#I get anxious screaming into a pillow I think the neighbours would still hear it if I completely went for it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darkacademicfrom2021 · 3 years

Text

Moving day

Based on @lucywrites02's writing challenge, with the prompts "1. You're family" and "8. I have a surprise for you". I wish you a very happy birthday, Lucy!

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader (Tony Stark's daughter, not Morgan)

Word count: 3.2 K

Warnings: fluff and pregnancy :) This was very adorable to write.

Taglist: @lucywrites02, @louieboo87,@jesuswasnotawhiteman, @geekwritersworld, @whatafuckingdumbass, @mysticunicorn7, @toe-vind-ek-jou, @t00-pi, @selfship-mishaps, @sallymagnoliaposts, @deadgirl88, @enderslove

Gif: @moonrainbow

It had surprised Thor greatly how quickly and intensely his brother had fallen for you. He was as committed and truthful as he has never been in his long, long life. He looked at you softly, in comparison with everyone else. As soon as you walked in a room, he followed you with his gaze and invited you to his conversation. It wasn’t a surprise that after a few months of this very silent flirting (that very few noticed, because it mainly consisted in batting eyelashes and repressing subtle smiles when the other was around) you’d come out of the shell and admit you started dating. Thor was ecstatic.

Tony, on the other hand, was not amused. Not amused at all; in fact, he hated the idea of you going around with that God. He said, explicitly “if you ever get in trouble because of him, you solve it yourself. Nothing of coming for daddy to help, clear?”. Pepper had told him to cut some slack, and observe at how happy you were together, but he, stubborn to the bone, had to take a few months more before accepting the fact that his little girl was in love with the God of Mischief.

But the months passed by; almost a year, and you grew closer and closer. You hated to sneak into his room every night, and get interrupted all the time by every single soul in the compound, or mocked to death every time you cuddled on the sofa, watched a movie or read a book together. So, it all boiled down to the same conversation:

“I don’t think he’s ready”, you said while pouring some milk on your cereal. Nat rolled her eyes.

“He’s even readier than you”, insisted Wanda. They were exhausted from having the same conversation over and over, but you couldn’t bring yourself to actually do something about it. “He’s lived much longer, if any of you two were to be unready, that’d be you”.

“Do you think I’m not ready?”, you doubted yourself.

“God, Wanda. You’re planting unnecessary seeds here. The girl’s already anxious enough”.

“I just think… I want him to be with me for the rest of my life. I don’t know if he feels the same”.

“He totally does”.

“Yeah. No doubt about that. Just look at how he looks at you. What are you even waiting for?”.

“I don’t know, a signal?”.

“Of what? You’re impossible. Unless God themself comes down the sky and tells you textually just move in with him, you wouldn’t consider it a ‘signal’”, bitched Nat. But she was right. Commitment was not exactly your thing, even though you were as in love as you could be.

You heard an oncoming scream approaching the room. In silence, you three observed cautiously, and moved away from the middle. The screaming increased its loudness, until a body shattered the roof and fell to the floor violently. Loki laid still among the dusted debris until a second screaming started sounding from the sky.

“Oh, fuck”, he said, managing to get up quickly and making himself as a shield for you three. Thor landed on his feet over the same spot Loki had fallen. Dust flew everywhere and the floor cracked a bit more. “Don’t”, he alerted, pointing at his brother menacingly.

“I’m tired of your whinings, brother. Do something or I’ll do it myself”, spat Thor, grabbing Mjölnir and leaving the room. Loki sighed and sat on the couch, cleaning the remains with his magic. Wanda sighed and put it all back together.

“And what was that about?”, asked Nat, eating a candybar, still on the same spot as earlier. It wasn’t an unusual scene.

“I…”, said Loki, but desisted. You sat on the couch by his side and he laid, using your lap as a pillow. You took out a tissue and started carefully cleaning the blood off his cuts. He smiled softly. “We just had a fight”.

“I can see that. What did you fight about?”.

“He wants me to… well, talk to you”, he struggled to say.

“Well, we’re talking now”.

“Yes. No, wait, no. Like, talk talk”, he clarified, and Nat and Wanda nodded, leaving the room. You could still hear their chattery from the door.

Loki sat up and grabbed both of your hands, making direct eye contact. He was nervous, which only made you even more unsettled. He was never nervous. He was always calm, even in life or death situations. He was unfazed in everything and with almost everyone. Almost.

“What do you want to talk talk about?”, you joked, and he chuckled, releasing some tension.

“I want you to move in with me”.

“Oh. Wait. What?”.

“Like, move out. But with me”.

“To your room?”.

“Out of the Compound”.

“To an apartment?”.

“Yes”.

“Here?”.

“In Midgard, yes”.

“But like, in New York?”.

“Wherever you want, actually”.

You stayed silent for a few seconds, and Loki grew nervous again. You couldn’t help but laugh. He looked at you quizzically, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that… a God just fell down the sky and told me to move in with you”, you clarified, which didn’t actually clarify anything.

“You… what?”.

“Yes, I’d love to move in with you, love”.

And in no time you were already packing things up and going together on apartment huntings.

Tony insisted on helping you out himself, which was hilarious, given the repulsion he had for the idea in the first place. So, you’d go to an apartment by yourself, check it out and talk to the owner for a bit; Loki would arrive later, tensing things up (the owners would usually recognize him, but after a little chat they’d find out he’s a fine man), and then, just after you’d be all calm and good, the owners would see in the papers you’re a Stark, and tense up even more. Easier to say, it wasn’t a normal neighborhood chat.

You had finally decided on a small but very cozy apartment near Central Park; far enough from the Stark Tower, but you could get there pretty quickly for every mission.

You found the place advertised on the papers, and when you showed it to Loki, in sickness and all, you insisted on going to visit it that same day.

“My love, my dearest… you need to rest. I’m afraid you might faint again”, he cooed, trying to get you back to bed.

“A little fever won’t do anything to me, really, I’m f…”, you said, but you felt like vomiting, so you stopped your words and sat on the floor. Loki sat by your side and rubbed your back.

“If you feel better tomorrow, we go, yes? Now, come on, I’m gonna call Banner and you wait on your bed”.

“No, but they might take it, we need to go to make sure…”.

“What about I go, call you on one of those animated images, and you can see it from here?”, he proposed, helping you up. He meant a video call.

“That… sounds about right”.

But you had no actual time to have that video call, for when he was in the apartment, Banner was delivering some more important news.

You’ve been to the examination’s room of the compound before. But this time it seemed brighter. The lights shone so strongly, you had to close your eyes a little.

“What would you like to do about it?”, asked Banner. You were sobbing and trembling.

“I… I don’t know, I’m sure Loki will leave me”.

“What? No, don’t base your decision on that guy’s opinion”.

“Well, I don’t want the kid to not have a father, you know?”, you said as he gave you a tissue. “I want to have it, I’ve always wanted a kid. I think I’m… ready? I’m probably not. Not by myself, and I can’t do this alone. He’ll leave me, won’t he? Why would he want to have a kid with a mortal? We’d die as fast as he blinks”.

“Look, I’m no one to talk about it, but this sounds more like your anxiety and less like something he would do. He really loves you, he has for like at least a year, and I don’t see that going away anytime soon”.

“I know. You might be right”.

“You’re allowed to doubt everything. This is a huge thing, y/n. Think this through, talk to people, talk to your friends, or your parents. Don’t let this eat you”.

“Thanks, Bruce. You’re really… you’re being really nice, I appreciate it”, you sobbed. He handed you another tissue as he rubbed your shoulder.

“This is your call, okay? You have time to think. Text me later how you’re feeling, and have bed rest now. And if you feel too bad, take this”, he handed you some pills, “it should be innocuous for the baby”.

One of those days, that same week, you had decided to make it the official moving day. So, you put every box in the van and drove through the city, to your new home. You haven’t told Loki yet what you knew, and you were terrified he’d get even more upset because you didn’t tell him before the moving. But, to be fair, you didn’t think he’d actually leave.

You had told no one about it, despite Banner’s indications. But it wasn’t eating you. You were enjoying it silently. You were glad; you had your doubts, fears… Hell, you were terrified. But you knew, if Loki wasn’t going to be a part of that, you could do it yourself. You hoped he’d wanted to, though.

Loki and you had started taking the boxes inside, all by hand (to be honest, he was a little scared of the neighbours watching him do things with magic and kicking you two out). You laughed through it, and played races to see who’d finish their boxes first. He was wearing one of those midgardians shirts and pants that melted you completely. He wore that for your anniversary dinner the week before that day, and he noticed how much you loved it on him, so he started wearing fancy casual clothes more often than not.

After about two hours, you were done and completely exhausted. You laid in the middle of the wooden floor, surrounded by boxes and a strong smell of floorwax and fresh paint, and looked at each other fondly.

“Welcome home”, you said, and he showed you the biggest smile he’s ever done.

“I think this place is perfect. It’s away, but not exactly far from your family for whenever you’d want to be with them”.

“Yes, it’s perfect”, you said, getting up and helping him up. “You know, I have a surprise for you”.

“Really? What is it?”.

“Tonight at dinner, shall we? In the meantime, what about we get something to drink before unpacking?”.

“Can’t wait for tonight, then. Would you like some tea?”, he said, surrounding your waist with his arms. You played gently with his hair.

“Yes”.

“I love you”, he said, giving you a small peck over your smile.

“And I love…”, you started saying, but the entrance got filled with noisy people, interrupting you. Four of your friends were already filling the place, giving you an idea of how a small party would fit in there. “... you”.

“Oh my God! This place is so well illuminated!”, said Wanda, marveled.

“And what’s that smell? Have you been cooking something weird?”, said Nat, less enthusiastic, but equally curious. Sam and Bucky were still on the door, and Sam seemed to have brought food. Like a cake, or something similar. Wanda and Natasha were quick to invade the place without further notice.

“Oh, you got one of those hidden drawers! What are you hiding in there?”.

“Probably sex toys”, guessed Nat.

“I’d say drugs. But, like, alien drugs. You know, from his town”, apported Bucky, now making his way in and leaving the cake over the counter.

“I thought drawers were supposed to be for clothes”, said Sam, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but hidden drawers? Sexy clothes”.

“Actually, I’m saving my daggers in there”, finally said Loki, kissing your cheek before pulling away from you, and appearing a cup of tea in each guest with a movement of his wrist.

“Boring”.

“So, guys, what do you think?”, you said as you started opening one of the boxes.

“I think it’s small”, said Tony, as he walked in. Pepper rolled her eyes behind him.

“Don’t listen to him, you guys chose perfectly. This place will look very nice once you paint it and decorate it”.

“It’s already painted”.

“Oh. Well, it… it looks nice”.

“Thanks mom”, you chuckled. “It’s small but we don’t need it to be big”.

“You better be actually saving daggers in here”, Tony peeped inside the hidden drawer. “Now that is not so hidden. I wouldn’t like to open it up someday and find a…”.

“Dad, please”, you rolled your eyes and went to Loki’s side. “Don’t worry, you won’t find anything weird. Just the daggers and knives of my very innocent boyfriend”.

“Well, you’ll have to think further about having knives so close to the floor, you know”, he muttered. Loki furrowed his eyebrows.

“Why?”.

Tony ignored him and walked to you earnestly, with the most serious face expression you’ve ever seen, and everyone observed quietly. He grabbed you by the shoulders, and inhaled a deep breath. All of the sudden, his eyes got watery, and you realized Banner had told him about the pregnancy. Your heart beat so fast you thought you’d faint again, right there. The corners of his lips formed a tiny smile, and he hugged you tightly. Loki was certainly confused now. As far as he knew, Tony didn’t like him, and why would he be so happy about you moving out? It’s not like you were his only child, either.

“I’m so proud of you”, he whispered, and then Loki had the feeling he wasn’t talking about the new apartment, but didn’t ask any further.

That night you managed to cook something special, even though you still hadn’t gotten the gas installed. You cooked together, and laughed at every minor inconvenience the house could give you. The doors of the countertop cabinets were the perfect height for Loki’s 6’4” ass to stump his head every time he tried to open it.

After some time of silent cooking, absorbed on each’s thoughts, Loki asked about your dad’s pride.

“Oh, he’s… well, he just, gets very emotional with these things”. He chuckled at your very obvious lie.

“No, he doesn’t. Certainly not with me”.

“Come on, he likes you now. He likes anyone I love, because you make me happy, and because he has no other choice”.

“Well… I thought he’d be less amused”, he admitted. “Hasn’t he? Other choice, I mean”.

“I don’t think so. He’d have to deal. Family is family”.

“Oh, do I know about that”, he said, cutting a carrot more strongly than before. You laughed.

“I meant it in a good way”.

“Well, your family is one thing, mine is another… I can’t push yours to like me, as much as I would like to. They’re very nice, and I wish I had a family like that, but I don’t”.

“Love, family is built”, you said, this time a little more serious. He repressed a smile, still looking at the vegetables. “You’re part of this, too, you know?”.

“Of this?”.

“You’re family”.

He didn’t repress the smile this time.

“You’re right. You’re my family, too, my love”.

“You…”, you took a deep breath. It was the perfect moment. “Do you ever imagine us in the future?”.

“Why yes, of course”.

“Really?”.

“I want to spend all your life with you. I didn’t want to rush into things because… I don’t know, scaring you out of anything, but I…”, he said, and the alarm on your phone went off, to take the rice from the fridge. You two laughed at how mundane this conversation seemed. “But I love you, and I want you by my side”.

“Okay. Well I do too. That’s good, right? That’s good”.

“Yes, of course it’s good, why so doubtful?”, he laughed, grabbing a tomato and stabbing it.

“Because I’m pregnant”.

“Yeah”, he chuckled, without actually realizing what you just said. And then, he fell. “Hold on, what did you just say?”.

“I’m… I’m having a baby. Yours, of course”, you clarified. You felt like you had to, but it wasn’t actually necessary. Silence filled the kitchen.

“Oh dear” he paused. He left the knife over the counter and looked at you, looking for any trace of a joke. You weren’t joking, and you grew nervous as he let time pass by without saying a word. “How could you not tell me this before moving in?”, he muttered, still in a bit of a shock.

“Oh. Well… I…”.

“I wouldn’t have let you carry those heavy boxes, love, I’m so sorry”, he said, and cupped your cheeks. “Are you really…?”. You sighed in relief. For a moment you thought of the worse.

“Yes, I am”.

His arms embraced you completely, hugging you as tight as he allowed himself to. He muttered how much he loved you, and how happy you had just made him, for the rest of his life.

Later that night, as you laid in bed, he cuddled you from behind with his hands on your tummy and his lips on your bare shoulder. You could feel his soft breathing grazing your skin, and his warmth keeping you safe.

“Loki”, you whispered, checking if he was still awake. You couldn’t sleep.

“Yes, love?”, he whispered back.

“Are you sure you want to be a daddy? With me?”.

He turned you around, and lowered his head to your abdomen. He sank his face and kissed all around your stomach and hips, leaving a trace of kisses up to your neck, and then your lips.

“How could I not?”, he whispered in a low voice. Burying his nose in the crook of your neck, teased “besides, the word daddy comes out so well from your lips”.

You laughed softly, and after some more silence that was fairly filled with loving stares, a thought crossed his head and you saw the light of his eyes turn to dark.

“What is it, love?”, you put a strand of his hair behind an ear.

“I… I’m just realizing something bad”, he said, and you nodded. “I’m a Frost Giant”.

“Why is it bad?”.

“My actual form is bigger than this. And… colder. And if the baby were Jötun too...”.

“You think the baby might hurt me?”.

“They might. I don’t know. Oh no, what if they hurts you?”, he began to panic, and you shushed him, kissing his temples.

“Don’t worry, Lokes. If that’s the case, we’ll figure it out”, you reassured him. “And maybe it’s not. And we’ll have a little and very healthy half-Jötun running around this small apartment. When have we not solved our issues? We’re good at that bit”.

“You’re right. You’re right, my dear”. He sighed, and then chuckled. “Should we have gotten a bigger place?”.

“We’ll be a very close family”, you laughed.

“We already are”, he whispered, cuddling back to you. “We are a very close family”.

#loki #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki headcanon #loki odinson #loki fic #lucywrites19 #loki x fem!reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x y/n stark

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candycityy · 3 years

Note

RIVETRA AND 51.

Note: Hey anon! I already did 51, you can check it out here <3 But in the similar spirit of husband!levi, I did 63 instead ("Can you just man up and change his diaper?"). I hope you enjoy it still!

(You can also read this on AO3!)

Petra Ral, without a doubt, is the person he trusts most on the planet. From subordinate, to comrade, to lover, and finally, wife, she has always demonstrated nothing more or less than an unerring sense of judgment.

This trait, of course, is what made her the most reliable person on his squad back in the day, and what allows him to entrust his life—and the life of his daughter—to her.

But. Still.

"Are you sure you wanna do this?" Levi asks, for the fourth time that night. His wife doesn't even bother with an exasperated glare this time, just idly turns the page of her book. "And why won't you tell me who you got to babysit? I swear, Petra, if it's Hanji—"

"It's not Hanji, relax," she says lightly, tucking a neatly curled lock of hair behind her ear. "And yes, I'm sure. We haven't had a date night in ages. I think I've forgotten what it's like to actually do an activity that doesn't involve crayons or nursery rhymes."

"But if you'd just tell me—"

"No, Levi." She stands up and smooths down the fabric of her dress—a silky, knee-length sheath the colour of honey. He's seen her in it before, but it still makes his breath catch in his throat; although, to be fair, it's been a while since he'd seen her in something other than a t-shirt and sweatpants.

She glances at the clock, and then at the cot, where Ava is still dozing peacefully—for now, anyway. "They should be here any second."

"They?" he's about to say, when two hesitant knocks come at the door. He starts to get up, but Petra shoots him a warning look and sweeps towards the door. He sits back down.

"Boys, thank you so much for agreeing to babysit today." Petra beams down at their guests, her voice like melted sugar. "Come in." Levi glances up just in time to see...of all people, Eren Jaeger and Jean Kirschtein, wearing twin expressions of wariness.

Oh fuck no.

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself. "Petra, you're not serious. Jaeger and Kirschtein? You might at least have tried for one of the girls."

"Mikasa wouldn't come," Eren says helpfully, and then blushes, looking a bit awkward. "She has...uh, a bit of a grudge against the captain still, I think."

"Historia was busy, and I don't think you'd want Sasha anyway, sir." Jean, who's crisply attired in his military wear for whatever reason, looks mildly offended at Levi's brusque comment.

Levi tries to be polite.

"It's nothing personal. It's just that the pair of you don't have any experience with infants," he says, attempting to rearrange his features into that calm, reassuring expression Erwin makes whenever he's faced with agitated civilians.

Judging by their faces, he's still pretty far off the mark.

"Actually," Petra intervenes, "they do. Well, Eren does." She shoots him another warm, cinnamon-sweet smile, and he blushes again. "He said he used to babysit the neighbour's toddler with Mikasa. And Jean...well, it was between him and Connie." When the teenager chafes at the comparison, she adds hastily, "and he's always been perfectly responsible and conscientious, hasn't he?"

"We can handle one infant, sir," Eren pipes up. His face is a picture of anxious enthusiasm, reminding Levi sharply and uncomfortably of a particularly eager-to-please puppy.

"I mean, we kill Titans with no problem, and they're a heck lot more troublesome than a baby, I would think," Jean adds, casting a skeptical look over at the still-silent cot.

"You would think," Levi mutters darkly, and is about to put his foot down, no, absolutely, not, when Petra firmly loops her arm through his and begins to steer him towards the exit.

"See? Everything's fine. We'll see you in a couple of hours, boys! Thanks for doing this again!" she chirps, and frog-marches him out of the door.

"Bye, captain! Bye, Ms. Petra!" Eren calls cheerfully, waving. Levi turns (with some difficulty, considering his wife's very firm grip) to glare at him.

"She's a Mrs. now, you brat," he manages to snarl before the door slams shuts in his face.

Despite everything, they have a nice date.

It takes about four glasses of wine and a threat of bodily harm from Petra before he finally stops fretting about Ava—but, truth be told, the rest of the night goes as well as it possibly could have, considering.

"See, didn't you have fun?" Petra teases. There's a blush high in her cheeks from the cold and the wine, and with his thick coat wrapped around her slight figure, Levi figures she looks pretty damn adorable.

He grunts in reluctant assent, feeling unusually relaxed. It's been a long time since it was just the two of them, after all, and he's almost forgotten what it feels like without the constant stress of being responsible for a very small, very fragile human being who he loves with such fierceness that sometimes he feels as though his chest will burst.

He's still revelling in the niceness of it all—the cool night air, Petra's small hand in his—as they walk up to the door of their house. He's seriously contemplating if he should actually get Jaeger and Kirschtein something nice for their trouble—maybe a day off or something, he doesn't know—when he hears a sound that makes him freeze in his tracks.

Next to him, Petra stiffens. The sound fades momentarily, only to re-emerge with a vengeance, and there's no mistaking it: it's a scream.

Levi doesn't remember sprinting to the door and wrenching it open, his heart pumping so fast he can barely breath and Petra hot in his wake, but he supposes he does at some point because in a matter of seconds he's in the house, staring straight into the face of absolute chaos.

The living room is littered with toys and scattered pillows and, for some reason, a lone shoe. The stove is smouldering in a vaguely menacing manner, heavy smoke rising from the burnt remains of something completely unrecognisable. Meanwhile, their beloved daughter crawls quite cheerfully across the floor, beelining for Jean, who's slowly inching away on the ground, his face screwed up with equal parts terror and disgust. A familiar stink wafts through the room, and Levi instinctively wrinkles his nose.

And the perpetrator of the scream: Eren Jaeger, who's hunched over the basin, scrabbling blindly at the trickle of water from the tap, feverishly attempting to wash what appears to be spit-up out of his eyes.

Clearly, none of them have yet noticed their arrival.

"HORSE FACE, CAN YOU JUST MAN UP AND CHANGE HER DIAPER?" he shrieks across the room, his voice coming out noticeably higher than usual.

"WHY CAN'T YOU DO IT?" his comrade yells back, his eyes not moving from the effervescent infant, who giggles at the sound of all the shouting.

Behind him, Petra stifles a laugh.

"BECAUSE THANKS TO YOUR SHITTY BURP TECHNIQUE, I'M NOW BLIND, YOU—" The teenager proceeds to cuss him out quite colourfully, and Levi chooses that moment to intervene.

"What," he goes, lowly, "in the living fuck do you think you're doing?"

The effect is instantaneous, like the firing of a gun. Both boys instantly scramble to their feet and thump their fists to their chests in salute (Eren still blinking furiously).

Petra just giggles and strides across the hall to Ava, who's now babbling happily at the arrival of her parents. "Thanks for babysitting, boys," she goes, taking a cautious whiff of the baby's diapers and reeling at the smell. "Whew. I'll take care of this. Levi, be nice," she warns, before hoisting their daughter onto her hip and strolling away.

He can't help but notice there's a little amused bounce in her step, and his glower darkens.

"Captain—" Eren begins, but Levi lifts up a hand.

"I don't even wanna hear it," he barks. "You—for fuck's sake, go wash your face in the bathroom, the water flow is better there. And you..." he rounds on Jean, who gulps nervously. "You're dismissed. Just...go. Bye."

The boys slump over, looking at him with the big sad puppy eyes (although the effect of Eren's is somewhat diminished by his pained squint). And maybe it's the wine, maybe age or marriage or parenthood has made him soft, but he adds, with utmost reluctance, "Wait. Uh...thanks." He clears his throat. "Take a day off next week. If you want."

It takes a while for them to realise that it isn't a trap of some sorts (seriously, he doesn't get it; why do cadets always think the worst of him?), but eventually, he manages to shoo them off with wide eyes and thank-yous and maybe some mild trauma on Jean's part, but hey, this is the Survey Corps, after all. When he goes back to their bedroom, he finds Petra waiting for him, Ava sleeping peacefully in her arms, a mischievous, smug grin on her face.

"Don't even say it," he snaps.

Drabble challenge!

#keep the prompts coming!!#rivetra #levi x petra #attack on titan #levi ackerman #petra ral #aot fanfiction #candycity writes

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alexanderbarnes · 4 years

Text

— endings & beginnings

SUMMARY: Ethan spirals and relapses during the blackout ~ NOTE: there’s a bunch of triggers so be careful if reading ... it’s also really long

* * * * *

It starts like this.

Ethan drops his phone to a resounding thud and the crack that follows makes him flinch. Carelessness catches up to him with a deep sigh as he pockets his broken device. But it’s one he expected, sooner or later he tells his co-worker that apologies for bumping into him, sooner or later it was bound to happen he says with a flick of his wrist, brushing off the remorse and the offer to help with the replacement, it’s no big deal, he laughs hoping to make them feel better about the whole ordeal, I don’t use it much, nobody texts me anyway, the excuses fly out but they’re not exactly lies, he keeps that realisation to himself.

It’s Thursday, he notes, if he’s quick enough to send it for repairs he may get back before the weekend, if fate had different plans, he was kept in the dark.

* * * * *

It ends like this.

This might as well happen.

He should’ve paid more attention to the news but such events never happened during his time here so he pays no heed but now as he silently watches the lights flickers and die with a pop, the humour of hindsight finds him, the faint hum of the florescent lingers a little while longer but eventually drowns under the shocked gasps and surprised screams of patrons with their evening treats. The only source of illumination slowly fades as the sun dips below the horizon, worry wouldn’t sink in if this was any other day, a setting sun was a thing a beauty after all, but artificial light doesn’t replace the natural --- at least no in a way that would ease his troubled mind, money makes generators hum in the distance, money that he doesn’t possess --- ten, twenty, thirty minutes tick by and darkness still dominates.

Ethan swallows the panic that begins to rise as he feverishly pats his pockets, the last of the streetlights loses its battle and sputters shut, dread pools in his stomach as he remembers previous events, little accident leads to astronomical problems. The short walk home feels like a marathon, with each step he comes across a new sense of loss and hopelessness, yet, he trudges on, foolish in belief that everything is fine.

He swears the moon shines brighter tonight, painting the island in a gentle silver light, and chooses to focus on it instead of on his empty pockets, the way stars come out of hiding and dance across the sky, it makes breathing easier to see such a peaceful sight, the soft stillness of the night calms him momentarily but fear is always a step away. It’s a fight to not let the shadows win, for the consequences of failure are devastating, his mind is a whirlpool of thoughts and he’s helpless in every sense, every scenario he thinks hits a dead end, a slow anxious exhale does little to soothe his heart but his hands are tied, eyes cast upward he makes a wish on a sliver of moonlight, he’s not a religious man and it’s not a prayer, a sudden sweep of sorrow compelled him. The creases of worry iron out as he forces positive thoughts, silently holds onto hope as he crawls into bed half-eclipsed by shadows and lets the darkness blanket him.

* * * * *

It ends like this.

Thud thud thud.

It’s something to do. He’s beyond bored.

Thud thud thud.

His head hits the wall softly and repeatedly. His hands itch for the device he didn’t realise he was addicted to until this moment. How he came to rely so heavily on it is beyond his understanding but misses it just as badly. It provided a distraction; music to drown his thoughts, family to bombard his inbox with nonsensical messages that never went answered, friends to --- you don’t have any.

Ah, here it comes.

As the last rays of the sun disappear beyond the horizon, his world plunges into a deeper darkness and this time his mind follows. It’s astounding how quickly his thoughts turn, with nothing to hold them at bay, the shift comes easier than breathing. In vain, he focuses on other things; the muted murmurs of his neighbours through paper thin walls, the soft sound of music being played somewhere in the distance, the engine noises of cars speeding by outside.

Oh.

Mind nor body have forgotten it. They way they still, preparing for the crash --- eyes shut tight, hands shield his face even though danger is not imminent, they simply act on instinct. The room falls away as the sharp squeal of tires in the distance triggers an onslaught of memories, the stuff of nightmares buried deep in the catacombs of his mind claw to the surface with a wicked grin. His vision blurs and he thinks it’s a cruel coincidence the world is devoid of colour as all he can see is black.

First he smells it; burning rubber on asphalt, sharp, strong and sickly, then he hears it, the shattering of glass, loud, jarring, makes him flinch at the sound, rattling him to the core. Everything shakes and breaks into a thousand shards; heart, skin, world. Brakes screech under the sudden force but collision is unavoidable and silent screams fall on absent ears as an avalanche of repressed events roll down and bury him whole.

He floats in a haze, moving through stages of sleep, wake, numb; as if walking through wet cement and loses track of time entirely. Seconds, hours, minutes, it means nothing. Every breath comes up jagged, every blink requires herculean effort and the panic grows, builds and explodes in his chest. Hands in head, knees drawn to chest, he curls inwards, trying to shake the feeling of being trapped but comes up choking on air. Alone. Always alone.

One. Two. Three. Deep breaths. Four. Five. It’s not real.

It’s hopeless, he knows it, darkness creeps across and threatens to take over everything, shaky breaths and shakier hands as nails dig into his palms so sharply it creates crescent shapes and turn his knuckles white, yet all he feels is numbness, like feeling is a luxury he can’t afford. He digs deeper and breathes deeper as a new shade of loneliness rips through him while he crawls, claws and fights for a way out.

Inch by inch, it’s a struggle, inch by inch, he’s exhausted.

Thud thud thud.

His heart beats. A slow, staccato rhythm that steadies the more he focuses on it and grounds him the more it steadies. He’s alive, it’s not real, he’s fine, small reassurances but it helps as senses return. The smell of blood drifts from his senses, the incandescent beeping of monitors and white ceilings fade gradually. The world is still unclear as it shifts in and out of focus through misty eyes, heavy eyelids flutter open only to be greeted by the darkness he fought to avoid, panic spikes up but his heart beats on, a gentle reminder that he made it out and the dark loses its edge, it’s soothing, calm and familiar now, no longer a deer blinded by bright headlights, his eyes adjust slowly and makes out familiar shapes in the darkness; the edge of his bed as he leans against it, solid and stationary, his fingers as he grips and pulls himself up. Fighting the feeling is futile so he doesn’t, Ethan lets his head droop and allows the softness of his pillow to catch the fall, sleep doesn’t come so exhaustion takes over; slowly then all at once.

When he sleeps he dreams of nothing.

* * * * *

It ends like this.

He’s tired of everything.

Tremors ripple throughout his body as he meekly adjusts to face the aftershocks of last night, but he’s fine. Fine fine fine. If he says it enough then maybe he doesn't have to confront the grief, the sadness in him that sometimes feels so vast and unending that he feels there is no way to escape other than to drown in it.

So that's what he does because this is what it feels like to be truly alone.

The regret is instantaneous and it tastes a lot like Tequila.

Guilt creeps in, hot and hollow; eating him from the inside out and he feels, he feels and lets himself feel. Mindless grief drives him to this point, all the years of putting on a fake bravado to show the world he was okay, broken pieces poorly taped back together into some semblance of a functioning being, but lips to bottle betray that image, pathetic in every sense. Yet, he mourns the loss of a career, of a man he once was, of friendships, of a feeling that almost had a name but was gone like smoke in the wind, no traces except an empty hand and hollow heart.

There is an appropriate response to this unrest inside him, he's not sure what it is yet but as hands curl tighter around the neck, he's sure he could he find them in here. It’s a familiar feeling and the weight of it helps his body relax, this was an itch he’s ignored for more than a year - weeks, months, days of self control, didn’t that deserve a treat? Just a sip, he pleads with himself, a sip to see if it still burns, a sip to curb temptation, to quieten the devil on his shoulder, to find answers he’s sure that lie within the clear liquid, just one sip . . .

No answers.

It takes three big gulps to numb the thoughts, the alcohol burned a familiar ache as it went down, but it’s not enough, three quarters down the hatch and there a microscopic twitch of lips upwards, feels good, all gone and still no answers . . .

Second bottle.

He’s fine, he tells himself again and again; he lies to himself, again and again.

* * * * *

It starts like this.

Ethan wakes up feeling like he’s been hit in the head with a brick. Eyes slowly blink open and the mistake is evident almost immediately, the light is blinding and he wishes for darkness.

It’s dizzying the speed at which he stands up. The world tilts on its axis and Ethan makes a mad dash to grab hold of something solid, steadying himself; three seconds out from falling to the floor, he sits on the edge of his bed, head in hands and fingers tightly gripping his hair, feeling galaxies away from fine. The brightness hurts but it’s the realisation of light that wakes him. First he thinks it’s the curtains he forgot to close, but a peek in their direction shows they’re firmly shut, it takes him longer than necessary to figure out the harshness of this light is man-made.

Power being restored does little to comfort him, his feet hit the ground and the clink of glass bottles is enough to kill and bury all relief. Self hatred runs true and deep, roots itself into all corners of his heart and soul and grows, parasitic in every sense as it weakens him, draining him of life and will to carry on. His own foolishness weakens him further, rebellious nature dared him to hope for better times, and he supposes this is punishment, accepting his fate with a hung head and without much protest because hope is salt to wounds and kicks him deeper into the gutter where he belongs, where he should stay. A new wave washes over him and it is one of defeat and acceptance of the inevitable that broke him.

He moves in shades of exhaustion, not wanting another day where his subconscious manifests and tears him apart without mercy, limbs are stiff with fear and he knows he won’t survive a second round of battle.

Time is still a mystery to him, years of relying on digital devices is a mistake he won’t soon make. Shadows still lurked and he banished them as the curtains flew open, light was still torture on his eyes, self inflicted yet necessary. A knot of hysteria weighs down on his chest at his own naivety. He stands there as the sunlight fills the gaps in his memory and there in the afternoon sun he discovers a universal truth; nothing lasts forever, much like his sobriety and darkness, everything ends one way or another, and with that a second truth follows; the world moves on.

And so shall he.

#🙃🙃🙃#( so yeah this happened )#alcohol tw #car crash tw #anxiety attack tw #( i mean it could've been worse )#*self para

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izukillme-moved · 5 years

Text

wish i could stay

“It’s lung cancer,” states Allura, looking down at the table. “And I’m afraid it’s starting to spread. We can do nothing to stop it.”

I - what?!

Lance’s entire world begins to spin. His equilibrium tilts, and he feels dizzy. It’s as if the ground is crumbling underneath his feet, and he can do nothing about it.

Cancer. Cancer. Cancer.

The word reverberates in his mind, bouncing around like

“How?” he asks helplessly.

“Lance, you have to know, I’m so sorry-” Allura looks more than distressed, hands fluttering about in that anxious manner she hasn’t shown since they were children.

Lung cancer. How fucking ironic.

He can’t help but let out a bitter laugh. “So this is how I’m going to die, huh? Lung cancer. For a damn swimmer who served in the freakin’ army and never smoked a fucking cigarette in his whole damn life.”

His words sound angry, but his tone is dull and flat. When he says it out loud, he doesn’t feel the wave of anxiety and pain he expects to feel. He just feels... cold and uncaring. There’s nothing but a pit of emptiness inside him, the sharp edge of acceptance dulled by the sandpaper wave of shock.

He can’t help but be absolutely terrified by the lack of feeling. It’s like he’s not Lance anymore.

Because Lance feels. Lance feels every single damn moment in his life with vigour and joy and hope and passion and anger and sorrow and pain. Lance feels so much it hurts. This shell feels nothing.

Allura’s eyes take on that mother-hen look of worry, and she reaches for his hands. “Lance, I wish I could do something,” she says, eyes brimming with tears.

Lance can’t bring himself to cry. He can’t bring himself to do anything but look his impending death in the eye with an expression of weary defeat. The sharpshooter that could even stare down a huge tank without flinching, armed with just a rifle, is gone. Replaced by a shell of who he used to be.

“Don’t tell Keith. I don’t want him to know. He’ll be broken.”

His mouth moves on its own. Lance lets it.

The old Lance, before-Lance, would have made sure he told Keith as soon as he got home. Made sure that Keith was able to grieve properly, that they could worm in time with each other, that Keith was prepared for the death, so it wouldn’t shock him.

Now-Lance doesn’t care. Now-Lance just wants to go in peace, without wanting to put in any effort.

Now-Lance doesn’t want to see Keith hurting.

Before-Lance can hear his mind screaming at him to tell Keith, to spare him the shock of his death. But he doesn’t say anything, allowing now-Lance to keep talking, to say all the things before-Lance would never have even thought of saying.

After all, before-Lance is no longer Lance, so why should he even bother controlling what this husk of him does?

“So,” Keith asks, sliding his arm around Lance’s waist, “what’d Allura say?”

“Everything’s fine,” Lance lies smoothly. He’s always been a good liar. “It was just a little bout of sickness. I’m totally okay.”

Keith eyes his boyfriend up and down. “Are you sure? You were coughing up blood.”

“It was just a bit of laryngitis. I’m all better. I’ll be okay if I eat like normal, says Allura,” Lance fibs, thanking every God he knows that Keith is completely clueless about medicine or diseases.

“O... kay,” Keith says, a little dubiously. He holds out his hand. “Can I see the reports? Just so I know that you’re good.” His eyes hold genuine worry, and Lance just wants to kiss it better.

“There aren’t any,” he lies again. They’re in the box under his bed, the one containing his most private things. A letter from his deceased mother, his grandfather’s wedding ring, a scarf that his very first boyfriend Lotor gave him before he cheated on Lance. He hasn’t even let Keith see what’s in it. The one time Keith asked, Lance lashed out with the full force of the Destroyer (as the rest of his regiment had nicknamed him). He knows Keith won’t look; he has too much respect for Lance’s privacy.

Keith nods, still looking a little troubled. “If you’re so sure. What do you want for lunch?”

“Uh, anything is fine,” Lance says.

Keith shrugs. “All right, I guess I’m making stir fry, then.”

Lance’s heart aches as he watches Keith walk towards the kitchen, a slight bounce in his step, even humming a song. His shoulders have straightened from the small slump they’ve had for a few months ever since Lance has been sick.

Stir fry is my favourite.

“It’s getting worse,” Allura says.

Lance snorts weakly. “I could tell, Captain Obvious.”

Allura looks her friend over and sighs. Lance is pale despite his dark complexion; his cheekbones are prominent and there are barely noticeable bags under his eyes.

“Six months, at the most,” she states, lacing her fingers together. She can’t bear to look Lance in the eye, so she just looks down at her mahogany desk.

“Okay,” Lance sounds surprisingly calm and accepting of his dreadful fate. Allura whips her head up.

There is no feeling in Lance’s eyes. Just a bottomless emptiness.

“Oh, Lance,” she whispers helplessly.

Lance grins, a shadow of the bright smile he always used to sport. “It’s okay.” he says.

And to him, it is.

When Lance gets home, he’s met by Keith standing in the door, arms crossed over his chest.

He’s holding a white file.

Lance’s heart jumps to his throat.

“Cancer,” Keith says, voice trembling. “When were you going to tell me?”

Lance’s lip wobbles. “I - I-”

“I looked in the damn box, because you were looking fucking ill, Lance. You got so thin, and you kept coughing up blood. I had to find some clue,”

“I - why-”

“Because you didn’t tell me.” Keith’s eyes are bright with angry tears. “You just planned on - on dying, and leaving me here to lose it completely.”

“Keith, I-”

“No, Lance,” Keith cuts him off. “I - why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Lance says softly. Even to his own ears, it sounds lame.

“Worry,” Keith repeats, tone bitterly sarcastic. “And did it occur to you, genius that you are, that I might have gotten over it had you told me earlier? Had we worked through this, together, like we agreed to do all our problems, and made sure we didn’t waste a second of what life you have left?”

Lance, for once, is stunned into silence. He feels tears come into his own eyes.

“Keith - I-” He reaches for his boyfriend, but Keith pulls away. Lance sees the strap of a duffel bag over his shoulder.

Keith steps around Lance and through the door, tossing a set of keys onto the sofa.

“I can’t believe you would hide this from me,” is the last thing he says, voice soft and broken, as he disappears into the elevator.

Lance crumples against the wall, tears gushing out of his eyes like rivers.

Keith - Keith -

And just like that, the most important thing in Lance’s life has left him.

Just like that.

Lance howls, then, all his feelings let out in that anguished scream. He weeps loudly and continuously, without caring that the neighbours will be annoyed. He sobs like a teenage girl whose boyfriend dumped her. He cries and cries and cries, curling into a little ball and falling into a restless sleep by the open doorway.

You’ll catch pneumonia, warns Hunk’s voice in his head.

Lance shakes it off.

He has fucking cancer. Nothing matters anymore.

He wakes up to warmth.

There’s a blanket piled over Lance. He’s lying in his bed, surrounded by pillows and his favourite stuffed bear from his boyhood. A note lies next to his head, and Lance turns to read it.

Yell for me when you wake up.

The handwriting is as familiar as day to Lance. He can’t help the happy tears that spring to his eyes.

“I’m up!” he shouts as loudly as he can - which isn’t very loud because, well, he has lung cancer.

Keith comes into the room, wearing a pink apron and a sad smile.

“I thought you left,” Lance says softly, a little out of breath from the shout.

Keith sits down on the bed, brushes Lance’s hair out of his eyes.

“I’d never leave,” he says, looking into Lance’s eyes with absolute honestly. “I might - I might take off, but I don’t think I could ever leave you.”

He pulls Lance into a hug, and the thinner can’t help but burst into noisy tears, sniffling and rubbing his eyes and shaking like a goddamn leaf.

“Oh, Keith,” he sobs. “I don’t wanna die,”

Keith rubs Lance’s back gently. “It’s okay,” he murmurs.

“No it’s not,” Lance cries.

“Maybe it’s not. But I’m here for you, and that - that’s gotta count for something.”

Lance nods into Keith’s shirt. “You always make things better.” he mumbles.

Maybe things won’t be all right. He is going to die, and he’s going to die in pain.

But hey, things could be much worse.

After all, he has Keith. What else could he possibly want?

#voltron #voltron legendary defender #vld #klance #lance mcclain #ceru writes #keith kogane #VERY ANGSTY #fanfiction #angst with fluffy ending

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