to keep Bex safe a little longer, bring her a little closer. Whenever the next magic disaster happened and Bex felt like asking, she’d be there.

Morgan opened the door, already smiling with excitement. “Hey, Bex! Come in, have some tea to warm yourself--” Bex yawned, showing a rippling of brown and purple on the side of her face. Morgan’s smile fell. “Up.” She finished, her voice trailing off. “Bex, what is that? Can I take a look? Are you doing anything for the swelling? Come on, the light’s better in the kitchen…”

Bex wasn’t one-hundred percent sure at first what Morgan was talking about. She heard the words, saw the concern in her eyes, but didn’t connect the dots just yet, still weary and exhausted from the week’s antics. “What is what?” she asked, but Morgan was already dragging her towards the kitchen and by the time Bex realized what she was talking about, they were in the house before she could bolt. “Oh, it--” she stumbled, paused, “--it’s n-nothing! I ran-- I hit a door frame. I just-- I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking…” It was the only lie she could come up with on the spot. She leaned her face away from Morgan and brushed more hair over to cover it up. “Can we just go get started? It’s been, you know, a long week and I just wanna do something relaxing.”

Morgan had to bring the girl’s face down to get a good look at the damage. It wasn’t big, but it was just far enough along to look as hideous as it must have felt. The wound curved between the eye and the cheek, and when Morgan ghosted her fingers over the spot, she saw that it followed the arch of her fingers. She frowned deep, scanning the girl again for any other signs. Maybe it was just one blow. Did cruel people ever leave it at that? Her own mother had only laid hands on her neck, and it was never a hit, just a claw Morgan couldn’t escape. It only came out when she struggled or fought her on the way to her ‘quiet time’ in her room. They did not hit in their house; Ruth Beck had been very proud of that rule.

“We don’t have to get into it, however much I’m concerned for you,” Morgan muttered. “But it’ll only hurt worse if you don’t do anything for the swelling. And I think I still have some salve left over…” From when Deirdre returned from Ireland. She’d had to look up the recipe fresh and extracting the good stuff out of arnica and yarrow without magic took a lot more time, but the salve yielded a hearty batch. Morgan pulled the first aid tub out from under the sink and fished out the little jar. “You’ll feel better with this,” she said, unscrewing the lid. “I’d like to put it on you, but you can apply it yourself, if you prefer it like that. But we’re not starting until after you take care of yourself, Bex.”

Bex stayed perfectly still as Morgan examined her face. Her fingers were just as cold as last time, but they didn’t bother her too much. They felt soothing against the burning ache of her bruise. Blinking, she pulled away when Morgan spoke, turning her face away again. She didn’t like the feeling of knowing that came from Morgan in those words, in the look of familiarity in her eyes. It meant that no matter what she said, she knew. Bex didn’t like that, people weren’t supposed to know. No one was supposed to know anything, and now more and more people knew so many things. “I put ice on it,” she mumbled quietly, watching Morgan open the cabinet and pull out a jar of something. “The swelling has gone down.” Really, she wanted to add, it’s not so bad. It could’ve been so much worse, it has been before. But none of those words were reassuring, not even to her.

“I’ll do it,” she finally said, holding her hand out for the ointment. From what she’d read of Morgan’s family, it was probably some kind of herbal remedy or salve, but it wouldn’t hurt to put on. She wasn’t sure it would help, either, but it was worth a shot, right? Once she’d finished, she brushed her hair back over and held it back out to Morgan. “I do take care of myself,” she said quietly, “it’s just hard sometimes.”

“Hey.” Morgan’s voice was quiet but firm. She didn’t like any of this. But who could she call? What was there to do besides wait for Bex to feel brave enough to do something, or try to convince her that there were people who would take care of her--really take care of her, without making it seem like they had to be paid back or that she had be grateful for receiving the bare minimum of decency. But none of that was anything Morgan could do now, not in a way that would stick. When Morgan spoke again, it was all sorrow and gentleness. “I’m not saying you aren’t taking care of yourself, honey. You’re doing the best you know how. But you shouldn’t have to do everything yourself. And there’s a difference between survival and care and comfort.” She sighed. “I’m not mad. And you haven’t done anything wrong. None of whatever led to this is your fault, just so we’re clear. Now come on, I’ve already got your station set up in my studio.”

Bex didn’t have much to say back. She never knew what to say anymore. Sometimes, she wondered if she just told someone, told them everything, really told them, if they would be able to save her. But she didn’t know, she couldn’t be sure. How was she supposed to know it was safe? And if it was, wouldn’t they want something from her? In return? Wouldn’t she owe them? She did want to owe anyone, anymore. Her parents put enough of a shackle on that. Instead, she tucked herself away again and nodded, before she followed Morgan back through the house, past the pool, down the deck and into the shed. Just like Morgan had said, there was now a spot set up just for her and she couldn't help but light up at the prospect. Even so, another yawn escaped her as she headed over, already pulling her jacket off and forgetting about the bruise on her wrist, too. “Can you show me which glues are best still, today? I was thinking of using um...flowers as the dressing. You know, that whole juxtaposition of life and death.” The whole juxtaposition of what she wanted versus what she had.

It took Morgan several moments to respond. She couldn’t stop staring at the bruise on Bex’s wrist and trying to figure out if it was from being grabbed or being restrained. It didn’t matter one way or the other, in the end, but she still wondered just how thoughtless, how cruelly bold they were to do this much harm and feel that they would suffer no consequences. How aware they must be of their control if they trusted their daughter to keep quiet, and for the length of human healing too. Morgan tried to shake her thoughts away and set the jar down on the table. “Why don’t you just hang onto the rest of this. Take care of wherever else you’re hurting as you get sore. It’s science tested, witch approved,” she murmured, trying to be gentle with some levity. She sounded off-key to her own ears and could only hope that Bex gave her points for effort.

She opened the glue drawer and spread each of them out on the table. “Okay, so this one is going to be good for the flowers. It’s a little thing because you don’t need much, just keep the pointy nozzle end right on the spot you need. And this one--” She paused, taking Bex in again one more time. “Are you sure you don’t want some tea? You look kinda out of it. Were you able to get much sleep at all?”

“Oh, um,” Bex said, looking down at the jar as Morgan set it next to her, “are you sure? It’s okay, I have stuff at home to help.” Technically. She had soothing cream and ice, that was enough, right? They’d go away soon, she didn’t bruise long, despite her fair skin. She’d figured that much out in her lifetime. “Plus, there’s always the age old frozen spoon trick, right? My nanny taught me that one when I was younger.” The candor with which she spoke was unintended, but when she had rationalized every moment of her parents’ cruelty as tough love, it didn’t seem so strange to her. She looked at the glues Morgan spread out before her, trying to keep concentration, another yawn slipping out. “Hmm? Oh…” she rubbed her eyes, wincing slightly, “sorry, umm-- yeah. M-maybe some tea would be nice. I uh-- I haven’t slept well this week. I’ve been having really weird dreams. Not um, nightmares, but just…” she trailed off. She wasn’t sure how to explain them. They were dreams, but they were so much more vivid than just that. She felt as if she were truly there, yet somehow always outside of them. Like she was outside of her own body. She looked over at Morgan. “Sorry, what was I saying?”

“Just because someone says hurting you is for your own good, doesn’t mean it’s true,” Morgan muttered bitterly. At least the Dolans had a few centuries of ritualized torture that enabled their survival to explain that particular psychotic methodology. But Bex was just a girl. A witch girl, but none of them knew that. If they did, they’d know that her power came from unifying herself, from opening her heart and her understanding, reaching out to the world instead of being locked up and run under a sharpening blade as if she were a set of defective garden shears. She cleared her throat, trying to pass off the words as a cough and went on with forced brightness, “I don’t know that one about the spoon. My mom taught herself about arnica and yarrow. She studied the chemical makeup of plants, tried to make hybrid superplants for her doctoral research.” Until the curse took away her funding and her reputation. Taking the brunt of her disappointment had made for a really fun year.

Slowly, Morgan set down her tools and came beside Bex, gently leading her off the stool. “Something about dreams. Which, I really want to hear more about. Because there’s no shame in having nightmares or re-living weird, bad memories out of nowhere. But maybe after you come and sit on the daybed with Niamh and have some tea. You probably shouldn’t be working with anything pointy or sticky if you can’t see straight or keep your eyes open. And I’ll be sure to brew you the good caffeinated stuff so you can tell me all about it. How’s that sound?”

Too weary and out of it, Bex didn’t quite catch what Morgan was mumbling. It was probably something about the ointment, she could still recall the recipes she’d found written in some of the Bachman family files. Arnica and yarrow. Bex didn’t really know those ingredients, only that they were natural plants. Bex was much more of a flower person, when it came to plants, but she knew enough about arnica to know of its healing properties. “Did she teach you about it, too, then?” she asked, looking over at Morgan, letting her prod her off the stool. She really wanted to stay and keep working, hell, they’d barely just begun. But Morgan was right, working with sharp objects while tired was a bad idea. She needed to keep in mind that she still had to look presentable even if there were circumstances beyond her control right now.

“They’re not nightmares, though,” Bex insisted, “they’re just really...weird. Like, really vivid.” She sat on the daybed like Morgan instructed, rubbing her eyes once more. “Trust me, I’d say if they were nightmares. Those get really bad usually. Like, windows shattering bad.” Loopy in her exhaustion, she didn’t even mind sharing that bit. Night terrors had been a long part of Bex’s life, she’d thought she’d grown used to them by now. But she hadn’t. “Lots of caffeine sounds perfect,” she added on quietly.

Morgan fluffed the pillows behind Bex as she spoke. Niamh picked her head up and squinted, affronted at the invasion of her napping space, then settled back down with a big sawn. To live a life so simple you were never scared to sleep all day. What a dream. “Vivid but not bad, huh?” So that ruled out mara. Maybe the girl’s parents were drugging her, or maybe some college kid was fucking with their own magic a little too excitedly. Maybe the kid was just stressed out of her mind. “You and Deirdre should really talk about window-shattering-bad sometime,” she sighed. Deirdre would probably know more about what to say or how to reach her. She knew what it was like to hurt like this and wake up ready to maim yourself in the morning if it meant getting a mother’s approval. Morgan sighed again and carefully bushed back some of Bex’s hair affectionately. “Lot’s of caffeine it is. You relax and make sure Niamh doesn’t get up to any mischief and I’ll be right back.”

Bex looked over at the cat and watched her yawn. She was really cute, but Bex hadn’t been around cats enough to know what affection sounded like. “Does she break a lot of windows, too?” Bex asked, brow raised. She tried her best not to flinch when Morgan reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face, but she wasn’t sure she was very successful. It was all still too raw. It was the things she was so used to, but never would be at the same time. “Will do,” she muttered quietly, turning to look over at the cat. She looked so peaceful, sleeping like that. Bex was a little jealous. Scooting further onto the bed, she laid down next to the cat. “How do you do it?” she asked, eyes drooping a little. “Just sleep all day, without a care in the world.” She went to sit up, then, when she thought she heard Morgan heading back, but instead her head spun, and her vision went black, and she collapsed onto the floor with a loud thud.

Morgan worked quickly, but she could only get the kettle to work so quickly. She made the most potent tea latte she could and brought it out in an oversize mug to the girl. Maybe letting her rest would be kinder, but she hated the thought of sending her home, back to the people who would treat her like this.

She heard the body fall as she opened the door.

“Bex? Bex!” She shoved the tea onto the nearest surface and scooped the girl into her arms, shaking her. “Bex, wake up! Come on.” She pressed her ear to her chest and waited, and waited. “Fucking shit...shit…” But there it was. Slow as a banshee’s breath, but unmistakable. Morgan hefted her girl in her arms and looked down into her sleeping face, at a loss. “What’s happening?”

#chatzy #wickedswriting #dreammaker #chatzy: morgan #morgan #domestic abuse mention tw #short but sweet ;;);));)

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neocityfics · 4 years

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2096: Zodiac

Chapter: Intro < ❝ Prologue ❞ > Chapter One

➥ Chapter List

Genre: Cyberpunk inspired, mafia-esque, not-so dystopian, angst

Pairing: Doctor! Taeyong x Reader [Sprinkle of other pairings tbd]

Summary: 2094, the disaster happens. The richest become richer with their reddened backs turned, the people around you growing more and more tired, and a certain Dr. Lee plans to change it all. Lucas unknowingly pulls you into the frenzy, and you become part of this confusing and painful process. You catch yourself floating between the conflict of twelve gangs and a world where circuits begin replacing flesh.

Warnings: Moderate cursing, death, heavy events similar to real world situations

A/N: Throughout the writing, there’ll be links (indicated by ▶ Ambience) for a more immersive experience. These are YouTube links, so it may be difficult to switch between YouTube and Tumblr (especially for those unable to have video pop-outs on mobile), so please keep this in mind. I’m also working on a Spotify playlist. I really hope you enjoy my first published piece!

▶ Ambience

The sea of neon purples, pinks, and blues drowned out whatever background activity filled the hustling life of the city. Light harshly touches the exterior of small shops endlessly lining the streets. Though full of living people, it always seemed a bit lonely. Everyone for themselves as it had been before the disaster happened, before life became even harder and resources scarce. Half the world is gone, but for whatever reason, humans continue to persevere. This strength is a unique feat, but it comes with consequences. With the remaining 3 billion people left on Earth, only the Eurasian continent remains the only habitable land thus forcing people to squeeze in tightly. It’s like this everywhere-- tiny housing, famines, and the overgrowing hunger to hold power and wealth much as we did before. The rich stay rich, the poor stay poor.

Life’s tough in Neostone. With hundreds of thousands of people and little food, restaurants struggle to keep open with enough to sell. Fresh water sources and land were replaced with tall housing structures and corporate buildings. Most have to work two or more jobs. Education is non-existent and relies on parents teaching kids different skills through child labor. Further industrialization in the little space the planet has left led to bouts of acid rain from overworked factories. The world’s leaders morph into the same guise: ties stained with blood, suits the product of cheap labor showed off status, and their white-gloved hands tightly gripped heavy silver suitcases. Corruption still plagues the broken systems that hang over society, sustained from before the disaster happened. It seems like we’ll never learn.

Sure, it’s difficult to get by day to day without much, yet the communities outside the wealthy rich businesses were tight-knit. Everyone knows each other’s names. People often trade food scraps for little luxuries to feel any ounce of happiness. Friends hang out near street food vendors where most people are, begging for any kind of calorie. While life in Neostone is tough, the citizens depend on each other for care, not anyone from above.

I don’t think of it much-- how different life would be if the disaster didn’t happen, if the world had never been touched by so much chaos. I knew it’d be the same, that I’d end up still struggling to get from morning to morning. Even with the big drop in population, we live as sardines squished together under a layer of plastic that suffocates us. Nothing has changed. I lost everything.

Though the neons felt like home and they were all I’ve known for the past couple of years, I do remember who I was before this all went downhill. Fresh in college with a mind set on (major(s)/minor(s)), and although uncertain of the future, I was ready to break free from family and understand what it means to live a good life. Debt would hit me hard on my head but I was certain to find ways to pay it off without burdening others. Between jobs and school, I felt like there was a purpose for my movement, for my existence, to be a small gear of a clockwork world. For three years, I managed to get stuff done and become my own separate identity. I never felt more myself for the longest time. One more year to go, I said to myself as my third year comes to a close. But fourth year never came. It happened. The start of summer into my last year in college was the best time I’ve had in my life. During an internship in Japan, I’d gotten a handle of how it was in the real world as part of the workforce. A month into the most enjoyable moments of my life came the disaster.

▶ Ambience, Ambience

I watched the television screens throughout the subway, making my way to my 9am train when the static and distortions of color accompanied the shaking ground beneath me. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing as the news shifted to an emergency alert. All of a sudden, hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes, building collapses, and tsunamis were destroying the western hemisphere. The disaster was inexplicable, the most spontaneous event in the history of Earth. I hid in the nearest shelter in Tokyo as realization hit how horrifying everything was. Buildings toppling left and right, people being crushed beneath the debris, splatters of fresh red on the broken bits of glass and metal heaps. That was a day of absolute terror. Within twenty-four hours, half the world was gone. My heart sank as the disasters settled throughout the world, and the news focused on the western hemisphere where I had lived most of my life. That part of the world was gone. My family and college friends were gone.

And I was left alone in Japan.

But the world didn’t change. The same evil corporate heads enforced the same evil policies and practices. The same tired faces dragged their tired bodies until no end just to, at the bare minimum, survive. No matter what form the world took, this was our fate until we went extinct. The only thing that changed perhaps was how many of us were kept in that system, and that the system favoring the wealthy became stronger. So the cycle continues.

▶ Ambience

With the scraps of money I had left on my name and picking up little jobs, I was able to get into a micro apartment. The government was eager to take advantage of the situation and make just enough housing to keep people happy and off the streets, but also enough to ensure some people couldn’t get out of the vicious system so labor was cheap. My space is dingy at best and quite small, but it’s all the comfort I have. Not a day passes where I’m not grateful for a private place to sleep, do business, and let myself feel at ease. Others aren’t so lucky, sleeping behind their food and merchandise stalls or in the nooks and crannies of back alleys. Weeks passed into months where my body ached from overwork, the same for the people I’ve been surrounded with and worked alongside. It’s only been two years since everyone had to rebuild what’s been lost, but it looked only slightly different in Neostone where Tokyo had once been. Only the mega cities were somewhat unscathed by the disaster, and businesses collectively chipped in to remodel them. Rural and suburban areas were either flooded or full of toxic waste.

People from all races and backgrounds who survived into the aftermath of the disaster poured into the cities. I was kindly taken into the dangerous but welcoming community of downtown Neostone, where cooking and selling food in addition to helping at clinic became my new life. At the clinic, I met someone I familiarized myself with to be comfortable and close enough. Having someone around lifted up my motivation. Going by Lucas, a name he adopted to fit in with the rest of downtown Neostone, he worked assiduously the same shifts as me at Pearl Park Clinic. Besides weekends, Lucas and I leave for work together as he lives just a few rooms down in the complex. While working at the clinic down on East Row, he comes to visit for a bite at the street food stall that keeps me busy half the week. Throughout getting to know him within two years, he revealed he also lost family he was close with-- a younger brother and sister who by the sound of his stories were needy brats that he loved so much. It hurts to know they’re gone like my friends are. I was glad I could relate to him and also be someone to lean on. On a roller-coaster of life’s tests, Lucas and I know we have each other’s back.

▶ Ambience

Today was like most days, another Friday morning. The green flash of LED at 7:00am with a loud beeping, a quick splash of cold water against my face, clean clothes, and a quick bite of fruit. The same mindless routine guides me out of the door of the room and down the hall. From my room, 716, to Lucas’s room, 718, was only a few meters away thanks to the tiny size of rooms. I knock once, twice, then thrice, but no reply. Strange. I’m used to Lucas whipping the door wide open at the slightest sound of my footsteps to poke his head out and greet me loudly. Should I knock again? Call him? My hand gravitated towards the doorknob, uncertain if we’re on the kind of terms where I can barge in whenever. “Lucas,” I decide to start softly, “I’m here now, we can leave for the clinic.” No reply. Maybe I’ll text him. Unlocking my phone, a smile cracked on my face as a photo of Lucas and I hanging out with some other friends posed in front of our favorite ice cream shop flashed across the screen. No red numbered badge on the messaging app. Today feels a little bit unusual. Typically, he texts when he needs help or won’t be at work. Inhaling in, I choose to try the knob in which a turn and a push of the door unveils the dark, musky room. A room with no Lucas. Noticing the tension in my face and shoulders, I relax them and try not to think of anything bad that could happen to him. Maybe he needed to stop somewhere before going to work. Maybe he’s just out to get groceries and whatnot. Maybe he’s just busy doing something else. I trust he’ll get back to me soon, but the weird pit in my stomach bugged my thoughts.

Down the long winding halls, unlocking my phone seemed all I could do, the worry taking over. My pace quickened. It’s 8:00am, the clinic starts up at 9:00am. It’s a long walk through a rather sketchy part of downtown, but it's one I’ve mastered throughout the couple of years and certainly made friends in. Reaching the staircase, my breath was noticeably shallower. This was always the worst part. It took much time and energy just to get to the first floor. Upon stepping into the lobby, I swiftly pick up an umbrella from the community box set near the entrance and begin my path out. The clerk at the counter peaks over his rather raunchy motorcycle magazine, riddled with messy yellow text, and he subtly waves at me. I send the gesture back, taking my leave from the complex. Rain besets Neostone often, the overcast weather permitting low fog and grey clouds to lurk the bubble that is downtown. Chatter and noise blend together from all sides with the rushing waters eagerly greeting storm drains and early risers setting up their stores. In comparison to the staircase, the lengthy walk to the clinic is always a breeze, and it helps calm the nerves as I ready myself for a busier pace of day. Every five minutes, I unlocked my phone again to see if Lucas had contacted me. Still no sign of him.

▶ Ambience

After what seems like the longest walk of my life, some staff of the community medical clinic greet me and provide a list of my duties right away. 9:00am right on the dot. I take in what needs to get done, reading off the slightly crumpled paper between my fingers. Towel laundry… Disinfect beds in the North Wing… Prepare a warm epsom salt bath for patients in the East Wing… Always busy on Fridays when the work week is over and people live out their less-than-safe life decisions. Less work, more injuries, and more patients. A voice sharply interrupts, “Hey! Where’s Lucas? You two always arrive here together.” My heart sank. So he isn’t at work. Where could that man possibly be?

Tension grows but a sigh leaves my chest as I formulate some sort of response to the nurse, “He might be sick, I’m not sure where he went. Usually he tells me, but I’m sure he has his reasons.” The lady nodded and clicked her tongue as if irritated. A pause before I ask her, “Why, are we short-staffed today?” She gives a vexed nod again, taking her leave as another staff member urges her towards a patient. Stupid question. We always are understaffed. Located on the intersection of Bear Walk and Oak Lane as suspension railways weave between buildings, Pearl Park Medical Clinic threw itself into one of downtown’s busiest and most dangerous areas. Crimes being committed everyday that send people into the clinic, drunkards finding their way through the doors to spew anger uncalled for against the staff, and the homeless just asking for a pillow or blanket while they sleep outside as they’re reminded of the cold, hard pavement soaked with rain. Of course, we must treat everyone’s needs… and wants in some cases. Only a couple dozen of us work the two-floored piece of the tall establishment which also houses struggling law firms, compact grocery stores, beauty salons, and wireless carriers. This place is a mini mall, but not for the faint-of-heart mall goers. Murder, sabotage, and sickness run rampant. However, it’s the place Lucas and I call home. From Tuesday to Friday, from 9:00am to 8:00pm, my hands pruned from washing equipment and fabric constantly, legs moved to and from wing to wing to prepare stations, mind boggled by the surprising sights of Neostone’s everyday life. The dirty white walls, gowns, and noise make me feel rejuvenation each time I clock in for shifts. Home. A place of belonging. Everyone accepted me in, even as a seemingly insignificant part of the operation. For Lucas, he tells me so often as if I forget easily, it’s a dream come half true.

Lucas aspired to be a doctor. It was his lifelong desire to help others, fascinated by how many times the human body tested the limits and broke them, and how he could save someone’s life. That was his purpose. Unfortunately, he fell into the same boat as I did, not being able to finish college because of the disaster. As per hiring policy, Pearl Park requires employees to be degree holders in biology, chemistry, biochemistry, or any other related field. Lucas was studying biochemistry with a neuroscience minor. Beyond impressive were his grades by what Lucas boasts to me, though I can’t confirm since the disaster destroyed his documents. In his third year, he already started planning his senior capstone project with research on the nervous system of several types of animals. We bonded over doing labs, the silliest or most dreadful courses we sat through, and how the university dining food sucked and ripped us all off. But it was a waste. In this new society, formal higher education is not important. Some schooling still persists, but they’re limited to small, dusty, singular classrooms led by underpaid teachers. Families tend to force children into work as it’s deemed more beneficial in learning practical home economics rather than mathematical theories, ethics, physical sciences, and so much more. The mindset of the remaining world focused on survival versus getting jobs of higher pay and better conditions. No one could blame us when authority breaks and the top 1% fully turn their back on you. Despite being turned down for medical practice, Lucas still wholeheartedly accepted the situation and embraced helping out in the clinic. Here and there with a bit of discreteness, Lucas does patch up some patients with bandage, disinfect cuts, and give advice for those with physical pain. Might I add, he’s quite popular with the patients as well, handsome and charming as he is. I’ll admit to it, I’m jealous of how he lifts everyone up in the toughest hours. Shortly after he joined, my arrival a week later brought him joy knowing I was stuck in the same sticky situation he was in. His passion could be seen a mile away. On the other hand, I just needed this job to keep myself afloat like everyone else.

I snap back to reality when one of the doctors, Dr. Lee who made a beeline towards one of the stations, bumped my side. Asshole, I think to myself. He’s head of the Pearl Park operation, so I don’t feel the desire to cause trouble by reprimanding him. This job allows me to hang onto my existence and sanity with my apartment, I couldn’t afford to lose it. His voice booms suddenly, startling nearby staff, “Is Lucas not here? I need him to help.” His voice trails off and erupts again, “With surgery preparation on Monday,” he swivels his head to one of the lead nurses, “We’re doing a skin graft for a severely burned person.” Despite the cold aura, his face contorted with concern and urgency. The patients put complete faith into him as he’s been a well-known medical practitioner since before the disaster. My imagination briefly ponders the severity of the injury as if I haven’t seen my fair share of nasty burn wounds. Shoulders shudder for a moment, and then I begin towards the North Wing where my first duty awaits.

▶ Ambience

Phew. That might’ve been the longest shift of my life. All day, the image of Lucas constantly itched at the back of my mind. It was difficult to focus, but I managed to get through the hours until 8:00pm. With my feet aching from exhaustion and a slight headache from lack of food or water, I decide to pay a visit to my other favorite place: East Row’s finest Chinese street food, Electric Egg. In my innermost thoughts, I’d hope to see Lucas there, munching away on tea eggs. That was his go-to snack after shifts at the clinic. Being on your feet all day does quite a bit of damage and leaves the stomach to growl, to fight for a delicious energy replenishment. When I arrive, one of my coworkers greets me cheerfully, shouting and waving my name as I draw closer, much to my embarrassment. “Sicheng,” my voice laced with laughter, “how’s business!” Our most common exchange, with the most common reply. With a hardy laugh, he shoots back, “The everyday thing, you know. Slow.” Sicheng’s smile invites me towards the side of the stall as he prepares what he knows are my regular dishes of choice. “Xi’an pancake and sesame tang yuan, coming right up!” As if on cue, my stomach beams in excitement and I lay my hand on it to feel the grumble, making Sicheng to laugh. “How’s work by the way, and where’s Lucas? I have his tea eggs already here.” I glanced to the side of the cart Sicheng worked away at, and indeed Lucas’s tea eggs sat prettily in a mug, waiting to be eaten.

I sigh, turning Sicheng’s grin into a straight line. He’s observant and knows how to read the room well. After a pause to gather myself, I sit down on a stool facing Sicheng and begin to tell him my worries. “I’m not sure if maybe I’m overthinking this, but Lucas always tells me if he’s not feeling well enough to work or go out somewhere. But he was gone this morning, he wasn’t in his room when I left for the clinic. He didn’t show up to the shift, and so many bad things could’ve happened, especially in the area we’re in. I’ve been checking my phone the entire day, but I’ve gotten no resp--”

“My tea eggs! You’re the best Sicheng, I really needed this after a long day, oh my god. You guys have no idea, my belly’s been howling!”

I froze. I know that voice too damn well. Anger immediately boiled within me, and it burst like the hot oil that hits Sicheng’s arms as he cooked. “You. Piece. Of. Shit,” I whipped my entire self around to face the tall man who unsurprisingly turned out to be Lucas with his disheveled hair framing his stupid little face. “Did you not see your call log? It’s just me, me, me, me, me, and oh guess who… me!” The tone in my words frightened even me, even more so realizing both Lucas and Sicheng’s widened eyes. I earned some dirty looks from customers as well. Nevertheless, I was pissed.

Lucas’s heightened shoulders steadily fall. “Hey, I’m sorry… Something really urgent came up, and it’s very personal to me. I hope you understand. I should’ve told you as soon as it came up.” His jaw clenches, his fists tightening their grip against the counter as he sternly looks at me across the food stall. I shake my head and roll my eyes, gaining a scolding expression from Sicheng who’s confusion was written all over his face. Deep within me, I know Lucas is sincere.

I start back up, loosening my voice to become gentle, “Eat your tea eggs, please. They’re getting cold and Sicheng prepared them for you early.” Silence followed, then the chewing noises from Lucas hungrily devouring his food. Maybe today was a hard day by the looks of it. Lucas took care of his appearance, so it was a shock to see him in a seemingly vulnerable state. His eye bags seem bulging and darkened, a sign of a sleepless night. Unsure of what to think, I let go of my displeasure and chip away at my pancake and rice balls. After satisfying our hunger, Lucas and I bid Sicheng a goodbye and head back to our apartment complex. The walk is painfully awkward.

▶ Ambience

This feeling is nice. To have Lucas back as we go through our nightly routine of washing our faces and brushing our teeth in a tiny community bathroom. Our mannerisms seem slightly less stiff, and though minimal, it takes a huge weight off my shoulders. He’s back and I feel secure again. But he doesn’t bring up anything about earlier. I’m about to comment on his long-sleeved shirt as he’s the biggest heat anti in the world, refusing to wear anything that isn’t a muscle tee. But the rough emotions rattled us both, so I drop it from my list of questions to ask. We get ready for bed in silence, only starting to discuss things when we finish up and plop on the floor of my apartment. I tried to figure out if I was uncomfortable from the cold floor or for the conversation that might unfold. Since Lucas has been excruciatingly quiet, I take the initiative, “I sent so many messages and calls today. Do you know how worried I was?” Disappointment heavily coat my concerns. “This isn’t like you, I was seriously going to lose my mind. Please… can you tell me what’s going on?”

It pains me to see him looking like he’s kicked down again from having an already bad day, but I needed answers. He’s the person I trust the most in the life we have now. His chest inflated and quickly deflated. “I’m about to show you something. It might freak you out.” He tugs at the ribbed cuff of his left sleeve. A tattoo? Perhaps a little smiley face or some unconventional design placed oddly on his arm that he wanted to cover since we work at a clinic? Though tattoos are normalized on staff... Or an injury? Whatever it is, I just want to know whatever he’s hiding. “Promise me you won’t make a big commotion, I will explain.”

Without much thinking, I grow irritated at him for dragging this out, so I reach for the end of his shirt and pull it up quickly, unveiling the truth. My body and mind go rigid at the sight, unable to process whatever this… contraption was. “Lucas… what the hell is this,” I ask, alarmed, taking in the faintly glowing circuits and tiny sparks of blue electricity lighting up and down tubes that poke in and out of the machinery. From his shoulder down to his fingers, metals and screws and wires replace his flesh. After a long minute of examination and curiosity, I turn my attention back to Lucas’s face which expressed great worry, fear, and uncertainty. “Is this the reason you were gone today?” He gently shook my hand off and swiftly covered his arm with his shirt again. With a dejected look, he takes his eyes off mine and pins them on the dusty floorboards. His arm is no longer human.

“Dr. Lee from the clinic.”

#2096: zodiac #taeyong x reader #cyberpunk au #mafia au #taeyong reader insert #nct taeyong #nct 127 #nct u #nct #kpop fanfic #lee taeyong #wong yukhei #lucas #wayv #nct angst #nct mafia au #winwin #dong sicheng

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