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ysljoon · 3 years

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Lunchbox Friends|Park Jimin x Reader

This fanfic is mature so please avoid if you are not 18+. This is also a yandere fic so there are sensitive topics.

Warnings: Drinking/mentions of alcohol, partying, oral sex (f receiving), assault (Jungkook gets punched by Jimin), choking, noncon sex, Jimin is a peeping tom, masturbation, creampie. threats, mentions of a knife

Jimin had been by your side since middle school and you guys have been stuck together by the hip since then and refuse to separate. You don’t ever plan on living your life without him as he has seen you at your highest highs and your lowest lows. He knows you inside and out and you wouldn’t want this any other way. It wasn’t until you guys went to college that you realized your friendship had overstepping boundaries. It wasn’t noticeable to you until your friends pointed it out to you and even then you were still in denial. Why would your best friend suddenly not look out for you? It just didn’t make sense to you and you wanted to push it out of your mind.

Tonight was Hoseok and Jungkook’s party and you felt the whole campus buzzing with excitement. You were never close with Hoseok, but you had a few run-ins with Jungkook since he was friends with Jimin and Jimin had introduced him to you. Jungkook seemed like a sweet person and you had your eye on him for a while so you thought tonight was the perfect night to make your move on him. Once your classes were done you took the shuttle to your shared apartment with Jimin to get your outfit ready for tonight. When you reached the apartment you saw Jimin on the couch just watching TV.

“Y/N! You’re back, come give me a hug I missed you!” You dropped your bag by the couch and collapsed in his lap. He attacked you with tight hugs and kisses on the top of your head. Your friendship is very close and touchy, but this is just what happens after years of friendship so boundaries were very few and far between. You snuggled in his lap and scrolled on your phone to kill time and he continued to watch some drama filled reality show that he constantly loved to watch.

As time passed you realized it was an hour before the party so you tried to get up from Jimin’s lap but he wrapped his arms around your waist to keep you down. “Y/N can’t we just stay here for the night you can have so much fun with just me! We don’t need to go to some dumb party to have fun on a Friday.” Jimin whined, but you pried yourself from his arms and made your way to the bathroom to shower. You stepped in the shower and played music to get you in a hype mood to be in the party mindset. You were singing your heart out and didn’t hear the bathroom door creak open to create a slight opening that allowed your body to be exposed to prying eyes. Those prying eyes belonged to Jimin and you were unsuspecting of the fact.

Jimin ogled your naked body in the shower through the steamy glass panes and it started to make his pants tighten. Jimin started to palm himself while admiring the curves of your ass and breasts. You were in the middle of shampooing your hair, your bottle of body wash fell off the shelf and you bent over to pick it up and that had Jimin groaning from pleasure. He unbuttoned his pants and slid his underwear down enough where he could fist his cock with ease. He filthily spit into his hand and rubbed his dick slowly to not build up to his orgasm too quickly. You started to sway your hips back and forth to the rhythm of the upbeat song in your playlist. This had you looking so sexy in Jimin’s eyes. He wasn’t only getting off on how good your soapy body looked in the shower, but also the thrill of knowing he’s jerking off to his best friend who doesn't know how much he wants to ruin her right on the spot. Jimin hurriedly came to his orgasm when he realized you were almost done with your shower and hurried to his room when he stroked out his high.

You finished getting ready and slipped on a tight dress. You slipped on your shoes and waited for Jimin on the couch. After 10 minutes of impatience you knocked on his door and he swung it open after the second knock. “It really surprises me how impatient you are, it’s a wonder how I’ve tolerated you for this long.” You just rolled your eyes in response and grabbed his hand to leave.

Once you enter the house party you notice both Hoseok and Jungkook talking in the kitchen. Just seeing Jungkook brought butterflies to your tummy. Before you made your way to the men you found the table filled with bottles of drinks and poured yourself about two shots worth of fireball and downed it in one big gulp. You needed liquid courage if you wanted to make any progress with Jungkook tonight. Jimin watched you with wide eyes at your sudden behavior and you just gave him a wide smile while you made your strides to the kitchen. Jimin stood in his spot dumbfounded on how easily you left him. It irked him and made him feel disposable. He tried to brush off the feeling but it loomed over him for the rest of the night. He followed the direction you traveled to and saw you talking to Jungkook. You were giggling to no end and your cheeks were so round from how much you were smiling. This whole night bothered Jimin as he expected to spend it with you and only true. He walked away from the scene and moped on the couch while watching the party go down. If he continued to watch you throw yourself at his friend he would end up doing something he would regret.

“Y/N I’m surprised we haven’t properly hung out, you’re so much fun outside of class!” You rolled your eyes at his comment and poured yourself another mixed drink. The drinks helped you and Jungkook start to get cozy with each other. Hoseok even left you two alone when he noticed the atmosphere start to change between you two. Somehow the two of you managed to get rid of any space between each other and were now in close enough proximity to be skin to skin. The two of you were drunk enough to be bold but also not drunk enough to forget what happens if your actions don’t work in your favor. You started to eye his lips and Jungkook noticed because he started to come closer to you and get rid of the already nonexistent space between you two. Slowly your lips started to mold together and your stomach felt like there were fireworks bursting inside you. The two of you pulled away and Jungkook kept his hand on the small of your back. “Y/N, I hope you take me up on this offer or I’ll feel like a total idiot, but do you want to go up to my room and continue?” You were quick to agree and fervently nodded. Jungkook gave you a grin and took your hand in his and you two were quick to go up the stairs to his room.

Jimin saw you two go up the stairs and now he was livid. His best friend ditched him to go get fucked by his friend. You were selfish and he was going to make you regret your decision of being such a whore in front of him. He downed his drink and rushed up the stairs to Jungkook’s room. He swung open the door to find you completely naked and Jungkook’s head between your thighs. Oh how he wishes it was him instead. You looked at JImin mortified and crawled under Jungkook’s bedsheet with haste. Jungkook came close to your side and held your shaking body. “J-Jimin you could’ve at least knocked or something!” You were borderline angry at this point as Jimin wasn’t taking any hint to leave. Jimin took it upon himself to invite himself further into the room and locked the door behind himself. Now Jungkook was starting to get agitated. “Bro you’re my friend and all, but I really think you should go right now. I wasn’t doing anything to your best friend that she doesn’t want.” Jimin was furious to hear Jungkook’s words and in a blind fit of rage he punched Jungkook out cold and watched his body drop to the floor with a loud thud. “Jimin! What on Earth are you doing?” Now you really were scared as you have never seen Jimin act out so violently.

“Y/N, you have no idea how much I want you and have fantasized about you. Now you’re going to see tonight how I’ll make you mine!” He grabbed you by your throat and threw you down on the bed. You started to strain yourself to get any chance to breathe, but any chance you got Jimin held onto your throat tighter. He had a sinister look on his face and you were scared for your life. When your vision started to go in and out from darkness Jimin released his grasp on you and you dry heaved for oxygen. He did that just to put you in a weakened state and he used it to his advantage. He crawled on the bed and loomed over your body and grabbed your legs to drag you closer to him. He tried to force his head between your thighs but you clamped them together but he managed to pry them open. He gave you a hard slap on the back of your thigh. “Princess you won’t like me if you disobey me and fight back so just please just let me love you.” Jimin tried to give you a soft look, but you can still see the darkness embedded into his eyes. You forced yourself to comply without making eye contact. The idea of your best friend was gone and you would do anything to have him back and not have this monster in front of you.

Jimin lowered his head down to your core and gave you kitten licks on your clit. You felt so much sensitivity and you clamped your legs around his head. You felt Jimin let out a light chuckle and you tried to block the sound out of your mind. You tried to make the situation better for yourself by imagining that it was just Jungkook above you instead of Jimin taking advantage of you. Once Jimin had his fill of eating you out he lifted himself up and freed himself from his pants. Once he had his cock out he shoved himself into your tight, wet cunt with no mercy and you gripped onto the sheets with a vice grip. “Kitten, don't you love how my fat cock feels in your hole? Don’t I make you feel so good.” You had your eyes shut trying to acclimatize to his cock, but the pain was taking too long to subside. Without even getting a chance to answer, Jimin grabbed your jaw to make you look at him. “Y/N, I want an answer. Tell me how good I make you feel.” You felt so embarrassed, but you just needed to give him an answer to please him. “Y-yes you make me feel so good! “ Jimin loved how his cock looked sliding in and out of your pussy and how your tits bounced and that it brought him close to his orgasm. You felt his grip get tighter on your hips and you felt his thrusts get rougher and his groans get louder. You knew he reached his high when you felt his hips stutter and his cum start to leak out from your hole. Once he was out of you he got dressed like what just happened was not troubling. You stared at the ceiling and felt the tears drip down your cheeks. Just when you thought it was all over Jimin’s body was above you again and this time he had a pocket knife pressed to your throat. “If you ever try to get with Jungkook or anyone else I will kill you. You are mine and only mine you need to know that.”

Notes: I hope you guys are currently enjoying the start of my yandere series! I will eventually get to all the members. I am also working on making a masterlist so in the mean time if you would like to find my other works you can find them under the tag ‘bts fanfiction’ or ‘bts fanfic’ if you search my page! Again if you liked what you read please leave a like and a reblog it really helps! You can also give me a Kofi if you would like to help support my work!

#yanderebts #yandere bts #yandere park jimin #yandere jimin #bts fanfiction #yandere bts fanfiction #park jimin fanfiction #park jimin x reader #dubcon/noncon #parkjimin #park jimin #bts smut #park jimin smut #jimin smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #bangtan sonyeondan

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mintymiknow · 3 years

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Trust Fall - Finale | Lee Minho

summary | character profiles | masterlist

Pairing: Lee Minho/Lee Know x Reader

Summary: The final battle takes place, and Minho must make decisions that could cost him everything once more. The finale puts both his and your trust to the test, and one can only wait to see who falls.

Genre: Secret agent/spy au, romance, angst, action

Word count: Approx. 7.4k

Warnings for this chapter: Genre-typical violence and blood due to action/fight scenes

A/N: The last chapter is here! It’s been such a ride with this series; it was a bit stressful and challenging to write, but I really enjoyed it nonetheless. I’m also very happy to know that you all enjoyed as well, and I really appreciate your patience and support throughout this series! I hope the finale doesn’t disappoint...I tried my best to make it as good as possible. There are a lot of loopholes, I’m so sure, but thank you nonetheless! Here’s the last chapter! Have fun, and don’t hesitate to drop an ask for any questions or comments!

Four men fight in the hotel’s back lobby, each one struggling to ensure that they don’t end up like the dead men on the floor. Their guns are scattered on the now bloodied marble floors, out of ammo and useless. Instead, the four men focus on using their fists, displaying their hand-to-hand prowess as a result of tedious training and experience. Chan fends off with Jung, while Changbin fights a man named Ahn - this quiet individual was known as Jung’s right-hand man in SKZ.

Ahn swings a knife at Changbin, silent as always. Changbin easily evades it, grabbing the blade despite the edge piercing his skin. With enough force mustered, Changbin yanks the blade, causing Ahn to stumble forward. The agent then swings his leg, hitting Ahn’s ankle. The enemy falls to the floor, and Changbin takes the chance to lunge the knife at him. However, Ahn recovers and knocks the knife out of the agent’s hand, gripping at his wrists as they wrestle for an upper-hand over each other.

Meanwhile, Jung has Chan on a choke-hold, directing the agent to look at where Changbin and Ahn are scuffling with each other on the floor. “You had me fooled, Bang Chan. I thought you were loyal to me.” Jung laughs.

Chan elbows the elder and manages to break free from his hold, taking a few steps away, “I was at first...until Minho discovered what you were really up to.”

“I’m curious...how long did he know?”

“Since Jiyeon.” Chan says flatly, “He was already suspecting her for a while after they started dating. He thought that you were covering up for her because she was your favorite agent, but when you gave the order to kill her, Minho knew.”

“Oh?” Jung lunges for Chan with some punches.

“What kind of father allows an agent to kill his daughter?” Chan blocks Jung’s punches, “Simple. A father so obsessed and driven by his involvement with the enemy that he’d do anything to keep that a secret.”

“So Lee figured that out, too huh? Not many people knew Jiyeon was my daughter.” Jung continues to fight.

Chan does as well, smirking slightly, “Minho is very perceptive and resourceful.”

“And does y/n know this?”

“Minho believes some things are better left unsaid.”

Jung then pounces at Chan, knocking him down on the floor. He clambers on top of the agent, ready to pull more punches. However, Chan head-butts the elder with his forehead, the force knocking Jung back and allowing the agent to push him off and get back up on his feet. The two men then resume their fight, a mix of skillful and agile maneuvering, punching and kicking.

Changbin manages to land a punch on Ahn’s face - and he’s sure that broke his nose, judging by the way blood trickled from his opponent’s nostrils - before running up the lobby’s staircase. Ahn grunts, quickly following the agent. The two resume their battle, and Ahn trips Changbin, using his extreme strength to lift Changbin and toss him towards the coffee table on the second floor. The agent lands on the surface with a grunt, hissing as he quickly sits up. A few wooden splinters stick to the side of his body, but he manages to stand up, spitting some blood onto the floor.

He glares at Ahn who has the same intense expression. They then run at each other, using as much force to try and push each other down. Ahn is much stronger, taking advantage of Changbin’s injury to make him stumble back with a shove. Unfortunately for Ahn, Changbin stumbled back towards a shelf that had several ornaments and vases. Taking the chance as Ahn speeds towards him, Changbin grabs a vase and smashes it onto his opponent’s head. Ahn hisses as he gets disoriented, not having time to catch his bearings as Changbin grabs his collar. With furrowed eyebrows and flaming eyes, Changbin pushes the man off the balcony, watching as Ahn falls to the first floor with a sickening thud.

Changbin runs down the stairs, checking Ahn’s pulse. As he is sure that his opponent is surely unconscious - but not dead, Changbin grabs handcuffs from his back pocket and cuffs Ahn’s wrists. He stands up, scanning the room for any sign of Chan and Jung, only to see that the two males are still fighting.

Jung tries to stab Chan with a knife in his hand, but the agent proves his strength by keeping Jung’s weapon away from him. Though it’s strenuous, Chan manages to force the blade out of Jung’s hands, promptly pushing the elder off of him. He gets up, positioned and ready to resume fighting with his fists. The older man lunges at Chan, but the latter is fortunately able to pivot in time, grabbing Jung’s wrists. Chan makes one strong tug, bringing Jung close so that he could knee him in the abdomen. He follows up with another kick, watching us Jung stumbles back.

With Jung still recovering his bearings, Chan swiftly charges at the elder, delivering a powerful kick that has the elder crashing into a small wooden table, grunting in pain as it snaps in half. Perhaps it was age, but it takes a moment for Jung to regain his bearings, slowly trying to get up with difficulty. Also, Chan’s strength was no joke either way. “You truly are one of the best agents.” Jung snickers.

Chan frowns, eyebrows furrowed in irritation, “Unfortunate that you were the one who trained us in our earlier days.”

Jung eventually stands on his feet, mustering all his strength to run towards Chan, intent on beating him down. However, as he sprints across the room, Chan pulls out a gun, pulling the trigger at the chandelier above. Without much time to react, Jung can only look up as the intricate lighting drops at him. He tries to step away, but it’s too late as the chandelier crushes his leg, trapping him in place. He hisses in pain, glaring at Chan. As if reading the elder’s mind, Chan deadpans, “I ran out of bullets, but I picked up a spare gun from these...bodies.”

Jung huffs a breath out, trying to yank his leg away from the heavy chandelier, but Changbin is already behind him, binding his wrists with handcuffs. The younger agent says sharply, “You’re just getting what you deserve, sir.”

Chan sighs, loosening the tie around his neck, “We should follow Minho as soon as back-up arrives.”

Changbin nods, striking Jung’s pressure point to render him unconscious. “Alright, got it.” the younger states, letting Jung’s unconscious body fall to the floor.

Unfortunately for Minho, Choi and Baek’s back-up arrived faster than he anticipated. The two older men hide behind their flat-tired vehicle while their agents face off with him.

Minho starts with the first two, pocketing his gun and opting to use his physical combat skills at his disposal. It was easier than he expected, in all honesty; even Jeongin was more skilled than these so-called bodyguards. The agent exchanged a little hand-to-hand combat with the rest of his opponents. One enemy tries to punch Minho’s face, but quickly reacts, pivoting as he grabs the opponent’s wrist. With calculated ease, Minho twists the opponent’s arm and delivers a decisive knee to his abdomen, causing the enemy to crumple on the ground. Minho finishes it off with another knee to the face, rendering one enemy unconscious.

Another man charges at Minho with a flurry of punches and kicks that were more calculated than the last opponent’s. The agent expertly blocks all the enemy’s attempts, occasionally swinging a few strikes himself. With one particular punch, Minho ducks and grabs his opponent’s arm, gripping tightly to flip him over. The enemy lands on his back with a sickening crack, groaning in pain as Minho pulls his gun out to knock him out with one shot.

The third opponent swings his leg below, causing Minho to fall to the ground as well. This particular opponent manages to land a punch that has Minho’s lip bleeding. However, the agent isn’t done, unfazed with his split lip as he kicks his foot upwards, knocking his opponent back. Minho is quick on his feet, already standing up just as his opponent steadies his footing. The man throws a knife at Minho who easily dodges it. The agent then pulls his gun out, shooting the third opponent twice for good measure.

Craning his neck as if it were strained, Minho glares at the remaining enemies. However, he notices that Choi is nowhere to be found. He decides to chase the man later and would deal with Baek for now; after all the traitor was grinning at him wickedly - he definitely had something up his sleeve.

Minho glares, “If you surrender now, I’ll ensure you have a quick and painless death.”

Baek laughs, shaking his head, “Nice try, kid, but that’s not going to work.”

The scientist pulls out his own gun, shooting at Minho with surprisingly accurate shots. It catches the agent off-guard for a split second, but he recovers and swiftly evades the bullets. One bullet, however, manages to hit Minho's shoulder, and he winces upon contact. Still, he pays no attention to it as he aims his own gun at Baek. The two men then begin their shoot-out, each person able to land a shot or two on each other. There was too much open space in this area, and Minho was still careful to ensure that innocent people wouldn’t get hit by stray bullets; they were, after all, still in Jeju.

Baek then surprises Minho again by discarding his empty gun and charging at him with surprising speed. It takes Minho a second to register, managing to block Baek’s punch with just milliseconds to spare. Baek is stronger than he looks, the force of his swings making Minho take a few steps back.

“Don’t look so surprised, Agent Lee.” Baek mocks, “You aren’t the only agent SKZ produced that was gifted with combat.”

Minho glares, swinging a few punches and kicks that Baek blocks and evades as well, “Nice to know that scientists can fight too.”

“I was an agent before a scientist, Agent Lee.” Baek snickers, “Jung and I go way back.”

Minho ignores Baek’s idle conversations, putting more focus on their fight instead.

If Baek wasn’t an enemy Minho wanted to kill with his own hands, he would be impressed. The scientist was able to keep up with him in close-combat, a skill that Minho took pride in as well. Minho had started using his pocket knife midway into the fight, and Baek was able to counter his attacks with his own blade. Minho makes some sort of flashy movement with his knife and as planned, it distracts Baek’s eyes for a second. With a small window of opportunity, Minho uses his free hand to grab Baek’s wrist, holding the scientist in place as he brings a knee to his stomach. The agent then uses the same knee to strike an uppercut to Baek’s jaw before twirling the knife in his hand to lodge it into Baek’s shoulder.

However, before the tip of the knife can even touch Baek’s skin, the scientist head-butts Minho’s face, causing the agent to take a small step back. He brings a hand to his bloodied nose, wiping the red liquid away. As soon as Minho’s eyes land on his opponent, Baek grabs the agent’s jaw with strong hands and grips tightly, “You’re in the way, Agent Lee.”

Baek delivers a painful punch to Minho’s jaw before repeatedly hitting his abdomen with his knee. Minho isn’t sure why he isn’t able to react in time - he usually does - but perhaps it was because Baek was just as skilled as him. Baek was displaying top-level combat skills that could level his, Chan and Changbin’s prowess. So when Minho falls to his knees, attempting to catch his breath, Baek proceeds to kick the life and fire out of him. The agent coughs out blood onto the ground, finally feeling the pain from all the assaults on his body. Still, it was quite satisfying to fight someone who didn’t die after just one shot or two punches.

Baek squats down to meet Minho’s level, his strong hand coming up to grab the agent’s throat. He squeezes hard, ensuring that Minho could not breathe a sliver of air for even a split second. Minho feels his throat straining and drying, head spinning from the lack of oxygen. The kicks to his stomach didn’t help, making him want to scream at the man strangling him.

Was this what it was like to feel powerless? Was this how you felt when you were forced to work for Baek?

Minho had almost forgotten what it was like to feel weak and vulnerable.

But then he remembers why he doesn’t let himself feel this way.

How could he protect people if he was weak and vulnerable?

Gritting his teeth, Minho grabs another pocket knife from his belt and swiftly jabs it into Baek’s leg. The scientist yells in pain, finally letting go. Minho dryly coughs blood as he catches his breath, putting as much distance as he can between him and the scientist. By the time Baek disregards the pain in his leg, Minho is back in front of him, a newfound fire in his eyes. The agent grabs Baek’s arm, gripping tightly as he swings him half-circle and uses whatever strength he has to throw him like he was swinging a baseball bat.

Baek stumbles along and trips on his feet due to the momentum, giving Minho ample time to kick him and stomp his foot onto Baek’s back, ensuring that the man stays down.

When the agent hears the shuffling of footsteps, he assumes that Choi is still somewhere around. His assumption is then proven correct as he sees a figure sneaking around by the vehicle. With sharp eyes, Minho aims his gun at the figure, ready to pull the trigger.

However, his cold gaze falters when he sees a Cle agent holding a familiar person in his arms handling the body quite roughly. The three figures then come into view, revealing a Cle agent, Choi, and you.

It was as if his whole world froze, eyes watching as a Cle agent shoved you around roughly as you struggled in his grasp. There was no fear in your eyes, only anger and distaste. Yet Minho was the one afraid for you. If he had to watch you being treated so horribly, then screw those men.

With gritted teeth, Minho aims his gun at the Cle agent and shoots without a second thought, killing the man. However, it back-fires as another gunshot is heard, and Minho eyes land on the bloom of red staining your jeans. His ears hear your cry of pain, struggling to stay standing as Choi shoots your leg.

Before Minho can shoot Choi down, however, the older male yells, “Don’t shoot, Agent Lee!”

Choi puts you on a choke-hold with one arm, his free hand holding a gun to your head. “You make any moves, and her head will be decorating this place!” Choi threatens.

Minho glares, jaw tensing as he slowly lowers his gun. You look at him with pleading eyes, shaking your head frantically, “Minho, no! Forget about me and stop them!”

“Her life or your mission, Agent Lee.”

You look at the agent with a serious expression, “Please, Minho! We need to stop them at all costs!”

Even if it costs my life, you wanted to tell him, it’s the least I could do to amend the wrongs of the past.

Minho knows better and should technically let you die, right? He was trained for this...trained for situations like this where sacrifices had to be made for the good of all. It was, after all, his duty as an agent. His logical mind was constantly reminding him of this fact and made sure that he remembered it at any time. Yes, of course, fully and completely trained to sacrifice someone for the greater good. Trained to strike down anyone without a second thought as long as it benefited the people.

But why was he hesitating then?

A stormy conflict gathers inside him as his eyes never leave yours. He knows by heart that his duty would require him to shoot his enemies down, either injuring or killing you in the process; but it would be for the greater good. He knows this indeed. But he doesn’t want to do it.

His dilemma distracts him, and Baek shoves his foot off of him. It all happens quickly now; Baek takes advantage of that second-long distraction, grabbing Minho’s gun from him and aiming it at the agent. He pulls the trigger without hesitation, shooting Minho at the abdomen. Once the bullet meets his body, Minho silently gasps, his attention now on Baek.

“Minho!”

Another pull to the trigger, another shot. This time, it hits Minho so, so, so close to the heart.

The agent coughs out more blood, the red liquid dripping down his chin. He falls to his knees, clutching his waist in an attempt to stop the bleeding and alleviate the pain.

“Minho, please! No!” you scream.

Baek snickers at Minho, dropping his gun and bending down to look at the bloodied agent with spite. He grips Minho’s hair, pulling and forcing the agent to look at him. “You were able to kill your lover for the sake of SKZ years ago.” Baek begins coldly, “Why couldn’t you do the same now?”

Minho knows that it’s because you were different from Jiyeon, and that you deserved to live and be happy in life. That after the nightmares you’ve been through, you deserved to see the light and live the way you wanted to.

Minho looks at you with sad eyes, a small smile forming on his bloodied lips. You bite your lip trying not to cry or show any weakness. The sight makes Minho close his eyes, head drooping low as if he were defeated.

With that, Baek scoffs and shoves Minho away, beginning to walk over to you and Choi, ready to leave the scene. Choi releases his hold on you and moves the gun away from your head. However, when Baek stands in front of you and grabs your chin, you spit at his face and glare. Angered, the man slaps you with the back of his hand. Before, you would have cowered in fear and submitted to his tyranny. But now, you hold your glare and refuse to back down, keeping firm in your anger and wrath.

“Your boyfriend is half-dead, and we won.” Baek snarls, “You should know when to quit it, Dr. Song.”

“Not for you.” you growl back.

Just as Choi grips your arm to direct you to the vehicle the now-dead Cle agent brought over on the far side of this area, you pull a bottle from your pocket and smash it on Choi’s head.

The man screams in pain as the serum immediately takes effect on his skin, burning and rotting away. You take steps back to avoid getting affected, but your back hits Baek as you do so. The scientist punches your cheek with no mercy, causing you to fall to the ground with a yelp. The man is about to kick you when a gunshot pierces through, hitting Baek square on the head.

Your head snaps over to the side, revealing Minho with one hand holding his gun, the other still gripping his waist. It amazes you that even with one eye squinted in pain, he managed to shoot Baek down on the head. Truly the sharpshooter everyone praises him to be.

But it was not time to be impressed.

Ignoring your own injury on your leg, you scramble to your feet and run over to Minho, carefully making your way into his outstretched arms. He enveloped you in a weak yet secure hug, kissing the top of your head. His thumb gently strokes the area Baek had punched you at. “Are you ok?” he gently whispers.

You nod, pulling away just enough to look at him. “I’m fine, but you?”

Minho groans, consciousness slipping as his weary eyes threaten to close, “I’m - ”

He doesn’t get to finish because his legs give up on him. You manage to catch him before he completely falls. Slowly and carefully, you support him and help the agent lay on the ground. You sit next to him, carefully lifting his head to lay it on your lap, now letting your tears run freely. “You’re so stupid.” you choke out, “Stupid, stupid, stupid. I told you not to worry about me.”

Minho chuckles weakly, “How can I not, y/n? I care about you too much.”

You sniff and pout your lip, sighing, “And now look at you.”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Minho assures you despite the clear expression of pain on his face, “Also, weren’t you supposed to be with Felix?”

You nod, slowly opening Minho’s shirt to inspect his injuries. “We were...but then we got separated when Cle agents ambushed us.” you explain.

Minho closes his eyes as your fingers gently and carefully touch the areas around his gunshot wounds. The blood coats your fingers, but you ignore it in favor of putting your palms over the wounds to stop the bleeding. Minho winces in pain, but you soothe him with a soft “shhh” and plant a gentle kiss on his forehead.

“They’ll be here soon...and...and...we’ll get you treated as soon as possible.” you whisper, cradling his face with your gentle hands and pressing a soft kiss to his lips, “Hang on a bit, ok?”

Minho tilts his head slightly, asking softly, “How’s your leg?”

You quickly glance at the gunshot wound on your leg and offer a smile, “It hurts...it really does. But it’s ok. I’ll be strong for you, for everyone.”

Minho reaches a hand up to caress your cheek, a fond smile on his lips as he speaks, “You’re amazing.”

“No, you are.” you whisper, tears dripping down to his face and causing him to chuckle.

“Don’t cry.” Minho hums, moving his hand to place it at the back of your neck.

As gently as he can, he brings your head lower, his lips meeting yours in a gentle kiss. You taste the metallic tinge of his blood, but for his sake, you ignore it and kiss him with all the love and emotion you can manage to pour. You kiss him like your lips were the only thing capable of keeping him breathing, a lifeline to ensure that he didn’t slip away from you.

After a moment, you both hear cars approaching nearby. Minho pulls away, smiling at you without a word. You mirror his expression, leaning down to cradle his head against your chest. Minho’s arms come around to embrace you, feeling all the pain and tension slowly melt away.

Seconds later, a rush of footsteps approach, and frantic voices ask if you were both alright. You pull away from Minho’s embrace, eyes lighting up as you see Chan kneeling beside you two. The older male looks at the unconscious Minho, smiling sadly at his best friend. He then turns to you, eyes warm and gentle. “It’s all done, y/n. You ok?”

You nod, a small but pained smile on your lips, “More or less. You?”

“Never been better.” Chan laughs lightly.

Changbin then arrives, giving you a smile before helping Chan lift Minho up. A few other SKZ agents come to carry Minho into one of the cars with Changbin. Chan then offers his hand, which you take as he helps you up. Noticing the wound on your leg, the male carries you in his arms as well, walking over to another car. There, Felix greets you with a cry of joy.

“Y/n! I was so worried! I am so sorry!” the young agent says.

You give him an assuring smile and reply, “It’s ok Lix, don’t worry.”

The young agent moves aside to give you space in the car, and Chan carefully sets you down on the seat. You glance over to the bigger car where they put Minho in, a small frown now replacing your smile. Chan follows your gaze before chuckling softly and ruffling your hair. “He’ll be fine, y/n. Trust me.” Chan winks, “Minho won’t let himself die just like that...not when you’re in his life now.”

You fight the blush blooming on your cheeks and play it off with a sheepish grin. “Let’s go home, Chan.”

The older agent smiles, a playful salute following after, “Roger that, Dr. Song.”

Several days have passed since the mission at Jeju. Minho gets his treatment at the clinic with Seungmin’s help, and you and Jisung help the team dispose of all the Cle serums they acquired during the mission. It’s an ongoing process as various teams led by Changbin are infiltrating the remaining Cle bases and taking whatever serums they can for disposal using your solution.

Chan and a man named Im Hangyul deal with the internal affairs and revelations of Jung’s betrayal as the traitor as being kept imprisoned in the government’s highly-secured prison facility. Hyunjin has flown to Jeju to deal with discussions and aid in the damage done to the hotel during the entirety of the mission.

Jeongin and Felix keep track of everything, helping out where they can and whenever they can. Though they do spend most of their time with Minho in his clinic room as he recovers. You drop by every now and then, but Minho knows how busy you are so he tells you to prioritize your work first. After all, you could both talk afterwards.

And that is precisely what you both do a few days later, standing in one of the rooftop lounges of the living quarters.

Your hands rest on the railings as you stare at the horizon, fresh air dancing between your hair. A familiar voice calls out for your name, and you see Minho slowly walking over to you when you turn around. He smiles gently, and you offer a grin of your own. It doesn’t take long for him to reach you, and as soon as he does, his arms wrap around your waist as he brings you closer. You melt in his hold, releasing a deep breath as you take in his scent and close your eyes in bliss.

You remain like that for a moment until Minho pulls away just enough to look at you. His eyes are warm and gentle as they search yours, a goldenness melting into yours the longer he stares. You stifle a giggle and softly ask, “What?”

Minho chuckles, pecking your lips. “I’m sorry for lying to you.” he says gently, “I’m sorry for being a hypocrite, telling you to not keep secrets from me when in reality, I kept secrets from you.”

“Min...you...you probably - ”

“No, y/n. I expected you to be honest with me, but I wasn’t doing the same. No excuses. I really am sorry.” Minho says firmly yet gently.

You kiss his nose and respond in kind, “It’s ok Minho, I forgive you. But...I’m still a bit confused with what went down.”

Right. The whole fiasco in Jeju was still unanswered, and he did promise to explain everything once it was over.

“I promised I would explain, so here it is.”

“I’m listening.”

Minho begins to speak, starting off with how he began suspecting Jung years ago during the whole Jiyeon situation. He then explains that he, Chan and Changbin monitored Jung all those years and kept an eye on him by earning his trust. They brought this up to the authority they could truly trust - Im Hangyul, or the man they met at the bar the other time. Hangyul instructed them to keep pretending to be loyal to Jung until he showed his true colors.

“Hangyul was Jung’s colleague when they were younger agents, but Hangyul never felt at east with Jung. Jung never really cared about Hangyul’s involvement as long as he did his job as SKZ’s upper authority. Jung didn’t suspect Hangyul’s plans because Hangyul was able to make it seem like he was too naive for Jung’s schemes.” Minho continues to explain.

“So...Hangyul orchestrated everything to make sure Jung would eventually show his true colors?”

“I think Jung would eventually betray SKZ no matter what. Hangyul just anticipated it made sure that we knew how to go about it in the eventuality it happened. On the other hand, Jung manipulated some missions to make it seem less suspicious while still getting the job done on Cle's side. It’s a bit...complicated, I know.”

“No kidding.” you chuckle.

Minho smiles before continuing, “Long story short, Hangyul came up with the plan for me, Chan and Changbin to seem extremely loyal to Jung so that he didn’t suspect us. We’d play along with his business and whatnot, and then arrest him when the time came. That’s what went down back in Jeju.”

“I see. Felix and I were worried back then.”

“I wanted to tell you about our plan, but Hangyul told us not to tell anyone else.” Minho makes an apologetic expression, “He was afraid that it would make things messier than they already were. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Minho.” you say with a smile, “You did what you had to do.”

A chuckle escapes his lips as he leans down to kiss you. However, before he can, you put a hand in between and smirk. “Was ‘shooting’ me part of the plan?” you teasingly ask.

“Yes…” Minho trails off before clearing his throat, “Hangyul knew that you and Felix were going to get involved either way, so he wanted to make it seem like I didn’t care about you out of loyalty to Jung. It was to protect you, otherwise Jung would have shot you for real himself. We knew he wouldn’t have Felix killed on the spot, so Chan handled that.”

“Not sure if I should find that romantic or concerning.” you laugh.

The agent laughs with you, shaking his head. “I just don’t want you dead, case closed.”

“How sweet.”

Minho smirks at you; without wasting another second, he kisses you deeply, hands gently cradling your face as he brings you closer and closer. Your arms coil around his neck as you respond, kissing him with equal fervor. Tongues meet in a passionate dance while lips slide in perfect harmony; it’s a beautiful symphony of intimacy, a newfound addiction that swallows both of you whole. It’s a song of yearning hearts that can finally do as they please after having to hurdle past roadblocks and towering walls.

You both separate with a popping sound, breathing heavy and faces flushed. With hearts beating like drums, you breathe out, “Thank you, Minho.”

“For?”

“Helping me trust again. For sticking with me and showing me that there are people worth trusting...that there are people who genuinely care. Just...thank you for changing my life.” you say softly, a single tear slipping from your eye.

Minho smiles gently, thumb brushing the stray tear away. “You did change things for me too, y/n.” he begins, “You helped me open up again. I’ve almost forgotten what it was like to feel and care for someone the way I do for you. You showed me that people aren’t so difficult and that emotions aren’t useless.”

You’re overwhelmed with so much emotion that you can’t speak; instead, you just smile at Minho like he was the brightest star and most valuable treasure ever. The male laughs, kissing your nose, “I never really said it out loud but…”

He then presses a gentle kiss to your lips and whispers, “I love you, y/n. Genuinely and sincerely, I love you.”

You hum against his lips, unable to stop the giddy giggle from escaping your lips. “I love you too, Minho. Genuinely and sincerely.”

The agent is about to open his mouth to speak when a calm and gentle voice breaks the romantic atmosphere.

“Dr. Song, a moment, please.”

Both you and Minho turn around to see a smiling man waving in a friendly manner. Minho bows respectfully, “Sir Im.”

Hangyul chuckles, smiling at the agent. “Agent Lee, sorry to interrupt, but I must speak to Dr. Song.”

Minho knows what this is about, and he can’t help the feeling of worry settle in his guts. Still, he flashes you a melancholic smile, squeezing your hand a second longer than he had intended. Hangyul gives him an apologetic yet assuring smile as the agent walks away from the lounge. Now that you and Hangyul are alone, the elder speaks, “I assume Minho already told you everything?”

“Yes, he did, sir.”

“Well, congratulations on completing your mission here at SKZ, my dear. However, as I remember, you and Jung agreed on something.”

“Yes, we did.”

You could return to the hospital as soon as your job was done in SKZ.

Hangyul tilts his head and smiles gently, “You’re free to go back to Gongjak now that this mission is over.”

“Right, of course.”

You’re about to ask him whether you should pack your things, but Hangyul hums and offers a slightly cheekier grin. “But as SKZ’s new head, I am also offering you a job here. The lab department, or more like Han Jisung actually, would like to have you work there. That department lost a lot of good scientists and doctors after Baek and Jung’s betrayal.”

A small sparkle of hope glimmers in your eyes.

“Of course, I am aware that a lot of trauma was placed on you in those very labs, so we’d surely understand if you choose to return to Gongjak.”

“I see…” you trail off before clearing your throat and looking at Hangyul with a determined glaze, “Sir...do you believe in new beginnings?”

“Why of course, dear.” Hangyul chuckles, “Especially with the right environment and mindset. And...the right people.”

“Then...I’ve made my decision.” you say proudly.

Hangyul smiles, offering you his hand, “Come then. Let us finalize things and make arrangements.”

Minho may have recovered from his injuries, but the exhaustion from all the missions and fights the past months were still lingering. As such, the agent lay on one of the couches of the lounge room, eyes shut as he remained fast asleep. Despite his keen senses, he does not stir awake when someone opens the door and quietly walks towards him.

He only wakes - but doesn’t open his eyes - when he feels a weight laying on top of him. When he feels a head nuzzling against his chest and sighing in relief, a small smile graces his lips. “Are you here to say goodbye, or are you here to stay?” he mumbles.

You chuckle, listening to his steady heartbeat, unconsciously counting its beats. “If I said it was to say goodbye...then what?”

Minho opens his eyes, his gaze now on you. A smirk is on his lips as his hands find purchase on your hips, “Then you have a very naughty way of saying goodbye.”

A bright laugh escaped your lips as you shift around to look at Minho, a giddily warm gaze in his eyes. You feel the butterflies in your stomach when he smiles at you, and you have no choice but to smile back. You crawl a bit higher, high enough to bring your faces close together. You tease a kiss on his lips, the touch fleeting and feather light. The male chases you with a simple lift of his head, wrapping his velvety lips around yours.

You hum into his mouth as he does with yours, fingers splaying across his chest as you steady yourself. Minho’s left hand tangles between the locks of your hair while the other holds onto your waist like a lock. A tongue darts out, and you take the chance to tease him once more by pulling away just as he tastes you. With a giggle from you, Minho’s deadpan expression morphs into that of amusement.

“Clearly, you are enjoying this.” he jokes.

You laugh, “Just a little fun.”

“Mhmm.” Minho smirks at you, pinching your cheek.

“I’m staying, Minho.” you eventually blurt out, observing his reaction.

The agent looks blank at first, but when your words sink in, his eyes widen in pleasant surprise as he chuckles. “You are?” he asks to be sure he heard right.

“Yes, I am.” you say softer this time, pressing your forehead against his, “Im Hangyul offered to let me work here since the lab department needed new people.”

Minho’s lips curl into a pleased smile, eyes glimmering with all the stars that he could fit. “You don’t know how happy that makes me, y/n. How happy that would make the boys.” Minho whispers against your skin when he peppers kisses on your cheek.

You giggle, humming in satisfaction at his reaction. Minho sits up, careful not to let you slip off his lap. Once seated, he rests his hands on your waist and looks up at you. “What made you change your mind?” he asks.

“Well,” you start, “I joined SKZ back then to help people, and it’s still what I want to do. I just couldn’t do it with all the...things that happened with Baek and the rest. But...you and Chan and the other boys helped me through it and as I told Hangyul, it’s a new beginning - a new start for me. With you guys, of course.”

The agent looks at you fondly, reaching a hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “We look forward to having you with us, y/n.” he smiles.

You chuckle, gentle fingers tenderly ghosting over the bruises on his face, and your thumb carefully ghosting across the scar on his lip that was still healing. “I thought I was going to lose you that day, you know?” you say softly.

Minho smiles, lips curling cutely as he kisses you briefly, “I’m here now, and I’m not leaving you. Ever.”

He then proceeds to joke, “But I don’t mind getting injured every now and then if you’ll be the doctor tending to my wounds.”

“Lee Minho.” you playfully glare.

Minho laughs, wrapping his arms around your figure as he leans closer to kiss you tenderly, coaxing your mouth open with smooth ease. You let him do so anyway, smiling into the kiss as you press yourself closer to him. When he pulls away to look at you, the stars in his eyes dance with a brightness like no other.

“I love you.” he grins.

Your fingers play with the little hairs at the back of his neck. “I love you too.” you smile.

You’re both about to meet for another kiss when the lounge room door opens, revealing seven other boys. Flustered, you clamber off of Minho’s lap, causing the male to laugh in amusement. As soon as you’re on your feet, Felix comes crashing in and tackles you in a tight hug.

“Is it true that you’re staying?”

“Yeah, I am.” you laugh, hugging the younger male.

Felix celebrates, jumping up and down and blabbering about how you should all go out for a celebratory meal. Jisung and Seungmin walk over, and the three of you do a group hug. The doctor speaks up first, “It’s nice to be able to work with you again.”

“The feeling’s mutual, Seungmin.” you grin at him then at Jisung, “Right, Mr. Lab Department Head?”

Jisung smiles proudly, “Yes! This is going to be great.”

Hyunjin sits on one of the beanbags and smiles, “It’s customary for the newest recruit to treat us agents to something, by the way.”

“Really?” you look at Chan, Changbin and Minho for confirmation; the three just chuckle to themselves.

Jeongin sits on the beanbag next to Hyunjin and grins, eyes turning into narrow slits. “He’s just kidding. But if you want to...we won’t object.” the youngest sing-songs.

“Let me think about it.” you laugh.

“Yay! Jisung and Felix cheer.

Changbin then slings an arm around your shoulder and pretends to whisper; though, he “whispers” loud enough for Minho to hear. “We’re counting on you to keep an eye out for Minho, ok? Don’t fall too hard for his charms though…” the buff agent grins cheekily.

“Roger that.” you play along, prompting a “haha very funny” response from Minho.

Chan smiles like a proud older brother, gesturing his head to the large window that displays the sky in view. “Here’s to more missions then.” he smiles happily.

You nod in response, giving the eldest agent a hug of appreciation.

A few minutes later, everyone has settled in the room and are doing their own things. Jeongin, Felix, Jisung and Seungmin are playing UNO, Changbin and Hyunjin are watching a movie on the TV, and Chan is asleep on the other couch. You, meanwhile, stay snuggled against Minho with his arms wrapped securely around you. Your head rests on his shoulder as you both watch the other boys playfully ruin their friendships over UNO, an amused smile on your faces.

Minho then shifts his head to plant a kiss on the crown of your head. This prompts you to look up at him, smiling softly. Minho then smiles, pressing his forehead against yours as he whispers, “Welcome to SKZ, Dr. Song.”

“Thank you, Agent Lee.” you grin wider when he kisses your nose.

And after a quick, tender kiss on your lips, Minho whispers, “And welcome home.”

Stepping back into SKZ was like free-falling from a thousand-foot tower. Non-stop, heart-racing and terrifying falling at full speed. It took a fall or maybe two, and while every second and every inch of that tested your heart, mind and trust, it was worth it.

You put your trust in these boys - in Minho - and took that leap into the unknown, falling into a rabbit hole like Alice in Wonderland.

And you’d do it again because you know - you trust - that someone was there to catch that fall.

“It’s good to be home.”

- BONUS EPILOGUE ; Two years later -

You sit on a beach towel, toes digging into the sand as you watch Jisung, Felix, Hyunjin and Jeongin play a very...unconventional game of volleyball. On the far end where the water begins to get deep, Chan, Changbin and Hangyul attempt to surf, though it results in a comical falling and flailing in water; quite cute, considering they were agents and whatnot.

Seungmin and a few other select agents are strolling the shoreline, either collecting shells or taking photos to preserve the memory. A smile graces your lips as a summery, salty breeze kisses your skin.

A minute or two later, Minho returns from the beach-side bar, two drinks in his hands. He takes his seat beside you, offering the other drink. You look at its bright blue color before smiling at Minho. “Can you be drinking, Agent Lee?” you playfully joke around.

Minho laughs, gently ruffling your hair, “We’re off-duty, Dr. Song. It’ll be fine.”

You take a sip of the drink and chuckle, eyes back on the boys playing volleyball. “Considering the last mission nearly killed you and Chan, I’d say you both deserve this vacation.” you playfully scrunch up your nose.

Minho hums after sipping his drink, “That...and you know how Felix has always wanted to go to Jeju on a non-mission context.”

“Oh, right.” you grin.

“And…” the agent trails off as he looms over, kissing your lips teasingly slow, “I did promise to take you on a beach date.”

“You’re two years late, by the way.” you tease with a smirk.

“Can’t help it. We’re busy people.” Minho laughs.

“Are you two gonna flirt and drink while we all burn under the sun, or are you gonna join us for some intense volleyball?” Jisung jokes, prompting you and Minho to laugh.

“Alright, alright. We’re coming.”

“Wait.” Hyunjin panics as you walk over to him, “Why does Minho look like he’s going to strike us down like target practice?”

Jeongin, who is on the same team as Minho now, merely smiles in the most innocent manner, “It’s ok, you have y/n, a literal doctor.”

“Somehow that doesn’t comfort me in the slightest!”

Felix laughs, “Game time!”

201 notes · View notes

bokutoslittlebird · 3 years

Text

Dark Nights

King!Oikawa x assassin!prisoner!reader

Author’s Note : This is the request for a prisoner reader and king Oikawa Au which is literally spiraled into a series. I am not sorry ; Everything will come to a close once the 5th installment is completed ; the request had “torture” and I didn’t realize until halfway through that torture probably wasn’t what you meant, but you’re gonna have to be more specific of what you want because I saw it and went “oh, noncon and maybe some actual hitting.” So, sorry if that’s not what you wanted.

Warnings: death of a minor character [no name OC], blood, dagger, noncon, degradation, kicking, Oikawa gets violent, Iwaizumi turns a blind eye, chains and dungeons, fingering, creampie, no aftercare, choking

Over the river and past the glen stands Fukurōdani, Kingdom in the Mountains that is under the rule of King Bokuto. The ruthless king that stands amongst his army as the bravest and strongest warrior, with his queen Kaori at his side. Deep in the castle, past the kitchen and deep in the dungeons, there sits three people. Amongst those three is a woman clad in all black, a dagger in her hand and a rag in the other, swiping away dark droplets that drip to the concrete floor. Before them, a man without a tongue.

“So, King Oikawa is looking for his bride-to-be, which is why he dared to trespass into the Dark Forest?” A rough voice speaks, his large hand tapping at his chin. His eyes pop open as a thought appears in his head, golden eyes turning to bore into yours. His smile is cunning and terrifying, but you just stare at him. “Maybe someone should see if he got what he was looking for,”

“If you’re suggesting I sneak into his castle, then say it. I don’t like puzzles and riddles, my lord,” your voice is dead, but loud enough to hear over the sharpening of your blade. “It’ll take a long time to get there and get back. Unlike your own kingdom, he has a barrier that is under watch by his loyal dogs.”

“You’re an assassin. Sneaking in is what you do,” he coos, standing from his chair. His presence is behind you, large hands settling onto your shoulders. “I ask of you to sneak into the Kingdom of Aoba Johsai and kill King Oikawa,”

“Excuse me? That’s a bit much,” your voice warbles. Killing a king is harder, much harder, than sneaking under the radar. You would know. “Killing a king isn’t easy, you know,”

“Oh, I know. I know very well, my dear,” his voice is barely audible, lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “But, I can offer something if you succeed,”

“Which is?”

“Freedom. You’ll be able to fly again, my little songbird,” his lips press to your cheek, whirling you around to face him. You have to move your head to look up at him, but he’s grinning with lidded eyes. “You’re more than welcome to decline. Personally, I’d prefer it, however, I know you’re the best assassin I have,”

“Best disposable assassin. Why not send Keiji?”

“Akaashi is supposed to protect me. He can’t do that if he’s in another kingdom,”

“Fine, but only if you keep your promise. I’ll hold you to it,” you finally say, huffing as you sheath the dagger. Never one to not rise to the challenge, you turn on your heel to leave the dungeons.

The trip from Fukurōdani to Aoba Johsai would be a day on foot, but you were able to get to the base of the mountains and enter the Kingdom of Nekoma, which allowed tourists from neighboring kingdoms. There, you were able to get your hands on some rations and new clothes, disguising yourself as a beggar woman who’s traveling the continent.

Pathways lead from each kingdom to their neighbor, but you choose to duck into the forest, under the shadows of the leaves and proud standing trees. Go in too deep and you’ll arrive at the center of the Dark Forest, where the ruin of the Karasuno Kingdom lies. It’s an unspoken forbidden place, only those wishing to never leave dare to go there. Crunching dead leaves and twigs under your feet, you manage to find a clearing to stay for the night. Aoba Johsai is farther than you expected, but the reward of freedom encourages you to keep your head up and move forward. It’s not safe to travel at night, the forest is home to all sorts of beasts.

It’s dark, the birds have stopped their chirping as you rest in the tree. Above the ground, away from monsters lurking in shadows, you close your eyes to get some shuteye. A ear-piercing scream rips sleep from your grasp, head whipping to look for the sound. Below you, about 2 yards from your sleeping position, is a family of travelers that seem to be struggling to scare away a bear. Although it is simply a bear, the family doesn’t seem to be prepared for such a disturbance. Against your logic, your morals win as you take out an arrow and put it into your crossbow. It’s small, but your aim is good enough to get the bear’s attention, roaring as it backs up. Lodged in the shoulder, the bear retreats as it quiets down the roars. The traveling family seems to be relieved at the turn of events, but they then become rigid as you drop from the tree.

“We cannot thank you enough, dear comrade,” the man, most likely the father, says. He goes to get on his knees, but he looks to you. “What— how shall we pay you back?”

This could work, you think. “Where does your family travel to?”

“Seijoh, the Kingdom on the Water. Tales have spread that opportunities are booming and the King is kind and just,” he speaks, but then his words stumble. “I do not-! Kuroo-sama is very gracious! I would give my life for his-!”

“You can stop. I don’t hail from Nekoma, if that’s what you think. I’m from neither kingdom, instead just traveling the continent in search of a new life. Perhaps Seijoh would be the way to go? I originally was going to Nekoma, actually,” you spin the tale you’ve made for yourself, which relieves the man. He straightens his back, his height no more than your own. “Would you let me travel with you? I’ll make sure your travel is safe,”

“Of course! We’d be honored to have the person who saved our lives join us,” he bows once more, then turns to the carriage with his family. “Let’s move on!”

“Yes, let’s,” you agree, joining the man on the bench. He cracks the reins and the horse begins moving once more, as you watch for anything else. Travels alone are scary, but with an entire family looking about and a kind stranger by your side, you won’t have to worry. Getting some sleep is your main focus, now, closing your eyes and letting the man know you’re going to rest.

The carriage stops moving, jolting you from your sleep. Before you lies other carriages and caravans, stretched into a line that leads to a large waterfall. The forest is bright and the birds are chirping as a man barks orders at the families and people attempting to enter. You make small conversation with the family, given a cloak to cover yourself from the chill of the morning dew. When it is time to be inspected, you have to give kudos to King Oikawa and his kingdom, noticing how bright and welcoming his entrance is.

“What is your business in Aoba Johsai?” The man almost growls out. A loyal dog of Oikawa’s, from your earlier words, stands before you. His hair is yellow in color, dark lines running from ear to ear. He catches your gaze, eyes narrowing even more, then looks back to the man.

“A traveling family with hopes to start a new life. I’ve heard great and kind things about Oikawa-sama, so I wish to visit the Kingdom on the Water got opportunity,” It’s a believable reason, and then men searching the items the family has give the okay. The guardian of the waterfall steps back, a shallow nod before he barks orders to move. The waterfall is large and can easily drown someone with how hard and fast the water crashes to the earth. A diamond shelf is embedded in the water, two more soldiers standing on opposite ends as they part the water. Barely enough room for the carriage and family, but once inside, the water crashes back behind you.

Aoba Johsai is breathtaking.

The morning sun glimmers across the water, waves gently rising only to be quelled back down. Birds sing along with the fish jumping out of the water, only to then crash back into calming waters. Pathways built of crystal minerals, harvested from the mines of Dateko, and hold countless travelers who have come on news of the opportunities. Soldiers are posted at every archway, checking to make sure nobody has snuck past the soldiers at the waterfall. Security is top notch at this kingdom, you note, as neither Nekoma nor Fukurōdani have such strong protections before entering the main kingdom. The pathway continues into the main kingdom, the town on the water, where fishermen and merchants attempt to sell a fortune for items only available at their stalls. Your awe must have shown, as the man beside you laughs joyfully.

“Never seen such a sight before, have you?” You shake your head. “It’s beautiful. I wish we could’ve been born here instead. Lots of blues, whites, and greens.”

“I noticed the vast greenery. The open area allows for lots of plants to grow, I suppose. Rivers allow for fish to come and reproduce, as well as allow for aquatic plants. A beautiful cycle of life, with a magical kingdom in the center,” you comment.

“Well, no magic. Magic hasn’t been used in over 100 years, you know. Not since Karasuno’s king fell. Um, I think—“

“King Ukai. I remember the story told to me before bed when I was a wee child. The story of the fallen king and his kingdom.”

“Yes! King Ukai, I hardly remember him,” before he continues, he stops. “Ah, we’ll need to get a room at the Rose Inn, and let the horses stay here at the stables. Would you mind settling our horses in? That way you can explore, if you want, before reaching the inn,”

“That sounds lovely! Thank you, kind sir,” you bow to him and grasp the reins of the horses. The inn is right next to the stables, the grunts working to put the luggage into a room for the night. You smile, turning the horses into the stables. A large man stands posted outside the stables, talking with an older man.

“No problems this week? Seems like you’ve had a stroke of luck, good sir,” the soldier says, laughing as the old man laughs with him.

“I hope it stays that way. Oh, ma’am? Need us to keep your horses?” The man notices you and your eye drifts to the soldier, straightening his back as a lazy smirk appears on his face. Not very threatening with the smile, but his large stature makes you wary.

“Yes, my family is staying at the Rose Inn next door. How long can you keep the horses for?”

“We charge by the night. How much gold do you have?” You hand him the bag of coins the man gave you. He counts them, tallying up the total. “They can stay for five nights.”

“Perfect! Thank you! I’ll tell my father, now!” You now graciously, skipping off and past the guard. His eyes trail after you, but you keep your pace to the inn. You’ll have to explore later. That guard sets you on edge.

The inn is graciously spacious. There’s enough room for each traveler and the cost of the rooms is cheaper than most inns you’ve come across in Nekoma and Fukurōdani. There’s sapphire and quartz lights, flames flickering behind them as the light illuminates and projects farther than most candles. It’s innovative technology, and allows for the rooms to be more lit than dirty and dim taverns. Dinner is also better than expected, the menu being more than a sheet of paper. You order at the bar, ordering a plate of their special dinner, then sit at the bar. The men beside you are drunk, but you hope they don’t cause a scene. Something tells you that the security would deal with a bar fight quite brutally.

By the time dusk has fallen, lights flickering on as lower soldiers and owners of shops alight their street lamps, you’ve explored the town. It’s full of trusting people, so you’ve learned quite a bit. King Oikawa has a personal guard and the captain of the guard almost always by his side, whether he makes an announcement or visits down below. One man, Hanamaki Takahiro, seems to willing to joke and hang out with the townspeople, but the captain is much more stern. Iwaizumi Hajime is the name you were told. He’s dangerous, you gathered, and he’s almost always by Oikawa’s side, protecting his king from harm. As night falls, the soldiers rotate so the ones on the streets are now in the castle, as nobody else enters the kingdom after dusk. Disposable soldiers to patrol, skilled protectors inside and around the king where the nightfall can hide trespassers entering the king’s chambers.

Shedding the clothes you were given so graciously, you’re stripping off the clothes of the soldier posted at the inn. The blood flowing from his chest has turned to a large puddle, so you have to trade your shoes for the soldier’s. Larger than your own feet, but you must bear with it. Leaving the alley, you keep your head low and you pretend to patrol. A glance left. A glance right.

You’re stuck.

Soldiers manage to be spread far enough apart, but not enough. They can see where you stand. You breathe heavily and straighten your back. Time to impersonate a soldier through the night and wait for switching times. A brief memory of the dead soldier in the alley flashes, but you push it back. The body is hidden in shadows, even the sunlight in the morn wouldn’t dare shine on the corpse.

Chickens chirp and a rooster crows, soon the other life awake and the sun rises. Shedding light on your position, you look to the gate that leads into the castle. The captain of the guard stands there, opening the gate as soldiers stand tall behind him. You blend in with the other guards, standing straight as you all prepare to trade positions. However, a woman with hair black as night stands before the group. She has an air about her, but she looks familiar. Iwaizumi lets her go, having one of his shoulders go with her. He’s tall and familiar, the soldier from the stables. They pass by, but the woman catches your eye. Her eyes hold a bit of mischief and mystery, but then she’s gone and her soldier follows with her.

“Alright, switch up! You know your positions!” Captain Iwaizumi shouts. Everyone shouts their agreement and dutifully switch places. Eyes face forward, unwilling to look at the captain that seems to have his gaze focused on you. Every soldier goes their separate ways and you don’t seem to bring attention to where you go, entering a room that you and another guard seem to be assigned to.

“Don’t fuck this up, Wakashu,” the soldier beside you grunts. You glance at him, wondering if he’s talking to you, but he thankfully looks to be hyping himself up. Pushing the doors open, you understand why.

It’s the throne room.

King Oikawa sits on his throne as he chats with two people beside him — Hanamaki Takahiro and one of the guardians from the waterfall. Your hair stands on edge, noticing the familiar yellow hair and dark lines, but you attempt to quell your nervousness. The king notices you both, nodding as you both go to positions on either side of the doors. Gatekeepers, essentially.

“It’s sad to see Kiyo-chan leave so soon. I’d hope she would’ve stayed another night to think about her decision,” the king huffs and sighs, brown locks swishing side to side as he shakes his head. “Guess it can’t be helped,”

“She probably thought you were too much of a brat,” Hanamaki snickers. Oikawa huffs again, turning to his guard. “I speak the truth! You expect her to like someone like you? With a shitty personality?”

“Excuse me! My personality is perfect and women should be lining up to be my queen! I thought only Iwa-chan would be mean to me,” he pouts, cheeks puffed out. It’s almost a cute scene. Almost.

Which is promptly ruined.

The doors fling open, you and the other soldier startled by the sudden opening. Iwaizumi and another soldier are huffing as they stop before the throne. Oikawa’s eyes go from friendly to seriousness, his posture changing as he looks down on the captain and an underling. “Speak.”

“A soldier was found dead in the alley,” you and the other soldier immediately go on edge, but for different reasons. “This one found the body,”

Oikawa turns his attention to the soldier, who immediately goes rigid and explains the scene. He also mentions the boots found at the crime scene, which he has in his hand. Coated with dried blood, they’re obviously yours. The guard from the waterfall recognizes them and you panic.

“I’ve seen them before! Someone came into the kingdom with those shoes yesterday morning,” he growls out, then he looks to you, who doesn’t move a muscle. Moving would make a scene, so you of course stay still, but he stares. “You. What’s with the cut on your shirt?”

Shit.

In the dark of night, you didn’t notice the slash in the shirt. The darkened coloring prevented the blood from showing, but the slash showed that something happened. It’s not a cut like dodging a weapon, but more of a stab. Fight or flight response kicks in, so you choose the latter. You got your information, you didn’t kill Oikawa, but it’s better than getting caught. You swing the door open and shut it, bolting down the corridors as you shed the armor. Lighten the load, faster you run. It’s not long until the soldier from before stops you, tall and imposing. You’d remember those stupid eyebrows from anywhere.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?” He grins, but his grip is strong. You have a feeling he knew you’d be running soon. Footsteps approach behind you, then you’re pulled from the soldier’s grip and forced onto your knees. Chains are placed on your wrists and Iwaizumi grunts.

“Wonder who you’re working for,” he says. Oikawa is behind him, looking at you with the same look he gave to his soldier and Iwaizumi.

“Take her to the dungeons. I’ll see who she works for later.”

The tug of the restraints gets you off your knees, following Iwaizumi and his guard dog, the yellow haired one. Both of them prevent you from running and getting free of the restraints.

In the dungeons, you notice the materials. Similar to the pathway into the town, the dungeon bars are made of a shimmering mineral and you’re suddenly behind the bars. The restraints from before are removed, but your wrists are then placed into more chains along the ground. “Try and get out and see how well that works,” the yellow one grunts. Iwaizumi snaps his fingers and the soldier follows, leaving the dungeon.

“She’ll see soon enough, Kyotani,” the captain says, locking you in. “I’m sure the fight hasn’t completely left her,”

Then they leave. You’re all alone and you’ve failed your mission, but they’re right. You still have some fight left.

Hours pass by as you finally feel the fight leave you. There’s only one guard in the dungeons, but he’s nowhere near you. A thin man with ash brown hair stands posted at the base of the stairs, farthest from your cell. At first, you thought they lacked brains with security in the dungeons, seeing as you’re the only criminal behind bars, but the chains proved otherwise. Each movement you made, every breath you took, every grunt you voiced, the chains knew. They pulled tighter as if they had minds of their own, but they would loosen to their proper place if you were still for a certain amount of time.

Footsteps on marble stairs has you and the guard on alert. Looking towards the stairs, you see the king himself coming towards you. He smirks once he’s outside your cell. Iwaizumi stands next to him, not Hanamaki, and unlocks the door. “Are you comfortable?”

“No.”

“Well, could we help change that?”

“No.”

“Not much of a talker, are you?” Oikawa grins, crooked with a hint of anger. “I’ll get to the point. Who are you, who sent you, and what was your goal? I’m sure killing one of my disposable guards wasn’t the goal?” You don’t speak, so that angers him even more. It’s quick, the stinging in your jaw and the blood in your mouth the only indications his foot collided with your face. “Once more. Who are you?”

“My name is none of your business and neither is my home. My goal was to send that stupid head off your shoulders. Happy?” Your eyes stay narrowed, but he seems delighted at your answer.

“Treason, trespassing, and murder. I should kill you for this, but I wonder where you’re from,” he then has an unhinged desire in his eyes, grin splitting into something sinister. “I’ll keep you alive until you spill,”

“I’d rather eat your shoe again. What king wears white thigh-high boots, anyways? Your guards don’t respect you, they tolerate you. A worthless king with no pride, that’s all you are. I won’t bow to someone or kneel under their pressure when they have a weak resolve and no power. Admit it, you don’t run the kingdom, your soldiers do.”

A swift kick is administered, Oikawa’s breath heaving as he pants. His face is red with anger, frown evident on his face, but you’re grinning. Blood may be dripping from your mouth, but you know you’re right. He inhales sharply, then turns to Iwaizumi. “Understood,” he nods in response, leaving the keys on the wall as he goes to leave. Iwaizumi also takes the guard posted with him. You don’t understand why, but you don’t have much time to think about that.

“I may seem like a worthless king with little to no pride, but that’s all I have. My worthless pride. My guards and soldiers respect me because I am the power here,” he growls out, hand tugging on your hair that sends you collapsing against the ground. The chains pull in your arms, keeping you down as he straddles you. “You may not bow to me, but I’ll find out who you do bow to. I’ll rip every bit of fight out of you, beginning today,”

“Get off, you pervert!” Your screams echo against marble, reaching nobody’s ears. Oikawa goes to strip away the stolen clothes, eyes narrowing as he feels the dried blood against your chest. Ripping off the shirt, he exposes your breasts.

“Maybe I should take you as my royal lover, seeing as your body is supple and warm, perfect for someone to come to after a long day of work,” he grins, wicked and perverse as he looks at you. “What do you say, sweetheart?”

“Fuck off!” You scream, legs kicking and body squirming. He sighs and shrugs.

“No use, apparently. Then, let’s see how the rest of you feels,” he licks his lips as he shuffled down your pants. He’ll have to get you some other clothes, ones with easier access than the ones of his soldiers. The pants are off and he mocking coos at you, fingers sliding around the waistband of your panties to have them snap against your skin. “Pretty. All white and innocent, aren’t you? That’s what the panties say, but I bet you’d look better in black, since you’re probably not innocent.” He doesn’t get a response, so he continues talking. “I’ll give you some blue ones later, they’ll suit your skin tone and match the bars of your holding cell. Aren’t I generous?”

He’s pulling the fabric down, your legs spread as he does. He expects your goods to be dry, absolutely unprepared, but to his surprise, glimmering strings connect your pussy to your removed panties, falling and breaking as he continues to bare yourself to him. A laugh escapes him, fingers pressing into your folds. “You’re getting off on being manhandled? Seems like you’re the pervert, sweetie,” he coos, licking a hot stripe of saliva against your cheek. It’s disgusting and revolting, but you can’t say anything against it. You’ve been in a similar position before, your body seems to not be able to tell the difference between men.

Oikawa’s fingers delve into your cunt, scissoring as he feels around. Rubbing against your walls, he’s pleased when your back arches and a moan escapes your lips, only for a hand to come and cover your mouth. It’s soon removed, the chains pulling your arm back down. Oikawa continues his violation of your most sensitive area, thumb rubbing against your clit as his fingers move and rub inside you. The building knot in your stomach tightens and tightens, muscles tensing as you feel your orgasm coming on. You can feel it, it’s almost there, a moan escaping— then it’s gone. Oikawa’s hand has been removed, tongue flicking over the wet digits as he moans himself.

“Definitely not a virgin by the way you’re acting. A proper whore, you are,” he doesn’t expect an answer, standing on his knees as he goes to unbuckle his belt. Eyes widen as you realize he’s actually going all the way, but he just smirks down at you. Removing his cock from his pants, you stare at it. It’s almost beautiful, you think, staring at the slender cock and how it seems to just compliment his personality and how he holds himself. A hand wraps around the shaft of it, pumping as his darkened gaze lingers on your spread legs. Well, what’s between them. “Hope you’re ready,”

Although you most certainly are not, he doesn’t care. Pushing his tip into your cunt, he finds it hard to push too far. You’re not relaxed in his hold, tensed at his entrance into your velvety walls. His hand comes to your throat, pushing his thumb on your windpipe. “Any words?”

“Fuck off,” you mutter, eyes rolling as he plunges inside you. Pushing past your barriers and spreading you open wide, he’s not the biggest or longest you’ve ever had, but he’s by no means small. It takes effort to adjust to his length, but he doesn’t allow it. Once he’s in, he’s pulling out only to snap his hips back to yours. Your throat is free of his hold, his hand moving to hook your leg over his arm as his other hand is placed beside you. It’s a horrible thing, finding yourself enjoying his thrusts and how each roll of his hips seem to add to your pleasure. His own moans, much louder than yours, seem to prove he’s finding his own pleasure inside you.

Oikawa’s soon picking up his pace, his lips next to your ear as you mewl from pleasure. “Acting like a proper whore. You’d make a fine lover, chained to my side permanently,” he murmurs, lips pressing to your hot skin. He doesn’t get an answer, but he has a feeling your answer is no. Yet, he finds himself getting lost in his own pleasure that he’s soon slamming his hips into you even faster. When he feels his orgasm coming, he leans back and applies pressure to your clit. Your squeal of pleasure has your walls creaming around him and sucking him in. He’s not far behind, rutting his hips against you as he spills his cum inside, your walls milking him of every drop.

When the high passes, he’s removing his limp cock from your hole as his cum oozes out. It drips and plops onto the floor beneath you, but he finds it mesmerizing. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll have to come back.

The shutting and locking of the doors tells you he’s gone, leaving the dungeons and you all alone. With his seed still gushing from your cunt, you have a feeling he’ll be visiting you tomorrow, too.

He wants to break you. You refuse to bend. Each night, you’ll find yourself looking forward to his company.

#haikyuu smut #Mr. Tōru #BB.Kinky #BB.Requests #tw.noncon #tw.dubcon #oikawa x reader #tw.choking #tw.death #tw.blood #tw.degradation #tw.abuse #tw.no aftercare

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xoxopandapanda · 3 years

Text

InuKag Week 2021: Day 6

Day 6: Transformation

@inukag-week

“What are you going to do with that?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it.”

“You’ve got twig arms. I’ve got to worry about it because it’s going to become my problem soon.”

Kagome spun around, waving the screwdriver in the air at Inuyasha, her stupid friend who was judging her more harshly than he had any right to. “I’m redecorating my bedroom. Not you, so butt out already.”

Inuyasha crossed his arms and stared down at her. “Okay,” he said slowly, “you’re redecorating, but that shelf isn’t level at all, so I’ve got to fix it.”

Kagome snarked back at him. “The shelf isn’t even on the wall; I’m just putting in the screws to hold it up!”

“Sure, but those screws aren’t in a straight line. Did you even check before you started? Or are we going for an abstract, everything-is-glued-down look? Because shelves have to be level in order to work properly.”

She felt her ears begin to burn from embarrassment. She had forgotten to check. She measured from the wall, and apparently, according to his keen eyesight, had miscalculated and not had the tape measure very level. Kagome turned around and looked at the offending screws sticking out of her wall. Man, they weren’t even close to level.

She scratched the top of her head and tried to figure out what to do. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to ask Inuyasha for help, even though he clearly saw that she needed it now.

Here she thought she was a big girl who could do a room transformation all on her own without help, but it was appearing that she was very wrong about that idea.

Inuyasha was rifling through her hardware supplies, clearly trying to figure out what exactly she had at her disposal for the completion of the project. “Do you have any putty?”

Kagome looked over her shoulder at him. He had stolen one of her scrunchies and tied his hair up, clearly now feeling invested in helping her with her project. Kagome wanted to scream. She didn’t know who she was under the impression she was going to impress with redoing her whole room by herself, but here she was, annoyed that Inuyasha was now going to spend his weekend with her, fixing her mistakes.

“Any what?” She asked.

“Putty. To fill the unnecessary holes you put in the wall.”

“Uh, no.”

Inuyasha stood up and surveyed her room with a careful eye. “What exactly are you planning on doing in here?”

Kagome shrugged. “New shelves. Put up pictures. Change where the bed is. Maybe paint it a new color.”

Inuyasha looked down the hall to the living room where she had last night removed her bed, desk, and dresser to. “You could have asked me for help moving the furniture, you know. Hell. We could have roped Miroku into helping too probably.”

“I’m a big girl, Inuyasha. I can do things on my own if I want.” Kagome huffed at him.

Inuyasha looked back at her, his eyes showing how little he believed her. “You’re a pretty small girl, Kagome. There’s a reason we use you to crawl through windows when Miroku locks us out.”

“It’s a saying, stupid.”

“If anyone’s stupid here, it’s the girl who thinks painting comes after hanging shelves.”

Okay. That one stung. Kagome felt herself start to flush all over again, realizing that he was right. She was going about this all wrong. Maybe she should have completely decided what she wanted to do before she started on her project.

So, she turned the conversation back on him. “I thought you were going to be out of town this weekend.”

“I thought you were going home to spend time with your mom.”

“Plans changed.”

“Same.”

Touché. Kagome knew she wasn’t going to get anymore information out of him. She could press at him as to why he had let himself into her apartment today, but he did it so often she didn’t think anything of it.

He may have lived two buildings over, but he had known her since the beginning of high school and had never been the type to knock on doors for permission to enter.

Hell, he used the toilet while she was in the shower if he was so inclined.

“Mom had a college friend come into town, so she won’t be home. I’ll go back and visit a different time.”

Inuyasha nodded, still looking around her room.

Kagome decided to prod. “And you?”

“Saw your car didn’t leave last night so didn’t go anywhere.”

Oh. She realized he didn’t have any plans; he just didn’t want to get roped into going to visit her family too. Fair enough. Grandpa probably would have given him chores to do or Souta would want him to play a sport game with his friends. Her family was very attached to him, and as much as she knew he loved them, there was only so much he could handle.

Especially if she wasn’t available to save him.

She went back to her new weekend plans. “I wanted to do something different and I’ve been here for almost a year and haven’t hung up pictures.”

“Clearly, you’ve never hung anything up if that shelf attempt is any indication.”

Kagome scowled at him. “Are you just here to insult me?”

“No,” he shrugged. “I wanted to go out to lunch with you.”

“Oh,” Kagome put down her screwdriver. “Let me change and we can go. Ramen?”

Inuyasha nodded. “Then we’ll go to the hardware store.”

Kagome paused, inquisitively looking at him.

He walked towards the door and slid on his shoes, waiting for her to follow. “You don’t have anything you need to finish your ‘room transformation’.”

Kagome nodded meekly, realizing that he was for sure going to be helping her with her weekend project.

It turned out to be nice to have Inuyasha present to help her redo her bedroom. He was very proficient in repairs – something she was previously unaware of – and even more help with putting up a new coat of paint on her walls.

His height made it easy for him to put up level shelves, and he quickly put together the new furniture she had bought online to make better use of her space.

As Sunday evening rolled around, Kagome was thoroughly impressed with how far they had managed to come.

“The last thing to do is put the furniture back in.” Kagome looked at her fresh, new, and lovely bedroom. What a difference a coat of paint and new light fixtures made.

Inuyasha was already hauling in her dresser, making her feel guilty for leaving the heavy work to him. “Where does this go?”

Kagome pointed to the wall, and the two squabbled as he brought in the last pieces and Kagome tried to help him.

There was a lot of “You’re going to hurt yourself.”, “Stop, you’re in the way.”, and “I would like you to not please.” coming from Inuyasha.

Kagome in turn kept spitting out, “I can help too, you know!”

The bed made, the room sweet smelling from a new spring candle, and the soft evening breeze drifting through the room, Kagome flopped down and sighed from sheer happiness.

“I cannot thank you enough, Inuyasha! It is everything I wanted and then some.”

Inuyasha laid down next to her, his head to the side to look at her. “I think level shelves help the look quite a bit.”

Kagome smacked his chest with the back of her hand but couldn’t hold back the laugh at his comment. “Yeah,” she agreed, “I like not having to glue everything down on a shelf very much.”

“I would hope so. You’re strange, but not that strange.”

“Hey, just because I glued my name tag down to my desk and superglued my phone number to your backpack doesn’t mean I’m strange.”

Inuyasha cocked an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure it does.”

Kagome rolled her eyes and sat up, lifting her arms above her head to stretch out her shoulders and back. “Well, as a thank you, I will make you dinner. I hope you want hot pot.”

“Is hot pot the only thing you can make?”

“I was going to have curry-“

Inuyasha cut her off quickly. “Hot pot sounds nice.”

Kagome smiled to herself, liking how she was able to at least win that argument with him, and headed towards the kitchen. He was insistent on helping her cut vegetables and set up the table for the meal. They fell into the comfortable conversation that had held over them the weekend.

It felt nice to share a meal together. It had been a very long time since Inuyasha had sat down and had food with her at her place. They normally went to restaurants or to a food truck when he got off of work. The comfortable simplicity of the meal made Kagome’s heart ache.

She had loved him for so long, but he was just her friend.

But still, he had spent his whole weekend entertaining her by redoing her bedroom.

Kagome took a sharp breath, causing Inuyasha to look up from his bowl at her inquisitively. “It’s good to know you’ll be able to fix up our future home.”

Inuyasha’s stare scared her. Maybe she should have said anything. Oh god. What had she done?

Before she could try to laugh it off, he replied, matter-of-factly. “It’s good to know you’ll fix up meals in our future home.”

Kagome smiled back at him, nodding her agreement. “We’ll make a good home.”

“Yeah,” Inuyasha agreed.

The comfortable casual conversation resumed. He talked about his project at work, and his experience with having to work with Miroku, who apparently was a bigger troublemaker than he was.

Kagome nodded along, but she was thinking about how this weekend was supposed to be a room transformation, but her life was what had transformed.

#inukag #inukag week #inukag week 2021 #inukag fanfiction #inukag fic #inukag ficlet #panda writes #inuyasha #inuyashaxkagome #inuyasha x kagome #inuyasha fanfiction

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johannstutt413 · 3 years

Text

(requested by anonymous)

The first time the Doctor saw Mudrock without her helmet wasn’t supposed to be the first time; the Sarkaz (or at least, the records said she was a Sarkaz) normally received her treatment from Operator Folinic, but since she was out on a mission, and he’d gotten to know the squad leader somewhat well by this point, he decided to take her place. Besides, there were rumors going around that Mudrock was actually a golem themselves, and he needed something to combat those rumors with if he was going to have any luck introducing her to RI on a broader basis…So, he volunteered to give her a physical, and after a bit of contemplating (and talking to one of her golems), the Sarkaz agreed.

“Is now a good time?” That was his second question, after “Would you be alright with me performing your check-up?”

She turned around to look at the clock, then turned back around to nod. “Now is fine.”

“Great. Follow me.” He pressed a button on the underside of his desk, and the shelf behind him opened up to reveal a hidden exam room.

“...Doctor,” Mudrock said as she joined him in the back room, a golem slipping out from her armor and taking up a post in the corner. “Why do you have this?”

The Doctor shook his head. “Honestly, I would just turn this into a game room, but I can’t without getting HR’s permission and locating a new office, and since everyone else needs the space more, I’m stuck with it. If it makes you uncomfortable, I can see if I can use one of the public rooms?”

“No, it’ll be fine for today. I trust you, and you explained.”

“Thank you.” With a sigh of relief, he turned on the ancient-feeling computer system, giving the tower a pat as it whirred to life. “Good girl. Mudrock, whenever...you’re...ready...”

The geomancer had already taken off her helmet by the time he’d looked over to ask her to do just that. “Yes, Doctor?”

“Um, nothing you’re not already doing.” Man, he should have worn a lighter mask today.

“Ah, alright then.” She looked back through the still-open shelf. “Can we close the door? I’m still not used to revealing myself so...openly.”

He hit a button to do that. “Thanks for giving me the hon- I mean, thanks for trusting me.”

“I’m not in a battle, and you need to see me to do the check-up.” As she stated the obvious for both their benefit, the Sarkaz finished undoing her suit before stepping out of it and sending it walking over to the sentry golem.

“Right, yes, check-up, uh-huh.” Mudrock wore a swimsuit under her armor. Good to know.

She could tell the Doctor was struggling as he waited for his computer to finish turning on. “Are you nervous? You seem nervous.”

“Do I?” Shit, it was that obvious? “Well, I um...Oh, I’m just making things more awkward, I should’ve asked someone else to do this. I’m sorry.”

“I thought you’d be less scared of me with my armor off.” There was a note in her voice he’d never heard before, but he didn’t have the processing power to resolve what it was.

And lacking that information, he simply replied to the words he heard. “No, it’s not like that! I mean, now that you’re working with us, you never scare me, but I just didn’t expect you to...to...be so cute...” Sealing his death warrant, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and grabbed the first of several handheld devices he’d need to do the examination.

Thankfully, Mudrock was the most compliant patient the Doctor had ever worked with - even anticipating what he needed her to do before he’d asked her to do it - so for all his awkwardness, he was able to quickly make the determinations and measurements he needed to write up for her records. The prognosis was still rather grim, but they’d managed to increase her projected lifespan by several months from Folinic’s last determination, so the treatments were helping, at least. Although, frankly, at this point, the Doctor might need a blood pressure medication added to his prescription list…

“Alright, well, you seem to be doing better than your last check-up,” he reassured her as he finished putting in all the data. “I don’t have any recommendations other than to keep following the plan Operator Folinic set up for you. Um, anything I can do for you before I let you go?”

“Do you really think I’m cute, Doctor?” The geomancer hadn’t recalled her armor yet, and was instead reclining on the exam table.

Oh, where was this going to go now? He audibly swallowed. “I, um, yes, but uh...Please don’t report me to HR.”

“Report you?” She cocked her head. “For complimenting me?”

“That’s not why you were asking? Oh, thank God.”

For the first time since he’d met her, Mudrock chuckled, shaking her head. “Very few people see me without my equipment, and you’re the first person to say that to my face. I know some of my squad who have seen me talk about it, but they never told me what they thought. Thank you.”

“Oh, um, any time!” Too honest. “Well, I guess we should get back to…Actually, can I ask you something?”

“I’m at your disposal, Doctor.” The Sarkaz had her golems collect into her armor and start walking over to her.

Now or never; go big or go home. “Could I, um, have a hug?”

“Without my armor?” She stopped her armor in its tracks. “...Yes.”

“Sorry, I know it- yes?” This was nothing like the simulations.

Mudrock stood up from the table. “I don’t know when I’ll have a chance like this again.”

“Shouldn’t that be my line?” The Doctor timidly approached her. “You’re really okay with this?”

“I can’t remember the last time I hugged someone...I hope I remember how to do it.”

He stopped when he was within arm’s reach, focusing on her face despite the gravity of the rest of her. “Honestly, it’s the same for me. Ready?”

“Mhmm.” The Sarkaz’s voice had dropped to a whisper as her arms settled around him, pulling him closer as his did the same. “...You’re warmer than the earth I wrap myself in.”

“Uh-huh.” His brain had officially deactivated once her arms were around him; it was like being held by Mother Terra herself.

She rested her head on his shoulder - even without her armor, she was almost taller than him. “This is nice.”

“Uh-huh.” That was enough to get a few gears whirling properly again. “I should send that record to the office before I forget.”

“I’ll remember for you. A little longer?” One of Mudrock’s hands had crept up and pulled down his hood.

Instinct told him to take off his mask. “If you- Mudrock?”

“Your face...” She traced a scar that ran along the entire right side of his head, from forehead to jawline. “I don’t know what I expected, but...not this.”

“I thought about asking Orchid to teach me to cover them with makeup, but-”

The geomancer shook her head. “We all have scars to show and weights to bear, Doctor. There’s no need to hide them...Do you remember what they mean?”

“I don’t,” he admitted. “I don’t remember any of my battles from before Chernobog.”

“Mm.” That seemed to be enough, although it didn’t stop her from continuing to examine him, like a jewel appraiser evaluating a diamond inset in a ring.

The Doctor sighed. “I hate to break this up, Mudrock, but...I still have work I need to do.”

“Okay.” She reluctantly let him go. “Tonight, will you come see me and my friends? They miss you, and...I know I will, too.”

“Oh, um, yeah. Yeah, that sounds great.” He was blushing like an idiot; the Sarkaz was watching him with hope in her eyes. Time slowed down as they looked each other in the eye.

They went about their days as normal, but there was no denying it: there was something there that wasn’t there before.

#arknights #arknights fic #mudrock (arknights)#this was an ooooold request #so it got priority and hence i wrote it today #i have so many i want to write for myself #somewhat to commemorate the new arrivals #but also because not writing robs me of one of my major stress relief tools #so while daily writing is out of reach for now #as i promised #this blog is not dead yet

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malecsecretsanta · 3 years

Text

Merry Christmas, facialteeth!

For @facialteeth <3

When your soulmate loses something it gets sent to you and vice versa. For almost 400 years Magnus thought he would never have a soulmate until one day a pacifier shows up in his loft.

Read On AO3

*****

Who Are You Really?

Magnus stares at the pacifier in his hand. He doesn’t recall anyone bringing a baby to his loft recently. He doesn’t take in as many clients due to his position as High Warlock. He’s pretty sure he would remember a baby being in his home.

Thinking nothing of it, he sets it down on the side table in his living room and goes back to work. The Circle may be disbanding and shadowhunters are getting arrested, but there are still attacks happening in New York and the Institute has asked for his help in tracking the remaining Circle members.

Magnus snorts at his own phrasing. The Institute more so demanded that he help them. He of course made sure to set his price high for what he expected in return. The new Heads weren’t going to make him bend the knee to their every request. He was going to make life extremely difficult for the Lightwoods. They may have been forgiven by the Clave, but Magnus will never forget what they did.

Without looking up from his cauldron, he reaches for an ingredient on his shelf, and instead of touching the vial he knows is there, a soft fabric brushes his hands. He whips his head up from the cauldron and stares at the blanket draped over the shelf. Not just any blanket, a child’s blanket- no an infant’s blanket.

Magnus stares at the cloth for so long that his brewing potion is now ruined. He doesn’t care though, not when there’s something more important to focus on. With a shaky breath and hand, he grasps the blanket. It’s so incredibly soft in his hands, the fabric is perfectly suitable for a baby. Not just any baby though Magnus realizes, his soulmate’s. His soulmate must have just turned two, when most soulmates start to receive their partner’s lost items.

A sob escapes his lips and he presses the blanket to his face.

Four hundred years, it took four hundred years for his soulmate to be born. Magnus had lost hope such a long time ago of ever getting one. Each year that passed with nothing showing up around had him made him lose hope. And after everything Camile did to him, the manipulation, the gaslighting, stealing his items, and pretending that they were soulmates, Magnus swore to never open his heart again.

Now here is this pacifier and blanket in his loft, letting him know that love will not be lost to him. That there is someone out there that is made for him. He scrunches his face at that thought. His soulmate is a baby, he shouldn’t be thinking like that, not yet. He still has many years to go, but Magnus will gladly wait as long as it takes to meet them.

“Oh god my soulmate is a baby and I’m a warlock,” he says out loud to no one. He glances in horror at the state of his apothecary. Everything is everywhere, the minute he forgets one thing it’s going to teleport to a baby.

Potion forgotten, Magnus starts to clean his apothecary with precision, making sure that everything is labeled and in a proper place that is easy to find. The last thing he needs is to kill a baby, let alone his soulmate.

“You better not die because of me,” he demands, glaring at the pacifier and blanket now resting in a case in his bedroom.

The first six years are filled with anxiety on Magnus’ end. His friends made fun of him at first, thinking he had finally gone mad. When he showed them the items, they rightly shut up and even occasionally helped him if he was looking for something for a potion. None of them wanting to be responsible for the death of his soulmate. This is the happiest they have seen him in a long time, if it means portaling at ungodly hours of the night to help him find something before it disappears then so be it.

Magnus did have fun “accidentally” losing toys for his soulmate to have and play with. He has no idea if his soulmate actually uses anything that he finds, he hopes that he does. While Magnus is sure that his soulmate’s parents spoiled their child to no end, Magnus was never one to not spoil someone important to him.

Somehow Magnus knew that the exciting thrill was never going to last. His soulmate would be eight now. He glances at the calendar on the wall, a big red circle around September 12th. Magnus had made sure to mark the date after he got a hold of his emotions all those years ago.

He’s debating on what to send an eight year old child on their birthday. He’s been good about getting gender neutral toys for his soulmate, not knowing if they are a boy or girl. He’s going through a catalog on his phone when he spots a piece of paper on the coffee table. It's flipped upside down but Magnus can see some dark ink on the other side of the paper.

His soulmate must be doodling or drawing and forgotten something they made for their birthday. Magnus reaches out and grabs the paper flipping it over to inspect the drawing.

The paper bursts into flames by his magic.

No that- that can’t be right. Magnus just saw the paper wrong, he must have. There’s no possible way that was what he thought it was. He gets a second chance to see when another paper appears on his coffee table. He feels himself starting to fall apart as he reaches for the sheet and flips it over. He recognizes the marking anywhere.

Iratze

The paper once again catches fire from his barely contained magic. Magnus feels his throat tighten and his breath getting shorter. Shadowhunter. His soulmate is a shadowhunter, his mind provides. He feels like the universe is playing a cruel joke on him. Of all the people living on this earth, his soulmate had to be of the people who have hunted and killed his kind for hundreds of years.

Magnus barks out a wet laugh, immediately summoning a drink from his cart and downing it in one go. The glass is already refilled as he watches more papers appear on the table, more runes scribble on them. He doesn’t know how many times he refills his glass, but he got the desired effect he wanted: numbness.

He doesn’t know how long he’s stared at those papers, drinking his pain away. He can barely sit up at this point with the alcohol flowing through his system. He can’t remember the last time he got this drunk. He’s been better since Camille, not wanting to go that far again. He hears the door to his loft open. Was he expecting guests? He doesn’t remember, doesn’t care. The intruder could rob him for all he cared.

“Well you look awfully dreadful,” a familiar British voice says. “Is this why you’ve been ignoring my calls and I had to take the long way in?”

“Ragnor,” Magnus slurs, he tilts his head towards his friend. The small movement makes him nauseous, it takes everything in not to immediately stumble to the bathroom to throw up.

“What is it this time?” His friend sighs dramatically. Ragnor glances around the room, glaring at something out of his field of view. “Obviously something has upset you enough to drink almost your entire cart. Did Camille try and reach out to you?”

“No,” he says too quietly. He can already feel the emotions he’s tried to lock down start to bubble up. He doesn’t want to cry in front of Ragnor, his friend doesn’t need to worry about him. The man always has more important things to deal with than him. Still, his arm has a mind of its own and points to the coffee table.

“What, you were studying runes and decided that getting drunk would be easier?” Oh, he truly loves Ragnor, the old fool knows how to make him laugh even at his lowest of lows.

“Not mine,” he manages to get out before tears start to fall.

“Oh, old friend,” Ragnor whispers. He’s happy that he doesn’t have to explain more, his friend understanding what the papers mean.

The couch dips beside him and an arm wraps around his shoulders. Magnus doesn’t even try to resist, he’s just so tired. He rests his head on Ragnor’s shoulder and cries. Damn the universe for dealing him this deck of cards.

As his soulmate grows older, the less stuff they seem to misplace. Magnus would find it strange that he’s practically getting nothing, but at this point, he doesn’t care what the shadowhunter does with their life.

He does, though, care about the number of arrows he’s been finding in his loft.

Magnus glares at the vase he designated for arrow disposal and sees that it’s full. He has five more wrapped in a cloth in his hands. With a sigh he snaps his fingers and summons another vase, tossing them in. He doesn’t know why he’s keeping them, there’s really no point except to dump them at the Shadowhunter’s feet when they meet. Maybe even throw a few at them, he considers.

There’s nothing on them so he figures that the shadowhunter is training. Though Magnus almost shudders at the thought that a child is already practicing how to use a weapon. His soulmate is only ten years old, surely Nephilim society would wait until their children are at least thirteen before making them train for hunting.

“Stupid Nephilim, not keeping track of his arrows,” Magnus grumbles. “That’s almost thirty arrows in the past two months! I would like to think that a shadowhunter would at least know how to put arrows away after training and not leave them everywhere.”

“Do go easy on them, Magnus,” Ragnor snorts from the other room. “It’s not like they had a choice in what family and life they were born into.”

“They still have the option to run away,” he grumbles, knowing he’s being irrational.

“Surely you don’t want them to be homeless at ten years old?” Ragnor says, entering the room with two cocktails, handing one off to Magnus before plopping down on a chair.

“Maybe,” Magnus whispers, he looks over at his friend and sees the raised brow. He rolls his eyes, “Okay I don’t, not really.”

Magnus knows he’s being unkind to his soulmate. But after everything in recent years with the Uprising and the Circle, it’s hard not to associate all shadowhunters into the same category especially when so many members of the Circle turned tail and came crawling back to the Clave. And the Clave willingly brought them back into their ranks with a slap on the wrist. Magnus rolls his eyes at the thought of Robert and Maryse Lightwood being allowed to look over the New York Institute as their punishment. Those two should have been put behind bars for all that they did for the Circle.

“Don’t you think you are being a bit dramatic?” Ragnor asks as Magnus takes the seat across from him.

“Me? Dramatic? Hardly, my dear Cabbage,” he says dramatically, hand on his heart.

“Right,” Ragnor snorts. “Just a gentle reminder that you are getting upset at a child for being born into a life he had no power over just like you with Asmo-”

“Don’t,” Magnus snaps, his glamor flickering for a moment. “Don’t ever compare my upbringing to that of a shadowhunter.”

Ragnor doesn’t say anything else which he kinda feels bad about. His friend also knows better than to talk about his father in such a casual way. The two fall into a tense silence as they go through the books scattered on the table. He sighs, glancing over at the two vases of arrows that he’s put in his library. Ragnor is probably right, but he’s not going to tell that to the old fool’s face.

Magnus will apologize later, right now he wants to focus on the spell they’re working on and not about the shadowhunter.

The day they do meet is not by fate, no, more so Clarissa Fairchild, who Magnus had almost forgotten about. It’s been a couple of years since her mother brought the frightened child to his doorsteps to wipe her memories. Seems the girl has fallen into shadowhunter hands after her mother goes missing. He wouldn’t put it past the rogue Circle members that were in his club a few nights ago to be the reason.

As he examines the ruby necklace, a memento of another time in his life, a shout echoes across the basement and something whistles past his ear. Turning around he sees a Circle member fall to the ground dead with an arrow to the heart.

Magnus feels his own heart stop as he turns to watch the archer descend the staircase and make his way to the corpse, to search for life. Magnus feels his skin turn warm and start to tingle, like a lego piece snapping into place. A whisper of a no slips past his lips. The shadowhunter must feel the same as he stands from checking the body he stands straight. Hazel meets brown as the man, the shadowhunter, stares at him in shock.

It’s him.

Magnus doesn’t wait for the man to reach him. He summons a portal, ignoring Clary’s cry to wait, and steps back into his loft. His breathing is erratic and it feels like his heart is about to explode.

His soulmate is here, in New York. What is Magnus going to do? He can’t leave his post as High Warlock, not with Circle members making a reappearance. His people need him to protect them. Over the blood pulsing in his ears, he hears a cry, immediately snapping him out of his thoughts. Reaching out with his magic he feels that his hideout has been infiltrated. Dammit, he shouldn’t have left this place for that girl.

Magnus can worry about the ache in his chest later, his people need his help.

He doesn’t even wait for the Circle members to notice him, magic blasts out of his hands attacking any person who dares to enter this safe haven. When he finds out who leaked the location, he’s going to ban them from New York. He doesn’t have use for someone who would rat out his own people.

“Your magic is strong, warlock,” the Circle member taunts. “Much stronger than that horned warlock I killed this morning.”

“Elias,” he says solemnly. He throws a ball of fire at the man who easily dodges it. They circle around each other, the man’s grin never leaving.

“So that was his name, lucky he sold you out before I took his warlock mark,” the man laughs.

Magnus knows he shouldn’t let his anger get the best of him, but he still finds himself lashing out at the Circle member, trying to disarm him. The man's grin turns even more sinister and something in his stomach tightens.

“Cats eyes,” he points out. Magnus didn’t even realize his glamor had dropped. “Would be a nice addition to my collection.”

Before Magnus can reply an arrow sings past him and lands in the man’s leg making him stumble. Magnus doesn’t wait for him to recover and deals a finishing blow. The Circle member collapses on the fallen bookshelf and Magnus feels like he’s frozen. That feeling in his stomach wasn’t from the Circle member, it was from him.

Magnus spins and sees the same shadowhunter from the club stand there, bow still raised, panic in his eyes. The man releases a breath and lowers his bow, eyes rake over the Circle member’s body before turning to Magnus. Magnus steps back, magic sparking at his hands ready to fight.

The man opens and closes his mouth, trying to say something but nothing comes out. His eyes show only concern and worry, but that can’t be right, no shadowhunter would ever look at him like that. He glances at Magnus’ hands and the look disappears to something more neutral, closed off but not before Magnus catches a glimpse of pain.

“Alec!” A male voice shouts from down the hall, Alec glances behind him taking his eyes off of Magnus. The man must have a death wish for taking his eyes off of him. Magnus could easily take him out now, but his body won’t let him. “That’s the last of them.”

The shadowhunter, or Alec, nods his head and turns towards Magnus again, “We should go join the others.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Shadowhunter,” he bites back, hoping to get a reaction out of the man, but Alec doesn’t even flinch, just nods his head again.

“Apologies,” Alec says, turning around and leaving the library but halts, looking at something on his left. Magnus follows his gaze and realizes he’s looking at the multiple vases of arrows he’s kept over the years. Alec’s face stays blank but the grip on his bow tightens before he continues his way out of the living room.

Strange, Magnus thinks. He thought the shadowhunter would have demanded Magnus listen to him or even drag him to where everyone else is. Instead he’s letting Magnus choose to go with him, giving him the option to run tail if he wanted.

Of course, Magnus won’t do that, he realizes with a sigh. He doesn’t know how many of his people made it out alive, all of them probably scattering the second the Circle members entered the hideout. He’ll need to notify friends and any families of the fallen here.

With a wave of his hand, Magnus rids the loft of any dead circle members and teleports their bodies to the ocean. Let the sharks have their fun with them, he doesn’t care. In another wave, he teleports the bodies of the fallen warlocks to another safe haven he has in New York and a fire message to Catarina about what happened and where she needs to go.

When Magnus enters his living room he catches Alec with his head down and a girl with long dark hair rubbing a hand up and down his arm looking at him with concern. Something in his chest aches and presses a hand to his heart. Is that what Alec is feeling? He hates it. He doesn’t want to feel what the shadowhunter is feeling.

He must be projecting his emotions because Alec flinches, pressing a hand to his chest and looks up at him. Again the pain that he sees disappears by that blank look. The girl catches Alec’s change and looks over at him and sends Magnus the most heated glare he’s ever received.

He doesn’t have time to deal with that. He puts on his High Warlock persona and makes a show of his magic. Clary, to no surprise, is as stubborn as her mother and refuses to leave without getting her memories back. So he tells them what they all have to do to get them back. None of them argue to his surprise, though the blonde boy tries but is stopped by Alec with a hand on the shoulder.

The summoning goes off without a problem. All of the shadowhunters listen to his explanation of how the ritual works and that they must not let go of each other’s hands. When Magnus explains that they must hold hands, the sister, Isabelle, moves into a position that forces Alec and him to hold hands. Magnus tries not to let his frustration show and accepts the positions.

The second he and Alec’s hands touch, it’s like the final piece of their connection is sealed. He hears Alec let out a gasp and the hand in his grips tight before loosening. Magnus looks at Alec and the shadowhunter is not even glancing at him, he continues to stare at the wall opposite of him. Magnus feels an incredible sorrow fill his chest that makes him want to curl up and cry.

Alec shows no outward sign of what he’s really feeling and something pokes at his heart that this is not the first time that Alec has had to mask his emotions. He shakes off the feeling, looking away from Alec to see everyone else staring at him waiting, though Isabelle is still glaring at him.

The demon asks for a memory of the ones they love the most. Of course, his is Ragnor, his oldest and closest friend. Jace, who he finds out is Alec’s parabatai, and Isabelle’s are of Alec, which warms his heart or well maybe not his, he looks over at Alec and sees the soft smile on his face as the shadowhunter sees himself reflected in the tornado of smoke in the center. He doesn’t even catch what Clary’s memory was, too enraptured by the kindness shining in his soulmate’s eyes.

When the summoning is over, Clary collapses and is caught by Jace. He scoops the unconscious girl and leads her out of the loft with Isabelle, a quiet thanks as they pass him, leaving Alec and Magnus alone in the room. Alec hasn’t looked up from his hands since they let go, rubbing the hand that was entwined with his.

“Thank you for helping us,” Alec speaks softly.

“I didn’t do it for you,” he says.

“I know.” Alec finally looks up from his hands and there’s a small smile on his face. “I’ll let you be. Have a good night, Magnus.”

The shadowhunter doesn’t wait for his response and rushes out the room to catch up with his family leaving Magnus alone.

Alone.

Something that Magnus has been used to for decades now. His heart had been protected under a lock and key for so long and then Alec, this shadowhunter, his soulmate had to barge in and rip the lock off the cage.

Magnus doesn’t want to feel like this. He liked it better when he was alone and didn’t have a soulmate, when he didn’t feel this much in his chest. The people he knows who have met their soulmates have told him about how they felt butterflies the first time they met their other half. That it felt like they were whole for the first time. Magnus doesn’t feel whole, he feels rage at the universe for giving him a shadowhunter as his soulmate.

Magnus doesn’t care how kind Alec may or may not be.

He will never fall in love with a shadowhunter.

Of course, that wouldn’t be the last time he saw Alec. He made it clear that he was not interested in getting to know the shadowhunter and thankfully Alec respected that. Again throwing Magnus off about his view of shadowhunters.

Now Jace definitely fits that shadowhunter personality. Brash, rude, demanding, following red heads around like a lost puppy. Magnus rolls his eyes as the blonde’s gaze never leaves Clary’s as she word vomits in his living room fretting over Luke. Luke, who is in the state he’s in because of Clary, and Simon who couldn’t listen to simple orders.

One would think that the girl would take her time to recover after getting all of her memories back. It seems that when she discovered the location of the cup, she snuck out of the Institute and met up with Sherman only to get kidnapped which led to a fight between a Beta and an Alpha werewolf which led to a new leader to the New York pack and-

Lilith, Magnus needs a drink.

He sends Simon and Jace off to fetch ingredients for him to help with the potion that would save Luke. Which leaves him and Clary to wait for them to return. Magnus focuses on the potion to make sure it doesn’t turn sour.

“So,” Clary says. “You and Alec, huh?”

Magnus almost drops a vial in the cauldron. “I beg your pardon?”

“You two are soulmates right?”

“And what gave you that idea?” He grits.

“The stuff in Alec’s room,” she shrugs, wandering around the apothecary. “He has a whole bookshelf full of trinkets and vials exactly like the ones in here.” Clary pokes at the vials on his shelves, he almost snaps at her to stop. “It’s really incredible, you can tell he took great care of them all.”

“Is that so?”

Clary nods, smiling as she picks up a vial off his table, inspecting it. “Yeah, he got really upset with me when I tried to pick up one of the items. Even went as far to wipe my finger prints off the thing. You can easily tell they’re his greatest treasure.” Clary’s smile turns to a frown. “Though last time I went to talk to him, he had put a bed sheet over the shelf.”

Oh. That information does something to his heart, like something has a vice grip around it now. Magnus shakes his head, clearing himself of the feeling, and goes back to the potion.

“Maybe he’s upset that he realized I’m a warlock,” he snorts.

“No, that wasn’t it. When I first saw it, he had this soft, delighted smile on his face. He had said that he hadn’t met the warlock who was his soulmate yet, but that he was eager to meet them. Said that he hoped his runes wouldn’t scare you away and that he could prove that he would care for you the way he cared for the items he got from you through your connection.”

The vial that was in his hand drops to the table. Clary jumps at the sudden sound and turns to him in surprise.

Surely Alec didn’t think that way about him. He was an abomination with demon blood, Alec was a shadowhunter with angel blood. There’s no possible way they would work and yet, Alec knew his soulmate was a warlock before he even laid eyes on Magnus. Had a bookshelf full of the items he had lost over the years.

“Why?” He mutters quietly. “He’s a shadowhunter whose soulmate is a warlock. We’re not exactly the perfect match.”

“Why should that matter?” Clary asks. “It is clear that Alec doesn’t care that you’re a warlock. His mother is a different story though.” Clary rubs her arms up and down her arms like a shiver passed through her. The accurate reaction when talking about that woman. “I don’t understand how he just stands there while she speaks to him like that.”

“Like what?” His mouth feels dry, the blank face from a few days ago makes sense now. With a mother like Maryse Lightwood, finding out your son has a warlock soulmate probably didn’t go over well. He’s positive that Alec’s other siblings didn’t get that treatment, especially Clary and Jace who discovered they were soulmates.

“Like he’s inferior for having a warlock as a soulmate. The first thing she did when she stopped by his room was berate him for still having that bookshelf, like he should be ashamed of himself for displaying who his soulmate was so openly and that she thought she told him to toss out anything that wasn’t useful.”

Magnus feels like there’s no air in the room. He leans forward on the table and stares into the bubbling concoction.

With each new thing he learns about Alec, the less his view of him is so harsh.

“That’s when he had covered the bookshelf,” Clary whispers, biting her lip. “Ever since their mother came back to the Institute that spark in Alec’s eye is gone.”

“Maryse does have the personality of a brick,” he chimes in hoping to lighten the mood.

Clary doesn’t take the bait and instead looks at him with sympathy. “I don’t remember much about when we came here last, my memories are still a bit jumbled, but I know that when I woke up, no one knew where Alec went. Jace said to let it go, that he gets that way sometimes, but I couldn’t help feeling like something wasn’t right. When I found him he was on the roof, shooting arrows, one after the other until his hands were bleeding.”

“Why are you telling me this,” he rasps. His heart is beating out of control. Was Alec that hurt by his rejection? He was a shadowhunter, he should be relieved that his warlock of a soulmate doesn’t want to be with him. It wasn’t like Magnus would be upset if Alec left. Something about that thought makes his heart stop.

“Because you both deserve happiness,” she says. “And I think Alec at least deserves a chance before you kick him to the curb.”

Magnus doesn’t know what to say to that. What could he say to that? For centuries he’s kept away from shadowhunters as much as possible and now he was fatefully connected to one. Why should he be the one to make that step? It wasn’t like Alec was taking the first step.

That’s because you rejected him before he could, his mind unkindly reminds him.

Magnus doesn’t get the time to ask more questions about Alec as Luke starts to seizure on the couch. He tells Clary what still needs to be done with the potion as he rushes over to Luke and pour his magic into the werewolf’s body to slow the spread of the poison.

He loses track of time, just focusing on making sure that Luke makes it through this process. Just as he starts to feel his magic flicker, the door to his home bursts open and there’s a warm body catching him as he falls back.

Magnus huddles closer to the warmth, clasping his hand around the one that takes his.

“Use my strength,” a voice whispers in his ear. “Take what you need.”

Magnus doesn't waste a second, siphoning magic from the person behind him. It’s like being shot with adrenaline, the other person’s energy practically shoving its way into his body. It’s definitely a first for him. Anytime Magnus has asked to share strength with someone, there is always a tug from the other person, not fully trusting Magnus to not abuse the power the other is giving him. Magnus feels no resistance from whoever he’s taking magic from. For someone to trust him that openly and blindly that they just give him their very essence brings tears to his eyes.

He’s going to have to thank whoever it is once he’s sure that Luke won’t die on him. Maybe even take them out to dinner as a thank you. As if they heard his thoughts, Jace and Simon rush through the living room and hand over the last ingredient to Clary who tosses it in the cauldron. Moments later, the trio are rushing over to the couch and pouring the potion down Luke’s throat.

The reaction is practically instant. Luke is no longer seizing on the couch and the dark veins around his wounds are receding. Magnus stops his constant flow of magic and drops. Or would have dropped, if the person behind him hadn’t caught him preventing him from making a fool of himself.

He just settles into the person’s arms and closes his eyes, focusing on his breathing. He used more magic than he had planned tonight and he feels exhausted. Not as exhausted as he thought he would be he realizes. That’s when he feels the hand still in his squeeze down and rub the back of his hand with their thumb. The person he’s leaning against begins to speak to Jace.

He jolts at the person’s voice, realizing just exactly who he is resting against. He opens his eyes and whips his head to Alec’s. Alec who is staring down at him with concern and worry that makes his heart ache. Magnus hurriedly lets go of their entwined hands and finds the strength to stand up. He doesn’t look back at Alec.

He asks Jace and Simon to help carry Luke to the guest room, ignoring the heat in his cheeks and the quick beatings of his heart. He hastily follows the men into the bedroom, making sure Luke is comfortable. He’s not ready to address that whole situation waiting for him in the living room.

As he gets Luke comfortable, his mind wanders back to Alec. He wonders if one of the others called Alec for help, but no, there would be no reason for them to notify Alec that he would need assistance. None of them but Clary knew about Luke’s deteriorating state and she was too busy making sure the potion was good to go when the others returned with the missing ingredient.

He pauses fluffing Luke’s pillow and presses a hand to his chest as it aches. He had been so focused on healing Luke that he didn’t even notice his connection to Alec was so open. He doesn't feel much from Alec, but he understands now, why Alec knew to come to the loft. Magnus must have called out to him and Alec came running to help.

He doesn’t understand the Shadowhunter. Magnus couldn’t have made it more clear that he wasn’t interested in getting to know him. Yet, he still showed up, saved his life twice, helped Clary get her memories back and even assisted him in saving Luke, all without Magnus asking him to. He held Magnus close to his chest and let him practically drain him of his Nephilim energy to save Luke. The part of him that he kept under lock and key for so long slowly pours out and a warmth spreads through him at the fact that someone would do that for him without him asking, begging them to do so. It’s what he always wanted in a partner.

Why should the fact that him being a shadowhunter change that? Clary’s words from before also ring in his head, that Alec kept everything he lost and displayed them proudly in his room and told others about him, other shadowhunters.

He’s hit with a yearning in his chest that makes him want to try. To maybe get to know Alec a bit and see what the shadowhunter is like. He’s never given Magnus a reason to think that he’s hostile. If anything, Alec has been giving him the space he’s asked for and was only dismissed when Magnus told him off. It’s Magnus who’s the one that’s been hostile. He should fix that, go talk to Alec. He should start by saying thank you.

Magnus excuses himself from the room and goes back out to the living room. Millions of thoughts race in his head, wondering what he should say, how he should say it. But when he reaches the living room, Alec is nowhere to be seen. Magnus steps towards the couch and looks at the entrance to his loft and doesn’t see the shadowhunter.

His foot hits something on the floor. Magnus’ breath catches as he finds a small trash bin filled with bloody rags. He looks at his couch and sees that the blood stains are gone.

Alec cleaned up the mess for him. Alec probably felt how depleted of magic he was and didn’t want him to exert himself anymore. The smell of lavender waffs through his living room, getting rid of the metallic smell of blood and decay.

He doesn’t know why that makes his eyes water. Alec did all of this without being asked to. He was being kind again, like he has been since he and Magnus first crossed paths. Magnus was just too stuck in his past to realize it.

Not anymore, he decides, clenching his fists. He’s not going to let his past dictate his happiness anymore. He has a chance to be happy with the man who the universe has chosen to be his soulmate and he’s going to make the most of it.

Magnus is going to make this right, he has to.

#facialteeth #malecsanta20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

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deans-mind-palace · 4 years

Text

Verity

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam & Reader

Summary: During her last breath, the witch had taken revenge. Things get interesting when Dean’s hit by a truth spell. Unfortunately, it is not easy to hide a secret if you always have to tell the truth. But that doesn't explain why Dean is avoiding you all the time, does it?

Word Count: 3,549

Warnings: Mentions of smut, angst, fluff

Author’s Note: As my present for you. This got longer than it was supposed to be… Anyway, enjoy.

Dean couldn't remember exactly when he fell in love with you. He couldn't say exactly what caused it or when he felt that way about you. At some point, those feelings just existed.

He could still remember the first time he met you, almost as if it was yesterday. He had had a hard day and while Sammy didn't want to know anything about him because his older brother had once again put his own life on the line, Dean had gone to the nearest bar to drown his sorrow in alcohol. It had been a seedy place, all lined with rough wood. The smell of cigarettes and sweat filled the air. The bar's counter had countless notches from glasses and scratches from knives. A billiard table stood further back in the room, but two balls were missing. Antlers were hanging on the walls and country music was coming out of the speakers. The floor was sticky and the red leather of the bar stools had been ripped and torn apart by buttons. But the alcohol was good. That was all Dean cared about.

It had not been a good day for him and one could clearly see that. He turned down all the women and soon he had his peace and could sit silently at the bar. His thoughts wandered lazily as you made him his first drink that evening. "This one's on the house." You smiled at him. It wasn't a pitying or flirtatious smile. It was just an honest smile. You hadn't asked any questions.

Dean glanced at his drink. It was a double whiskey with ice cubes floating in the light brown liquid and clashing softly against each other. Suddenly he had to smile. You had put a pink cocktail umbrella in his whiskey. Without words you had managed to put a smile on his lips. You were his ray of sunshine on a rainy day. You had worked in a bar for hunters of the supernatural long enough to know when a man wanted to talk and when he preferred to remain silent. Dean seemed like the second kind of guy that night. That's why you hadn't pushed him to talk all evening, but you had always been around when he needed something. Many years had passed since that day - you and the Winchesters had become a well-established team and it was as if it had never been any different.

"Shit!" cursed Dean when the witch made the books rain down on Sam from the shelf on the wall behind him. Sam ducked away and dodged the books, but they rose back up into the air where they circulated a tornado in the middle of the room. Pages fluttered and tore and a gust of air swept through the room, tearing all the carefully tied bundles of herbs from the ceiling. Lavender trickled from the ceiling. The suction in the room became stronger and stronger as the witch stared more and more concentrated at the tornado.

Suddenly the books took a new turn and shot towards Dean. He threw himself behind an overturned table and heard the books crash against the wood. Some shot across the table and broke through the window clinking. Pieces of glass hailed down on Dean as he tugged at his jacket, which had got stuck under the table while he was wearing it. He tried to free himself from the piece of cloth.

Carefully the blond raised his head and saw Sam gesticulating to you. You were trying to outsmart the witch. Sam carried the gun under his jacket, his arm was over it, protecting it. But he could not hit the witch because of the storm of objects, so he threw the gun. Before he let go, a chair rushed towards him and tore the younger brother from his feet. The weapon slipped across the floor. You were about to jump on it when the witch rushed around and caught you in her gaze. When she saw the weapon, she screamed in rage. More window panes broke and Sam moaned.

The witch's lips moved faster while her eyes were fixed on you. The weapon wobbled and rose into the air. She would kill you. Dean broke free and listened to the ripping. He drew his gun. It was just a regular gun, but it was enough of a distraction. "Hey, over here! Here I am!" The witch was driving around, staring at Dean. ...and the gun dropped to the ground and you fell forward. Immediately you pointed the gun at the witch, who once again moved her lips in a quick murmur. "Y/N?" Dean's voice was unusually high, because suddenly his whole body began to tingle.You tried to aim, but had to duck away from a chandelier. "Y/N, come on. Pull the trigger." At that moment you pulled the trigger and the bullet came out of the gun and hit the witch's flesh. The witch emitted a high, agonizing scream that sounded inhuman before she collapsed. The books hailed down with her.

Sam groaned as he stood up and dusted his clothes off. You wiped your forehead in relief and looked at Dean. He looked a little pale, but he seemed to be all right because he just shook his head and started to clear the body of books. The pages of the books now wore a crimson red as Dean threw them aside and tried not to step into the pool of blood.

You made short work of disposing the body and soon you were back in the Impala. The ride went silent and each of you used the moment of silence to finally take a breath. You had been working on the case for days and had to plan it down to the last detail to make sure you didn't make a mistake. The research had been exhausting, the questioning of the witnesses unpleasant, the journey long, the motel beds hard and witch had no desire to be killed by you.

The radio was tooting away as you looked out of the window and Sam was busy typing on his mobile phone. "Next left." he muttered, and Dean put on his blinker. You made two more turns before a motel came into sight. The engine died and you took your bags out of the trunk, then you got yourself a room. Sam unlocked the door while Dean threw your bag over his shoulder. Immediately, the blond hunter dropped himself on one of the beds.

"You see, Dean? Sam and I told you it wasn't gonna be that bad. You just have to be a little optimistic," you said after you closed the door. Dean snorted as he got up and grabbed cotton wool and disinfectant from his bag and started to dab the scratch on his forehead. He hissed.

"You know what? Sometimes you are two optimistic assholes. I'm not buying this shit. There's nothing optimistic about our lives, nothing at all! Stop dreaming and wake up! I have nightmares every night, I can't remember the last time I slept through a night. Everything is trying to kill us! Everything! And it scares the shit out of me every day!" Dean suddenly cursed. The words really came gushing out of him. He didn't realise what had happened until he saw the look in your eyes. Sam's eyes were wide open and his mouth was slightly open. Dean looked startled because of his sudden outburst of emotion. "I - um -" he seemed confused. Dean Winchester had just admitted he was scared.

You and Sam looked at each other in surprise. "Dean?" Sam asked carefully. But you beat him to it. "Have you ever cried at Lion King?" you asked. You knew the answer. But Sam didn't, and you had to promise Dean at the time not to tell anyone. Dean seemed to wrestle with himself, then the answer just popped out of him. "Yes!" Sam shot you an amused look. "At which point?" you kept asking, knowing what was to come. Once again, the handsome blond struggled with himself. "In the end, when the Simba's baby is held up." Sam snorted while you elbowed him in the side and Dean threw a murderous glance at his brother. "Well, this is going to be interesting." You smirked. You didn't notice the sheer fear in Dean's eyes and how he gave his brother a panicked look.The next morning, you woke up next to Sam when the door to your room slammed shut. The blow almost knocked it off its hinges and you drove up in horror. The younger Winchester next to you yawned sleepily and rubbed his eyes while his long brown hair stood tangled away from his head. You heard the Impala's engine come to life and the gravel splashing aside. You turned to Sam, who buried his head in the pillow and moaned. One look at the clock told you that it was just before seven. Way too early for Dean. "What's gotten into him? He must be possessed to get out of bed at this hour." You asked Sam. He stretched and then shrugged. "I don't know." Then he flipped the blanket to the side and his bare feet groped quietly across the cold floor into the bathroom. You let yourself fall back into the pillows, which smelled of Sam in an unfamiliar way. Since you knew the brothers, you had always slept with Dean. He had never said anything, so it had become natural for you to crawl into bed with him in the evening or to feel the mattress bend under his weight when he came back after a few drinks in the bar. But yesterday, the blond had vehemently refused to share a bed with you, so for better or worse you had to bunk up with Sam. You hadn't asked for a reason because you thought Dean was just in a bad mood because of the curse, yet he had hurt your feelings with his behaviour. He didn't want to sleep in the same bed with you? Maybe he hated it and was just too polite to tell you? Did the real Dean now reveal himself? All these thoughts had tormented you until late at night while Sam slept next to you and you heard Dean rolling restlessly around in his bed. Of course, you couldn't have known it was the nightmares that plagued him that night. You couldn't know that he slept much better if he knew you were safe next to him. If he could reach out his fingers at any time to feel that you were lying next to him and you were fine. It calmed him to hear your breath and feel your warmth next to him. Dean could only sleep with you by his side. Even when he picked up a girl in the bar, he always stole out of her bed and returned to you where he finally found sleep.While Sam was in the bathroom, you changed and opened his laptop. Last night, the three of you decided to stay here until you found a way to break Dean's curse. Together, you and Sam began searching through books and looking for a solution. Dean didn't return until that evening. When he finally showed up, you were relieved to see him. "Dean!" But the Winchester didn't look at you, didn't say a word. Your heart tightened painfully, and once again you realized the green-eyed hunter had changed since the curse. "Where have you been?" you asked, trying to banish the plaintive undertone from your voice. He didn't look at you when he took a beer from the fridge. "Strip club." No matter what you tried, you couldn't get through to Dean. With every word that came out of your mouth, he kept pushing you away. With each day that went by without you finding a solution to his dilemma, he distanced himself further from you. There were days when you didn't speak a word to each other. Sometimes Dean would disappear for hours and come back completely drunk. It had become a habit that you slept with Sam, because the older brother obviously did not want you around him. Sam noticed that, too. At some point he took his brother aside and talked to him. You didn't know what they were talking about, but it was urgent and the conversation ended with Dean rushing out of the room angrily and throwing the door into the lock behind him. You didn't understand anything anymore.

While you and Sam stayed at the motel, Dean got in his car. He started the Impala and drove away from the parking lot with squealing tires. He hated to rain on your parade every day. His heart tightened when he saw the pain in your eyes. It was the worst thing for Dean to know that he was the cause of that pain. Suddenly he pulled over. Angrily, he pounded the steering wheel of his beloved car with his fists. Why did everything have to be so damn complicated?

His mood got worse every day that went by. The truth was agonizing and tasted bittersweet in his mouth. It left his lips quickly and yet it weighed so much heavier than any lie he had ever told. You had been stuck here for almost two weeks now and hadn't come one step closer to breaking the curse. Sam had already talked to Bobby on the phone. You had searched all the Internet forums, but nothing had turned up.

Dean was frustrated. Emotionally, physically, and sexually. He hated pushing you away. The blond slept poorly if he didn't feel you next to him and he needed to get off. To get you out of his system. He relaunched the Impala and soon landed in a club. The music roared, the bass boomed. Sweaty bodies rubbed against each other, the air was stuffy, the alcohol expensive.

It wasn't long before a blonde caught his interest. Clothes too tight, neckline too revealing, too drunk. Perfect for a meaningless act. He bought her two drinks and it wasn't long before she navigated him giggling back to her place. As soon as the door behind them fell shut, Dean pressed her against the wall and kissed her to stop her talking. She talked and giggled too much. She tasted of alcohol, her plastic nails scratched his cheeks and he had forgotten her name. Maybe he hadn't even asked for her name.

It was quick and messy. When Dean threw her half-naked on her bed and came over her like a predator, her lips parted. The girl used the opportunity to say something. That had been a mistake. "Do you desire me?" she moaned as Dean's lips attacked her neck. Dean bit his bottom lip, but could not prevent his next words. "No, I do not." Inside, he cursed and squeezed his eyes together almost as if waking up from a nightmare. He did not. "Are you thinking of someone else?" she asked. "Yes." And before he had finished speaking these three letters, he felt a stabbing pain on his cheek. She had slapped him in the face. "I'm not one of those who do it for money," she hissed furiously.

It wasn't long before Dean had pulled his shirt back over his head and grabbed his jacket before he was thrown out. His cheek was burning and in the Impala's rearview mirror he saw the flaming red mark on his cheek. Her nails were clearly visible. Dean cursed for a long time and soon he was rushing across the country road at far too high a speed. The windows were rolled down and his mix tape boomed out of the boxes.

You and Sam have been searching for days for a solution to the curse. You had already gone through every book you could get your hands on, but you found nothing. None of you knew how Dean was doing at the time, too busy with your own problems. Sam closed the next book and put it on top of the pile of books you had already searched. He massaged his temples and moaned.

"We find nothing. We've been looking for days, but we find nothing! We're running out of money, Y/N. We have to keep moving. The motel is too expensive. We can't afford to spend ten days in a motel." You sighed and slammed your book shut as well. "I know, Sammy." Your joints popped as you stretched. "There's a skinwalker a few towns over that we should check out." You nodded silently, then changed in the bathroom before joining Sam who was already on your bed. At the sight of it, your heart shrank painfully, because you didn't know what was worse. That you had gotten so used to sleeping in one bed with Sam by now or that despite Dean's behavior you still wished to share a bed with him.

Sam saw the pain in your eyes and clenched his hands in fists under the blanket. His brother had no idea what he was doing to you every day with his behavior. Sam felt sorry for you. He didn't need to be a detective to know how you felt about his brother. Sam lifted the blanket for you and you slipped into his arms. You stared blankly and hot-eyed at the ceiling, its plaster crumbling. Sam took you in his arms. "It's going to be all right," he whispered in your ear, and for a moment you wished you could believe him.

You had underestimated the skinwalker when you split up in the canalization to find the bastard. It had taken Dean's form and you fell for it for a moment... Then the skinwalker started talking to you and you knew it wasn't Dean. Dean wouldn't talk to you. The realization that you could tell it wasn't Dean by him talking to you made you angry. All the time you had been sad and hurt, now the anger was boiling inside you. But before you could react, the skinwalker had overpowered you. It was now running around out there with your face. Meanwhile you sat tied to Dean on the slippery floor of the canalization.

Dean was terrified when he saw you. You were bleeding from a cut on your cheek and couldn't move your leg properly. Concern for you overshadowed his fear of exposure. "Y/N! Are you okay?" he asked anxiously. It was the first words he had spoken to you in weeks. As soon as you heard his innocent question, something exploded inside you. "Oh, suddenly now, Dean? Suddenly you're worried about me, and you're talking to me again?! After weeks of avoiding me, you finally decide to talk to me again?" you snarled angrily. Dean closed his eyes painfully, but you couldn't see it because you were back to back. "Y/N - I - please - I'm sorry." he pleaded, but you just laughed joylessly. "Save it, Dean. I don't want to hear it. You hurt me deeply. I thought we were friends, but apparently you were just a good actor," you said bitterly. "I never meant to hurt you, Y/N," Dean said, but you didn't even look at him. "You hate sleeping in the same bed with me? Okay, fine, you could have told me that! I don't play a role in your life? Then what have I been doing with you guys for the past few years? I'd like to crash your damn car, Winchester. Maybe you should just let that skinwalker have me." You got to get that anger off your chest.

"That's not true! I've been sleeping badly for weeks because you're not lying next to me. You and Sammy are the most important people in my life. I don't care if you wreck Baby, even if I have to spend weeks fixing her, just please don't disappear from my life, Y/N. I couldn't live without you."

"Why, Dean? Then why are you like this?" you whispered in defeat. "Because I'm scared to death. Because I love you." You were so shocked, you didn't know what to say. Suddenly it all made sense. But before you could say anything, Dean had broken free of his restraints and opened yours.

"Dean, I -" But he put a finger on your lips. "Let's go." He took your hand, and together, you ran the sewer. Sam managed to disable the skinwalker and gave you a few minutes. Dean pulled to the side. "Dean, I--" He looked at you with his green eyes.

"You don't have to say anything, it's okay." You shook your head when the elder suddenly pulled something from his breast pocket. It was a little pink cocktail umbrella. You gasped. "You kept it." He nodded. "All the time. It makes me smile. Like you do every day. I wanted you to know that." This man. This incredible man who just twisted a pink cocktail umbrella between his fingers. "Dean, I love you."

And finally... finally your lips met. "At last! Took you long enough." you heard Sam, but you just smiled into the kiss as Dean pulled you closer.

@vicariouslythruspn

@crazybutconfidentaf

@zizzlekwum

@outofnowhere82

@rintheemolion

@myopiamystical

@vicmc624

@imaginationisgrowth

@seven-seas-of-fuck-you

@screechingartisancashbailiff

@fortheentries

@readsreblogsfics

@akshi8278

@hobby27

@thewintersoldierswife

@squirrelnotsam

@transparentfestivaltiger

145 notes · View notes

dastardlydandelion · 3 years

Note

Please post the sickfic prompt turned corpse disposal. 😂

sure! that one’s p bloodless, i can post that one.

ao3 link

content warnings: implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced spousal abuse, minimally described fresh dead body, illness description

Billy isn’t sick.

Billy doesn’t get sick. He really doesn’t. Hasn’t had so much as a cold in years, albeit he’s claimed one as cover here and there whenever coke overuse made him maybe sorta sniffly and Neil started to eye him up like he might be suspicious.

Billy isn’t sick.

If he’s feeling achy, well, he’s just sore because Neil laid the belt on him pretty hard two days ago after he got sent home from school midday Monday, written up and suspended. If he’s coughing, well, it’s just because he’s been smoking more than usual. Neil’s been stressed out lately, so that means Billy’s stressed out too.

“No,” his father says sharply when Billy takes a seat at the breakfast table.

And Billy blinks at him, confused but careful.

“You’re not going to sit with us and cough all over the food like a human biohazard. I raised you to show more courtesy than that.” Neil gives him a stern look. “Go back to bed.”

“I’m not even—“

“Go back to bed, Billy.”

Billy hears the warning heighten in his father’s tone. He doesn’t argue. He hauls himself back to his bedroom and it’s whatever. He wasn’t really hungry anyway.

* * *

Okay, so Billy is sick.

He got himself suspended because he felt something coming on. He knows his body. He was feeling off kilter and sluggish, uncomfortable in the chest when he inhaled too deeply. So he put his boots on the desk in history class and flipped the teacher the bird when she asked him to sit properly. Even went the extra mile and sneered, told her to blow him when her jaw hit the floor.

He figured it’d buy him enough time to recover without having to call in sick, or get in trouble for skipping class. A suspension was one indiscretion and only likely to invoke one punishment. Skipping multiple days would’ve been multiple indiscretions and more likely to invoke multiple punishments.

In retrospect he should’ve just called in sick because the whole point of avoiding that route was avoiding having to admit it, but he can’t really hide it. Whatever he’s got came on hard and fast, doubled-down by Monday evening. It hasn’t gotten any better. Billy feels bad all over, the cough is near constant, and he’s shaking with chills. Puts his leather jacket on before he buries himself under the blankets and still can’t get warm.

And the coughing, ugh, the fucking coughing. Billy knows he’s being loud. He tries to hold it in but he just can’t. Spasm after spasm squeezes his lungs until they’re aching for air. His chest feels like it’s full of swamp muck and all he can do is ride it out, clutch at his ribs until he makes it to the oxygen on the other side.

Billy should get up. He should make himself get off his ass, go buy some cough drops or at least refill his glass of water. He’s going to make it happen. He’s definitely going to make it happen…just maybe not yet.

He never really gets around to it. Spends most of the afternoon slogging through coughs and trying to get comfortable even though it doesn’t really matter which way he tosses or turns, he’s still cold to the bone, chest stabbing with every burdened breath. The day drags and Billy catches snippets of the other members of the household moving about, knows it’s evening when Neil sticks his head in.

“I dug this out of the cabinet for you,” he announces, holding up a blue container. “Vapor rub. It’ll calm your cough down. Help you sleep.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

His father pads across the carpet, sets the container down on Billy’s nightstand, right within reach. He hovers uncertainly, eyes narrowed. Opens his mouth to say something and maybe he does, but Billy doesn’t catch it, snapping upright to bury another flurry of coughs into his closed fist. It’s a forceful fit and before he knows it, his father’s thumping him on the back. He’s probably trying to help but the heel of his hand connects with one of the bruises the belt buckle left and Billy can’t stop himself before he flinches.

Neil retracts his hand, leaves without another word. Billy rakes in breath at the coda of the coughs, air scraping against his roughshod throat. He goes as deep as he can even though it hurts, snatches the container of vapor rub.

Billy begins to unscrew the lid and notices some of the ointment is crusted under the lid. It flakes off. This stuff looks old. Billy checks the date on the label. Sure enough, it’s been expired for close to a year.

He throws it across the room in frustration, watches it bounce off the wall. Lies back down and pulls the covers up to his chin.

At some point Neil bangs on his door and demands he cut out the racket, probably thinking Billy rebuffed his generosity. Billy’s too exhausted to bother explaining the shit’s expired. Instead he turns his face into the pillow and smothers his fits into the fabric, hoping it muffles the sounds.

* * *

Sometime later Thursday morning, Susan knocks on his door. Billy contemplates pretending to be asleep. Really, he wishes he was. He’s feeling pretty rundown but he can’t seem to get more than a wink before he wakes up coughing.

But if he doesn’t answer it now, she’ll probably just bother him later. So Billy plods to the door and pulls it open.

“What?”

“Um,” Susan begins eloquently, blinking at him as she fiddles with the thin object in her hands. A thermometer.

“Neil tell you to do this?”

“N-No, but, uh. It’s probably a good idea to check your temperature. No offense, Billy, but you don’t sound so good and you’re awfully flush…”

“If I cared, I’d check myself,” he snorts irritably. “Try to stick that under my tongue and I’ll break it in half. Save your mother hen shit for Max.”

With that, he slams the door in her face. They’ve no love for each other. On infrequent occasions Susan will forget this and make some half-assed attempt to get closer to him. Billy’s always quick to remind her where they stand. It doesn’t take much.

Afternoon rolls around without Susan bugging him anymore. Billy isn’t a big reader but he doesn’t feel up to much else between increasingly productive coughing bouts that leave him hacking up gross, greenish globs into his small wire mesh trashcan. So he flips through some music magazines and the book he’s supposed to read for english class until he gathers enough energy to kick himself into gear.

He didn’t bother changing out of his clothes yesterday so he doesn’t need to change now. Just sprays himself with some cologne, figures he probably smells because he’s sweating nonstop. Discomforting drenching cold sweats like getting caught outside in icy rains, an experience Billy was blissfully unfamiliar with until Neil decided to leave sunny California behind.

He browses the small medical selection at Melvald’s, grabs a couple bags of cherry flavored lozenges and a bottle of cough syrup. Covers a couple fits with the crook of his elbow on the way to the counter. He swallows the gunk that comes up because there’s nowhere to spit it into and scrunches his nose in disgust, feels like freaking slime sliding down his throat.

It’s the town cuckoo who rings him up. Or that’s her reputation anyway but she doesn’t seem particularly nutty to Billy. Hell, seems less weird than Susan does when she’s doing shit like talking to the spiders she takes outside.

“Time to go, Little Creepy Crawly,” she’d singsonged last week, shaking a daddy longlegs out of her tissue on the front porch. “Go be free.”

“You need fucking friends,” Billy had told her after the fact. Sound advice, he’d thought. Susan only ducked her head and disappeared into the next room.

Town Cuckoo gives the amount. Billy digs through his wallet and comes up two dollars short. Ugh. Fucking brandname linctuses. Shit’s a ripoff but there was no generic equivalent on the shelf.

She tells Billy it’s on the house, forehead crinkling just a bit as she studies him, eyes all melty with sympathy. Screw that shit. Billy isn’t anybody’s charity case. He gives her a pointed glower as he stamps a five down on the counter, takes the two bags of lozenges, and leaves.

He eats through half of the first bag until his throat tingles with menthol and artificial sweetness, and actually manages to sleep for a few solid hours. He knows it’s been hours because when he wakes himself coughing, it’s dark out. Nighttime.

Billy curls inward with the spasms, tries to catch his breath between stabbing pains. This sucks so much. He’s hacking up more gunk. Attempts to rub some of the discomfort from his heavy, congestion leaden chest to no avail.

He just keeps coughing and coughing and he knows before long, Neil’s going to get in his shit about the noise so he forces himself to throw off the covers. His bruises are still healing. He doesn’t need any more.

Billy crams his feet in his boots and drags himself down the hall. To his surprise, Susan’s sitting at the kitchen table. She’s crying. The sobs wrack her whole body the way the coughs wrack his and her cheeks are blotched cherry red just like his lozenges, tear tracks shining under the kitchen light. It throws him, really. He’s lived with Susan for years and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her cry. She just. Doesn’t show much emotion at all, let alone displays like this.

Billy watches it the way he’d watch a car crash. Susan doesn’t even notice him until he’s coughing again. He curls his fist around his mouth, muffles them as best he can. Fumbles for his car keys when he’s made it through to the other side.

“Where could you possibly be going?” Susan asks, her voice thick, like there’s a bubble in her throat.

Maybe Neil hit her. Billy’s seen it so he knows it happens sometimes even though he’s pretty sure it’s not often. Not like how Neil hits him. Or hit his own mother. Susan is probably Neil’s favorite, obedient like a well trained dressage horse following all of his cues. Isn’t anything like his own mom who defied Neil like a wild mustang he couldn’t tame, who went braless and smoked hash with the hippies, screamed her lungs out at Neil in furious harpy volumes and called him names no matter how mad it made him. Who did her best to give back as good as she got even outmatched, even if it made him madder, throwing things or fists or swinging Billy’s Little League bat.

Susan is submissively behaved and tepid tempered, always wears her bra under the clothes Neil buys her in the fashions he prefers her in. Susan speaks softly and sweetly, never stays out unscheduled and doesn’t smoke anything at all, always smells like floral perfumes and lotions, never ever, ever like cigarettes or marijuana or other men’s cologne. When Neil hits Susan she goes slack and sloth and silent, and does not lift a finger to fight. It is the only thing she and Billy have in common.

“Nowhere,” he answers. “Gonna sleep in the car before Neil gets on me about making noise.”

“Billy, it’s too cold for that…besides, Neil isn’t going to wake up yet.”

“How do you know?”

What, does Susan think she’s a fucking fortune teller now?

Sure enough, she doesn’t have a straight answer for him. She stumbles over syllables that don’t shape into sentences and the last thing Billy feels like doing is indulging her.

“Pfft. That’s what I thought. By the way, you’re ugly when you cry.” Billy glares at her until she turns away, timid, bowing her head. He heads out to the Camaro, gets in the driver’s seat and pulls it back.

Yeah, it’s cold out but he can’t get warm inside under the blankets anyway. Neil’s already in a bad mood. He’d only barked about the racket last night but his father’s bite is worse than his bark and Billy knows better than to expect a second warning.

* * *

Friday morning, the frosty air scrapes Billy’s throat raw and makes him cough so, so hard. He’s beyond done with this shit, fuck everything. He takes shallow breaths to avoid the pangs of going too deep. The coughing still brings up gunk he spits out and he can feel the congestion crackling in his chest like thick, goopy molasses drowning his lungs, sticking between every rung of his ribcage.

It’s actually. Kind of. Beginning to concern him.

Is being sick normally like this?

Billy hasn’t been sick in so long, he seriously doesn’t know. But it’s been days and he’s not feeling any better. He feels worse. He really does. Breathing has become a grueling travail. Even to his own ears, his exhales sound wet and ratty. The coughing was a nuisance when it first came on but now it’s just downright exhausting.

But.

Well. He’s gotta be okay. He’s too young to be like, seriously sick. It’s probably just one of those things where it’s going to get worse before it gets better. A lot of things are like that, right?

Everything gets worse before it gets better. He’s fine. He’s definitely fine.

Billy goes inside. Everyone’s at the breakfast table and he doesn’t take a seat because he’s a biohazard and Neil already looks dour. Susan’s pouring him coffee. Max nibbles at a piece of toast. She has a cut on her cheek that wasn’t there when Billy saw her yesterday. Doesn’t look bad, just a simple scratch stretched under her eye, but when he peers closer is that…is that a bruise?

Yes. It’s pretty small. Faint. He would’ve missed it entirely if the thin red thread of her cut wasn’t so stark against Max’s pasty skin.

He’s smart enough not to ask in front of Neil. He doesn’t say anything. Gets the juice from the fridge and pours himself a glass. He’s two sips in before he has to set it aside, covering his mouth as another fit takes hold.

Neil is glaring when he makes it through. Right. Don’t cough around the food. Billy isn’t even sitting with them but whatever. He’s not gonna poke the bear. Heads off to Max’s room and waits.

Eventually she comes in to get her backpack, frowning at his presence. “What’re you doing in here?”

“What happened to your face?”

“Geez, Billy, you sound terrible.” Her nose crinkles.

“I asked you a question, Max.” Billy impatiently twirls his finger, slightly annoyed. He already knows he sounds bad, doesn’t need to be reminded.

Max turns away from him with a shrug, starts stuffing her textbooks into the bag. “I fell on the pond yesterday when I was playing with my friends. Where I fell…the ice wasn’t smooth. It was rough and it scratched.”

Billy narrows his eyes and measures her up. It isn’t a particularly unlikely story. But he wants to be sure.

“You’d tell me if it was Neil, right?”

“…of course I’d tell you if it Neil.” Max looks up from messing with her stuff and faces him with clear resolution in her gaze. “Neil hits you all the time so if he hit me, you’d be the first person I’d tell.”

Billy keeps his eyes on her as he goes over what she said. She doesn’t look like she’s lying. She doesn’t sound like she’s lying. Besides, Neil’s striking hand probably would’ve left a bigger bruise and he can’t place anything on it that would’ve scratched her skin like that. Neil’s fingernails are short and blunt, smoother than Billy’s, which get jagged when he bites. He doesn’t wear rings beyond his wedding band, and his is smooth silver, no shiny rock cut in the middle like Susan’s.

“Alright,” he concedes, turns to leave.

The coughing fit hits heavy, like a wrecking ball to the chest. Billy hangs onto the doorframe with one hand, covers his mouth with the other. It’ll pass. It’ll pass. It’ll pass.

Christ, he’s sick of being sick.

It passes. Billy keeps his grip on the doorframe as he works on drawing in air.

“You okay?” Max asks from behind.

And he can’t actually answer that just yet, still catching his breath.

“You sound really gross, like you’re literally dying.”

“I’m not…I’m fine…even run you to school, if you want.” Billy relaxes his grip on the doorframe and turns back to her.

“Oh.” Max perks up at that, eyes bright. “Yeah, can you?”

She lowers her voice as she adds, “I’m mad at my mom. I don’t really wanna ride with her.”

Billy doesn’t ask what for. It’s probably something stupid. Susan getting after her for not zipping up her coat or touching yellow snow or some other dumb shit. He’s too tired to care, really.

“Sure I can, s’what I just said, isn’t it? Finish getting your stuff together, bus leaves in five.”

* * *

Billy does’t go home for a long time. After dropping Max off, he just sits in the parking lot for awhile, rests his head against the steering wheel while the heat blasts from the vents. He’s got it all the way up and he’s so sweaty his hair’s plastered to the back of his neck, but he’s still freaking cold.

He doesn’t know what he did to deserve this.

Or.

Okay, maybe he does.

Eventually he pulls out of the parking lot, drives around listening to music just to be doing something. Winds up in another lot, an empty lot, where the rumor is they’re going to build a mall next year. Billy hopes so. Hawkins is mind-numbingly boring. Sometimes he just wants to scream about it, set fire to the fucking cornfields and scream at the top of his lungs.

His lungs aren’t really up to screaming right now though. Neither is his throat, really, tender from coughing spasm after coughing spasm tearing it up. Billy doesn’t know if he’s even been this sick.

He’s even considering bringing it up to his dad, maybe even. Asking Dad for help. And that.

That means he’s either desperate or delirious, and neither is a particularly reassuring thought.

Fuck.

Billy despises the fact it even crossed his mind. He can’t go to Neil. He won’t. That’s stupid. Neil would probably just dig him out some more expired vapor rub. Definitely wouldn’t take him to a doctor, at least not until the bruises heal. Maybe he’d compromise and get him the cough syrup Billy didn’t have enough cash for…

Between musings, Billy finds himself squeezed in another fit that pummels his chest like invisible fists. It’s so bad he’s left battling for just a breath of air, so forceful for one very scary second he’s even worried he won’t get it. That the coughing will go on and on, and he’ll never take another breath again. That they’ll find his body right here in the empty lot where maybe the mall will be one day.

Except the coughing eventually does subside and Billy does manage to get some air. But the fit spooks him a little. Takes enough out of Billy that he decides he’s probably going to have to go to Neil. Shit.

He puts it off as long as he can. Doesn’t even go home until he knows everyone is done with dinner. To his surprise, Neil isn’t watching tv. Billy heads down the hall. The light is on under Max’s door. The light is on under the master bedroom door too. Billy hesitates before knocking.

Does he really need to go to Neil?

Maybe he was exaggerating when he was worried earlier. Billy’s hand retracts from the door. It's promptly clamped around his mouth for what must be the hundredth time. He’s hacking hard into his palm, chest throbbing.

He doesn’t actually mean to open the door. But he grabs the knob for support and jerks when the metal is shockingly cold under his fingers. The next thing Billy knows, he’s stumbling over the threshold.

Susan whips toward him, eyes as wide as dinner plates and mouth frozen open in horror. At first Billy thinks it’s him. She’s so disgusted she’s horrified by him and his biohazard germs and any second Neil’s going to pick his head up from the bed and bark at Billy for intruding without so much as a knock, and then—

Then his eyes fall to the long bloodied baiting needle in Susan’s suddenly trembling hands.

“S-Self d-defense,” she quavers, backing away, that needle outward in her shaky, shaky hands almost like she thinks Billy’s going to advance on her. “It was s-self defense, B-Billy, I had to.”

Because Neil’s still motionless, facedown on the bed even though his son’s still coughing, making a racket and expelling biohazard bacteria in his very bedroom. He’s still coughing, fuck, his eyes are watering, but they aren’t so watery he can’t see what’s right in front of him. Billy plants a hand down against the dresser and tries to breathe.

“Self defense,” he rasps at the end of the fit, blinking at the acupuncture kit open inches away from his hand on the dresser.

“S-Slightly preemptive self defense,” Susan amends, swallowing. “Make no m-mistake, I had to. I had to, he— he was right on the verge of a b-blowup. You know your father, Billy.”

That is true. Billy knows his father well. He doesn’t speak to Susan as he shuffles up to the bed. Gulps down some of the gunk in his throat, grazes his father’s cheek with his fingertips. There’s blood welled up in a hole at the base of his skull but he’s warm, kinda, so maybe Susan didn’t kill him after all. He moves his fingers to feel for a pulse.

It isn’t there. Neil’s dead? Neil’s really dead?

“Dad?” he tries. It comes out a hoarse squeak. He clears his throat and tries again. “Dad? Dad, c’mon.”

Billy jostles his father’s shoulder. It yields no response. The bare skin is still warm, deceptively so. There’s not so much as a flicker of life beneath it.

“Holy shit,” Billy gasps.

Susan presses back against the wall, eyes still very wide, clutching that baiting needle so tight her knuckles are blanched. Her hands shake and shake.

“What are you going to do?” she asks in a whisper.

“What am I going to go?” Billy echoes. “I— I don’t know! What are you going to do? Call the cops?”

Because even if her self defense was preemptive, to use her description, maybe it’d still fly. Billy has bruises. Maybe Susan has some too hidden under that deep cranberry dress.

“Cops?” Susan’s mouth tightens as her head gives a firm shake. “Of course not. Don’t you know what police are like? Your father would’ve fit right in.”

Billy considers this as he coughs, stuffing them into the sleeve of his leather jacket. He can’t say his own experience with the law has ever been positive. And Neil was a security guard. What’s a security guard if not a wannabe cop?

“You planned this,” Billy heaves out when he’s done coughing.

“I’m….I mean, y-yes, but I—“

“What was your plan?” Billy interrupts. “Where were you going to go from here?”

“I didn’t expect you to show up,” Susan says, soft and frowning.

“I live here,” Billy points out and he laughs. Strange, strained laughter peals out of him until it triggers another bout of coughing because. What. The. Actual. Fuck.

“Oh, Billy…do you want some water? Maybe you should sit down.”

“Where?” he rasps between coughs. “Next to my dead dad?!”

“Keep your voice down,” Susan urges, waving the needle like a conductor’s baton. “Max is still awake.”

Billy wipes the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand. Stares at Susan as he does his best to take even breaths.

“You’re wheezing.”

“You’re deflecting,” he fires back. “What are you going to do?”

“Um, uh…chop him up,” Susan admits quietly. “I’d p-planned to chop him up.”

“That’ll make a mess,” Billy blurts out, blunt.

“Messy, yes, but it’s the easiest way. I can’t exactly carry him.”

Billy touches the small of Neil’s bare back, skims his fingertips between hair thin acupuncture needles. He probes at the small of his own back, winces when dull pain pulses through the bruise. His throat is thick with something other than phlegm and his heart is racing rabbity fast. In this moment, Billy makes a decision.

“Not by yourself.”

Susan gapes.

“Where we taking him?” Billy asks.

“I…I honestly didn’t have an exact location mind, but farther away. Not here in Hawkins, the town is too small.” Susan swallows again and tugs at her sleeve. “I planned to bag his parts in pieces and drive a few hours out and spend the night disposing of the bags in different areas.”

That makes sense, he thinks.

“Sometimes I go to this gay bar about two hours away. Pretty big dumpster in the back.”

Billy tries to hit it at least once a month, if he can save up enough of his allowance for gas. Sometimes he collects enough chump change from idiots at school who forget to close their lockers, and isn’t above duping people outta their dough by turning on the charm, either. His interest in girls isn’t exclusive, he finds a helluva lotta guys interesting too. It’s just nice to get out of fucking Nowheresville even on the nights he doesn’t end up fooling around with anybody.

Susan looks absolutely bewildered.

“Gay bar,” he repeats slowly. “You know. Pride pub, homo hub?”

“I know what a gay bar is, Billy. Why on earth are you going to one?”

“Gee, I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’m secretly a drag queen bingo champion,” Billy scoffs in annoyance and it turns into a cough. The one sets off a fit.

“Billy, um…I don’t, um. I’m not judging your preference in partners or your private life, but you’re too young to be going to the bar. Any bar. It’s not legal, you’re a teenager.”

Jesus, he can hardly breathe. He feels like he’s going to fall over. Maybe he actually should’ve sat down next to his dead dad.

“Oh dear. I’m— I’m going to get you some water.”

Billy doesn’t fall over. He has good stamina. He’s hard to knock over, prides himself on that fact. He makes it through the fit upright. His chest is sore from the stabbing and he’s a little dizzy, perhaps from fatigue or breathlessness, but he’s steadfast.

Billy accepts the glass Susan holds out to him upon her return. Her fingers feel like icicles as they brush his and he suppresses a shiver. Takes slow sips and finds a little relief. Eventually sets the glass down on the dresser when he’s done.

“Technically, it’s not me who goes to the bar. You’re right, I’m not twenty-one yet. But Jason Scott on the other hand, well, he’s twenty-five.” Billy fishes his wallet out and frees his fake ID from its fold. “Looks pretty legit, right?”

Susan silently studies the piece of plastic and worries her lip between her teeth.

“But we don’t actually have to go into the bar to put my dad’s body in the dumpster anyway. I mean, going inside would really be a pretty bad idea…”

“Indeed it would, but I’m glad you showed this to me. It wouldn’t be smart to put Neil anywhere you or I associate with at all. But if you’re not actually associated, it’s an option.”

“It’d take less time than the way you were gonna go about it. Cleaner too.”

Susan nods her agreement. “However, I still might…mm, Billy. I’m not sure if you’re going to like this. But in order to prevent him from being identified, I think I’m going to chop off his head…and his hands. Well, perhaps those I’ll just burn with the clothes iron, um. Either way, his fingerprints need to be destroyed.”

Billy’s gut lurches as he soaks it in. It sounds logical. He can’t deny that, but something about the idea of his dad’s decapitation doesn’t sit. Kinda gives him the heebie-jeebies. And that’s weird. That’s really weird because he’s okay with everything else.

Well.

Okay, maybe he’s not okay with it, but. He understands it. It’s Neil. Of course he understands the bruises she may or may not be hiding, the fear in her heart regardless.

“Do you have to chop his head off? Can’t you just smash his face in?”

“I considered that,” Susan says, nodding again. “Those cast iron lion bookends on the shelf are nine pounds each. I weighed them this morning.”

Billy likes the sound of that better. Neil is going to be dead and disfigured either way. He’s not sure why it makes a difference. Maybe it doesn’t, really. He thinks he might have a fever. Maybe the fever’s just getting to him, making him a little loopy and pulling his thoughts in less than rational directions.

“I could do that part,” he offers. It’d probably take him less time to bash Neil’s face in than it’d take Susan. He has more physical prowess, after all, more power to put behind the blows.

“Are you up for that?” she asks, eyeing him skeptically.

“Yes,” he snaps, somewhat defensive. He’s sick but he’s not helpless.

Billy’s claim isn’t undermined by the brief bout of coughing that overtakes him. He halts the reflex to clutch his ribs. Not now, not in front of her. Especially not with what they have to do.

“There’s two bookends,” Susan points out, seems a little nervous as she watches him cough. “We could take turns.”

With that, she disappears from view. Billy hacks some more gross globs into his hand and for convenience’s sake, just wipes it off on his jeans. When Susan comes back, she has one of those big black contractor trash bags. Spreads it out on the bed beside Neil’s form.

They roll him together and Billy doesn’t know what to make of what he feels when he actually sees his father’s face, features devoid and dead. Very, very dead. Tears do not sting his eyes. They just well up watery because he’s coughing again, battling for breath again, so, so wrung and exhausted, lungs like sodden sponges sopped with sputum.

Then he’s holding the bookend, cast iron artistically sculpted, the maned king of the jungle bearing his teeth in a roar. Billy looks at his father’s dead face and hesitates for only a heartbeat. When he brings the heavy object down, he puts all the force he can muster behind it and it makes an utterly atrocious noise Billy will never forget, but—

Some part of him has always wanted to do this. For that part of him, it is the only thing he’s ever truly wanted. And when Susan takes her turn Billy watches her face and realizes, oh, going slack and sloth and silent with the taste of Neil Hargrove’s hand isn’t the only thing they share at all.

* * *

They wait until late to don gloves and roll Neil up in the shower liner. They stuff him in the bed of his own truck for transport. Billy takes the torso end because it’s heavier, Susan hefts him under the legs. Billy drives because he knows the way even though it’s the last thing he feels like doing.

It goes mostly okay. He only has a paroxysm bad enough to make him pull over once.

Susan reaches across the seats and rubs his shoulder. Billy’s too busy getting his breath to shrug her off.

“I’m sure you’re not going to love this idea, but I think it’s time to see a doctor. This could be bronchitis, Billy, or even pneumonia.”

“Pneumonia isn’t real,” Billy grouses tiredly. “It’s like the boogeyman. Just some story old people made up so their grandkids wouldn’t play in the rain and track mud all over the house.”

“Uh…um.” She blinks owlishly, forehead creasing. “No, that’s not quite accurate…”

“I’m screwing with you, Susan.” Because that’s easier than conceding to her.

It would’ve been one thing with Neil. As fucked up as things were, Neil was his dad. Neil was supposed to take care of him.

But Susan. Susan is different. Susan is mostly Max’s weird mom who displays about as much emotion as a mannequin whenever she isn’t (wasn’t) dancing on Neil’s puppet strings or talking to the spiders as she shakes them free from soft tissues. Albeit tonight is a game changer. They’re very literally partners in crime now.

“We could even go to the ER after this,” she suggests uncertainly, wary edge to her tone.

“That’s for emergencies. I can wait.”

“If you’re sure.” Susan hums in her throat and draws her hand away.

They have good timing. The bar’s been closed for almost an hour by the time they get there and all the cars have cleared out. Billy backs up to the dumpster so he and Susan can stand on the bed and lift Neil in that way, rather than having to drag his deadweight out and struggle to raise his cumbersome bulk up over the side.

He doesn’t want to be out here any longer than he has to. Whole thing gives him the heebie-jeebies. He feels like a cop is about to pull up any second now and frankly, it’s cold as fuck. He’s cold as fuck.

Not as cold as the unearthly chill that seems to pierce through the plastic liner when Billy lifts his father’s trunk for the second time tonight.

“Do you feel that?” he irresistibly asks Susan, watching her adjust her grip on Neil’s legs and searching her face for the eeriness he’s feeling.

“Feel what?” Susan asks, frowning.

Death itself? Billy doesn’t know.

“Nothing, it’s…just cold, I guess.”

“Oh, Billy, I think you have the chills.”

And he knows he does but it’s not the same thing. He doesn’t comment any more on it. Together they get Neil up on the metal rim of the open dumpster, push him over. Garbage crunches and crinkles beneath his deadweight. Billy feels another coughing fit coming on and manages to suppress it until he gets back inside the truck.

“Do you want me to drive home?” Susan asks.

“No. I know the way better, it’s easier if I do it.”

“You could, um. I mean, you could direct me if I get a little turned around. You’re looking pretty tuckered out.” It’s dark but Billy can hear the frown in her voice.

“Alright,” he sighs out. “Fine.”

Because she’s not wrong. He’s drained at this point. Shoving his dad’s body in the dumpster spent the last store of energy he had. He and Susan swap places. She doesn’t have much trouble once she actually gets back on the main road.

“Thank you,” she murmurs eventually. “If I had to do this myself, I’d still be in the middle of it.”

“Yeah…sure thing, I guess.” She killed his dad. No big deal. Billy blinks, isn’t sure what else to say.

“…so, um…you like the fellas, huh?” she asks, voice light and not a bit unkind.

“Uh-huh." He shrugs. "Guys, girls, I mean, I'm not that picky. A hole’s a hole, a mouth’s a mouth, fingers are fingers.”

Susan chokes on a scandalized gasp and Billy gets a chuckle out of it, even as it turns into a cough.

“That’s, uh. T-That’s certainly crude.”

And it’s funny really, that Susan seems more creeped out by a boorish comment than she did by holding his dead dad’s corpse legs.

By the time they get home, Billy’s so beyond spent he knows he can’t even make it to his room. Doesn’t bother to try. Collapses on the couch cushions without attempting to take his boots off. Smothers what has to be the goddamn millionth round of coughs into the throw pillow.

When he picks his head up, Susan’s standing there, fiddling with the thermometer again, fretful expression on her features. Oh, fuck it. Fine. Billy bites the bullet and takes it from her, begrudgingly jamming the thing under his tongue.

#billy hargrove #susan hargrove #neil hargrove #my fic tag #anonymoose #can't get enough of these two as a murder duo

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meet-the-clown · 3 years

Text

prompt: how they meet pierre

word count: 2,245

“Alright, that’s it. Out.” Dell puts the brakes on, hard enough it sends Scout sliding out of his seat and into the dash. The hazy structure of the main base is only barely visible in the distance, but they’ve gone through the old broken down barbed wire fence and passed the stack of rocks that marks the start of the Respawn Zone, so it’s close enough.

“What? Come on, man. It’s still way out dere! I don’t wanna walk all d’way out dere!” Scout’s already hooking a hand around the strap of the backpack shoved between his feet, though, and when Dell gives him a pointed look, he kicks open the passenger door, too. “Dis ain’t fair. I didn’t even do nothin’.”

“Boy, I have had you in this truck for the past three days straight, and the last two of them without even stoppin’ for the night. It’s about time you get yourself on outta here, make those legs’a yers useful, and hike yourself the rest of the way,” says Dell. “It ain’t too far out there. Shouldn’t take more than a good half hour.”

Scout sucks on his front teeth and squints at the hazy shape in the distance. “Bet I can make it dere in fifteen.”

“Doubt it,” he says, because there’s nothing that motivates Scout into doing something quicker than a challenge.

“Nah, I totally can make it in fifteen. I bet I’ll get dere before you. I mean, seriously, you drive like someone’s granny. Out here in da middle’a da desert and ya never even make it up past fiddy.”

“We were on a curving cliff, for one, and for another, you don’t get no say in how I drive,” says Dell. “Last I checked, you don’t even got a license.”

“I kill people for a livin’,” grumbles Scout. He shrugs his bag over his shoulder, adjusting the straps of it. “I should totally be able t’drive without a license.”

“Well ya can’t. And if ya keep standing out here all day runnin’ yer mouth, there ain’t no way that yer gonna be able to get all the way to the base before I do.” Dell puts the truck back into gear. He’s hardly gotten it pushed into second before Scout takes off, hot-trotting across the dusty expanse of red sand.

Dell hasn’t been out to Stovepipe Wells since the first team up and vanished. It looks like Mann Co hasn’t been using it for anything since then, either. There are remnants of the last match scattered around; scorch marks on the grounds, big twists of metal that’s been blown apart. An old water tower has been knocked into a sharp angle about three miles to the east, one leg twisted out under it.

The base itself doesn’t look to be much better. Medic’s van is already parked up front, though it looks like he’s gotten himself distracted by an old, half-rotted coyote that manage to get itself trapped under a gnarly bit of metal. He pulls around to one of the side doors, pulling the pack of blueprints and paperwork out of the dashboard.

“Alright,” he breathes out, pushing open his own door. “Might as well get this done and over with.”

* * *

The inside of Stovepipe Well is even worse than the outside. Classic came long before Miss Pauling was in charge of the mercs, and it looks pretty much like whoever came before her just let them run wild. From what Dell knows of the group – arguably, mostly information that Francois has managed to sweet talk out of Miss Pauling’s briefcase – they didn’t really follow any of the sanctions that come with the job now, or the basic moral code that most people use to function.

It takes a special sort to function in their line of work, Dell won’t argue on that front, but the first team Mann Co employed had the bad tendency of taking things about twenty steps too far. The inside of the base is trashed, wires pulled out of the wall, furniture have blown up. There’s a hole melted in the doorway of what Dell thinks must have been used as the med-bay once upon a time; a room that unfortunately directly attaches to the only place suitable for his own workshop.

Dell likes Ludwig well enough, but the man is loud and distracting.

He steps over the hole in the floor and into the room. There are similar holes pit marking the rest of the room from whatever concoction must have been spilled. Classic must have left Stovepipe in a hurry; long-festered experiments are still strewn out on the various tables shoved into the room, and there’s a corpse that’s mostly nothing but bones half peeking out from under a bloodied sheet.

It’s been here long enough that the stink’s completely gone.

It’s going to need a lot of cleaning, but Dell would bet a pretty penny that Scout will end up doing most of the work for the doc.

“Let’s hope the shop ain’t in worse shape.” Dell sits his tool box down on a counter with a heavy thump. Something rattles. He eyes the counter, half expecting the whole thing to just give in.

There’s another rattle.

It’s not coming from the counter.

“Better just be a coupl’a rats,” grumbles Dell. “I’m not lookin’ to have any live experiments running around.”

No sound for a long few moments, and then the harsh puff of a whistle.

Not rats, then. Dell would have much preferred the rats. Scout’s good at killing rats, and Jane’s good at moving the bigger critters. But they don’t whistle.

Dell squints, giving the room another once over. There’s an even longer stretch of silence before it comes again. Is that coming from the fridge?

“Drats. Couldn’t just be a quick clean up.” Grumbling to himself, Dell walks over to the fridge and makes to pull the door open. It’s stuck. There’s something thick and gray at the bottom of it, pooled under Dell’s boots and sealing the door shut.

He takes a step backward, has to pull his leg so hard it makes his knee pop just to get his boot picked back up.

Grumbling even louder, Dell rubs at his knee, grabs his tool box, and heads for the workshop.

Something to be dealt with later.

* * *

The workshop might be in even worse condition than the rest of the base. Dell spends about twenty minutes trying to clear off a single counter, and then decides he just doesn’t have the patience for it today. The ride out here has left his back a mess, and his patience is just about run out. There’s no power, no lights, no air, just a bunch of broken mechanics.

Ludwig hasn’t shown up yet, and Dell needs to get something completed before going to bed or it’s going to drive him up the wall.

The smallest, easiest task seems to be that fridge. He grabs a half gallon of hexane out from under a pile of trash, and his wrench on the off chance whatever’s in that fridge needs to a swift disposal.

This time, Dell takes care not to step in the slime. He presses the top of the bottle to the slip of seal between fridge and freezer, just dousing the whole side of it. The foul but familiar scent fills the air, burning the back of Dell’s throat. It hisses, the rubber and slime both melting off of the door.

Dell counts to thirty and then gives the handle a good, solid yank. This time, it pops open with a wet, schlick. Unlike the room, the fridge has kept the scent of rot and decay sealed inside. With the power off, it’s hot, and wet, and everything from the beakers to the old glass trays have just sort of festered.

The head sitting on the otherwise empty top shelf, however, has not rotted.

It blinks at him.

Dell jerks backwards, fingers curling tighter around the wrench. The head is gaunt and pale, with bands of dark discoloration around the neck, right above where it’s been sliced off and burned shut. He has the biggest urge to check if the corpse on the other side of the room might be missing a part, but isn’t dumb enough to look away from a blinking head.

“What in the - “ Dell squints. The head looks very familiar. “Exactly how alive are you?”

The head stares at him for a moment. His lips are cracked and scabbed over. A tongue darts out and licks at them. “Debatable.” The voice is a hoarse, creaking sort of rasp. “Qui êtes vous?” And then, voice crackling even more, “ ‘ho?”

“Well, shit,” says Dell. A talking head in the fridge.

Somehow, this feels like a disaster jammed inside three other disasters.

He should have just gone and fixed the power, instead.

* * *

It takes about fifteen minutes for Dell to wrangle in Ludwig, and Scout comes along like the doe-eyed thing he’s been the last three weeks, and then they all sort of just stand in front of the open fridge like a couple of teenagers gawking over a dead cow.

“Zat is absolutely a head,” says Ludwig, cheerfully.

“Fucking gross,” says Scout. He sucks on his teeth. “Is it alive?”

“Oui,” rasps the head. He looks about twenty shades of unimpressed with all of them. Everything about him looks faded, the color drained out of his hair and his skin and his eyes, all grayed out and fuzzy.

“Aw, man, it’s French. Gross,” says Scout. He knocks his elbow into Ludwig’s side. “You wanna take it back and toss it? Bet if I catch it with my bat we could make it hit the fence line.”

“You will not,” says Dell, firmly.

Ludwig reaches in and picks up the head. He holds it uncomfortably close to his own face. “Hallo, mein kleiner körperloser Freund! I am ze Medic. Und who are you?”

Another long, slow blink. Another flick of the tongue over his lips. “A spy. Décomissionné...I think.”

“Ohoho, and very thirsty I would imagine! Come, schatz, let me get you a drink!” Ludwig sweeps off to the other side of the room, head in toe.

Scout says, “so, uh, dis is weird, right? I mean, even for us?”

“Yes, scoot,” says Dell, dryly. “This sure ain’t normal.”

He shifts from foot to foot. “What now?”

“I suppose...now I go call Miss Pauling.”

* * *

“I’m sorry. Can you, ah, run that by me one more time?” Miss Pauling’s voice crackles. The mobile phone hook-up is in Medic’s van, for a reason that Dell has never fully been able to understand. He can practically hear her tilting her head.

“There’s a talking head in the fridge of the med-bay. Haven’t gotten much outta him yet, but he says he’s - “

“A spy, yes, no, I actually got that part. It’s more the talking head bit I was stuck on. You are, ah, being serious, right?”

“Aren’t I always?”

“Right, right, no, you are. Alright, this is – really not something I was expecting. Alright. I have papers, I’ll get them to you by tonight.”

Dell ventures, “papers that explain why there’s a talking head in the fridge?”

“God, no. I have no idea how that’s possible. No one’s used this base in years. By all rights, it should have starved. But I guess it doesn’t actually have a stomach? Not important, right, the papers. I believe they should explain who the head is, or was, or at least what body it belonged too. Whatever term you want to go with.”

There’s the sound of something suspiciously like a gun shot, and then a wet thump of a body hitting the ground.

She continues, “I can’t say much over the phone, but considering that our Spy is accounted for, and the others are all very much dead, I know that personally, mind you, there’s really only one spy it could be. If it even is a spy and not, well, a literal spy.”

Dell rubs at the bridge of his nose. “And who would that be?”

“Pierre Dubois. The last spy hired on with the, ah, original team of mercs hired by Mann Co, before the factions were split.” Another gun shot. Another wet thunk. “He went missing about six months before the rest of the team was decommissioned.”

“Missing.”

“Missing. As in, no one, including their handler, could locate him. We’ve looked since then a few times, but haven’t been able to pick up a trace. Engineer, picking up the trail is literally one of my jobs. The best we could come up with was that between his skills, company assets, and help from the old handler, he went ghost.”

Sometimes, Dell really hates his job.

He says, “but now yer thinking it’s less that he went ghost and more that he’s been sitting here like someone’s leftovers.”

“Exactly,” says Miss Pauling. “So, papers. I’ll have them to you by tonight. I’ve – really got to get this taken care of first. Just make sure that Scout doesn’t turn this into a mess.”

No promises on that one. He did leave Scout and Medic together, without any adult supervision. Lord knows they both need it.

Dell says, instead, “I’ll certainly try.”

A heavy sigh. “Thank you, Engineer.”

And then the line goes dead.

#My writing #fridge'verse #tf2 #tf2 writing

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thesleepysphinx · 3 years

Text

chp. 2: It’s science fiction

A/N: Thank you to everyone that has ready chapter 1! I didn’t expect chapter 2 to take so long to get out, but it’s my last semester and it’s been kicking my ass! The chapter is sadly short, but I’m gonna try to get chapter 3 out as fast as possible! Let me know what you think!

Previous • Masterlist • Next

Your hike up from the dorms to your first class isn’t particularly your favorite thing, but the weather is definitely better than you’re used to. Move-in day must have been uncharacteristically hot, because today you’re able to wear a pair of jeans just fine, though you still opt for a tank top. The walk is about 10 minutes to the historical building. You marvel at it, admiring the architecture and the fine details within. After a few moments to observe, you finish making your way up the steps to the first floor of the building.

(Think of a building like this)

Lucky for you, your class is only on the second floor rather than the third. You observe the bulletin boards as you walk towards the staircase at the end of the building, noticing advertisements for clubs, fraternities, and sororities are already up. You take note to take a look at them after class. As you come to the classroom, the door is already propped open, the professor standing at the chalkboard as she writes down some information. You avoid the gazes of your classmates as you make your way to an empty seat. Only about half the classroom is filled up, so you choose a seat with other empty seats on either side. It looks like the class can fit about 30 students at a time, a much smaller number than the typical university class. You huff out a breath and start gathering your supplies, glancing at your schedule just to double check that you’re in the right place.

You mumble to yourself as you read over the dates, times, and class codes. “Okay, yeah, room 201 for... damn it...” Turns out, the printed schedule didn’t include the actual name of the class. All you’re given to work with is three numbers that signify the class, but not what it’s about. Whatever, I’ll figure it out once the professor starts.

“It’s science fiction, dumbass.”

With all of your rifling through your stuff, you hadn’t noticed that the seat to the right of you was now occupied. By Bakugo. You glare at him as you return your schedule to its original spot in your bag. “I didn’t ask, asshole.”

You can see his jaw clench at your rebuttal. His voice becomes more grating as he says, “Then don’t mumble to yourself like a damn idiot.” With that last comment, he turns his attention solely to his school materials. You notice that he has quite the assortment of organizational supplies, such as a pristine pack of highlighters, small sticky notes, and a categorized notebook. We’re probably just gonna go over the syllabus, but he looks so prepared...

You’re drawn out of your thoughts as the professor begins to speak. You gather that her name is Professor King and that she will most likely be an average professor. Not hard, but not a super easy A. A manageable class.

As Prof. King finishes going over the syllabus and the schedule for the semester, she announces, “Let’s just do some quick introductions so we know each other’s names. Give us your name, grade, and major. We’ll just go row by row...”

Slowly, the students all cycle through, providing the information asked of them. Eventually, the spotlight lands on Bakugo. He keeps his hands in his jacket pockets, leaned back in his chair as he introduces himself. “Name’s Katsuki Bakugo, I’m a third year chemical engineering major.” After his last word, he turns his head ever so slightly in your direction, waiting expectedly for your introduction.

You ignore his crimson gaze as you start speaking in a chipper tone that contrasts Bakugo’s, “Hi, I’m Y/N, I’m a junior, and I’m an English major!” The introductions immediately move on to the person to your left, but Bakugo’s gaze stays on you.

Under his breath in a volume only you can hear, he says, “Tch. Lame.”

You bite your tongue for now, waiting for the end of class to confront him. The end of class could not come sooner...

You gather up your class supplies at the same speed as Bakugo, making sure that no matter what you’ll be able to confront him without causing too much of a scene. You stand and drape your backpack over your shoulders, but find that Bakugo hasn’t moved to stand yet. He’s probably waiting for me to leave... Well, fine! I’ll leave! You make your way past the threshold of the door and round the corner of the wall and plant your back to it. The perfect plan.

In a matter of seconds your plan falls into place as Bakugo rounds the corner out the door and you start walking next to him. You don’t even give him the chance to react to your presence before questioning, “So what part was lame?”

“Leave me the hell alone.” He speeds up his walking as he gets to the stairs.

You match his pace as you race down the stairs. “Well you obviously can’t leave me alone, so no. If you think you’re so much better than me, then at least tell me why, asshole.”

As you both reach the bottom of the stairs, he turns immediately to face you. It is now that you realize just how tall he is, as he stares down at you with the usual fire in his eyes and the usual scowl on his face. “Why don’t you figure it out yourself and leave me the hell alone, extra?” As quickly as he had turned towards you, he turns away and continues his walk, this time towards the exit of the building. He shoves one of the double doors open as if it were a feather, completely unperturbed by the obstacle. You slip through before the door closes, matching his pace once again as you walk next to him.

“Since you’re not gonna tell me why, I’ll just follow you until you do! I’ve got alllll day!” You hope he doesn’t call your bluff at the end there.

“Tch. Liar.”

Well, that hope didn’t last long.

“Just leave me alone, I know you have another class in two hours. Go bother someone else.”

He turns at the end of the path from the English building towards the plaza. You glance at your phone for the time.

11:30

It is now that you realize you had neglected to get breakfast before your morning class, as your stomach rumbles.

You keep walking besides Bakugo, who keeps changing his pace to annoy you. It works, but you don’t show it. You’re here to annoy him until he gives in. You never reply to his last comment, deciding instead to save your breath until you came up with something more clever. Despite the ridiculous rate of pace changing and the deafening silence between you two, you both walk up to the plaza that hosts the campus café. Your stomach rumbles once more at the thought of food. Bakugo makes no hesitation to walk up towards the doors to enter.

“Lucky you, mister egotistical, I can’t annoy you while my face is full,” you say as you walk in behind him. He scans his student ID at the front as you finish your sentence.

As you’re about to scan your own ID, he responds, “Trust me, you’re just as annoying when you don’t speak.”

Bakugo immediately makes a beeline for one of the buffet stations where chefs were serving up plates and bowls. You quickly follow after him, insistent on your so-called “annoying” presence.

Lunch has just started being served so you’re ahead of the lunch rush, no line in sight. You glance at the menus at each station, forgetting for a moment about Bakugo. I can find him after I get my food...

As your eyes wander, they finally land on the word “Ramen” and your feet start to carry you towards it. As you approach the ramen station, you see Bakugo had the same idea as you. You walk up with your back completely straight, crossing your arms as you come to stand next to him as he awaits his ramen bowl.

“Stop fucking following me.”

You chuckle a bit at his reaction. “For the record, I’m not following you. I just wanted ramen. Is that a crime?”

He grumbles in annoyance as he takes a bowl of ramen as it’s placed on the shelf. Another bowl follows soon after, which you grab before once again following the gremlin. He stops short of a table as he grabs a spoon and a disposable set of chopsticks. You do the same, reaching across him a little to grab your own utensils.

“Stay in your own damn space, dumbass!” he yells out at you. He grabs one last thing before walking away, a small bottle of chili powder.

You quicken your step to come next to him again as he makes his way to a table. “If you didn’t want me in your space, then why’d you sit next to me? Why are you hell-bent on making yourself pissed off?”

He takes a seat at a corner table as he sets his food down. “I’m done talking to you, idiot.”

“Well that’s just fine! I’ll do the talking for us!” You set your food down as you sit across from him and cross your arms over your chest. “I thought you liked pissing people off, so why don’t you tell me what’s so lame?”

He huffs in annoyance, refusing to answer as he goes to reach for his chili powder. In a swift movement, you snatch it from him. He slams his fist down on the table in response. “What the hell, shithead?”

“You’ll get this if you tell me!” You were really pushing it at this point.

Bakugo snarls and slams his fist again as he yells, “You wanna know what’s lame? Who the fuck decides to be an English major? Are you brain dead or some shit? Don’t know how to do anything but read shitty books no one cares about?”

You push your chair back as you stand, throw the chili powder towards him, and pick your food back up. “Wow... You’re that far up your own ass? Get fucked, Bakugo.” You turn away immediately and make your way to the other side of the commons, far out of Bakugo’s sight. You’d dealt with your own doubts in yourself enough, the last thing you needed was some shitty comments from the newest asshole in your life.

#learning experience #bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #bnha #mha #mha x reader #bnha x reader #collegeau

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the-bentley · 5 years

Text

The Fear of Crowley (G)

A look at Crowley’s treatment of his houseplants from their point of view.

It had been a few days since he had been around, but the plants knew better than to let their guard down. He would show up again and there would be cullings if things were not up to his strict standards. They reached towards to the windows, stretching towards the sunlight that would keep them the best shades of green as only the healthiest colours were allowed.

One or two of them let their leaves lower just a little bit. While they obviously needed to be at their best when he was in the flat, they did relax sometimes when the coast was clear. Lately he had not been around much but when he had, he was in a foul mood. They kept what passed for ears in plants tuned to the front door. Once it slammed shut, they had about thirty seconds to look their best before he entered the plant room.

He chose this room because of the floor-to-ceiling windows all along the west that provided them with as good of light as you could get in the middle of London, supplemented with grow lights hanging from the ceiling. Terror alone couldn’t make a plant bigger or greener.

But even with light, water and the occasional shot of fertilizer, the onus was on them to always look their best. Many a fellow plant had come and gone, succumbing to leaf spots, wilt or lackluster growth. Failure to thrive was not an option here. Nobody would nurse you back to health. You were verdant, luxurious and healthy-looking or you were unceremoniously shredded in the garbage disposal while the remaining flora was treated to one of his temper tantrums. If that was your fate, at least you could thank your lucky stars plants did not possess nerves.

The door opened than slammed shut one early afternoon following a several days’ absence. The terror in the plant room became palatable. Suddenly everyone from the smallest African violet to the tallest Kentia palm immediately perked up.

Must be green! Must be tall!

One began to tremble. Its neighbors quickly shushed it. They stood at attention but a recently added flamingo flower broke down in the plant version of anxiety. It had been the target of their owner’s wrath last week because it had yet to produce blooms. It had a month to grow at least three and was reminded every misting that the clock was ticking. It was doing its best to produce flower stalks and had managed a small one.

Footsteps.

Must be green! Must be tall!

“So. How are we doing today?” He stood there in a deceptively casual stance, plant mister held at his side. Yellow eyes darted from plant to plant, inspecting each for flaws.

He caressed the leaves of a rubber plant, the plant doing its best not to recoil in fear. Close inspections were never a good thing and this particular plant had been warned before. Its untouched leaves visibly raised; if it had been possible to make itself greener instantaneously, it would have.

“Didn’t we already have discussion a few weeks ago about your poor growth rate?” he hissed in a soft, menacing voice to it. “You have one week to give me five centimeters of growth or I’ll throw you off the balcony. You can rot slowly on the pavement for all I care.”

The flamingo flower was addressed next as he misted them. It tried its best to shrink to an unnoticeable size in its pot, but that trick was well known by their owner. Many a plant had tried such a tactic and failed.

“You’re running out of time. I only see one pathetic bloom stalk. I want flowers. That’s the point of you, isn’t it? Remember what happened to peace lily that wouldn’t bloom?”

The flamingo flower remembered all too well. He had scooped it up in a fit of anger, showed its lack of blooms to everyone in the room, then left for an hour only to return with an empty pot he set in the middle of the floor. The plants endured horror-filled thoughts of what happened to their former friend until he decided to remove it three days later.

They lost another of their friends during that dark time. A pothos could not endure the pressure, breaking down in a nervous wilt that earned it a trip to the garbage disposal. Their owner did like a plant that would tremble nicely when threatened, but completely nervous wrecks were not tolerated.

He put down the mister, picked up the watering can and stalked around checking each plant’s soil, occasionally watering one here and there. A few others received some fertilizer.

“Well. What do we have here?” He eyed a small English ivy with one brown leaf tip.

Its neighbors recoiled, getting as far away from the chosen target as they possibly could. Its pot was yanked off the shelf it sat on with surprising speed. Those unforgiving yellow eyes examined it while a sneer formed on their owner’s mouth.

“What have you been told about leaf spots? I will not tolerate anything less than perfect foliage, do you understand?”

The room filled with the sound of rustling leaves as the entire collection of greenery trembled violently. One could almost hear the offending English ivy crying in fear.

“Oh dear, there is going to be one less plant in here now, isn’t there? I suggest the rest of you start putting in some effort before you share your friend’s fate.”

He stalked off down the hall to the kitchen, a room filled with pristine grey granite counters and unused stainless steel appliances. Flicking on the garbage disposal, he let it run for about thirty seconds while conjuring up a pot identical to the one the plant was currently residing in.

If foliage could look confused, this one would have as it sensed its owner walking back to the plant room, leaving it by the sink.

“Grow better!”

The angry voice drifted back to it along with the sound of a ceramic pot clanging hollowly as it was placed on the tile floor. Footsteps followed as the plant’s owner returned to the kitchen.

It found itself grabbed up, taken out the back door, out of the building and into a car where it endured a bit of a nerve-racking drive before the car was parked in front of colourful buildings along crowded pavements.

Carrying it into one, its owner set it on a counter next to an old-fashioned till in a room filled with books and cluttered with antique items, everything here looking as if it existed because it had special meaning to whoever owned this place.

“Angel!”

“Oh, hello, Crowley. I wasn’t expecting you for another half hour,” a voice called from somewhere in the bookshelves. Quick footsteps approached. There was a pause. “Culling the plants again, are we?”

“I can’t have leaf spots in my flat. It just won’t do. Just a dried tip. Cut off that leaf, water it when it starts to dry out and put it in indirect light. It should be fine.”

There was a sigh. The plant assumed it came from the one called “Angel.”

“That’s the second one this month. I’m running out of room for your rejects. You need to learn to live with a few imperfections for once, my dear.”

“Would you rather I really threw them away? Besides they brighten the shop up. I think the rest of mine’ll fall into line now so I won’t have to get rid of any more. They were cowering quite nicely while I was lecturing them. Anyway, lunch? I’ll be waiting in the car.”

“Lecture? I do believe terrorize would be a better phrase for what you do.”

“Oi! Five minutes or I’m leaving without you.”

The door slammed.

The plant, in a state of utter confusion, found itself being inspected rather closely by Angel, who smiled at the terrified thing as he looked it over.

“Hello. You are a beautiful one, aren’t you? Such grand foliage, indeed. And don’t worry; I don’t make it a habit of terrifying houseplants. Really, he does have a bit of kindness in there somewhere otherwise you’d be compost. I’d better go because he does get dreadfully impatient, but it’ll give you a chance to settle in. Later today we’ll find you a nice place to sit and soak up sunlight. Does that sound good?”

As the door closed for the second time leaving the plant alone there on the till counter, it relaxed its leaves a bit, thinking it was going to enjoy living here in this shop with the nice Angel who called it beautiful.

#crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #good omen fanfic #good omens fanfiction #crowley's houseplants #ineffable husbands

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changingthelights · 4 years

Text

A Familiar

Waylon stared skeptically into the dusty walk-in closet tucked into the back room of Leon's shop. Books, tomes, bottles, and random cleaning supplies dangled haphazardly off of various shelves, and what Waylon thought was a desk and matching chair were buried beneath a piled of... towels? Clothes? Waylon couldn't tell, and it made him a little nervous. There was something to the right of the desk that looked like it might be a broom, but it in front of it were stacked unused shelves for the bookcase beside it, and on top of those- a stack of actual books. Why the shelf hadn't been put together to hold them- Waylon wasn't about to ask.

“Leon hasn't touched this room in years,” Rudi said from behind him, and Waylon turned to glare at the immaculately dressed familiar. Compared to Rudi's playful smirk, Waylon was clearly not amused. Rudi always looked out of place in Leon's homey little shop, dressed in a tailored three-piece suit with his long hair perfectly quaffed and tucked neatly behind his ears. Despite his time here, Waylon still hadn't grown used to the contrast in his appearance compared to his humble, earthy surroundings, and Rudi spending most of his time with Waylon did not help with that.

“It's a room?” Waylon asked, and he glanced back through the doorway, his skepticism increasing.

“Yes,” Rudi huffed, and his brow twitched in a way that signaled to the witch he'd said something to annoy the taller man. Unfortunately for Rudi, Waylon had made it a secret pass-time of his to irritate the fruit bat as often as possible, and he was always extra pleased with himself when he managed to do so without trying.

“Well, it looks like a closet.”

“Alright then,” Rudi let out a long-suffering sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, “then should I tell Leon you don't want it as a personal workspace? That's why he's having you clean it out.”

That caused the crease in Waylon's brow to disappear, and excitement lit up his honey brown eyes. Having a workplace of his own in the shop meant he'd have full access to all the books and supplies here at his disposal, which Leon had already granted him, but to have a workspace within arms reach of said items would be more convenient. Plus, it meant more complicated spells could be worked on with Leon nearby, and there were certain things he was instructed to wait for assistance with before practicing. Now he had a space in which to practice those specific spells, and the elated swell of excitement in his chest caused him to look at the closet in a completely different way.

“No- no! Sorry, I definitely want the space...”

It was cute, in Rudi's opinion (which he would rather die than admit to), how easily excited Waylon became with even the simplest magick. There was a passion to learn in the witch that he admired.

He knew his suggestion to give this little space to Waylon was the right one. (Also, something he would rather die than admit). In time, Waylon would be able to expand the little room on his own using magick, but this was a perfect place to start. Leon had agreed.

Rudi tilted his head as he watched the young witch enter the room and start to poke around.

“What does he want me to do with what's in here?”

“Toss it, unless you want to keep it yourself. There shouldn't be anything of real importance in there, from what Leon was saying. Just- don't open any unlabeled bottles. If there are any in there, we should have Leon look at them. Also, anything that looks odd- don't touch- and if it looks out of place just- you're smart, Waylon. If you're unsure, just ask.” Rudi shrugged, and with a soft rustle of leather and the blink of an eye, Rudi disappeared. He reappeared in his fruit bat form, hanging upside down from the rafter above the desk leading into the shop.

Taking that as a signal, Waylon set to work.

Waylon wasn't the type to waste anything if he could help it, so first, he tackled the shelves. Once those were cleaned and clear, and the pile of shelves beside the desk returned to the pegs, he could use them. That made room for any of the other miscellaneous items he knew he'd decide to keep, including the pile of cloths that, when cleaned, would have a place to rest. Books were moved to shelves to be read and sorted later, bottles were separated into piles of filled and empty, labeled and not, and the cloth was separated into different bins depending on the type and it's potential use.

It wasn't long after the top of the desk was clear that Waylon noticed the sheen of sweat formed on his brow. He reached up to wipe it away with the back of his wrist, but based on the texture of his wrist across his forehead, that was a mistake. He was pretty sure he just smeared dust across his forehead, and that was when Waylon noticed the dust particles floating through the air.

“Time for a break I guess,” he hummed to himself, to let some of it settle. If he tried to continue now he'd he kick more up, and Waylon was surprised that he hadn't started coughing or sneezing already.

Waylon sank into the seat of the newly cleared chair with a satisfied sigh. As he did, his foot knocked against the inside of the desk, and with a soft 'click' a tiny seam appeared in the wood next to his shoe.

At first Waylon didn't move, as he wasn't sure of what he was seeing, but after a moment his curiosity won him over, and he leaned down to run his fingers along the seam. With a little pull, a small door swung open, revealing a secret compartment. Rudi's words echoed through his mind, warning him about anything weird, and Waylon quietly debated with himself. This wasn't really... “weird”- by itself. Secret compartments were a pretty non-magical thing, and it wasn't an unlabeled bottle, so...

Waylon glanced at the door and listened for any sound from Rudi, or the shop. When there was none, he dropped on all fours so he could peer inside. It was dark inside, but Waylon could make out something small and flat. He reached inside, and after gently tracing one of the edges, he recognized what it was.

“Huh...”

The witch leaned back so he could sit cross-legged on the floor, and out of the compartment he pulled a maroon, pocked-sized, leather-bound book. Waylon turned it over to inspect the spine, and when he saw no title a crease formed between his eyebrows. What kind of a book had no title, or no inscription of any kind on the outside? Journals perhaps, but why would Leon keep a journal tucked away inside an abandoned desk? It must not be that important if he forgot about-

It was then Waylon noticed a shape pressed into the bottom right corner of the cover, and he squinted at the small shape. A weasel? A ferret? An oddly shaped rat? Waylon wasn't positive, but before he could think about his actions, or heed the warning Rudi had given him barely an hour and a half before, Waylon opened the little book.

“Ah!” Waylon shouted and slammed his eyes shut as a blinding white light flashed outwards from the book. The sound of rushing wind filled his ears, and a gust swept up around him, knocking the books, bottles, and shelves- all of his hard work- onto the floor. Waylon covered his head with his arms to shield himself from the falling debris, and in his surprise, the book slipped from his hand. As soon as it hit the floor between his feet the light faded, and the wind stopped, leaving the young witch surrounded by silence that felt almost painful.

Hello Master!

A tiny voice echoed through Waylon's mind, surprising him, and his eyes snapped open. Between his feet, where the book had fallen, perched a tiny white ferret with his little paws spread over the open, blank, pages.

You are the one who freed me from the book, yes?

The voice again, as Waylon stared, mouth agape, at the tiny little creature. It tilted it's head, and it's little white ears twitched towards Waylon.

Hello? Do you talk?

The ferret bumped its head against Waylons ankle, as if trying to get his attention. It was timed weirdly well with the voice...

I've been waiting for so long for someone to free me! That cranky 'ole bat couldn't take a joke- and I-

The ferret started to approach Waylon, head tilting in time with each inflection of the voice in his head-

“YOU.”

Rudi's voice, filled with a furry that made Waylon cringe, interrupted their little interaction.

The ferret let out a terrified squeak, and before Waylon could stop it, the furry creature had scrambled up his thigh and under the hem of his shirt.

“H-hey- hey!” Waylon balked as little claws scratched at his skin, but the animal was surprisingly slippery in Waylon's attempts to catch it. Once it reached Waylon's chest, it's furry little head poked up through the neck of Waylon's shirt, and it glared tiny daggers at the man fuming in the doorway.

Please Master- please don't let him get me! Rudi just can't take a joke and didn't like competition! I didn't do anything wrong-

“You lie, you little beast!” Rudi hissed, apparently he could hear that little voice too, “Leon was kind enough to take you in until you could find your own witch, and then you tried to take him away from me! Not that you had a chance- but then you fucking cursed my hair purple! It took Leon weeks to figure out how to get it out-”

Well I could'a removed it if you hadn't locked me in a book!

The ferret hissed in return, barring it's little teeth up at Rudi. That earned a glare from the fruit bat familiar, and he took an aggressive lunge towards Waylon and the ferret that made the smaller creature squeak and disappear under Waylon's shirt.

“Hey- HEY!” Waylon shouted, drawing attention to himself between the two fighting creatures. “Do ou think you two could set aside whatever beef you had so you explain to me what's going on? Like, who are you- and why do you keep calling me 'Master'?” Waylon pointed to the ferret, whose ears perked up as he was addressed, and he moved to scramble up out of Waylon's shirt through the neck.

Rudi's fury faltered at Waylon's question, and he narrowed his eyes as the little ferret crawled back down Waylons chest so he could perch on the top of Waylon's bent knee.

Waylon seemed a little apprehensive, he was still reeling from the shock of opening the book, but that didn't stop him from helping the ferret when there was a moment he seemed like he might slip. Once he was settled Waylon's hands folded across his lap, and he leveled an expectant stare at the little creature.

I'm sorry!

The ferret's head tilted and dipped in an apologetic nod.

My name is Valens! I'm a familiar- and that mean 'ole Rudi over there-

Valens' tail flicked in Rudi's direction, making the other familiar twitch.

-locked me in a book cause I played a little prank on him. I was staying here with Leon, and before that, I'd been searching for a witch to make a contract with for some time!

Tiny, little red eyes sparkled at Waylon, and the young witch suddenly felt like a bug under a microscope. He was a witch, and he didn't have a familiar, but- he wasn't a witch of any talent! This- Valens- couldn't be serious.

Silence rolled between the three, and the longer it stretched, the more pressured Waylon felt to respond. He looked over at Rudi expectantly, hoping for some sort of add-on to the conversation. Surely, Rudi had more to explain, or a denial of the Valens accusations, but it seemed both familiars had forgotten about their feud. Both had their eyes trained on him, looking expectantly in return.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Waylon asked as his cheeks warmed. There was no way a familiar would consider him for their witch. He didn't consider himself a witch of any note, and from what he'd read, both familiar and witch benefit from a contract. Why would any familiar want to lend themselves to his lackluster abilities? He'd only just learned how to make that ball of light with ease- and that was a fairly simple spell from what he could tell. “You can't- you can't be asking to make a contract with me, right?”

Valens' pure white head tilted to the side, and Waylon was sure he could see the familiar smiling. Did ferrets have the type of muscles needed to smile?

I don't see any other witch in here. Do you?

Waylon stared, and Valens stared back as his fluffy tail swished idly over Waylon's shin.

“This is uh... a little much. Don't you like- shouldn't we like, think about it? Get to know each other?” Waylon asked, which earned a curious tilt of Valens head.

Nope! I know you're the witch for me! I just feel it in my bones. Plus, if you're Leon's apprentice, you must have some skill. So, it's a win for me either way, really. As much as I was interested in a man with Leon's abilities, contracting with a younger witch has its own benefits that we both can enjoy! I like fostering the abilities of witches, and in the long run it helps my abilities grow as well.

Waylon stared for a few more seconds before he looked to Rudi.

“Is that normal? To just- want a contract out of no where?”

“For him, yes,” Rudi chuckled, although the look in his eyes indicated that fact annoyed him. “All of us are a little different. Some of us, like him- apparently- forge contracts based on instinct. Sometimes, you simply click with a witch. Leon and I clicked when we first met. It felt natural to contract with him. Valens is an impulsive little rat, but the desire to contract like this with you is not out of the ordinary.”

“If that's true, then why were you searching so long for a witch? It seems unlikely to me that you would just.... pick me.”

Valen eased backwards off of Waylon's knee, using his little claws to scoot himself down Waylon's pant leg and onto the ground. He took a seat between Waylon's feet, and his curious expression returned.

Why wouldn't I want to pick you? Plus, it's not like I follow every impulse I have. I just follow the ones my gut says are the right ones, and you, Waylon, feel like a right one!

“I didn't tell you my name.”

I can hear it silly! In your head. Now come on, it's not every day you can make a contract with a familiar!

Waylon glanced warily up at Rudi, who shrugged.

“It's up to you, little witch. He's not a bad guy, for as much as I wish to wring his neck. He's just a prankster. He's not even that strong, so he's fairly harmless. He could be a benefit to you, and that's all I will say. If you don't want to be bound together, there are rituals that can be performed to remove him.”

Valens' ears flattened against his head as he turned to narrow his eyes at Rudi, and they perked up when he turned back to Waylon. When he turned back, Waylon was /sure/ he was smiling, and he realized Valens' adorableness was... dangerous. Those little red eyes were very hard to resist.

“Alright...” Waylon answered after a pause, and he eyed the little animal thoughtfully. “I wouldn't mind some help in my practice, so I'm down for a trial run as long as you promise to behave yourself when we return to where I spend most of my time.

I live with my boyfriend in his aunt's home. They're both vampires, and I'm fairly sure neither of them have the type of personality that would appreciate any sort of shenanigans or pranks. Anything like that could get me kicked out, both of us killed, or... I don't know. Something horrible. My boyfriend's aunt... she doesn't like me already, so I'm serious when I say you can do nothing that would put you on her bad side. Alright?”

Waylon gave Valens a hard stare.

“I'll have to clear it first with my boyfriend, to make sure you can stay there when I'm there, regardless. But, if not, I have a motor home you can stay in on a separate property. Can you agree to behave appropriately when in spaces that don't belong to me?”

Valens nodded eagerly. The adorable twitch of his round little ears made it hard for Waylon to hold his stare.

Yes! I can behave! I only played pranks because they amused Leon! I can be good, I promise.

Waylon wondered quietly why he was agreeing to this all so quickly. Maybe it was the rush of adrenaline from their encounter, coupled with the excitement of getting his own workspace? The curiosity that came with having a familiar of his own? The excitement that he could further his abilities with a little extra boost? The same desire to know the unknown, the same desire that had driven him to reach into a hidden compartment, immediately after Rudi warned him to be cautious?

Waylon could hear a voice in his head reminding him of his low impulse control, it was part of why he had spent so much time traveling, but in most cases it had rarely steered him wrong. Obviously, practicing magic wasn't nearly the same thing as choosing a random place to travel. Lack of control could be dangerous, but he trusted Rudi to stop him if this was truly unwise. Nothing about Valens said 'malicious' or 'dangerous'- and Waylon usually had a keen sense of a person's character upon a first meeting.

A soft sigh escaped Waylon's lips. At least, if this ended up not working out, the contract was breakable.

“How do we do this, then?” Waylon asked, and he watched with gentle alarm as Valens' body started to vibrate with excitement.

A loud 'pop' ripped through the air, and Waylon winced. In a single blink, Waylon went from watching a ferret shudder, to being face to face with a man with a well defined jaw, eerily beautiful red eyes, and short, tousled hair nearly as white as the fur he'd sported in his much smaller form. It didn't help that their position was rather compromising, with Valens kneeling between his thighs, trapping Waylon against the wall as his taller form towered over the witch.

“What-” but Waylon's question was cut off as Valen's lips pressed against his own. Waylon squeaked and froze, startled once again by... everyhing. Waylon remained perfectly still, frozen in shock as he tried to process what was happening. Only as Valens' lips moved against his own, as if to try and deepen the kiss, did he snap back to the present.

“Hey!” Waylon twisted his head away from Valens and thrust his arms out to put some distance between them. “I said I had a boyfriend, what the hell are you trying to do?!”

Valens pouted as he was pushed, but he relented, and he shimmied back so he could kneel a few feet away from Waylon.

“That's how you seal the contract,” Valens grumbled sheepishly, but he offered no further explanation.

Waylon was struck with the thought that this was, already, a mistake, but by the look in Valens eyes and his downcast gaze, Waylon could see there was some sort of remorse there. The familiar tugged idly at the hem of his tight black t-shirt, and as Waylon followed the motion of his hand, he was surprised to notice rips in the knees of Valens jeans. Compared to Rudi, this outfit was painfully simple. Rudi almost always wore some variation of formal wear, often suits, and Waylon didn't realize he'd come to just expect familiars to dress the same way.

“Well I highly doubt you needed to keep kissing me,” Waylon rose to his feet and swatted at his pants to dust himself off. It gave him a moment to calm the blush burning in his cheeks, and to find his words.

When he did look at Valens, he scowled as if he were trying to scold the other, but the look in his eyes said he wasn't truly upset. “Don't do that again. I don't appreciate it, and I don't think my boyfriend would much appreciate it either. I'd prefer if he liked you, at least a little. Also- no more calling me 'master'- just call me Waylon.” He reached up to give Valens' head a gentle pat, to show he'd been forgiven, and the familiar's expression brightened considerably. It was almost blinding, the smile that followed, and Waylon was again surprised, this time by how quickly Valens' mood transitioned.

A second later, Valens scrambled to his feet, and Waylon was surprised to find himself looking up at the familiar. He was tall!

“Understood, Master!” Valens chimed in a voice fitting for his size, deeper than the voice he had in ferret form. Waylon wondered if he should be shielding his eyes from the brightness of that smile.

“Waylon.”

“Oh- right- Waylon!” A gust of wind followed, and in a blink Valens was gone. Waylon felt something small press over his shoulders, and when he looked, a little white ferret perched there, head cocked and little red eyes sparkling. Valens was smiling again in his ferret form, and Waylon reached up to give Valens chin a scratch. He nuzzled into Waylon's finger, and that worry that this had been a mistake, faded a little.

Are you gonna introduce me to your boyfriend now? Valens voice asked in Waylon's head, and he looked over at Rudi.

“What time is it?” Waylon asked, and Rudi waved his hand towards the door of the shop.

“Go on, I can watch the shop for the rest of the day. Just don't try any magic until we can do some tests to gauge how your abilities have changed.”

“Changed?”

Yes! Now that the contract is made, you'll be stronger, and the type of magic and spells you have an affinity for might become more apparent, Valens chimed in, it's probably best to wait to do any spell work in a controlled setting- with someone else to help out. I could, but its safer with someone not tied to our contract.

Waylon nodded.

“Alright, see you tomorrow, Rudi!”

At the parting sound of the familiar bell above the shop door, Waylon stepped into the cool afternoon air and headed for home.

#a familiar #self para #//sorry i could probably spend hours editing this but i don't want to any more so #//here it is and I hope it's not trash XD #//i liked it so #waylon #valens

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elisaphoenix13 · 4 years

Text

Small Life Lessons (And Weaponized Candy)

Tony was in meetings all day, Peter was at Ned's working on some new Lego set and watching Star Wars for the billionth time, and Harley was at a friend's house as well. It left Stephen and Diana home by themselves, and the little girl wanted to spend time with the sorcerer instead of Cassie. He had things to do at Kamar-Taj and he told her so, and Diana was more than happy to accompany him. So while he taught a few classes and did his routine checks of the compound, his daughter followed at his heels. After all was said and done, they sat in the main room and Diana sat in front of him with her hands palms up and resting gently in his. She only showed a single ability of telekinesis, but he was curious to know if she had any other powers at her disposal. In case her ability to control magic wasn't natural though, he opened the mirror dimension around them so she wouldn't cause permanent damage if anything were to happen or she lost control.

"We're going to try something today...see if you have any other magic." Stephen tells her softly, his voice echoing in the mirror dimension.

"What if I don't?"

"Then that's perfectly fine. Your magic doesn't make you who you are."

Diana looks up at him, scrutinizing him carefully. "It makes you who you are though."

Stephen smiles. "Are you sure about that?"

"Aren't you the Sorcerer Supreme?" She asks and he nods.

"Yes, but that's not all. What am I to you?"

"My mommy." Diana replies immediately.

"I am many things. A master of the mystic artes, a mother, a friend, a doctor, a husband-" Stephen chuckles when his daughter corrects him by saying 'wife', and continues. "My point is that you are what you make of yourself, and it doesn't have to be one thing. I may be the Sorcerer Supreme to the students and masters here, but to you I am not."

"So even if I don't have more magic…"

"You are still my daughter. You could lose your magic and it would remain that way." Stephen looks down at Diana's hands. "Focus on your hands." Diana looks down at her hands. "Now, I want you to imagine a small flame."

Moments pass in silence as Diana stares at her hands, but when nothing happens over that time, Stephen notices his daughter slowly getting frustrated. Her eyebrows were scrunched together, her face was pinched, and she was actually glaring at her hands. The sorcerer figured that he didn't word his request correctly and clears his throat to get her attention again.

"Nothing's happening."

"That's because you're thinking too hard, and I miscommunicated what I wanted you to do. Instead, think about how you started using your telekinesis. Did you think about it?"

"No. I couldn't reach one of my coloring books, but I really wanted it and then it flew off the shelf and into my hands." She explains and Stephen raises an eyebrow.

"Try wanting the flame in your hands then."

Diana nods and looks back down at her hands, and not even five seconds later, a small ember hovers over one of her hands. His daughter's eyes widen in surprise and excitement, and Stephen's widen in realization. She really did use her heart to control her magic and from the small test, Tony could actually be right about Diana having natural control. She gave Stephen exactly what he asked for. A small flame and nothing more. There was no spark building up to it or overgrown flames, just one small flame. She didn't have a mean bone in her body, so even when she fought with the boys, she never wanted to hurt them. Or anyone for that matter.

"Try a single drop of water in your other hand." Stephen requests and a second later, Diana's other hand contained the one drop. "Have you ever wanted to use your powers for anything?"

"No. Just to get something in my room that I can't reach...or to help me color."

"What about to hurt your brothers?"

Diana actually glared scathingly at him for his question and pulled her hands out of his after making the water and fire disappear. "No! They make me mad sometimes but I don't want to hurt them!"

Stephen holds up his own hands to placate her. "I just want to know how much control you have."

Diana pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around her legs. "I asked Uncle Quill about his powers before. I asked him how he knew when Uncle Scott was the one walking up to him when he's really angry."

"And what did he tell you?" Stephen asks quietly.

"He said he uses his heart to control his powers. Is that real? Do you do that too?"

"To an extent yes. Some magic I do have to think about to make sure it will be useful for what I'm trying to do, but otherwise, I know I want to use it to protect or help people. When I'm really sad, I can't use my magic, and that's why I like to cuddle you and your brothers." Stephen explains as Diana unfurls herself and climbs into the sorcerer's lap.

"Because we make you happy?"

"Very happy." He confirms and gently combs his fingers through her hair. "Just like Uncle Quill loves Uncle Scott and Cassie, Wanda loves Vision and the team, and I love your father and you kids."

Diana giggles. "And Uncle Loki loves Uncle Thor even though he won't admit it. They remind me of Peter and Harley."

Stephen snorts. "It's a brother thing. I was like that with my brother too."

"That's dumb."

Stephen bursts into laughter. Diana wasn't wrong, but some people have trouble expressing their feelings to others. Peter technically wore his heart on his sleeve but he always stumbled over words because he was just awkward like that. Everyone knew though, especially because he was a little better about his expressing his feelings through actions. Just a little. Harley was strictly expressing his feelings through actions...and Diana easily did both. Verbal and action. She was a little girl that didn't give a single shit though.

The sorcerer's laughter tapers off as be dismisses the mirror dimension and his bracelet beeps loudly just as his cell phone vibrates in his pocket. He asks Diana to move so he can get to it, and the moment he accepts the call from Christine he sighs a little dramatically.

"For the last time Christine, I'm not-"

"Stephen! Harley's here!" The woman informs him frantically and Stephen immediately sobers up. Her tone definitely didn't nose well.

"What happened?!"

"Hit and run. I tried calling you and Tony earlier but neither of you answered."

"I'll be there in a moment."

Stephen ends the call and jumps to his feet before opening a gateway to the Metro General Hospital's janitorial closet, and Diana follows immediately. She sticks to his side as he uses his magic to change his robes into his street clothes, and closes the gateway before leading his daughter out of the closet. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have bothered changing, but there was a strong possibility that disrespectful reporters caught wind of one of Tony Stark's kids being in the hospital and Stephen didn't want to garner any more attention than necessary if at all. They weren't legally allowed into the hospital without permission but one or two always managed to slip in.

"Stephen!" Christine calls from the nurse's station and he rushes over to her, accepting the clipboard she hands him.

"Did he need surgery?"

"He had some internal bleeding but nothing severe. I just finished when I called you again."

A broken leg, broken arm, a couple of cracked ribs, but thankfully nothing more serious than the minor internal bleeding that Christine had told him about. His first reaction was to sigh with relief that his oldest got off relatively lucky, and his second was to think about how miserable Harley was going to be. That in turn was going to make Stephen miserable because he hated to see his kids hurt, and he knew Harley was going to try and take care of himself.

"What room is he in?" Stephen asks and Christine points down the hall.

"Closest one to this station. I wanted to keep a close eye on his room for obvious reasons."

"Thank you." The sorcerer herds Diana over to the room Harley is in after handing the charts back and kneels down to look at her. "Your brother got hurt, but no matter how bad he might look, he's going to be okay. Understand?"

"Yes."

Stephen stands back up and opens the door as quietly as possible into the private room, and Diana sits in one of the chairs as he makes his way over to Harley's bedside. The next hour passed quietly, with only the sounds of quiet scratching from Diana's crayons as she drew (Christine had brought her some blank paper and crayons to keep her occupied twenty minutes into their wait), and Tony rushed in at the end of that hour. He looked frazzled and worried, but Stephen quickly soothed his husband before he could open his mouth.

"He's going to be okay."

"I somehow accidently turned FRIDAY off. I didn't see the SOS from SARA until I turned her back on twenty minutes ago. Has he woken up?" Tony manages to spit out and Stephen shakes his head. "Do we know who did it?"

"No. It was a hit and run."

Tony growls quietly and pulls out his phone. "Not for long." He walks over to the table Diana is at and sits in the chair across from her. "What are you doing there Little Miss?"

"Making Harley a card." Diana replies quietly as she draws a teddy bear onto the front of said card.

"That's a good girl. Daddy's gonna find who did this so they get the punishment they deserve."

"Good."

The coldness in her voice had both Tony and Stephen staring at their daughter in surprise. She had never acted like this before, but it was possible that she didn't feel the need to because whenever someone in their dysfunctional family got hurt, team included, someone else was already getting angry. Right now though, it was just her and her parents, and Stephen was keeping vigil at Harley's side, and Tony was already searching through cameras to find the one responsible for hitting their son. He cringed a couple of minutes into his search and that's all Stephen needed to know that his husband came across the accident.

A sharp inhale pulls Stephen's attention back to their oldest child, and Harley winces before slowly blinking his eyes open. To his surprise, the teen slowly reaches up to him and grips the front of his shirt, tugging weakly in a silent request for Stephen to lay down, and the sorcerer obliges immediately. Harley moves to the side so Stephen can settle on his side as comfortably as possible, and then moves back to curl into the sorcerer's chest.

"Better?" Stephen asks quietly and Harley nods once. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a car." The teen mutters.

"Well you're not wrong."

Harley looks around the room and frowns. "This isn't the med bay."

"No. It's Metro General. Thankfully Christine was on duty. I'll talk to her about transferring you to the tower in a little bit. Just rest for now."

"'Kay…"

Harley dozed off after that, and when Stephen finally got around to asking Christine for the transfer, she asked to keep him overnight just in case. The sorcerer only agreed as long as someone (him) could stay with him for the night, and Christine allowed it, even though they both knew Stephen was going to stay whether she liked it or not. She didn't mind though, and Stephen stayed overnight, leaving Tony to take their daughter home. Peter wasn't aware of the accident until he got home later that night, felt kind of awful that he wasn't at the hospital to sit with his brother, and ended up in the medbay as soon as Stephen brought Harley home. The oldest teen was more lucid than he was the day before, so Peter kept him company with games and movies.

Tony had found the culprit soon after he and Diana got home and sent the evidence to the proper authorities, and Diana finished her card. She gave it to Harley with the teen's favorite candies that Cassie had sent up for him (she didn't want to overwhelm him), and he genuinely smiled at the gesture.

"Thanks Dia."

"Sissy got you the candy."

"I'm eating it all right now." Harley says with a grin and whines when Stephen takes the majority of it away. "Mom!"

"You need proper food as well or you won't heal any faster."

"Maybe I wanna be a crip for longer than usual!"

Stephen snorts. "We all know you're going to go stir crazy by the end of the night you insufferable cub."

"That's probably true. Can I at least have a second bag?" Harley asks and Stephen sighs before handing over another small bag of candy. The boy was hurting and did ask somewhat nicely. "No the gummy worms!"

"I am literally handing you gummy bears."

"I want the worms!"

Stephen sighs and switches the bears for the worms, and Harley rips into the bag. "What difference does it make?"

"All the difference in the world!" The sorcerer tilts his head in confusion as Harley seemingly jumbles a couple of worms together, and then suddenly, he uses his gummy makeshift slingshot to shoot an M&M at Stephen's forehead. "I can't do that with the bears!"

"...I'm sending you back to Christine."

Stephen walks out of the medbay, leaving all three children behind laughing hysterically. He should have known Harley would find a way to weaponize candy. At the very least, it would keep him occupied for a little while and they could send Steve in to clean the mess. He was next on the cleaning list for breaking one of the windows after all.

#ironstrange #supremefamily #stephen strange #tony stark #mama bear stephen strange #peter parker #harley keener #diana stark strange (oc)

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robinrunsfiction · 5 years

Note

Consider..Demon!Gerard (he’s such a sweetheart,,calls herbsugar,,darling-also super shady tho)finds the reader dying (mugged maybe?)And brings her back to life(the afterlife??)she lives with him now because thats what happens when a demon saves u ig?Anyways theyre kinda falling in love,,she falls asleep on him on the couch one night,,the next night what do u know things happen and things are said and they end up making out in their underwear in her room,, suuper fluffy,, they fall asleep

Have You Heard the News That You’re Dead?

Pairing: Demon!Gerard Way x Female ReaderRating: TeenRequested By: AnonWord Count: ~2,400Author’s Note: Hi, my name is Robin and I am physically incapable of writing a short story, but this is super super late so I hope that makes up for it! I use the prompt “Everyone has a guardian angel except you. You have a guardian demon. He deals with things in a much more violent fashion, but much more effective.” from @writing-prompt-s as my guide for this one. Also TW: for mentions of death, but if you didn’t get that from the ask, I can’t help you.

You always knew you were different. You could tell the vibe you gave off wasdifferent of that of everyone else. Dogs growled or ran away when you walkeddown the street. Old ladies would clutch their pearls. If it hadn’t been likethat for as long as you could remember, it would be alarming to say the least.What you weren’t aware of was the fact that most people had a guardian angellooking out for them, and you had a guardian demon.

That’s not to say it made you a bad person, you just had a different way of moving through life. Sure trouble found you more often than others, but you were still having a hell of a good time. That is until the night you stumbled alone out of that bar in a drunken stupor. You’d be fine you reasoned. You were always fine. Until that guy with a knife appeared and you didn’t have any money left to give him and that answer angered him, and then you were bleeding on the ground.

The last thing you saw was a man with black eyes and black hair and a pale face running up, muttering obscenities under his breath, clearly panicked. All youcould wonder was why there was no one to look out for you at that moment.

You woke up in a bed that wasn’t familiar in a room you’d never seen. You sat upand saw your shirt still had the hole from where you’d been stabbed, but yourskin was unbroken underneath. You had been certain you were dying on that street. Was this some kind of weird hospital? Had you been in a coma for years? What was going on?

You got out of the bed and moved quietly toward the door. As you wandered down the dark hallway, you could hear music playing. Following the sound, you found yourself in a living room, where someone, a man with black hair, sat with his back to you.

“‘Scuse me,” you started and he turned to look at you with those same black eyes you saw when you were on the street. “What the fuck?” you gasped asyou backed away. “Where am I? Where did you take me?” You demanded.

He sat down the book he was reading and strode over to you. “My name isGerard. I’m your guardian demon and for the sake of honesty, its my fault you’redead.”

“I’m dead?!” You shrieked. “Demon? Am I in hell?!”

“Not exactly. You’re at my place, which dimensionally speaking, is earth-adjacent… on the hell side. Come sit down, I’ll explain everything.”

“No! I wanna go home!”

Gerard winced. “That’s the thing sugar, this is your home now.”

Gerard had to rush to help you sit down, as your legs seemingly were not working at the moment and you looked like you were about to collapse.

“You see,” he started once you were seated, “most of you humans have guardian angels. A few of you lucky ones get us, guardian demons.”

“How is that lucky? I’m doomed to hell before I even get a crack at life?” Youargued.

“Oh you aren’t doomed, you’re destined to become a demon as well. Knowing you guarding another luck human soul until its time they join our ranks.”

“Then what am I doing here?”

“You weren’t supposed to be dead yet. I fucked up.”

“Shocker.”

Gerard descended upon you, his face inches from yours. “Oh sugar, didn’t I dowell for the last however many years? Didn’t you have a life anyone could wishfor?”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you just swallowed thickly.

“I thought so,” he said righting himself. “Besides, my duty to you is not relieved now that you are deceased. We need to keep you hidden here so management doesn’t know that I-”

“Fucked up and let me die.”

Gerard glared down at you. “Exactly. But don’t worry sugar, I intend to keeptaking the best care of you. I promise you that.”

Despite Gerard’s explanation of events you still weren’t totally convinced he wasn’t full of shit. That was until he left you alone in the living area for a whileand you snuck over to the window to look out.

His apartment was a couple stories up on a busy street. But instead of the usualbustle of cars and people there were what could only be described as creatures.

Sure some of them, like Gerard, looked human, save for the black eyes, or horns sticking out of their hair. Some looked like something you’d read about in ahorror novel. You watched wide eyed as they passed along the sidewalk belowyou, going about their demonic business.

“Believe me now?” Gerard asked, startling you away from the window.

“Sure,” you said sitting down again. It was all too much to take. “But what am Igonna until my destined death day?”

“Think of it as if its one of those days you called out sick from work so you couldsit and watch hours of TV.”

“I’m doomed to watch Judge Judy and Maury forever?! I mean one day is fine, but for eternity?!”

“No, anything you want to watch, read, listen to, its all at your disposal,” heexplained.

“Will I need to do live human stuff like… eat or sleep again?”

“Totally optional,” he said. “Just like all other carnal needs.”

You just rolled your eyes and went to examine the bookshelf. Not surprisingly itwas filled with books on the occult, as well as a lot on history, art and music.

“’Bout what I expected,” you said running your fingers over the spines of thebooks, “for a demon.” When you glanced up Gerard was watching youintently and it made you shiver involuntarily.

“Help yourself to any of them. I have to go meet up with some associates. Don’tanswer the door if anyone comes around, remember, you’re alive.”

You just rolled your eyes as you pulled a book off the shelf and sat down to read.

You had no idea how long had passed, time being more of a human construct it would appear by the lack of clocks in the apartment. Or maybe they weren’t andGerard’s lack of time management was the cause of your current, or ratherpermanent, state of being.

Eventually you got up and watched the demons on the street for a while, then wandered through the rest of the apartment. Who knew Demons would be so sensible as to have guest bedrooms? The closet will full of clothes that seemed to be similar to the style you like while you were alive. You changed out of the shirt you died in, a thought that made you shudder, and into one that was less holey.

Moving on you noted there was no bathroom, but that made sense given what he had said about things that were “optional”. The kitchen was impressivelystocked with rich foods and fancy wines and liquors. Maybe Gerard liked toentertain? Well he wasn’t doing that impressive of a job of it right now youthought as you found yourself getting bored.

As if on cue, Gerard burst through the door. “Miss me sugar?” He askedas he breezed into the kitchen where you were still standing, feeling slightlyguilty, like you were somewhere you shouldn’t have been.

“Not really,” you mumbled.

“Oh come on sugar,” he said slinking up to you and grazing your cheek with hisfingers, “is that anyway to talk to your roommate?”

You made a disgusted noise and rolled your eyes before pushing past him.

“This is gonna be a fucking long eternity,” he muttered under his breath.

The thing you most enjoyed about not being alive was similar to your favorite part of being alive: sleeping. You would sleep as long as you wanted without any repercussions or judgement from others. Gerard certainly didn’t mind, as this left more time for him to do whatever he wanted since he no longer had to watch over you so closely.

Soon though he realized he missed it. He was fond of you, as he had to be based on the nature of the work, but he always enjoyed making trouble for the people who pissed you off during the day. Now he watched as a dark cloud started to gather over your waking hours, the shelves of books and movies and music no longer drawing your interest like it used to. One evening he walked into the living room to find you staring blankly at the wall.

“Novelty of it has worn off, hasn’t it?” He asked.

“Yea, and the permanence is setting in,” you sighed.

Gerard sat down next to you. “I am truly sorry. You probably don’t believe me,but its true.”

“What happened that night?” You asked as you let your head fall against hisshoulder and he moved his arm so it was around you.

“Remember that guy that was bothering you at the bar earlier in the night?”

“Yea…”

“I scared him off, that’s why he left you alone. He found someone else and theywere gonna hook up in the bathroom and I made sure that the whiskey he wasdrinking lived up to its reputation.”

You chuckled at the thought of the douche who had been talking such big game all night not being able to perform.

“I got carried away, but I’ve always hated guys like that,” Gerard admitted.“There really is a special place in hell for them.”

“Good,” you said, as you settled into him even more. A small smile tugged at his lips. “What else did you do for me?”

Gerard reclined to get more comfortable as he launched into his favorite stories of when he dealt out cosmic retribution on your behalf.

“You’re evil, but like, good evil,” you hummed as you slid down so you were laying against his chest. His arms wrapped around you protectively.

The next thing you knew you were being awakened by a hammering at the door. You both sat bolt upright and looked at each other.

“Gerard, you home?” a voice called from the other side.

“Go hide in your room,” he whispered and you hurried off and Gerard went to thedoor.

“Frank, what’s going on?” Gerard asked coolly.

“You got a hot little succubus in there?” Frank asked trying to look past Gerard.

“What’s going on Frank?” Gerard asked again, sounding more exasperated.

“Management is starting to ask about your human. No one has seen her in a while. You still keeping track of her?”

“Of course,” Gerard lied easily. “She’s just been dealing with some shit, so she’sbeen laying low.”

Frank nodded skeptically. “Just looking out for you. I’d hate to have you get fired,that would mean more work for me,” he laughed. “Besides, you know what happens when you get fired.”

Gerard nodded, trying not to let the nerves show. He remembered the last time another demon got fired. He couldn’t sleep for weeks it shook him so bad.

“Alright, I’ll leave you be, I know you got someone in there,” Frank smirked as he left.

Gerard went back to your room and found you hiding in the closet. “You’re good.”

“What’s going on?” You asked getting up.

“I’m gonna have to go topside and act like you’re still alive, or else I’m as deadas you.”

“Demons can die?”

“Not exactly the same, but it sure as shit ain’t pretty when it happens,” Gerard muttered.

“I wish I could help.”

“Not your fault, sugar,” he said as he headed back toward the front door. “I gottaclean up my mess for a while.”

“When will you be back?”

“You’ll barely know I’m gone,” he winked.

You spent what felt like forever sitting around, bored and lonely and thinking.Thinking for hours about what Gerard was risking keeping you here, and everything he had done for you your whole life. When the door finally opened again, you jumped up excitedly.

“Hey sugar,” he greeted you with a smile.

“Is everything ok?”

“Yea, we’re good for a while,” he said shrugging off his jacket. “I don’t thinkanyone will be asking questions anytime soon.”

“Good,” you said as you walked up to him and wrapped him in a hug.

Gerard stiffened momentarily, surprised by the affection, but then softened andwrapped his arms around you as well. “You decided you like me then?”

“Maybe it’s just Stockholm Syndrome, but yea, I think I do kinda like you after all. I have really did have the time of my life when I was alive, and I know you’re tothank for a lot of that,” you said before leaning up and placing a kiss on hischeek.

When you pulled back, he was looking down at you fondly. He reached up and ran his fingers along your jaw and leaned in and kissed you deeply. His lips tasted like coffee and red hots, as his arms wrapped around you and held you closer to him. You ran your hands through his dark hair and allowed his tongue to slip in against yours.

You pulled back and Gerard looked at you in confusion until you grabbed him by the collar and pulled him along back to the bedroom. He started to undo the buttons of his shirt as you peeled yours off as well. You pulled Gerard back to you again and your lips met as you tumbled against the bed. Gerard held himself over you as he undid his pants, and you slipped out of yours as well. Clad only in your respective undergarments, you continued your heated make out session, tongues moving together, hands roaming over bare skin, marks left upon necks. After what could have been 10 minutes, or maybe a decade, Gerard pulled back and looked down at you “(YN), I’ve never felt like this before,” he whispered.

“What, demons don’t do emotions?”

“Yea, but not usually love.”

You looked up at him and grinned. “Yea, I think I’d like to spend eternity here with you.”

Gerard grinned and rolled over to your side. You curled against him as he wrapped his arms around you and you both fell asleep peacefully.

#Anon #gerard way x reader #gerard way fan fic #gerard way fan fiction #gerard way imagine #my chemical romance fan fic #my chemical romance fan fiction #demon!gerard way #demon gerard way x reader

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mikhaelkosanik · 4 years

Text

Chapter 1. (Google translate)

The loud splash of water did not stop for an hour. This was alarming. The daughter had not previously locked herself in the bathroom for such a long time. Especially on a weekday.

The usual morning. We had breakfast, discussed plans for the coming day.

Sluggish sleepiness, my husband almost fell into a new dream while I was drinking coffee, and my daughter sadly picking breakfast with a fork.

I knew that Rina scored a very weak point for the last test in history.

This did not surprise me, even more - I expected such a result. She could not draw conclusions, she could not reason and freely operate on what she read.

The maximum is to memorize dates and main events from the guide before the exam.

Sometimes I helped, discussing an event. This made it possible to obtain grades from "C" to "B". There was not one above the last. And then, for the sake of this achievement, Rina did not sleep for several nights over textbooks and didactic materials.

“Was she upset about this?” It’s not like I’ve been worried about this before. ” - I thought, not paying due attention.

“C” is not so bad anyway: it's not “F”. Daughter's talents also extended in a completely different sphere. She was quite enough to get the minimum points in the main subjects. And on profile problems never arose.

“Maybe some problems with classmates again?” - a new round of thoughts made me sad.

This has already happened and my husband and I were most afraid of it.

But the daughter’s friends didn’t tell us anything, and they will be the first to complain if they offend our child. Stubborn girl! After all, it will not say anything until the very last moment, when it will be useless to hide and lie. I really have nothing to reproach her with. She just went to her father.

As soon as breakfast came to an end, it was time for fees.

Rina went to the bathroom, saying that she wanted a little tint.

And although I was surprised that at thirteen the girl was using makeup - I could not refuse: the makeup looked quite natural - without flashy colors. Means at the disposal of the daughter also do not say that there are many: mascara, tone, lipstick and blush. That's all the makeup.

As soon as the door closed, for about twenty minutes neither I nor my couple paid attention to the sound from the bathroom, doing their own business, which was enough in the morning: put the dishes in the sink, check the daughter’s bag, didn’t she forget what, to pack herself, sort the garbage and send to the utilizer all edible waste.

But time passed and it became strange that the lapping did not stop.

̶ Rina, you’ll be late for school! They will again scold. - My husband knocked on the door, trying to understand what had happened.

I still assumed that Rina was upset about something and did not want to tell us. And with water, it just drowns out its sobs.

She is a teenager and the like in the order of things. We tried to take mood swings for granted.

- Rina? - Adrian after the third attempt began to worry. - The guys are waiting for you! Didn’t you forget?

I recalled that on the way to school Rina met two bosom friends and together they discussed lessons or TV shows. Sometimes the guys gave our girl something to write off in general subjects. At least if the questions coincided. It also happened that Rina helped if she needed to draw or rehearse something.

The knock on the door became louder each time, interspersed with the ongoing lapping. This already guarded me myself: I couldn’t hear Adrian Rina, even taking into account the noise.

And yet, somewhere, the hope glowed that the excitement was not justified.

While my husband tried to reach out, I straightened my tie in front of the mirror in the living room. The habit of checking out even the smallest trifles in clothes has remained with me since childhood.

And in life, she came in handy to me many times. A neat-looking attorney always in court is more credible than a sort of slut. The latter is generally carried out from the courtroom with slanting glances, although they will not say anything out loud: education and respect will not allow it.

In addition, unlike Adrian, my work day was just beginning and I did not want to be late.

Of course, through the mirror, I saw only the hallway and closed doors of our bedroom with a bathroom, near which Adrian still stood.

Once again I looked around the living room with the corridor adjacent to it.

Everything that surrounded us now had its own history. It sounds strange, but I always appreciated such things. And sometimes they were sorely lacking in our lives. Only one city from our past was worth it! Pretending to be old, but in fact, only half a century as it existed.

- Rina !? - after the fifth time, Adrian was already beginning to seriously worry. - Eric, where are the keys? - Finally the question followed.

When buying a house, we were given only one set of keys. I had to contact the workshop, where they mixed up the order and instead of one copy they made four. We kept unnecessary as a last resort, because no one is safe from loss.

Now the thought came to me that Rina lost consciousness and she urgently needed help. And this happened before, but the daughter did not lock herself, and everything ended well. We managed to help.

- As always. Look in the drawer.

I myself went to the bathroom door:

- Rina?

Still, only a splash of water was heard.

Then everything happened so quickly that I did not even have time to come to my senses:

Adrian took out the keys, opened the door and ...

We froze from what we saw. I would never have thought that the world in the blink of an eye would narrow to one room and what was happening in it.

Opposite the sink was our daughter. Drops of blood dripped from her hands. We guessed what had happened on the sink, stained with red traces, and a scattering of black and red specks on the floor.

Inside moths swarmed from what they saw!

In a state of shock, consciousness betrayed the thought that Rina had started having bouts of her illness and she, frightened, locked herself up without saying a word to us.

But the thought quickly went out: on the sink lay an office knife! Also covered in blood.

And the wounds, as far as I could see, did not look like ulcers or necrosis, as shown in medical brochures.

Next came the idea of a suicide attempt. The work left its mark and I couldn’t lose a single option!

But why? Neither I nor my couple could have thought of such an attempt! Yes, and what is the motive? It doesn’t happen that a person just so decides to die, no matter how pessimistic he is!

Moreover, suicide is a sin, and Rina knew it very well. For her, the Bible played an important role in life, so what she saw was almost like an unsuccessful attempt to commit suicide.

I had to quench this idea.

Adrian was the first to recover from shock. I rushed to my daughter, intercepting the mutilated hands. I blinked and saw how he quickly pulled out elastic bandages from the upper cabinet and began to wind them, something chattering.

Due to the fast fussy and clumsy movements from the shelf where the first-aid kit was lying, several medicine bubbles fell.

There was a loud roar.

From the blow, one of the bottles cracked, causing the sour smell of hydrogen peroxide, mixed with blood, to immediately hit the nose, which caused the latter to turn from nettle into a not beautiful foam.

- Lord, Rina! - Adrian could only squeeze out, making sure that he put in plaits and bandaged all the wounds.

After he hugged his daughter tightly, trying to calm himself.

So my loved ones stood from about 5 minutes: the husband was on his knees and his daughter stunned in his arms.

What happened scarecrow! This is not taught in courses for parents, this is not spoken about in the media! And ordinary people prefer to keep quiet.

- What for? - Recovering, I still decided to approach.

I hardly managed to formulate even this question. Too unexpected were the actions of Rina.

The daughter shrugged indifferently, slightly freeing herself from her arms.

At that moment I saw a terrible, not blinking look and a strange expression on my face. Emotions at this moment overwhelmed my skinny little body and not strengthened soul of my child!

It seemed as if wounding in the order of things and the like had been done before. Again, something fluttered inside. It even seemed that necrosis began with me!

I had occasion to see a similar look: the work too much affected my perception: well-adjusted, pedantic, looking for any clue.

But this is the look of an adult! Not a little girl at all! The gaze of a man who fell into opal when there is nothing left to lose! A look saying: “let the world go to hell!”

I carefully took my daughter's hand and examined the bandages through which small specks of blood appeared. I had to bandage almost the whole arm to the shoulder. Almost to the edge of the rolled up pajamas sleeve. Good girl, I tried hard!

The only thing that surely reassured me a little was - judging by the traces that appeared, the wounds were applied horizontally ...

“This is not a suicide attempt!” - I reassured myself again, trying not to betray excitement.

After that, I tried to feel my hand and realized that the wounds were deep enough, despite the fact that they were made with the usual cancellous knife.

For each touch, Rina jerked her nose slightly, apparently in pain.

- Go to your room! - finally said Adrian, removing his daughter and finally recovering.

Then after a pause, he added in a stern voice:

“I don’t know why you did it, but it’s unacceptable!” Do not dare to do this!

This severity from excitement hardly sounded convincing.

Neither I nor my couple understood the motives of our child’s action. Where to start, we also had no idea.

Rina shrugged again and, lowering her sleeves, went to her room, closing the door. Well, I didn’t lock myself as in the bathroom now. At least the sound of a click did not follow the slam of the door.

As soon as her daughter left, Adrian ran a hand through his long hair and looked at me. In this view, a whole storm of emotions was read, and only one question:

"What do we do?"

- You need to see a doctor, then a psychologist. - I voiced the most reasonable thing that came to mind.

It's too late to panic: it all happened.

- Can you live without me? I added, turning and leaving the bathroom.

I was almost late. And although the incident jarred me, I could not take my leave.

“Adrian will definitely not get enough sleep” - the last thing that sounded in my head as soon as I headed up the street.

Instead of rest, her beloved will have to spend a day in the hospital, and then try to talk to her daughter. I recalled the saying:

“Parents have no days off.”

How to respond to what happened after the doctors remained a question.

No apparent motives, no reason! What did the daughter want to say like that?

The more I thought about what had happened, the more I could not believe that such an act had no motive. Definitely have it! But where to look?

At first I decided that my daughter so wanted to skip school.

But this motive had to be dismissed almost immediately: The control would have to be written anyway. Sooner or later.

Problems in the classroom and with teachers at the daughter were also not observed.

She spoke closely with friends. Hobbies also brought pleasure. I know for sure! Otherwise, Rina would not go to additional classes in the studio.

The rest of the day was crumpled and messy for me. I tried to immerse myself in work, but I did not succeed.

Instead of thinking about another theft and similar precedents, I returned to Rina's act. Thinking about what had happened, I almost confused the files with the files and did not send the evidence one by one to a completely different meeting.

A judge would be shocked by this: a criminal case was received at a civil meeting. I noticed the error well before transferring the folder to my colleague.

And yet I could not understand why. Why now?

The more I asked these questions, the less I understood what was happening. Well, the girl could not immediately decide to start harming herself. And pain from wounds is a very, very unpleasant thing.

In the evening at home, I also did not receive any answers.

Adrian never managed to talk to Rin, no matter how hard he tried. And he knew how to do it over a cup of cocoa or watching his favorite series.

Until recently, we tried to support our daughter in everything.

The incident said that something out of the ordinary happened. Now I was one hundred percent sure - you can’t do without the help of a psychologist!

Rina, as in the morning, continued to remain completely indifferent to everything around. She refused to watch her favorite show, leaving the room on the return from the clinic.

By evening, neither strength nor appetite appeared.

They didn’t have enough time to sit with us at the table during dinner, after which they again forced us to return to our room without eating anything.

We were left alone. The table in the kitchen was located far enough from the nursery - they would not have heard the conversation.

At this point, Adrian said that during a visit, Everplace made a very unpleasant discovery:

When the doctor removed the bandages to examine the wounds, traces of old scars became visible. Scars that neither I nor my couple panicked in the morning.

So, still, Rina had done this before! My guess is correct!

The husband did not describe what he saw, although I understood that the little one, as her husband called her, did a good job with a knife. Most likely, these scars will remain with her for life.

- I was advised a psychologist specializing in our situations. - Nervous said the beloved, handing me a sheet from a notebook. “I made an appointment for tomorrow.” You have a day off.

To shift communication with a psychologist who is possibly working with the Protection of Family Values on me is another idea. According to Rina’s documents, a stranger is for me and this will quickly come up. Many questions will immediately arise, to which it will be difficult to give more / less adequate answers.

But because of what had happened, I could only agree.

Hugging Hadrian, tried to console him. The husband was very afraid of visiting a specialist. I could understand him.

After the last meeting with the representative of the Protection of Family Values, who hinted that he knew our secret and sooner or later we would have no choice, I would not go myself.

- Everything will be fine. “A careful kiss on the cheek.” - We can handle it.

- Yeah. - Sad agreement and drooping shoulders spoke for themselves.

- I do not believe that our girl did this for no reason! - It remained to add to encouragement. “You yourself know, Rina is a fun song.”

Unbeknownst to ourselves, we moved into our bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, we just sat for a long time, hugging each other.

It turned out to be extremely difficult to think about what happened.

The upcoming meeting with the specialist was no less a challenge for us:

We are used to the fact that recently, the bodies of the PFV have been following us closely. There were plenty of reasons for them: they are not officially married and are considered a dysfunctional family, which will be registered not today or tomorrow. It’s good so far that we have been protected by the constitution and the right to privacy. So it was possible to fight off attacks.

In addition, evidence for the “Defenders” could not be collected, and so far we have been out of their sight. Although, I must admit, these guys tried. They guarded us on the street, molested Rina in the hospital and school.

And although communication always remained within the framework of the usual dialogue about the needs of the daughter, this did not console. If they need to - they will dig the earth! So seize that the bulldogs envy!

One could only hope that the psychologist and, in fact, could understand our situation.

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