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writefightandflightclub · 3 years

Note

I really enjoyed your Nathan fluff 🥺 we love this angry peach fuzz king 👑💖 would you ever write him being comforted after having a nightmare? 💕

First of all, LOL @ “angry peach fuzz king” 🤣🤣🤣

Second of all, here you go! 🧡 I will warn you - I think I forgot the fluff a little bit though. It became more hurt / comfort? More angst than expected? It ends nicely though and comfort is given to Nathan - but only after I’ve subjected him to rattling around in his own head and house for a bit.

Through the looking glass (Nathan Bateman x GN!reader)

Summary: Nathan has nightmares after The Incident. After so long alone, he doesn’t realise how badly he needs a little comfort - and maybe he doesn’t believe that he deserves it.

Author’s note: hopefully this isn’t too similar to All Better. I know they both take place post-stabbing, but I tried to give this a different focus. I know I could have made the nightmares based off of anything given the ask, but this timeline / focus seemed most sensible to explore the character.

Warnings: nightmares following traumatic incident (a stabbing); mentions of blood and injury - not graphic. Self-harm (punching the bag until injury); Body horror if you squint (some gruesome descriptions occurring in-dream, but fairly abstract); swearing; implied alcoholism recovery if you squint; mentions of therapy; Nathan mildly injured in fic; reader offering comfort.

Rating: MATURE for themes mentioned above.

GIF: by @santiagogarcia (this whole gifset is magic- check it out + reblog!)

Nathan wakes up breathless, plastered to the covers by a sheen of sweat - and not in a good way. On instinct, or out of habit by now, or maybe somewhere between the two, his palm slides over his body to the site of the wound.

He is so slick that he half-believes he is soaked with dank, deep blood again, until his fingers trace over nothing more than a half-concave, half-ridged scar. The lack of searing pain is the next point of evidence leading him towards an alternative conclusion. He’s not dying (again).

It’s just another gruesome nightmare.

Although… there is nothing “just” about it.

The nightmares are pretty brutal. Brutal enough for him to wake with ragged breaths and a hammering heart, his sheets dampened and coiled up around him. Enough that it takes effort to sift through the layers of terror and distinguish reality.

With what can only be described as a whimper, Nathan swings his legs over the edge of the bed, bringing himself into a seated position and bracing his head in his hands until his racing heart levels.

In his mind, he’s telling himself to be logical about this. That Ava hasn’t truly arrived to finish the job she started; but logic is not the safe haven it used to be.

She could come back.

She’s still out there, somewhere, and Nathan distinctly got the impression, last time, that she was vehemently not a fan of him.

His hand trembling, Nathan reaches for the glass of water by his bedside, glugging it down so eagerly it spills into his bushy beard.

Since the… accident? Malfunction? Functioning just fine, actually? Failed experiment? Greatest achievement known to man? Attempted murder? (Truth be told, Nathan isn’t quite sure what to call it, so he simply calls it The Incident.)

Since The Incident, Ava has begun to regularly visit him in his sleep.

The visitations are not waning with time. In fact, they are happening more often, not less. They are happening more since you moved into the house.

It’s a bad fucking time to have quit drinking.

You’d been sent by the board. Something about Nathan taking “tortured genius” a slice too literally. Something about him being in isolation too long and needing another human around in the compound.

Well, that’s not technically true, is it? The shit all started when he opted to get social, after all.

Fucking Caleb.

Before that, he was doing just fine.

Nathan doesn’t like it at all - having you here. Being watched. Observed. Having someone monitoring his actions. Waiting for him to either fuck up or prove himself.

Ironic really, considering where he kept Ava. The experiments he ran on her.

She’d probably find it poetic, if she could truly understand such a concept.

At the thought of her, Nathan physically shudders, and reaches for an old vest to haphazardly mop the excess sweat from his skin. Then, he balls up a change of clothes and tracks nude to his wet room, feeling relief as the luke warm water sluices over his skin.

He watches himself in the mirror as he stands there naked. It’s not a vanity thing - at least not any longer. These days, he examines the way his form has changed since it happened. He lost some of his muscle and bulk during recovery, whilst unable to exercise, his arms slightly smaller and his abs softer. His stomach a little more rounded.

There’s also the puckered scar, of course - that permanent reminder of where he was skewered through the chest like a piece of kebab meat.

His gaze travels up over his body, until his eyes settle on his still haunted face. He doesn’t have his glasses on, and somewhere between the blurred vision, misted mirror, clouding steam and sluicing water, his reflected face distorts. It transforms - for the briefest of moments - into her.

Still amped with adrenalin from his harsh awakening, this briefest flash sends a surge of panic zipping through Nathan’s chest, his heartbeat racing so hard he can feel the pounding of blood in his ears.

Fuck, he curses, reaching his arms out to brace himself against the shower wall above him, his body trembling and his head dipping down between the cradle of his broad shoulders as his legs threaten to buckle.

He turns the water cold, until it is practically glacial and thundering on to the back of his neck, subduing this spiking heat.

She really did a fucking number on me, didn’t she?

It’s true though.

Ava is haunting him. When he sleeps - and at other times too.

Nathan didn’t know robots could do that. Didn’t know they could spawn ghosts.

Nathan doesn’t believe in ghosts, of course… but he does believe in trauma and its effect on the brain. He at least concedes that it is natural to continue to feel afraid; but this?

Being dogged by the spectre of her taps into Nathan’s deepest insecurities.

After all, there is nothing a genius fears more than doubting his own mind.

Nothing a God fears more than his own mortality.

And the man? Turns out, there is nothing he fears more now, than dying alone.

With a ragged breath, Nathan towels off and pulls on his grey sweatpants, tugging on his black zip-up hoody over his bare chest. And then, keen not to return to his damp, tangled sheets, he tracks towards the kitchen - mainly for want of any more favourable option.

Of course, he had returned to the compound after The Incident. Something about that many fibre optic cables being a bitch to lay down. Sunk cost fallacy and all that - too much already invested.

But it possibly wasn’t the best choice for his recovery.

Nathan has certainly gotten more used to walking down that hallway since he returned from the hospital, and yet he still finds himself holding his breath until he is free of it. Still finds his pace is just a little faster as he passes through. His gaze deliberately averted from that spot.

Once, you’d found him lying in it.

Lying in that exact spot, his body arranged like a crime scene photo, his eyes closed.

Hey, it’s hardly his least healthy coping mechanism, is it?

What in the fuck are you doing, Nathan?

Re-enacting my death, obviously.

Uh-Kay…. A beat. A devious smile. Shall I get some popcorn?

Absurd as it was, he had laughed. Laughed for the first time since it happened, and, with an extended hand, you had helped him up off the floor.

Still, now that he’s alone, he does not dwell in the corridor, colder and darker as it is without your light in it, and he tries not to think about your face or hers as he pads to the kitchen.

When he arrives though, he bypasses it entirely - heading out on to the decking, the crisp night air soothing his hot skin.

He wants to be outside.

There are too many ghosts in his house now.

He has tried to shake it. Tried to desensitise himself to Ava’s face. Spent longer than strictly necessary poring over footage of her.

He built her. Shouldn’t that take the fear out of things? Not to mention the fact Ava’s face was simply a composite of some manipulable nerd’s wank bank browsing history.

Fucking Caleb.

Still, once Nathan had looked her in the eyes and seen a rage that was all too human, things seemed a hell of a lot different.

Nathan crosses to the punchbag on the deck -lit by creeping dawn- on instinct, or out of habit, or maybe some combination of the two, his unease riling him enough to sock some punches at its midsection. Right at the equivalent site of his corporeal puncture.

He punches so hard that the skin on his knuckle splits, but Nathan doesn’t stop. He throws punch after punch until his hands are scathed and bloodied, and a trail of spit hanging from the corner of his mouth. Until he hugs the bag - the closest thing he has to a warm body to hold - and slides down it, coming limply to his knees, wiping his face on his sleeve.

He stays there, dead eyed and still for some time, the pain in his hands raw and singing. Unpleasant, but better. Better than what he was feeling, and worse all at once.

He considers his tired, cumbersome body, and contemplates remaking the world one more time. Uploading his mind into a machine or some shit, so that he doesn’t have to contend with the fragility and failings of his own existence.

He stays there, until some motion in the interior of the compound causes the light and shadows to dance differently over him, and he looks up to see your figure there, cast in a soft halo of yellowed light.

He tips his head up slightly, opening his mouth as though he might cry out to you for help, but no sound comes out - only a thin, dry croak.

So, instead, Nathan watches you for a moment, moving seamlessly around his kitchen as though it is your own. Maybe it is - more yours than his now.

Observing you like this, through the tall, cinematic windows, it is as though he peers in on another world entirely. Something less resembling a nightmare.

Lighter than that. Something more like a good dream, albeit a good dream that Nathan cannot be part of. One he can only ever watch, from the outside looking in, always fated as he is to be on the other side of the glass.

Truth be told, you haunt him too. You represent everything he could have and yet doesn’t deserve.

You appear in his nightmares and his dreams, in various terrifying and beautiful incarnations. Many variations of which his therapist would have a field day with, he’s sure - or, she would, if he’d ever fucking call her.

When you first arrived here, he was plagued by grotesque visions of you. Grotesque visions of the skin being peeled back from your body. Sometimes, circuitry beneath, and other times, muscle and bone. Sometimes, Ava’s face was buried beneath the chilling slip of your fleshy mask.

Sometimes it is a better dream. Sometimes you save him. Sometimes he saves you.

Sometimes it is a good dream. Ava isn’t there at all. But the good dreams never seem to last for long.

Sometimes you kill him, and sometimes...

The glass door slides open.

“Reenacting your own death again, are you?” you tease, though not unkindly, interrupting the spiral of Nathan’s incessant thoughts.

A lump forming instantly in his throat, Nathan swallows thickly, and looks up at you helplessly with a thin, joyless smile. He snorts as though it’s funny, but it really isn’t. “Over and fucking over.”

You nod once, and, without hesitation, you extend your hand towards him. Your gaze cuts through him as you search his face and he feels suddenly see-through, as if he’s about to be hit with some Shyamalan-esque twist. Was he the ghost all along? Did he die here after all?

If so, is this purgatory because Ava is here too, or heaven, because you are?

Christ. So fucking schmaltzy, Bateman.

After hesitating, Nathan takes your hand and you yank him to his feet, drawing him inside, through the looking glass.

The room seems warm on the other side. It feels… safe.

“What happened?” you ask, as you look down at your joined hands, your thumb painting a smear of red across his split knuckles.

You mean now. What happened now, but Nathan’s mind harks back further than that. In his mind, everything is connected. Every thing threaded to another. This one smear of blood to that weeping flower of red.

The thought -the thoughts, all of them- halt him in place, his feet firmly planting on the ground. Nathan’s hand clenches tightly around yours as though it is a lifeline, as he is cast adrift on this familiar crimson tide, his face growing increasingly angular and stern.

“She...” He swallows, unable to complete that precise thought, his eyes dropping down to his feet.

You turn your body towards Nathan as he croaks, still not letting go.

Your eyes flitting around his face, attempting to search his eyes, you tentatively step closer, sliding your palms slowly over his tense shoulders, feeling them rise with an uneven, stuttered breath as you do so.

He’s so tired. He’s so very, very tired.

And it happens all at once on the exhale.

Suddenly, your arms are tugging him closer, and his face is contorting as a violent smattering of tears beads in his long lashes. You are encasing his body in your embrace and rubbing circles into his back as his buzzed head sags all too willingly toward the junction of your shoulder, your fingers splaying along the smooth flesh at the nape of his neck and pads dancing over the gentle prickle of his hair. You are shushing and soothing and reassuring and squeezing and smoothing and cradling and Nathan can feel it. Can feel his heart race in his chest and…

Finally.

Finally, his heart is not pounding because he is reliving his death.

It is pounding because he feels alive again.

When was the last time he cried, even? The last time someone really hugged him? He doesn’t remember the last time. The serendipitous combination of Nathan willing to be vulnerable, and another being willing to hold space for his pain is an all too rare thing.

There’s a reason -or several - he’s so emotionally constipated, after all.

Fuck. I’m taking a huge emotional shit right now.

Nathan remains in the welcome circumference of your arms longer than is strictly necessary - until the tear trails over the bridge of his nose begin to feel cloying. Until his breaths steady, and until his thoughts and ego creep back in. Until he notices the way his hands are clasped at your waist like claws, fingers sinking into your softness, and he thinks to release you.

Then, he leans away, a weight on his brow making his expression stern.

He waits for you to judge him, another swallow trailing thickly down his throat.

However, your eyes are kind and level, dancing with soft concern. Not with judgement or satisfaction or pity, or with anything he fears.

It is refreshing not to feel so afraid.

Finally.

“She…” Nathan begins again, finally finding courage. All at once his eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. “She fucking stabbed me.”

You take his words in. You listen.

His “reveal” is simple. Plain and factual. A little indignant. Kinda salty. It’s not overly emotional, or articulate.

But it is enough.

Your eyes narrow, and you nod slowly, trying to understand the true meaning beneath his words.

You even reach up to cup Nathan’s face, his springy beard a cushion beneath your gentle palm as you hold him. “Yeah, genius,” you tease, with a tentative, lopsided smile, dropping your arm all too suddenly, perhaps as you catch yourself. “I got that from context.”

In response, Nathan chucks air from between his teeth, bringing his hand up to comb through his beard - perhaps to obscure his involuntary smile, or perhaps chasing your tender touch, the impression of it left warm on his cheek.

As he brings his hand up, your brows draw together, and you hook his bloodied paw delicately in yours, examining the wound, and leading him gingerly across to the couch as though his whole being might be hurting along with it.

It is.

You order him to stay put while you fetch the first aid kit, and then, in stages, Nathan watches you with fascination as you painstakingly clean and tend to his wounds, without ever being asked to.

He watches you carefully swipe the angry red away from his skin, and, to his overactive mind, it’s all connected. This red is one and the same with the flower of blooming red from The Incident.

Ava hurt him then, and she is hurting him now too.

And you…

“Going to tell the board about this?” Nathan asks, his voice weak and scuffed.

You search his eyes, holding your words back for a moment before answering. Then, you launch them on a big breath. “Fuck the board, Nathan. I told those assholes to stick it.”

Nathan blinks in confusion, shaking his head, his hand flourishing emphatically through the air. “Then… what the fuck are you still doing in my house?”

“Well. I’m… here for you,” you admit, sucking in air through your teeth, your voice shrinking. “If you want that.”

Well, that’s news to him.

Welcome news, perhaps?

You’re not watching him at all, are you? Not observing. Not asking him to evidence his humanity. Not waiting to see whether he fucks up or proves himself.

Instead, you’re seeing him. You’re seeing him and you’re not running.

Nathan had begun to think that maybe he was the nightmare. He’d begun to think he might always be haunted.

Always alone. That he might die that way; again.

And now, here you are.

Nathan thinks about that. He could so easily revert to his old ways, in this moment. Of pride and ego and stubborn independence.

But, perhaps those assholes from the board got a few things right - he’ll admit.

Maybe he had been in isolation too long. Maybe he didn’t need to take “tortured genius” quite so literally.

And so, Nathan almost protests. Almost rejects your presence and your comfort and pushes you away. But the truth is, he’s just so… tired. He’s had so many nightmares, and this time, he’d like to be on the other side of the glass. He’d like to step into that dream.

Nathan takes a deep breath, and releases on the exhale. Releases more than air.

He slowly, ever so slowly, shifts towards you on the couch, angling his body until he can safely dip his head towards your lap, his nose pointed in towards your abdomen and his knees curling around you.

“Th.. this okay?” he asks weakly.

You throw your splayed hands up into the air in surprise as the weight of Nathan settles there, but as he curls his arms around your middle and shuffles closer, you ease into it. You snake your fingers in intricate caresses over his head and neck and shoulders.

“Yeah, Nathan. This is okay,” you soothe gently, voice taut with emotion.

You comfort him.

And finally, Nathan does not need to peel your skin back to know what’s underneath.

He knows you’re not a robot, and that, as your kind touch finds him corporeal, that he is not a ghost.

He closes his eyes. And this time, when he next wakes, he knows that whether the dream is bad or better or good, it doesn’t matter. Because you will be there with him.

He wants you with him.

It’s not at all natural to him, to have you around. For the longest time, he didn’t like it. It didn’t come instinctually, and he has formed no familiar habits.

It isn’t easy - he doesn’t make it easy.

But he wants it to be.

And, in your arms, he can finally dream that it will all work out. What’s more; he can dream he deserves it, too.

#Nathan Bateman #Nathan Bateman x reader #Oscar Isaac #ex machina

173 notes · View notes

folkloreguk · 3 years

Text

Shower Thoughts

A/N: I like writing about personal emotions a lot…this feels a little like writing a diary but also like self-therapy and it really helps me. I hope anyone who also feels this way knows that they’re not alone with those feelings. Also happy birthday to the sweetest @sunghoonied!! I wrote this thinking of you and I hope you have the best day ♡ PS. I didn't proofread this so if you find errors kindly lmk please! x

genre: optional bias (male), meant to comfort you, angst, fluff, talk of loneliness / anxiety but with a good ending!

words: ~ 2.5 k

taglist: @lovely-ateez, @mochi-ficz, @soundsofminho, @runaway-fics

People said that walking was supposed to clear your mind. But then why was it, that you had gotten so lost in your worst thoughts out there? The time spent in fresh air was meant to let your mind wander to calm places and smiling at strangers should have made you feel less lonely. But with every step you took and with every passing face your body felt heavier. Not only did you carry your figure, but the crushing burden that had been nagging at you for weeks.

Watching others stroll around the streets seemed so easy. And perhaps it should have been easy, after all. It made you wonder, maybe you were the only one whose mind was constantly covered in dark rain clouds. Maybe everyone had their place in the world, and they knew just where and with whom they belonged. Surely, they didn’t overthink every conversation they had with a random stranger. Did their brain also function merely on autopilot in public, while the back of your mind was chaos of doubt and fear? Was there anybody else who spent day to day worrying about never finding someone who could deal with the burden of you and your issues? How was somebody else going to love you if you were this sad?

Those people that care about you are the ones you should be honest with, after all. There was no brushing off the How Are You question with a quick “I’m fine”. How could someone deal with the real answer you would give? You didn’t want to pull anybody down with you when you were hurting. So then again, maybe it was for the better your apartment was always empty when you came home. With no one to ask you about your feelings, you couldn’t cause anyone else agony and worry. Your own pain was enough – one person was enough to deal with it.

You shoved your shoes in the corner next to your door. If it wasn’t for your mental state, you would’ve guessed your jacket was a hundred kilos heavy. But even after you had peeled it off, nothing changed. You dragged your body to the bathroom.

You’d be so proud if only you could go one day without crying. And you had almost made it, had it not been for the godforsaken shower water. There was something about seeing the droplets on your skin and on the tiles that caused your tears to come out freely. The noise of the shower made you feel shut off from the rest of the world. Now it was just you and your salty ocean tears. The tears united with the shower water. It was hard to tell which drops on your cheek had originated in your swollen eyes and which had fallen from the shower head. This way, it seemed almost as if there was an invisible force that was wiping over your face, trying to appease your sobs.

But there was nobody. And that was why you only cried harder. If only you had listened to your own words when you tried to cheer yourself up. Then maybe you would feel better when you wrapped your arms around your own body. You were desperate. The notion that someone could hold you like this, one day, should have gifted you at least some form of hope. But no, you knew it wouldn’t happen any time soon. Not with this mindset and your sadness.

You hiccupped helplessly. This was all so tiring. Before you knew it, you sat down on the shower floor under the hot stream. At least there was no one waiting to get into the shower after you. So you wouldn’t have to feel guilty about blocking the bathroom and wasting all the hot water. For a few minutes you remained on the floor, drowning out your cries under the splashing sound. You felt the impulse to scream. Look, I’m here! I’m a person with interests and passions and emotions! Doesn’t anybody see me? I’m sick of only existing! Won’t somebody teach me how to live?

But at most, that would cause you a noise complaint. If only you weren’t so terrible at talking to people. Maybe you could make a friend someday – when your anxiety got better. Like in a trance, you finally switched off the water and grabbed your towel. You were so utterly lost in your thoughts, that everything went by as if you were only watching from the sidelines. You got out of the shower, dried off, put on some body lotion – an attempt at self-care – and got dressed in the most comfortable, baggy clothes you owned.

What on earth would you do tonight? There really were only so many ways you could have fun (or rather distract yourself from feeling down) when you were all by yourself and everything reminded you of how lonely you were. The option of just going to sleep slipped past you. But you weren’t tired enough. You knew you’d lie awake for hours, left alone with your thoughts. And crying yourself to sleep was the last thing you wanted right now.

So you opted for the most mainstream idea: Netflix. You plopped down on the sofa, a steaming hot cup of tea on the small table in front of you. Now you only had one thing left to do. You needed to choose some stupid show and let the problems of tv characters invade your brain and pray they would shove out your own issues. You weren’t even hungry. Although there was a part of you that wished it could have eaten your weight in chocolate, but you knew that had little to do with hunger.

Just as you reached for the remote control, the sound of your doorbell made you jump. I’ll just let it be. They’ll think I’m not home and leave. Those thoughts came right away. It made you curse yourself. You had just cried over feeling alone, but now you’re shutting out some random neighbor who probably just needs some tiny favor from you. Way to go. So, more to prove a point to yourself than to be friendly, you stepped to your door and opened it.

“Hi.” It was your neighbor. Your handsome, kind neighbor, who you always met at the local grocery store. You were so mentally exhausted you didn’t even feel self-conscious about looking the way you did. Although you hoped your eyes had recovered from the redness, at least a little. “Hi,” you greeted him back.

“Look, I really don’t want to be intrusive. And if you want me to leave, I will,” he said. He fumbled with his hands, as if he was nervous about his words. “But I kind of heard you…cry…in the shower. And I know you live alone, and I figured if you’re crying you probably don’t have any company. I guess I just wanted to check whether you’re okay. Do you have someone to talk to?”

With every word your heart only sped up. You felt like a trapped rabbit in a corner and the meaning of his message only sunk in slowly. Yes, of course. I’ll call my friend and talk to them,you wanted to say. But that would have been a massive lie. And you just couldn’t lie to him. Not when he stood there, in his fuzzy sweater and fresh-out-the-shower damp hair, with eyes so worried and attentive. You weren’t sure if it was from how touched you were by his concern for you, or if it was your sadness catching up to you again. Before you could swallow your tears, your eyes filled to the brim and your vision turned blurry.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, not sure what for. Hurriedly, you used your sweater paw to wipe your leaking eyes. You didn’t want him to feel bad for you, but now you had achieved just that and more. Your embarrassment set in and you finally came out with the truth. “I don’t have anyone to talk to.”

“No need to be sorry. It’s alright. We all have those days, don’t we? I just want you to know that you’re not alone. And I have nothing to do…so if you need someone to talk to, or even just to keep you company…I can stay with you for a bit…or you can come over to mine. I just don’t want you to feel alone. But if you would prefer to be by yourself, that’s okay. People deal with things differently.”

You were so baffled that your ability to speak completely fell through. The idea of someone, an almost-stranger, going so out of their way to make sure you were okay blew you away. He knew nothing about you. But here he was, taking a chance on you, nonetheless. Only then you realized you probably looked like a fool, staring at him but failing to answer. Quickly, you prompted yourself to open your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it.

“What were you doing just now?” he asked. “Any plans for the evening?”

“I was going to watch a movie, I guess,” you said. “And I think some company would be very nice.”

He smiled at you like was your childhood best friend and you had just reconnected after years of being apart. That’s why it felt the more natural to let him enter your apartment. You got into small talk about what it was like living in the building and how his apartment had a mirrored structure to yours. The simplest conversation took your mind off your sorrow right away. You felt like thanking him would be a little dramatic after he had barely settled on your sofa, so you kept it to yourself. Either way, the small smile on your face felt like warm, soothing sunlight on your skin after eight consecutive days of rain.

“Do you want to talk about anything?” he asked. You thought for a moment.

“No, I think I’d rather just distract myself,” you said. Even though you were grateful for having him here, you feared if you spilled your guts to him you would only scare him away.

“Alright,” he said without judgement. “What film were you planning on watching?”

And so you started your movie. There was a respectful distance between you on the sofa. But his simple presence next to you was more than you could have asked for tonight. He was like a heater, providing safety and comfort in the coldest winter. Hearing someone else chuckle at the jokes in the movie along with you was magnificent. His laughter sounded like a rainbow. It seeped into your body and your soul straightened up and bloomed like a parched flower being watered after all this loneliness.

But even under all the light, your problems were still here, waiting to nag at you. You knew they would consume you when he returned to his own apartment later. They would laugh at you for trying to socialize but staying closed off as always. Just because someone saw you didn’t mean they understood you and who you are. And how was one supposed to make human connections if they treated their thoughts like strictly confidential information in front of everybody? No, you had to tell him.Impulsively, you pressed the stop-button on the remote. He shot you a questioning gaze.

“I- I think maybe I do want to talk about something,” you confessed.

“You can tell me anything. I promise it’ll be safe with me. Let out whatever bothers you,” he said. His lovely, warm eyes were inviting like a haven for you. So you just started to talk. All your frustrations and reasons for anxiety were exiting your lips, floating all around you in the room. Airing out your weary brain finally, after holding everything in for weeks, was uncaging and nothing had felt this good in so long. Although your sadness wasn’t something that could be fixed by doing a task, the more thoughts and worries you explained to him, the easier it became. It wasn’t long before you felt your tears well up once more.

“It’s okay,” he said with his hand on your shoulder. This time, you didn’t try so hard to blink them away. Where there were emotions, there were tears, and he was right. It was fine to let them out. Through sniffles you finished telling him your issues.

“Is this okay?” he asked, gently putting his arm around your shoulder to hold your shaking figure. You hummed and nodded in agreement. His warmth was like a blanket to shelter you from the anxiety, if even just for a short while.

“I don’t expect you to know a solution,” you said. “I need to wait for it to get better. It’ll get better, eventually.”

“You’re right. It will all resolve,” he said. “I’m sorry things are so difficult. But you’re not alone, okay?”

You nodded again.

“Time will heal, I promise,” he said. “And until then, you have to hold on and keep going. The world’s a little cruel sometimes, when it shuts out the ones who struggle and don’t do as well as others. But you’re as much of a part of it as any other human on the street. And you’re just as important as them. You weren’t born to be successful or to achieve things. You’re here to live and be happy. So promise me to take care of yourself, and be gentle to yourself. Because you’re the only person that will be with yourself every second until the end. Please don’t be hard on yourself and have patience for good things to come around. And if it all feels like it’s too much for you, don’t feel guilty about reaching out for help. You can always ring my doorbell if you need something.”

“Thank you so much,” you cried. Your cheek rested on his shoulder and you sat in silence for a while. It was unbelievable which wonders such a small conversation between two people could do. Your heart felt lighter and the thoughts were no longer racing through your head. Peace was settling in, and you welcomed it more than ever.

“Now that I’ve told you about me, what kind of person are you?” you asked through tears. He chuckled a little. All you knew until now was that he had a heart of gold. Which, to be fair, meant your impression of him was off to a pretty good start already. Your thoughts were cautious as you wondered…Maybe he could be my friend.

You abandoned the movie. Instead, you spent all evening chatting about whatever came to your mind. You discussed childhood dreams, favorite dishes, your best playlists down to the cutes dog breeds you had ever seen. It felt great, getting to know somebody. And your suspicions came true. His big heart wasn’t the only thing admirable about him. He was funny and knew just what to say when you felt awkward or shy. When you slipped into bed that night, you did so with a smile on your face. You had always told yourself that you weren’t alone. But sometimes, the most optimistic person needed a small reminder coming from somebody else. Here was yours.

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alaskasmonsters · 3 years

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(Un)deserving | Nishinoya Yuu

requested by @kyonsh: Hii! I was wondering if you could write a Nishinoya angst with a fluff ending, in which they are childhood friends but Nishinoya feels he isnt enough for her. The plot can change if you feel like it! Thank u so much just for paying attention to my request!

pairing: nishinoya yuu x fem!reader

w.c: 3.343

warnings: angst (with happy ending), noya being hella insecure

a.n: i wonder if i’ll ever manage to finish requests quickly...thank you for being so patient with me <3 i’m finally finished and i really hope it’s what you imagined and i hope you like it! :3 (it’s like 2 am lol (what is sleep).)

If Nishinoya Yuu had to describe you in 10 words or less he’d say: “The most important person in my life.” And he’d say it with his whole chest.

Since early childhood you’ve been by Nishinoya’s side, as his best friend, and he couldn’t imagine you anywhere else other than beside him. You were his partner in crime, his ride and die, his...too precious to lose.

The two of you had met in kindergarten, at the playground. Little Nishinoya had made it his mission to become your best friend after he saw you punch another kid in the face for making fun of a girl who kept bringing her pacifier, seated in between her lips. The kid had called the girl a baby and mocked her making fake crying noises, fists wiping at his eyes as he pouted and frowned. He hadn’t stopped, not even after the girl had started sobbing, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. Nishinoya had gotten ready to be her knight in shining armor, standing to his feet tall with his chest puffed out, when you had already swept in. You hadn’t wasted any time and lunged at the boy, sucker punching him in the face.

Little Nishinoya had watched with wide eyes and a gaping mouth, the sight of a petite girl knocking down a boy older and taller than her had been absolutely world changing to him. In the matter of seconds, you had gone from “girl he goes to kindergarten with” to “most amazing person in the whole town” in his eyes.

You were cool! Not taking any shit from other kids, but you were kind and protective over your friends.

Ensuring your alliance had been of utmost importance to him, the top priority on his list of priorities. He hadn’t realized it back then, still too young and green behind his ears to understand the feelings already blooming in his chest, but he’d been smitten with you since then.

And when you’d agreed to be friends with him, because he was fun and you wanted to play pirates with him, little Nishinoya had lit up like a christmas tree. Since that day he’d stood a little bit taller than before.

That was the first of many times he’s received some kind of approval from you. You liked to give compliments, especially to him (and that wasn’t making him feel all warm and fuzzy inside! No!) But the feeling he’d get when you did, the warmth he’d feel enveloping his whole body and the feeling of growing a little taller with every nice word you fed him, nourishing to him like water to a plant, never dulled.

With you next to him he had felt like the tallest boy on the playground.

You’d been best friends ever since and still Nishinoya couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d won the lottery of life, whenever you’d show up to one of his volleyball games wearing his, his, sweater or every time you’d laugh at one of his joke and you’d laugh at all of them! Even the bad ones.

He felt so lucky that you’d chosen him back then and never gone back on it. Why you’d chosen him he had no idea, but he wouldn’t dare to question it...

If Nishinoya Yuu had to choose one reason why he’d fallen in love with you, he’d remain quiet.

It would have been a betrayal to his feelings for you if he’d spoken up since everything you did and everything you were, all your little tics and habits and quirks, everything that made you so blatantly you, was why he’d fallen so deeply he’d never be able to recover from it. There wasn’t a singular reason, it was all of them.

He’d fallen in love with your different smiles. The way your lips quirked up when you were watching their team train, the soft curve of your lips when the two of you were being silly with each other, the wide stretch of your mouth when you were so happy you could run and dance and scream. He knew what all of them meant and he thought of every single one of them as beautiful.

He loved your silliness. He loved your excitement. He loved your annoyance. He loved your frustration.

The face you made when Nishinoya let his indifference towards his grades show, all scrunched up and displeased, he loved that one, too. And then you’d scold him because if he was performing badly in school he wouldn’t get to participate in the training camps!

He loved that a single nudge to your side could turn you into a giggling mess.

He just loved you...

If Nishinoya Yuu had to name his biggest fear, something he was feared more than anything else, he’d say: “Losing Y/n.”

It was the same answer as to the question of why he hadn’t confessed his feelings to you, yet, told you how he felt, asked you to be his girlfriend.

Because he hadn’t.

What was he so afraid of? Nishinoya, the boy who’d chosen not to be afraid of anything because fear was a waste. Fear stopped people from learning and growing, gathering new experiences and gaining more knowledge. It’s a lesson his gramps had taught him.

So why did he let fear stop him this time?

Well, it was pretty simple.

You were you and Nishinoya was...Nishinoya.

You were well liked by everyone, since you were smart and pretty and honest and kind. You could probably get every boy you wanted in Karasuno High, there was no reason for you to choose him

He was too loud and too passionate, he knew that, and not exactly popular with girls either, partly because of that. Girls didn’t like him because of his height, being 5’3” wasn’t exactly what most girls imagined the ideal height for their boyfriend. They’d rather go for someone like Tsukkishima or Asahi, although those two were awfully awkward with receiving the affections.

You didn’t seem to mind his loud personality or his small built. After all, you were his best friend. Though, Nishinoya couldn't possibly imagine you found it endearing (in a romantic way) or dare he think even attractive.

You were cute, adorable actually, and he wasn’t on your level.

You were pretty, so beautiful and he wasn’t on your level.

You were the most amazing girl he’d ever had the honor to meet….and he wasn’t on your level.

He didn’t deserve you. Not in the way he wanted to deserve you.

He wanted to be good enough to be by your side, not just as your best friend but as something more. He wanted to hold your hand while walking home, kiss your cheek, call you his girlfriend.

He knew he stood no chance, Nishinoya was fairly optimistic and too ambitious for his own good, but he knew when it was time to back down. You would never see him as more than just your best friend and even if you did, you deserved better than him.

Realizing this hurt, a lot, the thought to never be with you...it ripped him apart. Thinking of you smiling or laughing at anybody elses jokes, wearing somebody else's sweater...it made anger swirl through him, hot and unsettling and ugly.

So he put a plan into work, a bad one admittedly, but it was better than no plan at all. He’d try to keep his distance, just for a little while, until those feelings he harbored for you eventually faded into nothingness. He hoped it would hurt less then, him and you, since he wouldn’t be pining after you anymore and you weren’t in danger of him possibly spilling his feelings to you and putting you into a situation where you were forced to reject him.

You wouldn’t like that, you were too kind, knowingly hurting him would end up hurting you just as bad. He wanted to prevent that.

Keeping his distance made sense. It would spare the both of you a lot of pain.

He’d been wrong about that, very wrong...

If Nishinoya Yuu regretted one decision he made in his life more than any other it would have been this one.

The look on your face was heartbreaking, as you stood before him, in front of his door. He couldn’t be all too happy to have you here after weeks of barely talking to each other. Your eyes were red and puffy and your lips were trembling, but you stood before him with your back straightened and your chest puffed out, just like you always did when you were afraid.

Nishinoya’s heart sunk in his chest when he noticed.

“Noya?” your voice was soft, almost swallowed by the wind.

He hated hearing you sound so scared, hated the crack in your voice. He couldn’t stand it.

“Why are you avoiding me? Is it something I did?”

So you noticed. Of course you noticed. You weren’t an idiot, no he was the idiot. For not being able to push those nasty feelings aside that were slowly eating away at him.

He averted his glance, shifting until he’d found a crack in the mural he could focus on, anything was better than having to look at your sad face.

He couldn’t stand it.

“I’m not avoiding you...”

He knew you wouldn’t buy it, not when he sounded this dishonest and looked all uncomfortable and clenched up. You were smarter than that.

You frowned at him, angered by his denial of what he’s so clearly done. Which was ignoring you, for weeks that was. And he hadn’t been very subtle either. No, Yuu had kept making up excuses, telling you he couldn’t hang out with you because he was busy with homework (not a very believable excuse), or he had to visit his gramps (usually you’d go with him?) or he had to help his mom with groceries or...there were too many too count. And all of them had been bad.

During school, he had talked to you less. He’d find excuses not to eat lunch with you as often or convince you it wasn’t necessary to watch the boy’s volleyball training all that often. Usually you’d stayed almost everyday after school, heck, you were an honorable manager at this point, before Yuu had started acting weirdly around you that was.

At first, you’d tried to push feelings of concern and worry away, thinking maybe Yuu was just having a weird day...or week maybe. But your best friend hadn’t stopped acting strange and he hadn’t stopped reducing the time you saw and spoke to each other to a bare minimum.

And now you were standing in front of his door and he was acting like nothing was wrong at all?

You wouldn’t just keep on ignoring this.

You pushed past him and inside the house, quickly throwing your shoes off and stomping to the kitchen, letting your bag drop to the ground near the counter. You turned around to see Yuu had followed you, looking at anything but you. Such a coward.

“Talk to me!” you urged him, your voice still hoarse from all the tears you’d shed because of him.

The boy let out a heavy sigh, scratching at his neck as he tried to find another excuse to tell you. You just knew it, you could see it in how his eyes still refused to meet yours.

“It’s nothing, Y/n. Look, I promise.”

New tears pricked at the inside of your eyes, daring to spill over because damn this was so frustrating.

“Yes, it is something! Tell me!”

“No, really it’s-”

“Tell me.”

“I swear it’s-”

“Tell me.”

“Y/n!”

“Nishinoya!”

The boy froze up, his eyes darting up to stare at you in shock. You held his glance, happy you had at least made him look at you properly, although the weight of his glance felt heavy as his eyes began to look glassy.

You had never called him by his last name before.

Nishinoya bit his lips, clearly distressed now that he realized how hurt you really were by his unjustified avoidance of you, that despite your silent submission to his distance you hadn’t been okay with it, in the slightest.

He reached out to you, the urge to be close to you and cheer you up again was huge, but you turned, denying his touch. He let his arm drop unceremoniously to his side again.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled because he was.

This had been a stupid plan. He should have never gone with avoiding you in the first place, not when he should have known it would probably lead to this…He thought he could prevent both of you from getting hurt, but his approach had achieved the complete opposite.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Yuu,” you started again, rubbing your cheeks to remove the wetness the tears had left behind.

He hated seeing you cry,

“I can’t.”

“Why not? We don’t usually keep secrets from each other.”

“I just can’t.”

Your shoulders dropped a little and you looked away, instead staring out of the window.

“Oh,” you sounded discouraged now, tired even.

Nishinoya was afraid of losing you, he’d rather hack off his arms and say goodbye to his healthy limbs than say goodbye to you. That’s why he would never tell you about his feelings, because if he did he’d end up losing you. Not immediately, but in the end he would. You didn’t return his feelings and although you’d surely be okay with staying friends it would soon become awkward between the two of you. You would hang out less, talk less until you were just strangers who were once best friends.

The thought was depressing but necessary to motivate Nishinoya to keep quiet.

“No, screw that!!

Your angry voice ripped him out of the spiral of dred he’d found himself in. He blinked, shaking himself out of his thoughts, eyes falling to your face automatically.

It was all scrunched up, your eyes twinkling with determination. It was the same face you had made just before you had punched that boy on the playground back there and for a second he was sure you’d do it again. Punch him for being so stupid and hurting you. He would have deserved that.

You didn’t.

“Even if you can’t tell me you still should! You’re my best friend, we always tell each other everything and i don’t want that to change!”

Your hands were clenched to fists as you stared him down, daring, no challenging him to respond. But Nishinoya found himself unable to.

Your words left him feeling cold, the dooming realization that whatever he’d do, refuse to talk or admit his feelings for you, the dynamic between the two of you would forever change, washed over him like icy water

You wouldn’t just take his silence. If he didn’t talk, didn’t tell you the reason, the real reason why he avoided you, you wouldn't forgive that. Not purposely, but a part of the trust you shared would forever be gone. On the other hand if Nishinoya spilled the beans and told you that he was in love with you for quite some while and had avoided you to try and make those feelings go away before they could ruin your friendship...he couldn’t even imagine how you’d react.

You wouldn't be happy. Would you be scared, sad, empathetic? He didn’t know which would be worse.

“Yuu, please!”

He didn’t have a choice. He had to tell you. That was the only possibility he had that might lead to a better outcome to the first one. He just had to be straightforward with you, you'd appreciate that.

“I love you.”

A little too straightforward.

You stared at him in silence, face blank. Before he could regret his words and paddle back Nsihinoya straightened his back and puffed out his chest, hoping he’d gain just as much bravery doing that than you always did.

“I love you and I have for a while,” he continued, standing a little bit taller than before, “I didn’t tell you because i didn’t want to pressure you or make you feel guilty for not feeling the same, so i avoided you. I thought maybe it would get rid of the feelings, but I still think you’re the most beautiful and smartest and kindest and funniest girl I've ever met and that probably won’t change either.”

You were still only staring at him so Nishinoya decided he’d just go on.

“Every time I'm with you I feel like I'm the tallest person on the planet. You make me feel strong and brave and like the best version of myself. I know i’m not your type and i know i don’t deserve being with you, that’s why i tried the avoidance thing, to make it less awkward but now-”

Nishinoya hadn’t caught you moving until suddenly you were standing right in front of him. The words died on his tongue as he was met with the look in your eyes, unshakable and sparkling with a confidence he’d never seen with you. It had rendered him speechless.

There was no hesitation in your movements as you reached up to twist your fingers into his shirt and pulled, no... yanked him down until his lips were tightly pressed against yours. His heart skipped a beat, no several beats, as he was frozen in his shock. Hot and cold shivers ran down his spine in time your lips started moving against his. Softly. Uncertain.

Then you pulled back again, just as his brain started catching up to what was happening. Your cheeks were flushed and when Nihsinoya tried to meet your eyes you lowered your head to stare at his chest instead.

“You’re such an idiot, Yuu. Saying stupid things like that,”you murmered and he saw the tips of your ears turn red.

“You kissed me,” he had blurted it out before he was able to stop himself.

You huffed, your fingers tightening their grip around his shirt and Nishinoya realized in amusement that you were embarrassed at your own straightforwardness.

“You kissed me!” he repeated, the confidence slowly returning to him at the premise that you must return his feeling to do something as bold as kissing him….on the lips!

“Shut up, I know,” you whined, hitting your forehead to his chest.

It was like a weight was lifted off his shoulder, like the invisible thread that had been separating you before, one only Nishinoya had been able to see had been severed. You had kissed him after he told you he loved you.

You returned his feelings!

Nishinoya hugged you, eyes wrapping around your form with ease and his head resting on top of yours, your face still hidden in his chest.

“I love you,” he repeated softly, testing the words once more and felt you visibly relaxing in his arms when his voice reached your ears.

“I love you, too,” you replied quietly, words muffled against the fabric of his shirt but still it was enough for him to hear.

He pulled back, just enough so you couldn’t hide your face away anymore and he grinned at you, a grin you’d return with just as much intensity. You really were the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

“I can’t believe you kissed me just like that,” he teased you, remembering how bold of you that was.

You playfully hit him in the chest, whining once more, but Nishinoya just laughed gleefully at the blush gracing your cheeks, before he leaned closer again. Close enough so both of your noses almost touched. Your eyes went wide and he could swear you stopped breathing, too, for a second. Nishinoya watched your reaction in amusement.

“Do it again!” he whispered, the challenge made your face light up again.

And you didn’t let him tell you twice.

If there was one moment Nishinoya Yuu would never want to stop it was definitely this one.

Taglist: @crystal-lilac

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #hq #hq oneshots #hq x reader #hq fluff #nishinoya yuu x reader #nishinoya oneshot #nishinoya x reader #nishinoya yuu oneshot #nishinoya fluff #nishinoya yuu fluff #nishinoya yuu #nishinoya yuu angst #haikyuu angst

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pepperpills · 3 years

Text

The Harvest - RE8 fanfic

The Harvest

A Resident Evil 8 fan fiction by Joana

Karl Heisenberg x Female Reader

Notes: hi guys, I'm changing a little my posting method. at first, I was afraid the chapters were too big and decided to divide them in parts and post a new part everyday (as long as there was a part to post), but it kind of affects the reading, so I will be uploading a new complete chapter every tuesday, hope it is better for you!

Warning: NSFW content

Part I - Destiny (1) Part I - Destiny (2)

Part II – The Lord

The day after The Harvest, when you were designated to work for Lord Heisenberg, was a long one. Not really exhausting as you spent most part of it turning from one leg to the other waiting for someone to activate the bridge to the factory.

You were deadened by a miscellaneous of emotions battling to gain domain over your brain. You couldn’t stop thinking about waving your mother goodbye as the sun conquered the sky, shortly before being surrendered by the stormy clouds.

After the speech at the Chapel, you wanted to wander around a little bit, maybe hunt, thinking that it probably was your last walk on those landscapes, yet, you didn’t want to get late on your first day, so your feet lead the way past Heisenberg’s gate, close to the church. It wasn’t even lunch time when you reached the end of the road, facing the factory chimneys and the hell lot of metal discarded in its front yard.

You had completely no idea how to call someone or if you should, as far as you knew, the lord lived there alone and you didn’t think it would be a great first impression if you simply started yelling his name, so he could do that bridge thing.

Thus, you waited. Placing your bag on the ground, you stood there for what seemed to be two entire hours. Then you got tired and sat, your corselet holding your oxygen levels. After a while even being sat was annoying, your legs tingled and your stomach hurt, once you completely forgot to bring any food with you.

That would be a great time for the Duke to make an entrance. As one of his most loyal clients – maybe you sneak once in a while, claiming possessions of one or two crystals –, sometimes you two shared a meal and Gods, he was a good cook. But it wasn’t his week at the Village and that wasn’t his store’s place anyway.

When the day light began to fade and the clouds grew heavier, you started worrying about getting wet. To divert your mind from that thought, you left all your belongings at the end of the road, not too close to the border, so hopefully they wouldn’t fall in the water below, and explored the ruins, studying the bricks that build those structures, absolutely bored, not even anxious anymore. At that point you could think about a thing or two to say to that idiot Heisenberg.

What would happen if he didn’t open the gate? Could you just walk away and live your life? Well, that didn’t sound like a bad plan, if just you could reach the forest first… The first water drop popped in your hair, the rain it announced didn’t take long to join it and a few moments later you were soaking wet, cold to the bone, contracting every muscle.

Suddenly, as you were about to curse Heisenberg’s name, a gear sound rose, it sounded old, but well-oiled and was really loud, louder than the rain and thunders and made you and the crows jump, they flew, you stayed as there was nowhere to go. Approaching your dank belongings, you saw a firm, modular, sand-coloured bridge forming in front of your eyes. Its movement was smooth comparing to something that big. You were genuinely impressed and would like to ask a few questions about how that works.

This surreal vision absorbed you for a few minutes after it was done, you didn’t feel the rain chastening your skin anymore. To be honest, at that point you realized where you were at and what you had to do, after an entire day in standby.

Your own brain didn’t really wake you up from that hypnosis. Oh, no. What made your heart rate rise again was a sudden, strong and frisky voice coming out of nowhere. You looked around, moving your head way too quick, making a spray of water with your hair and saw no one, but his words were most certainly there, echoing in your mind, making your entire body feel warm.

“C’mon, honey pie, we ain’t got all day.” He said, demanding, and then laughed.

Great, a madman, you thought. You weren’t sure, though, if you blushed intensely due to what he just called you or because every cell of your body felt enraged with that joke, it was you who had been waiting for him, you who would be forever wet, because he left you in the rain. You wanted to walk to that factory and tell it straight to that son of a…

Shortly, you understood. It was a test. You took a deep breath, grabbed your stuff, which made a humid sound, and walked resiliently to the factory’s gate. He wanted to see if you were a spitfire and you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“She walks.” He giggled, the voice of the wind, and then opened the gate.

Was he doing it with his mind? You knew that Lady Beneviento had some sort of effect on people’s brains, hallucinations they said, Lord Moreau could turn into a giant fish, Lady Dimitrescu had impressive long and strong nails that could tear anyone apart. What could Lord Heisenberg do, really? The villagers talked about he being one of the strongest lords, if not the strongest of them all. He had some power over metal, but you didn’t know exactly how it worked.

Anyway, you stepped in his front yard, facing the absurd, yet fascinating sea made of his discarded toys. For Gods’ sake, you even saw a war tank half buried in the dusty soil, you couldn’t even imagine how he had that and why he would so easily neglect it. There were ripped off motorcycles, destroyed cars, metal pieces with a huge variation of sizes and shapes and a ton of mechanical parts just lying there as a good old scrap heap.

Home, you thought sarcastically and smiled. So, when the last factory doors finally spread open to you, you faced the interior with a smile on your face even though you were miserable due to the storm. Carefully, you came inside just to be greeted by a puff of heat and sweet smoke, really welcoming at your state. The warmth certainly came from all the machinery working there somewhere, making a metal orchestra that never shut off. The smoke, well, it was coming from Heisenberg’s lite cigar.

He came from above, as a god like being, building stairs with metal parts right in the mid-air and climbed them down. You had never seem such thing and it was breath-taking; you were hypnotised for a moment there, silently dripping on the grimy ground, actually cleaning it a little.

He had some sort of waddle on his walk, nothing tawdry, though. Karl Heisenberg looked like an authoritative, impulsive and humorous man and he was, above all, having fun with you being there as if you were his new pup and you sure were.

“Oh, look who finally made it!” He greeted, on the ground, standing three steps away from you, the smoke so dense it made your eyes water, yet reassuringly hot with a tobacco scent.

Heisenberg took off his spectacles, just then you realized he was wearing them inside the factory. Besides that, he was dressed exactly the same as the day before, it didn’t seem he’d showered or so. Nonetheless, now you could see his eyes, his multi-coloured greyish blue abysms staring straight at you for sure this time.

All you felt able to do was stare back, almost not blinking, taken by those soft colours on a rough man like him. You thought you would be scared, although, you were honestly intrigued. You noticed another scar crossing his cheeks and nose and wondered how it ended up there, feeling all of a sudden tempted to reach it with your index finger, gently sensing the cicatrized skin.

“Good evening, sir.” You found yourself saying to be polite, breaking the motionless aura that sunk you in contemplation.

It was bizarre, but you weren’t cold anymore nor angry, you had the grip over your own posture again, your corselet helping you to keep your back straight. You were confident.

“Good evening, Y/N.” This you weren’t expecting, almost broke you. Why would he bother to memorise your name?

You remembered what Miranda said about being solicited by one of the lords, that made you shiver, exactly like the one you had before, only this time you could also smell the iron all over, not only taste it. The scent in the closed atmosphere of the factory had a light, almost undistinguished, aroma of the night, the fresh breeze and dry grass, maybe brought by you, however, most of it was rusted metal, motor oil and tobacco. It wasn’t unpleasant, just uncommon to what you were used to.

“Guess you found less transparent clothes.” He said next, circling you, studying you and your reactions.

You noticed he also smelled like the factory as if he was part of it, or it was, indeed, himself. You closed your eyes and the iron taste emphasized, it felt like you were licking a ring, you head spined.

“It is tradition to wear them at The Harvest.” You defended yourself – and your pure intentions.

You don’t know why, but you felt your cheeks burning, actually, parts of your body that would usually pass unnoticed had lite with the tension in the air and you just hoped you could be alone, devouring some food to calm your nerves.

“Horseshit!” Heisenberg raised his voice, coming through his pressed teeth. “They just make you wear those slutty clothes so my sisterAlcina can see all of her new pups’ assets.” Heisenberg mocked, laughing madly.

“Oh.” You couldn’t think of anything better to say, you never thought of that.

At that point, you were thinking about yourself, your dress and how you felt pretty wearing it. Did it count on the selection? You felt slightly ashamed, Heisenberg’s breathing was too close to your left ear, but you wouldn’t dare to move or your noses could collide.

“Surprised?” He questioned, maliciously. You didn’t answer immediately, you were too aware of how your boobs were trying to escape the corselet’s dictatorship. “I asked you…” He bellowed “are you surprised?” he finished in a lower tone.

“Y-yes.” You finally said. “Never thought of it.” You looked at the ground, discovering a puddle where you were standing.

“You sound like an outsider.” He ruminated, more to himself than to you.

“I kind of am.” You confessed, thinking about the cabins. “I am from the cabin people.”

“Hm… Interesting.” He glanced at you, head to toe, you couldn’t help feeling heated as you never felt before. “Sorry about the rain.” Heisenberg shrugged. “I am a busy man.” He justified, mischievously, remembering you of the anger you felt back at the bridge.

The lord left you alone for a second, walking past through a curtain. You followed him into a small improvised office area with photos all over a wall, it pictured the Village, the lords’ lots and Mother Miranda, a big poster of her right in the middle. It had a knife scratch on it. Maybe Heisenberg wasn’t a family’s man after all.

You were regaining your confidence as he was distracted with the pictures – or you thought he was, unable to really see what he was picturing –, you were seeking for a good ambiguous thing to say about waiting so long for that sort of reception, however, he was quicker and made you gasp, almost choke.

“Take ‘em off.” It was an order said firmly. The way he looked at you, as if he was some kind of authority, gave you the chills.

“Them?” You innocently asked, placing a hand on your belly, trying to breathe.

“Your wet clothes.” He explained, pointing to your entire body.

“All my clothes are wet.” You insisted, flushing heavily.

He took his very own overcoat off and handed it to you. You hesitantly accepted it, not knowing exactly what to do with his eyes on you.

“For fuck’s sake.” He turned away, chuckling.

You waited half a second to be sure he wasn’t secretly looking, you didn’t know if there were cameras in the room, so you started undressing. It wasn’t a very easy dress to take off, you couldn’t reach the laces on your back, because of that, you had to ask for his help.

“Can’t even take off your own clothes, kitten.” Heisenberg mocked, as his adept hands slowly, playfully, untied the laces.

His touch was warm, he slipped his hand and you felt his calloused fingers on your skin, your body hair immediately responded husking and an electrical current flowed through you, lightening your eyes, reverberating to your core. He also felt that and some other things that made him put away his hips, but once you were facing the entrance, you couldn’t see his reaction and only heard a small movement of boots.

Lastly your dress fell to your feet and you covered yourself with his bulky overcoat, feeling better as you inhaled his aroma so intensely you almost fainted with those mechanic flavours petting your skin and his body warmth heating you.

“Now, enough chit-chat. Your duties.” He broke the silence as you finished tying the fabric belt around your waist.

“Yes, sir.” This time it was him who took a deep breath, seeming a little bothered somehow like he could use some time alone.

He had been a lonely man. You didn’t hear other people, well, living people, in the factory the next days and realised it was only you and him. It must have felt weird having someone around after years of living like an eremite. Even with all the jokes and that cheap charms, the view of him tilted to the investigative board gave you the impression that it was a bit too much having you there all at once and decided to put your rain resentments aside ang give him a chance and some space.

“I need some cleaning. I am expanding some experiments and I need to use a new wing for it, but it’s really messy.” You couldn’t see his face, but you were sure he had a grin adorning his scarred lips.

“I will do it.” You said, a little disappointed that this was your choir and surprised you were expecting something more… Dangerous? Exciting maybe?

“Of course you will.” He was leaned on the office desk, not even looking at you anymore, suddenly sold out. “One more thing.”

“Yes? What is it, sir?” Heisenberg shook his head making his grizzly hair dance as if getting rid of a thought. It wasn’t clear if he was still having fun or being disturbed by something.

“There is only one bed in this factory.” You turned stone cold with that announcement, abruptly conscious of all the blood running through your veins.

A secluded part of your mind, a usually quiet one, whispered a thought: It would be good to see where his blood is running to.

“Unless you want to sleep in a stretcher.” He added, laughing vigorously, giving you the chills again.

“Oh no, I will take the bed.” The answer came easily as if it was always there.

You took your wet clothes and belongings after he told you how to access the bedroom and you left him alone to it, whatever it was.

#resident evil #re8 #karl heisenberg #re village #karl heisenberg x reader #resident evil 8 village #heisenberg #heisendaddy #heisenberg resident evil #resident evil viii #resident evil 8 fanfic #original post #resident evil village #re8 karl heisenberg #resident evil heisenberg #fanfic #re fanfic #the harvest

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willadisastercry · 3 years

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Keith relapsing and not being able to stop once he starts...

tw: in depth depiction of acting on self harm ideations/urges, scars, relapsing, becoming ill from blood loss, someone discovering a person after they relapse, rationalizing their self harm because the alternative is suicide, contradicting oneself and later very much deciding they would rather be unalived, panic attack symptoms, reopening a wound, allusion to surgery (stitches)

Keith’s coping skills are admittedly not his strong suit, neither are his self destructive tendencies that either have him isolating himself from the team or sacrificing himself for them. Believe it or not though, those weren’t even the worst of his bad habits. He hadn’t seriously been addicted in years, just here and then relapses. But he’d been looking at his scars a lot lately and wanting to make more, cut deeper. He hadn’t hurt himself while they’d been in space but was having more and more moments that he wanted to. And then when he finally concedes he sort of loses himself in it, not realizing what he’s doing and how far he’s pushing it until he’s on the verge of passing out.

(((( Please, please, please read the trigger warnings and proceed with caution before reading this. I vividly describe Keith’s internal struggle as he relapses from third person pov where he then passes out and is found by someone... if anything even remotely regarding self harming or someone discovering a person who has is sensitive to you I HIGHLY RECOMMEND YOU DONT READ )))) Also it’s just very emotionally heavy so that is something to consider too!!!!!!

Part 1 / Part 2

He isn’t sure what it was that made him want to again.

The stark change in environment definitely didn’t help. Neither did the pressure of being the universe’s only hope. But he mainly attributed it to the lingering depression that he figured he was now just supposed to ignore.

Maybe it was none of it.

Or maybe it was all of it.

He just knew that the decision didn’t come after a particularly rough day or week. It didn’t come with tears or a surplus of emotions. It came when he thought he couldn’t possibly feel number.

The weight of his entire body on top of his legs as he walked to the showers didn’t convince him he was standing. The heat of the steaming water burned for only a moment and when it ran cold it didn’t shock him for much longer.

His vision tunneled as his gaze bore into the tiles in front of him, a soft static clouding it and making the bright lights of the communal bathroom appear to dim.

This happened occasionally, that he didn’t feel much of anything. Definitely not happy, but also not sad or frustrated or angry. Painfully neutral. Agonizingly numb. Like he was trudging through a thick fog and everything was too dull to feel strongly about so he was desperate to simply feel anything.

That’s why when he wrapped the towel around his waist and the rough fabric brushed against his thighs, he shuddered at being reminded of what was beneath, the sensitivity tempting him like an itch he needed to scratch.

He knew he shouldn’t do it here, that it was too risky. But his heart clenched and sunk at the thought of how empty he felt, devoid of all feeling except the urge to do something that might take away the awful nothing.

He wasn’t sure he’d be able to help himself this time as he moved robotically across the washroom, his eyes still unfocused as he dug the razor he shaves with out of his toiletry bag. He had it disassembled in seconds and stood over the counter, mesmerized at how the blades glinted in his hand.

“Shit...” he breathed as he set them down.

He went to the pile of clothes he brought to change into and shrugged on his boxers, dropping the towel on the bench with the rest of his stuff before shrugging on his sweatshirt.

He stared at the old marks on his legs as he stepped through his gym shorts. They were mostly thin and pink, some white, some raised and a darker red. Most of them parallel to each other and only a few straying from the otherwise neat arrangement.

His heart lapped expectantly his chest. The desire felt more like a compulsion now, like nothing else would possibly help the way picking up the razor would. He knew it was his disordered mind making him think so irrationally, but in that moment he couldn’t see a reason to believe otherwise.

He walked back to the sinks and pulled several paper towels from the dispenser before picking the razor back up.

“Shit...” he whispered again.

It wasn’t that he was actively trying to stay clean but for one reason or another he had managed to be for a while. And then, however fleetingly, something in him recognized that he was breaking. That he was betraying a sort of progress he hadn’t intended to make by turning back to his worst habit, one that seemed more like an actual addiction when he really thought about it.

But it was better than the alternative. This was always better than the alternative.

(willa here-NO ITS NOT!)

His hands start moving in a way he knew all too well, tucking the leg of his shorts up and bringing the razor down with a steady hand.

He started in a sort of empty spot on his left thigh, a familiar ripple of nerve endings sparking in odd places, down his leg to his toes and up his back to his shoulder blade as he dared the blade deeper with each line.

With his other hand he caught the blood as it dripped with paper towels, occasionally pressing them against the wounds and noting how the harsh lights lit the bloody papers up when he held them a certain way.

It still shocked him how easy it was for him to do this, how desperate he was for more. More blood, more adrenaline, more lines on his skin.

He shuddered again, the hair on his legs perking up at how cold he was.

He stared down at the mess that was now his thigh, a pleasant hum running through his body as his breathing picked up now that his brain was making the connection that his body was hurting.

That was a start, but ne wanted to feel the rush. The dizzying malaise he usually got from going deeper but he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d be able to get all the way to the infirmary with the state of his thigh already and retrieve the right supplies to take care of himself after he did more damage to it.

So he steeled himself and pushed the waistband of his underwear down on his right hip, holding his sweatshirt up under his arm. The skin there was taught and smooth, he’d cut there before but nothing more than a few thin white lines remained. It had hurt more doing it on there, he had to press harder and it stung worse, whatever he managed also took longer to heel because it’d constantly open back up.

But he didn’t care anymore. He wanted to feel the pain even after it was over, wanted something there that he could aggravate to remind him he was still a person for when he felt like he wasn’t.

And so he pressed the razor down. The bloody towel from before falling to the ground as he took a new one to his hip. Red began coating his leg in thin trails, a small puddle of it gathering at his foot but he couldn’t find the energy to bother with the mess at that moment.

Because, fuck.

It hurt just like he knew it would and he breathed out a heavy breath. His legs were beginning to feel heavier, like he’d been floating and was coming back to the ground, slowly getting reacquainted with the weight of his body.

As soon as he started on his hip he sort of knew he’d fucked up because the high came so quickly, his mind traveling somewhere else, somewhere he didn’t see himself ever stopping.

The deepest gashes on his leg throbbed and bled freely as he fixated on the opening skin of his hip, the lines becoming rushed and sporadic as the only thing on his mind became producing as much of that feeling as possible.

He only stopped when he went so deep his eyes literally watered and had him clamping the towel over the wound before he saw the blood well from it because he knew if he did he’d have wanted to see more of that much pink.

“Fuck, fuck...” he managed through gasps.

His breathing was becoming ragged, his body light and his mind quiet. The high was intoxicating, the adrenaline rush more intense than the ones he got from battle. He struggled to analyze how that was even possible as it grew harder and harder to form a coherent thought through the haze.

He knew he should get cleaned up. That if he felt like doing more he could later, but he just really needed to not be openly bleeding with a razor in his hand the next time someone needed to pee. So he tried to blink through the blur and really look at the condition of his leg.

Blood dripped in several continuous streams that met around his ankle and pooled at his feet, the main bleeders deep enough to elicit a small spark of fear in his gut.

“Well that’s not good.”

He almost laughed but turned the sink on instead, splashing water onto his leg and watching the red dissipate until the majority of it had flowed through the drain in the floor.

Moving around made his head swim so he figured he should probably take care of the bleeding sitting down. He threw the dismantled razor back into his bag and scanned the sink area for blood before dazedly leaning against the wall to glance back down at his leg.

The sight of his thigh was almost as mesmerizing as the glinting metal of the blades. It stung and pulsed as blood both beaded and gushed from several cuts still, his side faring the same although the pressure from the waistband of his shorts holding a quickly dampening bunch of paper towels to the wounds was almost worse. Both pains made his heart lurch pleasantly somehow. He felt so mentally at ease despite his body sort freaking out over the blood he was still very much losing.

Keith couldn’t tell why he was shaking but decided the answer wasn’t good as he pressed more towels to his thigh, focusing on keeping as steady a pressure as he could muster so they’d clot and he could go back to his room.

But soon his head started to swim without him moving at all, the tiles shifting before his eyes in a nauseating swirl as he lowered himself to the ground more carefully than he cared to. The bunch of towels he’s holding limply in his hand were soaked through and he didn’t think he could get back up for more without passing out.

He breathed a heavy sigh and resolved that he would just put pressure on his leg until it stopped bleeding and he felt less dizzy.

It was eerily peaceful as he sat there while his body buzzed and his skin burned. It’s the most present he’d been with himself in weeks and it made him sad how this is what it took to feel like that.

To feel anything at all.

He registered briefly that he could cry if he considered it any longer, so he just pressed harder on his thigh and drew his elbow in closer to his hip.

Time felt weird after that.

There were moments he remembered feeling incredibly alert as his heart pounded and his head pulsed angrily. Others where the darkness boardering his vision encroached dangerously, at times succeeding where he’d jolt up after slumping forward like when he’d caught himself nodding off in class at the garrison.

Keith didn’t know he’d closed his eyes again until they were shooting open but this time at the whoosh of the door to the bathroom. He tried to get up but moving hurt and made him feel even more floaty and so he settled back down with a small whimper.

“Keith? Is that you?”

It was Lance.

Of all people, of course it was Lance.

He wasn’t sure wether to be relieved or not, because it could’ve been someone worse like Hunk or Pidge or... Shiro, but it was also Lance.

“We’ve been looking every—Keith...?”

The way his voice broke when he rounded the corner and took in what must have been a sight almost broke Keith as well, but he was riding a disorienting high after doing what he did and couldn’t find the energy to feel more than the faintest twinge of shame.

“Wait, woah, what the fuck dude... what-what did you do?”

Lance stood frozen for a moment. Eyes wide as his mind wrapped itself around what he was seeing. And then his demeanor shifted entirely as he strode toward Keith’s prone form.

He knelt in front of his sprawled legs and studied the saturated towels that lay over his thigh and the small pool of blood beneath him.

“I... I fucked up...”

Keith’s chest ploomed with anxiety as he said those words, the weight of them hanging on his tongue as his mind processed just how unfortunate it was that he’d been found like this. Lance’s brows wrinkled at that statement until he looked at his other thigh and saw scars, old scars.

“Oh... shit, dude.”

Keith’s lazy eyes met Lance’s worried ones for a moment, each boy waiting for the other to push one way or another. He was fairly certain he’d be more embarrassed if he didn’t feel so heavy.

It was Lance who finally caved and broke the silence and it’d be a lie to say Keith wasn’t relieved.

“Can I-can I help you?” his voice was as gentle as Keith recalled ever hearing it.

“I get it if you want nothing to do with me right now, I probably wouldn’t either, but you seem a bit out of it... so is that okay? I could get Shiro if you want—”

“No! Don’t get Shiro. There’s n-no reason to worry hi-him about this, m’fine.”

Keith mentally cursed himself for not being able to get out a full sentence without stuttering. But his entire body was trembling now, the pleasant buzz slipping farther and farther away as the overwhelming feeling that something was wrong made itself more apparent.

Which made sense.

The bleeding hadn’t let up much and he’d seen a good amount of blood disappear down the drain. This was probably worse than his hazey mind was letting him perceive it to be which was evident in the way his eyes had started to flutter shut again.

“-eith! This not really the time to take a nap,” Lance urged grimly, his bottom lip already raw from where he was worrying at it.

“Hm?”

“I was just saying how I think you need a refresher on the definition of ‘fine’ but if you really don’t want me to get Shiro, I won’t. I am going to get a first aid kit though, don’t uh-don’t go anywhere.”

“Ha, don’t think you need to worry about that,” Keith assured as he closed his eyes once more and let the warm buzz under his skin be the only thing at the forefront of his mind once he heard the door close after Lance.

It was only when the other boy was shaking his shoulder that he opened them again. He wasn’t sure why he kept falling asleep. He was certain he wasn’t like bleeding out or anything but his body felt so heavy and weak that keeping his eyes open was a chore.

It was probably a mix of things, he hadn’t slept much at all that week and had trained twice that day, barely eating before the group session in the morning and not having much after his individual spar either.

He’d also hurt himself worse than he’d like to acknowledge in that moment, so he kept his gaze focused anywhere other than down after the other boy roused him.

“Some of these are pretty bad,” Lance noted as he took away the towels on his leg and pressed thick squares of gauze against the deepest, pouring some clear solution on another sterile pad before bringing it down on the lesser wounds.

He was strangely calm for stumbling across something so jarring, somehow mustering the strength to not objectively freak out just yet and do what needed to be done first.

“Sorry, probably stings...” he offered when he saw Keith’s face twitch up.

He only hummed in response. He was really tired still and didn’t see the point in wasting his energy talking.

Lance peaked under the quickly saturating squares and frowned, sitting back on his heels with an exasperated sigh, using the middle of his arm to wipe the sweat on his forehead because his hands were too bloody.

“Keith...”

He decided that this was the demeanor he must have saved for when he had to be a protective older brother, his tone stern but soft, eyes large and serious.

“...some of these need stitches. I really do get you not wanting me to tell anyone but—“

“Glue,” Keith huffed, his mouth feeling like it was stuffed with gauze like the gashes on his leg.

“Heh?!”

“Ya, know? Like super glue...”

Lance gulped down the lump in his throat that was threatening to break his composure.

“Did I hear that right? You want me to-to glue them shut?”

If he didn’t look mortified Keith would’ve thought the bewildered scrunch to his face was sort of adorable.

“Course not... I would. M’just a little dizzy but I can do it, you don’t have to...” Keith assured as he moved to sit up more, wincing when the cuts on his hip pulled and gushed, his new position revealing the small puddle that had been gathering at his side.

“Keith, shit! Oh god, what the hell is that from—let me see,” Lance ordered as Keith’s hands moved to his sweatshirt, but they were stiff now and not working right.

Lance bypassed his useless hands that were still covered in dried blood and pulled his sweatshirt up enough to see smears of red trailing up his side and back from just below his boxers.

“Can I—uh, can I move this?” he asked worriedly, the edge to his voice softening.

The urge to tell Keith he shouldn’t hurt himself like this for whatever reason he did, because no reason he’d give would be good enough, passed as quickly as it arrived. It was replaced by a more pressing worry over what was beneath the alarmingly darker patch on what should be payne’s grey boxers shorts.

Keith breathed shakily and nodded, squirming when the other boy released the tension on the elastic to slide the blood soaked towels out, the wounds pulsing with vengeance as the pressure was lifted. Lance drew Keith’s eyes to his own once more.

“Gonna move this down a bit further where it’ll stay...”

“Kay,” Keith whispered, his glassy eyes fluttering shut as he leaned his head against the wall.

Lance fought to stifle his shock at the sight that was his hip as he uncovered the even worse mess and pressed gauze to it.

The wounds were... different. They were all different directions and of varying severities. Some were just scratches, but some showed so much pink Lance had to repeat to himself multiple times that it was just tissue and not bone.

He didn’t even know how to go about cleaning these wounds. They were so wide. The skin so tight that when cut it stretched apart so much more.

“Keith...”

Lance stated his name as more of a concession, his firm voice finally losing it’s assurance. He didn’t even have to finish for Keith to know what he meant.

“Can you bring the med kit closer?” he asked casually, his eyes lidded now.

Lance slid it within arms reach and Keith rummaged through it for a minute before pulling out a large bottle of more clear liquid.

“It’s wound wash, not harsh like straight up disinfectant but it needs some of that too... press down hard after I get everything cleaned out, okay?”

He waited a beat for Lance to nod, his face had paled considerably and Keith couldn’t blame him. This was so fucked. All of it. He had to work to push the guilt building in his stomach down over how he’d put this impossibly traumatic experience on him, no emotional preparation, just the shock of finding one of his best friend’s like this.

He almost relished in the seering pain that followed the cold liquid as he flushed the wounds on his side, humming in approval when Lance quickly covered the area and pushed down forcefully. Both boys took in heaving breaths, the tension in the air taught with anxiety and sadness and guilt.

“Hey...” Keith deadpanned, the levity in his voice almost scary until it shifted into something more admonishing for being so ridiculous. “I’m-shit, I’m so sorry you had to—“

“Don’t. Whatever you’re about to apologize for, don’t.”

Lance was serious again. His gaze fixed on the rapidly reddening gauze underneath his hands.

“No, I have to. It’s not fair of me... that you have to do this,” Keith managed before he had to take a second to let the blood rush dissipate, blinking rapidly as the rumbling in his eardrums died down.

Lance laughed breathily once he saw what had stopped his unnecessary apology.

“Hmm, I’ll compromise. You can save it for when you feel less like shit, but you have to shut up for now or I will go and get Shiro—ah, that’s what I thought.”

Keith grumbled lowly as he pressed his fingers on either side of his forehead, the headache that he thought was dulling back in full force.

“Okay, so I don’t know what you mean about super glue...” Lance said as he shuffled through the contents of the kit.

“Do alteans even have something like that?”

“Yep... blue glass, rubber stopper...”

“Gonna put a pin in why you just know that off the top of your head alongside all the other things we’ll be discussing later and—oh jeez, this stuff smells vile!”

“Breathe through your mouth then. Hand it to me I’m gonna hold it closed,” Keith ordered, his words slow and overly emphasized as he tried to make the way he would occasionally slur less noticeable.

His hands still trembled as they clamped the sides of one of the deepest gashes on his leg together, but it was only when he switched his grip to receive the stopper that his strength wavered. Blood seeped through his now weak hold on the wound and prevented the glue from adhering correctly.

“Oh, fuck...” Keith groaned as he wiped away the goo before it could get into the wound, not really getting there in time and hissing when it burned a new sort of fire into the sliced flesh.

“Just let me do it—“

“No, I got it.“

“Keith...”

“I can do it—“

“Keith.”

Lance pulled his shaking hands into his and searched his bleary eyes, willing his distant gaze to focus on him for just a second.

“Let me do it.”

Keith cursed himself silently for not being able to summon tears any other time than now, unsteady hands holding his own skin together as one of his best friends sealed it shut.

They were silent for a while, Lance working diligently as he kept an eye on the rapidly deteriorating boy. It wasn’t as bad as he imagined, his initial disdain probably for how nonchalantly Keith had suggested it, like he’d done it plenty of times and it was nothing.

Because it wasn’t nothing. And it broke Lance’s heart each time they moved to another uncloseable wound, their hands working together to keep it shut until the glue hardened.

They repeated this process dozens of times until his leg and his side glistened unevenly under the puckering glaze. By the end of it Keith could barely keep his eyes open, his body buzzing visibly now, breaths rushed and shallow.

“Looks like the bleeding has pretty much stopped... I’m gonna, uh, bandage it up now. Hang with me for like 5 more minutes and then we’ll figure out how to get you to your room...” Lance offered as he tapped Keith on his knee to get him to lift his leg.

It took him a minute to make sense of his words but he didn’t give resistance when the other boy propped his leg up against his own to get a stretchy wrap around the thick layer of gauze he’d placed on top. He’d applied a layer of medicated salve that would both numb the area slightly and make sure it didn’t get infected.

His hip would be a tad trickier.

“I think it would be easier if you laid down...” Lance suggested and placed his hand on his shoulder to guide him as he moved, his head coming to rest in folded arms, hip presented more accessibly than before.

He’d have probably been more embarrassed to be so exposed if it wasn’t Lance and his entire ass cheek practically being out was the least of his sources of shame and regret in that moment. Not regret for what happened, it would’ve regardless, regret for having been so stupid to get caught.

Keith’s consciousness wavered again, his mind falling into a void of bliss as his thoughts tapered out until the burning on his side brought him back with a slight start.

Lance apologized as he cleaned the area again, gently scrubbing at the dried blood around the wounds and on his stomach. He applied the same medicine and packed the gauze on top of the glue that binded them together precariously but taped the edges down instead, going around and overlapping the first set of strips to ensure it’d stay before pulling his shorts over it. Keith was trembling so heavily once he was done that Lance thought he could almost hear his teeth chattering.

“I’m gonna go pack up your stuff. I’ll be right back.”

Keith murmured something unintelligible into his arms in response and brought his legs up to his chest, the cold tile beneath him not helping his inability to stop shaking. The sting of the wounds on his body even as they stretched was duller now, only a difference in the normal heat of his skin reminded him they were there.

He felt like he was bone dry of all energy and wanted nothing more than to crawl under the covers on his bed and sleep for a thousand years. His mind wanted to spiral and process what had just happened but the fog that addled it prevailed and made concentrating too hard, too painful. He was surprised he hadn’t fully nodded off before Lance was shaking him again.

“I’ve got your stuff. Don’t be a tool about this and give me your hands,” he ordered as he held out his own, Keith’s towel thrown over his shoulder and his toiletries packed up in his shower bag with his dirty clothes.

Keith moved his feet under him and reached for Lance’s wrists who used the grip to pull him up slowly, watching as the deep set grimace on his face gave away just how bad he was feeling. The orientation made him a whole new type of woozy.

Lance watched as the color in Keith’s face drained but before he could react he was stumbling try to stay upright.

“Fuck,” he breathed unevenly as Lance’s hands were suddenly on his back and pulling him close as soon as his legs buckled.

“I’ll be okay in a minute... just—“

“Dizzy?”

The laugh that escaped Lance’s lips was dry.

Keith nodded into his shoulder, his grip on Lance’s arm tightening as he fought the vertigo making him want to lose what little was actually in his stomach.

“K-kay, we can go...”

Lance held Keith by the shoulders as he stepped away from him to come around on his other side, picking up his arm and slinging it around his shoulder.

They made their way slowly, Keith’s legs were weak and though he was terrified someone would approach them before they made it to his room, willing them to go any faster would have been dangerous.

So he pushed through, ignoring just how lightheaded he was until Lance was shifting his weight to reach the keypad, the door of his room whooshing open as his legs turned to jelly and wobbled dangerously, unable to bear being left to support his own weight.

“Shit, Keith...” Lance yelped as he struggled to get a hold on him before he went down.

Lance shushed Keith as he tried to apologize again for twisting his hands up in Lance’s t-shirt as they took an experimental step forward only to waver again. The firm arm around his middle was all that kept him standing this time.

“I’ve gotcha—no, it’s happening. Don’t bother fighting it.”

Without another moment of consideration Lance was tossing Keith’s things to the side then hoisting him up and over his shoulder on his better side with his hands carefully placed behind the crook of his knees, completely tuning out the weak protests as he gently deposited his now very flustered friend onto his bed.

“That was... unnecessary...”

“Don’t care. How do you feel?” Lance asked seriously, his features set like stone as he sat at the end of the bed and searched his friend’s face for any sign of further discomfort.

“What do you mean?” Keith’s voice was quiet, hesitant.

“You almost passed out again, do you need water?”

“Lance—“

“Food’s probably a good idea, it’ll get you’re energy back up since you missed dinner. I could go run and grab something—“

“Lance, stop!”

Keith’s entire body seemed to still for the first time in forever as he visibly tensed, his eyes wide with indigo and fear.

“Stop what...?”

“Acting like—“

“Like what? That I care if you’re okay?!”

Lance’s voice took on a bite of hurt that made Keith’s skin crawl.

“Because of course I do! I can’t just not care because you don’t want anyone to give a shit about what happens to you.”

“I’m sorry that you’re contractually obligated to give a shit...” Keith’s tone was flat and emotionless.

“...but you shouldn’t.”

“Why?! I care about you even if you don’t want me to, neither of us can help that but—fuck. You hurt yourself tonight, Keith! And I know it’s not the first time but you still did and that deserves to fucking matter to you too.”

Keith’s eyes were burning holes into his floor with how intently he stared anywhere other than Lance’s face.

“Look we don’t have to get into all of that right now, I just need to make sure you’re physically okay at least. So, please answer my question honestly. How do you feel?”

The room spun as he fought tears back once more, not breaking his eye contact with the ground when he answered.

“Shitty.”

“Okay, what brand of shitty are we dealing with? Still dizzy?”

Keith thought for a moment and nodded, his eyes now stuck in an unbreakable gaze as he stared. Dissociating was easier than being fully present for a conversation regarding how he felt, even if it was only about how he felt physically, he was still woefully uncomfortable.

“Okay, what else? Does your head hurt? Yeah? Do you think Coran’s advil stuff would help...? Kay, i’ll try and dig some up. Anything else extremely pressing before I go? On a scale of 1-10 how much do you think you might pass out before I get back, 1 being very unlikely and 10 most likely...”

Keith’s eyes lidded as he tried to blink back to reality, they met Lance’s for a second before he looked at his hands that he couldn’t really feel now with how much they tingled, pricks from phantom pins and needles the only thing that convinced him they were still there.

“Mmhn, dunno... I feel really weird.”

That seemed to snap Lance right back into emergency caregiving mode as he moved closer to Keith and examined his still palid face, eyeing the sheen of sweat coating with a wary frown.

“Lay down. No, on your side in case you yak—well, no not that you will, just in case.”

Lance had to ammend his statement when he saw the worry spread across Keith’s face, his hand dropping to smooth the tension out of the shoulder drawn nearly up to his ear for a second.

“You’re okay.”

The assurance seemed to be more for Lance than Keith in that moment but both boys seemed in desperate need of hearing it out loud.

“I’ll be back soon.”

And with that Lance was leaving him again, dimming the lights before he did to ease the strain on his eyes and the pressure behind them.

Even when he pressed his eyes closed he couldn’t escape the sensation that he was spinning, the room tilting as he rocked back and forth in attempt to calm himself down and replace the phantom feeling with actuality. The rocking was hard to maintain though with how tense his muscles were as they spasmed, his breathing becoming more labored as he struggled.

Keith soon found himself on the cusp of crying yet again as he tried to keep himself awake. It wasn’t that it was hard, but a familiar anxiety was taking root, one similar to how he’d have trouble falling asleep when he was restless at night. Except he wasn’t supposed to sleep now, he desperately wanted to though.

He wanted to sleep to forget but also knew that Lance would worry and wake him up again. But even though he wasn’t trying to fall asleep, the mounting frustration of not being able to relax and stop trembling pushed him over the edge of everything, leaving him with no choice other than to give in to the tears that he’d been withholding.

The tremors that racked his body once he did were born from hysterical sobs. He was so tired. He just wanted to be asleep already, but the kind of sleep he just happened to continue forever. Not that he wanted to die, it was simpler than that. He just couldn’t stand to be him and sleeping would make it easier.

A gnawing itch seemed to spread across his body then, one that made him want to crawl out of his own skin. He wanted so desperately to not be there when Lance got back. Wanted to evaporate like he’d never even been there in the first place.

Soon he lost the ability to supress it at all.

He was fairly certain he was wailing then, his back arching and chest pumping as he tried to gasp between cries, the latter only making him more disoriented as he fought his rapidly dulling senses. It was like he’d been possessed, his body ridding the emotion he’d been subconsciously repressing any way it could despite what he did in effort to stop it.

The lights turned back on without warning and his eyes clenched tighter as he cried out even louder. Each breath he took closer and closer to a wheeze, the tears not stopping even though he’d blown well through his energy reserves.

“-ith! Keith, Keith! What’s wrong, what’s happening?!”

He couldn’t make out who the voice belonged to after he made the connection that it was not Lance, but he couldn’t open his eyes to check with the lights still on.

“Shhhh, c’mon you’re okay. Breathe, bud.”

The person’s hands were on his shoulders as his body worked mercilessly, shuddering and hitching with each breath. He could barely hear their assurances over the ringing in his ears and the sounds of his chest working.

“You’re alright, I’m here—“

But Keith heard the door when it whooshed opened this time.

“Wha-Shiro...? Oh, fuck.”

Ugh.

No, no, no...

That was decidedly the worst thing he thought could happen while he tried to regain his composure, Shiro hearing him and finding him like this.

He needed to get away from his hands as they tried to soothe him, he didn’t want to be soothed, he wanted to disappear. He writhed on the bed and he fought to turn himself onto his back, hands grasping at his chest as his breathing became more ragged when he did, kicking his leg over and curling onto his other side to try and alleviate it.

The scream that tore from his throat was a shrill one as he opened several of the wounds on his hip. He could distantly hear Shiro agonizing over not knowing what the fuck was happening when Lance cursed.

“You idiot! Shit. Crap. On your stomach bud, come on...” Lance ordered as he yanked Keith’s legs away from his chest and pushed his hips so that he rolled over.

“Lance,” Shiro breathed cautiously. “I need you to tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t, like I really can’t. It’s not my, uh, place but he also didn’t exactly tell me either so it’s not like I could if I wanted to. He’s okay, though! Well, relatively, I guess.”

Lance actually winced at the death glare Shiro gave him when he finished.

“Alright! I went to get him water and something to eat but he was fine when I left, I think he’s a little overwhelmed is all. Had a pretty bad headache before,” Lance added as he moved over to the switch and turned the lights down once again.

“Okay, but this is more than just being overwhelmed, Lance. He sounded like he was having a nightmare but he’s not even alseep...” Shiro pressed, retracting his hand from where he tried to rub the middle of Keith’s back when he shrunk under the touch, whimpering lightly and stuttering breathily into the pillow he’d shoved his face into.

Lance eyed his side with concern when Shiro looked back to Keith’s trembling frame. His heart hurt. The kid was practically his brother and he couldn’t tell him what had happened. He wasn’t sure Keith would ever speak to him again if he did.

“You’re right, but you’re gonna have to press him yourself because I would enjoy keeping all of my digits.”

“Lance, I swear. I will be the one removing your digits if you don’t tell me what the hell—wait, Lance is that-is that blood?”

“Mierda. Keith... ugh. I’m sorry, man,” Lance ushered and reached for his friend’s hand when Shiro forwent all courtesies as he roughly pulled him over onto his other side, hands searching wildly.

The sounds Keith made once he knew what was happening threatened to bring Lance to a similar state. His expression pleading as clumsy hands fell onto Shiro’s with desperation.

“N-no, n-n-no, don’t. Don’t—Lance! Lance, p-please. T-tell-tell him n-tell h-him not t—”

But it was too late, there was no stopping Shiro as he hiked up his sweatshirt and stared for a moment before spotting the hint of white tape peaking out from below where his underwear rose up. Lance scratched his head nervously while he watched Shiro peel the edges of the bloodied bandage up.

“Oh...”

No one spoke while Shiro processed what he was seeing, the only sounds were Keith’s pitiful cries as he covered his eyes in the crook of his arm, clamping the other over his mouth to try and quiet his sobs.

“I thought you’d stopped, Keith...”

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hyperpsychomaniac · 3 years

Text

The Woodchuck Leader Assessment - Chapter 5

DT17 Fanfiction

Summary: When Launchpad’s ability to supervise children is called into question, Dewey tags along on a Junior Woodchuck trip to support his best friend.

Chapter 1

Also cross-posted on fanfiction.net.

***

Despite saying ‘ow’ multiple times, Launchpad had been prodded way more than he was comfortable with. The doctor had kept at it until he’d mercifully declared he didn’t have any broken bones and could go home. Launchpad usually didn’t like hospitals, apart from the food, partly because he could never understand what everyone was doing to him, but mostly because he didn’t like being left alone after his friends had to go home. But today, he would’ve happily stayed overnight if it meant he could just go straight to sleep.

Finally free of his tormentor, Launchpad pushed his soggy clothes into his duffel bag with leaden arms. No broken bones, but his entire body ached. He had bruises absolutely everywhere and his muscles felt like he’d way, way overdone it at the gym. His stomach was still knotting up with cramps and he’d only stopped coughing up water about an hour ago.

And he couldn’t stop sneezing. Launchpad felt another coming on, screwed up his face, but to no avail as it only came exploding out with greater force. It jarred his whole body, and Launchpad groaned.

“Bless you.” Della stood in the doorway to the hospital room.

“Oh, hey. You got here quick.”

“Um, yeah? You dropped my kid in a river and I got a call to say you were both been taken to hospital, of course I…”

Launchpad lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

Della held up her hands. “No, no. You jumped in after him! I didn’t mean… wow, I’m bad at this. I mean… thank you. You jumped in after him; you got him out. That’s the important part.”

“Is he…?”

“He was right here…” Della leaned back out into the hallway. “Dewey. Come on, sweetie, it’s okay.”

A sneeze sounded from down the hallway and then Dewey stuck his head around the door. He was far from his usual exuberant self, shivering and wrapped up in one of Della’s spare jackets.

Launchpad swallowed the lump in his throat. They’d said Dewey was fine but it was different actually seeing him standing there. This time, he’d been strong enough to save his friend. “Hey Dewey, how are you feeling? That river was really cold.”

Dewey stared up at him, wide eyes filling with tears, then rushed him. Launchpad dropped to his knees and grunted as Dewey slammed into him, buried his face against his chest, and sobbed into his one dry shirt. “I thought…” Dewey finally choked out. “I saw you go over the waterfall. I didn’t know what happened to you, and you were only in the water because of me, and…”

Launchpad squeezed him back tight. “It’s okay, I get it. It’s scary, huh?”

Della stepped over and gently squeezed her son’s shoulder. “Huey told me the guy assessing you was a real jerk. Both to you and the kids. Why the hell have they got someone like that in the Junior Woodchucks? If I get my hands on him…”

“I’m going to talk to the Duckberg head leader,” said Launchpad, as he rubbed Dewey’s back. “She needs to know he hasn’t changed. I don’t know why they even brought him back.”

“Won’t that look bad? You dobbing him in when he’s probably going to give you a bad report?”

Launchpad gulped. He hadn’t thought of that. “She’ll… she’ll listen to me. And I’ve got to try, even if Jack’s report gets me kicked out. He made me feel like garbage as a kid. I can’t let him talk to kids like that.”

Dewey sniffed as he extricated himself from Launchpad’s arms.

“You okay, honey?” said Della.

Dewey pushed the remaining tears from his eyes and squared his shoulders. “You’re not garbage, LP. If Mr Russell won’t give you a good report, I’ll go in and give you one. I mean, I’m not one of your Woodchucks so I can assess you, right?”

Launchpad ruffled his hair. “I’m not actually sure. But thanks.”

“Come on,” said Della. “The other parents have picked up their kids already. But I figured I could drive the bus back for you. You’ve been through enough for one day. It’s the least I can do.”

Launchpad’s shoulders slumped. “Aw man, thanks Della. I need to sleep. And it’ll be way comfier on the back seat than in the driver’s seat.”

“Um… right.”

***

“Launchpad, Launchpad!”

“Huh?” Launchpad snorted and sat straight up, then winced and put a hand to his stomach. The world spun in a groggy dimly lit soup and, for a moment, he wasn’t sure where he was.

Concern creased Della’s face under the harsh bus lighting. “Aw, man. I’m sorry. You were really out of it. I already took Dewey and Huey home, you slept right through it. But you can’t stay on the bus all night, you’ll be super stiff.”

Launchpad sneezed, then rubbed at his beak. He could already feel his muscles stiffening up, although he wasn’t sure how long he’d slept. It was dark outside.

Della grabbed up his duffel bag and carried it into Mr McDee’s garage for him, so at least he didn’t have to do that. Launchpad trailed her inside. He picked his jacket up where he’d left it slung over his curtain railing, put it on, then sunk onto the sofa.

“You’re… going to sleep in that?”

Launchpad hugged his arms. “Yes.” Somehow, the jacket felt warm and safe.

Della looked about awkwardly, then tucked the duffel bag away into a corner. “Are you going to be alright? You know if you need anything… ?”

Launchpad smiled faintly. “No, I think I just need to sleep. Not on a bus. I’m probably going to feel this in the morning anyway.”

Della winced. “Yeah.” She rubbed at her arm. “Listen, I know you and Dewey are real close anyway. But what you did… I mean, you didn’t have to do that, and…”

Launchpad blinked up at her. “Of course I did.”

Della’s shoulders slumped. “Aw LP, I… stuff it…” She thew her arms around his neck, eliciting a grunt, and her fingers dug into his jacket. “Thank you.” She held him for a long moment, before pushing him back. “Just get some sleep, okay?”

***

As he strode into the Duckberg Junior Woodchuck headquarters Launchpad checked over his prompt cards yet again. He’d written a few of them himself, most had input from Violet and Huey, and they’d had to explain the one to him that said ‘conflict of interest.’ Despite the preparation Launchpad still had no idea how this would go down. But he had to speak up for his Woodchucks.

As he approached the Duckberg head’s office, voices carried down the hall, and Launchpad stalled.

“I’m done I tell you. One ran through camp and…. and I don’t think he was even wearing any underwear. I had to retrieve three items of my clothes from various trees. What the hell does ‘Boomer’ mean anyway? And then the damned kid had to go and throw himself in the river; I can’t deal with crap like that anymore. I don’t need to go on camping trips to do assessments, let me handle the paperwork, and if you need me to chew out any of your leaders who get out of line, I’m your man, but keep those kids away from me.”

Launchpad gulped and forced himself into movement. “Um…” The door to the head’s office was open, and he knocked tentatively on the frame.

Jack whirled around. “Launchpad…”

Behind her desk, Emily Hooterman, head of the Duckberg Woodchucks, stared wide-eyed between the two of them and visibly winced.

How the heck was he supposed to do this with Jack here?

“I’ll… just… yeah, I’ve had my say, Emily. I’ve… paperwork.” Jack moved for the door, stopped, then loudly cleared his throat.

“Oh, sorry.” Launchpad stepped back to let him through.

Jack moved into the hall, slowed, then spun around and stabbed a finger into Launchpad’s chest. “What you did was really dumb!” He glared at him for a moment, chest heaving, then lowered his finger. “But, I guess you can swim through a bloody raging torrent, so… I’m glad you and the boy are okay.” And with that he turned and ambled off down the hallway.

Launchpad stared at his old leader’s rapidly retreating back. What the heck had just happened?

“Wow…” Emily shook herself. “Launchpad, sweetie, you look… it’s okay. Get in here and close the door.”

“Um, sure, Ms H.” Launchpad gulped, shut the door, then sat down in the chair across the desk from the old owl.

She looked at him over her glasses. “Launchpad…”

Launchpad winced. “Sorry. Emily. See, this is why it’s great my Woodchucks can call me Launchpad. It is going to be so much less confusing for them when they’re adults.”

Emily didn’t appear to be listening. She stared at is chest, then a faint smile touched her beak as she looked back up. “You’ve put on your swimming badge.”

“Ah, yeah…” Launchpad fingered his sash self-consciously. The morning after Della had taken him home, he’d woken sore and stiff, and a little melancholic. He hadn’t had the energy to do anything useful, so he’d ended up going through some of his old Woodchuck stuff. He hadn’t realised he’d been looking for something that reminded him of Calvin, not until he’d found the old badge. As he’d held it in his hand, it had seemed silly not to put it where it belonged. Even then, when he’d sewed it on, it’d felt like a tiny hotspot on his chest, something that shouldn’t be there, and any second someone was going to call him on it. “I mean, the kids saw me swim over a waterfall so, I guess, I can’t really pretend that, I, I can’t…”

“Sweetheart,” Emily said gently, “you’ve more than earned that.”

Launchpad straightened. “I need to talk to you about something important.”

“Your assessment?”

Of course. Jack had already handed it in. Emily had read it. Launchpad could feel his guts tightening, but he shook his head. “No. Not exactly. Mr Russell… Jack…” He pulled out his prompt cards and shuffled them shakily. One slipped to the floor. He groaned and looked at it mournfully. He was still too sore to stretch that far. As long as it wasn’t the ‘conflict of interest’ one.

Emily winced. “Launchpad, wait…”

Launchpad’s gaze hardened. He shoved the rest of the cards back in his sash as he turned to Emily. “I don’t like the way Jack spoke to my Woodchucks, and I don’t think he should be in a position where he can make them feel like… like he did to me when I was a kid. I know he’s supposed to be the one reporting on me, and this probably looks bad, but… well, I’m really mad at him.”

Emily sighed. “You wouldn’t be the first leader who’s complained. But I think your Woodchucks may have solved both our problems for us.”

“Huh? How?”

“Did you hear what Jack was ranting about when you walked in here? Your kids scared him, or at least really annoyed him. He just came in here to tell me he’s done going on trips. He still wants to help out with the Woodchucks, just as long as he doesn’t have to deal directly with the kids. And, well, he’ll probably still upset some of the adults but I think they can handle him.”

“So, he’s not…”

“He’s not going to be anywhere near the kids.”

“That… was easier than I expected. I mean, the last time he got kicked out, it took…” Launchpad lowered his gaze and rubbed at one of the bruises on his chest.

Emily chewed her lip. “Listen, Launchpad, lets back up for a second. I need to apologise to you. I don’t assign the assessors. Jack got put with you. When I found out I meant to give you a heads up. But I got busy, and… I’m sorry. Especially after everything that happened with the Duck boy, look, I’m so, so sorry. I know it couldn’t have been a fun trip for you.”

Launchpad shrugged. “So… does this mean I still get to be Woodchuck leader?” He tried to keep the hope out of his voice.

Emily picked up some sheets of paper from her desk. “Well, Jack’s assessment was certainly… interesting.”

That told him nothing. Launchpad gulped as his gaze sat squarely on the far too thick document in Emily’s hands. “I don’t know what he said but… I know what I did wrong anyway. I shouldn’t have left the kids alone with him all night. He just… he just upset me, and I didn’t mean to, but I ended up spending the whole night up on the bus. I dumped them on Jack, and maybe it would’ve been okay if it’d been someone else, but I wasn’t there to stop him talking down to them. They’re my responsibility, and I screwed up. Whatever else he’s got in there, he’s probably being unfair, but if that’s there, then… it’s true…” He hung his head.

“I’m not surprised he upset you, given your history, and, well… Jack. It’s okay, and like I said, I’m sorry I put you in the position. But he doesn’t decide who stays and who goes. I do. Most of his report was, well… standard Jack. Although he rambled on a bit more for you than I’ve seen him do anyone else. He says he still thinks you’re crazy, but at least you’re crazy enough to do something dumb to actually save a kid… I think he intended that as a compliment.”

Launchpad raised his head. “Wait, he said that?”

Emily shrugged. “I think that may have been what he was trying to do when he bailed out of here. And tell you off, but, you know, that’s Jack.”

“So I can stay right? I mean I figured you keep sending me assessors, I probably was doing something wrong.”

“Launchpad, the biggest reason you keep getting stuck with assessors is because you’re the only one of our leaders looking after your Woodchucks by yourself. If you had a parter or two, you’d be able to back each other up, and we wouldn’t have to keep sending someone to check up on you to settle down concerned parents. But,” she winced. “It does help if you don’t wake up hibernating bears.”

“Okay, I’ll try to do better next time…”

“You did plenty good, Launchpad. And I get how hard it must’ve been jumping in that river for you.”

Launchpad smiled faintly. Jumping in the river had not been hard the part. Not to go after Dewey. “Thanks.”

“Look, I think Jack’s gone. But if you need to stay a few extra minutes to be sure…”

“There was… something else I wanted to ask you about,” Launchpad said in a rush, before he could chicken out. He hadn’t written it on his prompt cards because he hadn’t wanted Violet and Huey to see it yet.

“What is it?”

“I… I just wanted to know if it’d be okay if I… look, the kids got a bit stupid, partly to help me, partly because of the stuff Jack said. What they did with Dewey, I don’t think they realised how dumb that was, and I…” Launchpad pressed back into the chair and hugged his arms. “I wanted to ask if I could tell them about Calvin.”

“LP… You… you don’t need to ask me about that…”

“I mean, I think they kind of know what happened from what I was yelling at Jack. But I thought maybe it would help them understand how stuff can go wrong even when you’re trying to help someone? And that how they talk to people matters, and… I’ll leave out some bits but I thought I should ask first, because Woodchucks is supposed to be fun, and, well… I guess its just not a very nice story.”

He looked up, and far from looking horrified, Emily was smiling at him with watery eyes. “I think that’s a great idea. You might even… maybe you could share it with some of the other Woodchuck groups?”

“I… I don’t know…”

Emily held up her hands. “Sorry. Just, yes, of course, just tell your Woodchucks. But let me know how it goes?”

Launchpad nodded as he stood to his feet. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Launchpad, wait.” Emily got up and moved around her desk to meet him at the door. “Is it okay if I give you a hug?”

“Yeah, Ms H. I think I need that.”

This time, as she put her arms around him, she didn’t correct him.

#launchpad #launchpad mcquack #dt17 #dt17 launchpad #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #ducktales fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #della duck #dewey duck #launchpad needs a hug

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funky-boat-zone · 3 years

Text

can this be a “pilot episode” if it’s a fic—

(the first fic for my salty’s lighthouse au is finally done! enjoy (or don’t). also it’s not going on ao3 because there’s no tag for this show and i don’t wanna clog the tugs tag.)

It was 6:30 in the morning, with the sun just starting to cast its light over Snugboat Harbor. All twelve tugs (plus Grampus) waited in front of Captain Star’s window for their orders. No one knew what they were waiting for besides the fact that Star had specifically asked the Zero Fleet to wait at her window instead of his.

Ten Cents yawned. “Why’d Captain bring the Zeroes here instead of just waiting for Zero to come to work?”

“What, do you have a problem with us staying at your dock?” Zorran snapped, Zug glancing apologetically at Ten Cents on his behalf.

Ten Cents sputtered in irritation. “No, of course not! Sheesh, are you sure you’re not the one with a prob—“

“Have some respect! If she called all of us over, it must be something serious!” Top Hat protested.

“D’ya think somebody sunk?” ZB tactlessly wondered aloud to Zak, earning him a few horrified looks from his fellow tugs.

“Well if the Coast Guard’s not here, it probably wasn’t someone that important.” Zak replied, only to spot Zorran glaring at him. “… What?”

“Shh, here she comes!” Hercules ordered, which promptly stopped the boats’ chatter.. for the time being, anyway.

Sure enough, a blue and white-striped megaphone popped out of the window. “Star Fleet, Zeroes, Boomer’s owner wants to know if Snugboat Harbor has the right kind of jobs for him and he’s coming to assist you all with work today! Whether or not he decides to stay, I expect you all to be on your best behavior!” With that, she returned to her office, closing the window on the way and leaving the tugs to talk amongst themselves until Boomer inevitably arrived.

Ten Cents groaned. “Oh no, what’d we do?”

“What do ya mean?” Zip asked.

“He’s jinxed! Cursed! No reasonable captain would make their tugs work with Boomer unless it was some kind of punishment!” Big Stack cried.

Ten Cents’ sighed. “I remember when he wanted to ‘help us out’ with a liner.”

“How’d that go?” Sunshine asked, although she quickly realized her mistake when she saw how Ten Cents’ face fell. “… Too soon?”

“Lighten up everyone, it’s not like he means to bring bad luck.” Warrior chided.

“And it’s not like Sunshine means to run bow-first into other tugs because she can’t take two seconds to look where she’s going, what’s your point?” Zorran argued, ignoring Sunshine’s cry of “Hey!” from across the jetty.

“Can’t we at least try to be nice to him?” Sunshine suggested. “Who knows? Maybe his luck will turn if we stop acting like everything he does is bad luck, just saying.”

The dead silence from both fleets indicated that they weren’t feeling inclined to take her suggestion.

—

Roughly an hour later, ZB spotted a tug in an orange worker’s cap and matching livery entering the harbor. What stood out to him the most was the tape and bandages covering the vessel, no doubt covering the cracks, dents, and holes from his countless accidents. “Must be Boomer.” He thought aloud to himself, pulling his barges out of the way so he could pass by. From how far away the other tug was, there was almost no way Boomer would actually hit the barges, but better safe than sorry, right?

Almost as soon as the tug in the orange cap was out of sight, ZB heard Zero cry “Watch the dock, watch the dock— I said *watch the dock!*”, which was in turn followed by a loud thunk and Zero lamenting the damage to his newly-repaired dock.

“Yep, has to be Boomer.” ZB corrected himself.

—

Much to the dismay of everyone, including the captains, Boomer’s first job for the day involved helping Warrior and Big Stack transport explosives. Both fleets were ordered to give them plenty of room, which they gladly did, excessively so: Not just because it was captain’s orders, but because no one wanted to be hit with flying shrapnel in case this job went wrong.

“C’mon, I’m pretty sure we don’t need to give them that much room.” Hercules sighed, noticing how both fleets were stationed almost a liner’s length apart from each other. Despite his reassurance, no one made a move to get closer.

“Well, I may end up in a museum someday, but that day will not be today and my exhibit will not be one on shipwrecks!” Top Hat argued, earning a few eye-rolls from the rest of his fleet.

“Really, you guys need to stop assuming the worst of him! He’s not even the one towing the explosives, there’s no possible way he could—!“ Hercules was interrupted by an explosion, followed quickly by Big Stack proclaiming “I’m okay!” in the distance. He looked to his horrified fleet. “O-Okay, that was just a fluke! Besides, it doesn’t sound like all the barges exploded—!” As if on cue, there was another explosion.. And another. And another. Warrior, Big Stack, and Boomer met up with their fleet and were thankfully all still afloat and intact, albeit covered in soot and understandably shaken.

“… Did you manage to save any of the barges?” Top Hat squeaked out, looking at the smoke rapidly rising in the distance.

“Some of them! Well, I don’t know how much good they’ll be, since they’re.. kinda-sorta—well, very much on fire now.” Boomer stammered. “But we tried!” Almost immediately after Boomer stopped speaking, there was a bright orange light in the distance, with all the tugs recognizing it as a fire.

Sunshine winced as her fleet scattered and passed her to find the Fire Chief. Ten Cents sighed.

At the very least, the blaze was only the second worst fire he’d ever seen in port.

—

“Who needs the Star Fleet? Zero’s been looking for another tug anyway.” Zorran noted as Boomer and the rest of the Zero Fleet prepared to pull down a group of old buildings. “Now, all you have to do is secure your line to these buildings, sound your whistle to make sure everyone gets clear, and pull them down.” There’s no possible way Boomer could mess this up, it’s so easy that even Zip and Zug can do it!

Boomer did as he was instructed, sounding his whistle as soon as he got his line on the building’s superstructure. The rest of the Zero Fleet stayed back, shut their eyes, and waited for the sound of the building to come down.

… And waited. And waited.

“I’m not hearing any…” Zug stammered to try and find the right word before settling for just poorly imitating the sound of a building falling down. “Y’know, any of that.”

“Zorran?” Boomer called. “It’s— Uh, the building’s not coming down!”

“… What?” Zorran asked incredulously.

“I think I made myself pretty clear, I’ve been—“ Boomer stopped to catch his breath, “I’ve been at it for at least a few minutes and it hasn’t budged.”

Zorran steamed over to where Boomer was struggling, wondering how he could fail such a simple task. “Move over and let me see that!”

ZB cringed as soon as he saw his boss head toward Boomer. “D’ya think the building’s gonna collapse if he—“

Zak quickly wrapped his line around ZB’s towbitts, making sure he stayed put. “Nah, let Zorran figure that out for himself.” He said. ZB stayed out, failing to notice the smirk on Zak’s face.

Zorran approached the building, having pushed Boomer out of the way. “I don’t see any reason why it hasn’t fallen yet—OH NO!” Shrapnel and dust flew everywhere as the building finally collapsed as the Zeroes had hoped.. right on top of Zorran, who sunk to the bottom with a terrified yelp.

Once the dust cleared, the rest of the Zero Fleet hesitantly steamed over to check if Zorran was okay. Thankfully, he wasn’t fully sunk, since the water near the abandoned buildings was too shallow to let that happen. In fact, he seemed relatively fine for a tug who’d just had a small building collapse on top of him.

“You—“ ZB coughed, “You okay?” he asked nervously, turning carefully to avoid hitting the debris in the water and coughing from the still-lingering dust.

Zorran just shook his wheelhouse resignedly, his eyes unfocused. “At this rate, those kids will go blind if they keep talking to that lighthouse.” He muttered.

The Zeroes exchanged a nervous glance with each other.

“I’ll get him to Lucky’s.” Zak sighed.

—

Zorran returned from Lucky’s good as new, although he looked just as irritated as usual. With the Zero Fleet done with their jobs for the day, he planned to meet up with them near a set of old docks, hoping the Star Fleet wouldn’t come by. “So, who do you think is going to be the oh-so-lucky fleet who gets stuck with Boomer?”

“Probably the Star Fleet, I’m calling it now.” Zak said. “They’ll take anything! I mean, look at Grampus! What’s Captain Star gonna do with a submarine, make him check the docks for barnacles?”

“Hey, he could check boats for barnacles too!”

“Not my point, Zug.”

“Sorry.”

—

Unbeknownst to the Zeroes, the Star Fleet were having a near-identical argument at their own dock.

“I don’t wanna say I don’t want him around—“ Sunshine began.

“I do.” Top Hat said snootily, causing the rest of the Stars at the dock to glare at him.

Sunshine ignored Top Hat and went on. “—But Captain just got Grampus, and I didn’t hear her talking about buying another tug.”

“Ah, so Zero wants him, then.” Big Stack sighed. “Never thought I’d say this, but I feel bad for the Zero fleet.”

—

Both the Stars and the Zeroes apparently had the same idea, because Warrior, Big Stack, and Zorran all found themselves gathered in front of the Star Dock in hopes that they’d get Captain Star to change her mind.

“What’s the problem, Star Fleet.. and Zorran?”

“Well, it’s not that we don’t like Boomer..” Warrior began, only for his brother to cut him off.

“We just hate working with him! I keep telling you, every time someone works with him, they end up crashing, sinking, or getting set on fire! Unless you put something into place to keep this from happening, he can work alone!”

Zorran cut in. “Or at least get someone more expendable to—“

“Zorran!” Both brothers snapped, prompting the Zero Fleet’s leader to shut up.

Captain Star sighed. “I guess now’s a good time to tell you that Boomer likely won’t be working with either of your fleets. Zero and I have thought it over and talked it out, and he doesn’t need a new harbor tug and the Star Fleet has plenty of tugs as is.”

“… Oh.” Big Stack and Warrior responded awkwardly. As much as they didn’t like working with Boomer, it wasn’t as if they wanted to drive him out of the harbor.

“Yes!” Zorran cheered quietly, though not quietly enough to keep Warrior from hearing him and shooting him a disapproving glance.

Captain Star ignored the tugs’ reactions and continued. “Star Fleet, I’d like you to say goodbye to him once you’re all done with work. Snugboat Harbor wasn’t the right fit for him, but let’s wish him luck.”

“Aye aye!” The Star Fleeters agreed before leaving to help the rest of their fleet finish work for the day. Zorran just turned around, headed for his own dock, and prepared to go to sleep.

—

The sun was just beginning to fall as the Stars and the Zeroes gathered to say goodbye to Boomer. The Zeroes arrived twenty minutes late, because Zorran refused to leave his dock and it took the rest of his fleet to drag him to the meeting spot.

“Goodbye Boomer! We wish you the best of luck!” Sunshine cheered.

The Zero Fleet looked to Zorran, only to realize he was falling asleep where he was floating. Hoping Boomer wouldn’t notice, ZB bumped his leader, jolting him awake.

“Uh— what she said!” Zorran shouted as his fleet sighed disappointedly behind him.

Thankfully, Boomer took no notice. “Thanks guys! I’ll be sure to write or visit or something once I find my new job!” He shouted before sailing off toward the horizon.. But not before accidentally sinking a buoy on his way out.

“Should we tell—“ Otis wondered aloud before Hercules cut him off.

“Nah, Captain doesn’t have to know.” Hercules said, wanting to just enjoy the moment.

But once Boomer passed under Snugboat Harbor’s bridge, a small piece of infrastructure came loose and crashed down onto his bow. While it wasn’t enough to collapse the bridge, it was certainly enough for Boomer to notice as he yelped in pain.

The Star Fleet froze in horror, wondering if they should go and help before Boomer’s voice broke the silence. “I’m okay!”

Realizing the rest of his fleet was staring at him with an expression that could best be described as “We told you so”, Hercules sighed and turned around to head to his dock. “I know, I know, I’ll go tell Captain.”

#saltys lighthouse #fic tag #untitled sl au

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cherry-ber · 4 years

Text

Too drunk to fuck pt 10

♡ Part one| Previous

You couldn't believe it, that not even a month could go by without having to worry about Mark. You woke up several hours after you got that text, and couldn't help the way your heart sinked, you had to get up and shower with the coldest water to be ready for the upcoming long day, calling said unknown number to ask for an explanation.

“Who's this?” ask back as you make your way to the door.

“Y/N? It's Jisung! Do you not have my number saved?”

“Jisung, it doesn't matter right now!” although you knew that it would be a big complain from him later “What happened to Mark?”

“He's alright now... Do you want us to pick you up so you can see him?”

“Well, yes, that's why I called, but what happened?”

“Wait, I'll tell Jeno and Jaemin to pick you up, they must be close to your place now” and he hung up, avoiding the question you made him.

You sat on the sidewalk, waiting for the car to arrive, writing a text for your mom apologizing for leaving suddenly and so early. The streets were barely lighted by the daylight, but when you saw the car lights shining in your way, you knew immediately who it was, you stood up quickly and walked in their way, Jeno rolled the passenger window down and both him and Jaemin smiled sweetly at you, you almost forgot where you were going, and jumped in the back seat. The ride to the hospital was full of laughs, you even stopped in a convenience store to buy coffee and snacks because none of you have had breakfast. Jaemin parked and the tension in the air made its way back to the moment, suddenly feeling too awkward and guilty to hold hands with Jaemin when he started brushing his fingers on your palm while you three walked to the hospital.

You've never stepped in a hospital before, when you were younger you were over protected, you never got [physically] hurted, nor did you go with your parents when someone did have an emergency, and everything overwhelming; families waiting for news of their loved ones, people who looked in pain, doctors and nurses who probably went home crying from too many emotions at their work place, you couldn't even imagine how Mark would look laying in those uncomfortable beds.

“Mark Lee” Jaemin says walking to a lady in a counter

“Are you his family?” she says in a monotone way, not even turning to look at him “only his family is allowed to see him”

“His family doesn't leave here, I'm his roommate”

The lady types Mark's name, not questioning anymore, probably feeling compassion over that young boy being alone all night , having no one else for him than his friends, who had been annoying her since she started her shift. She tells him he's not taking visits, but he's gonna be allowed out in a couple hours.

Jaemin makes his way back to you and Jeno, both unsure of asking, he just sits in the waiting chairs, his body too tired, not from today, rather than everything becoming too much.

“I'm going out for a smoke, do you want to come?” his friend asks, noticeably stressed with the hospital environment, Jaemin looks at you and shakes his head, Jeno palms his back and rushes out.

“You should go, I can wait here” Jaemin can't help the grin forming in his face when he hears your voice, he thinks it's adorable how not even in a time like this he can't be unhappy if you're there.

“No, he's just-” he realizes he's spilling too much “he doesn't like hospitals”

“I mean, who does?” you sit next to him, placing your hand on his thigh “are you okay?”

Jaemin thinks of opening up, he trusts you and he knows you'd understand his emotions better than him anyway, he wonders if it's easier to lie and say he's alright, but tired, and eventually decides that whatever he says is useless anyway.

“Aw fuck, did you tell your parents you were coming?”

“I left a note, I told them Mark had an emergency and to call me when they read it”

“I shouldn't have brought you here, I shouldn't have brought you yesterday, I just keep dragging you into this mess, I'm sorry Y/N” he hadn't even realized himself how guilty he had been feeling, for the longest time, none of it was him, but he made it him anyway, he'd never been violent, neither did he enjoy the things he did, he just did them anyway, but after a couple years of losing himself, he forgot that too, and having someone that cared for him as much as you did, he felt guilty over making you a part of his life, over stealing Mark's chance, your chance to leave him and leave the whole thing, he never meant it, he'd never do that to you “I'll take you back, Jeno can wait here and-”

“You never even told me what happened” you cut him off and he wonders if you were able to listen to the rant on his head “no one has told me what happened and I hate making up scenarios of this, just tell me what happened, I'm gonna find out anyway” your voice was full of anger and fear, but you couldn't handle it any longer, you hated that feeling of being kept from the whole thing, it made you feel like they didn't trust you at all.

“He, uh, a lot happened, actually” he takes a deep breath as he dives in deeper waters of guilt “you saw him last night, we kinda got into an argument before you left, he's not himself when he's drunk, he's a good guy, you know, but, he got a little bit out of his mind, he had been drinking, he had been smoking with Jeno prior to that, and when we left he tried to leave too, he crashed, but that's not why he's here, he, uh, got up, too numbed to realize that he hurted his ankle and got some lines of coke, too many, actually, he got overdosed and they took him here” Jaemin didn't notice the moment tears started rolling down his cheeks, it was guilt that was swallowing him alive, thinking of how he was the root of every single problem they were having “I didn't know that, I didn't know he was doing all that in a single day, I didn't know he'd try to follow us, I would've taken his keys, I would've said sorry, I shouldn't have taken you there, I shouldn't even be talking to you right now”

And you can't help but cry when he does, knowing how emotional and empathetic Jaemin could actually be, knowing how he tends to take credit for everything that goes wrong, hell, he probably blames himself for climate change, and knowing how sorry and scared he must have been feeling.

“Jaemin, it's not your fault. Mark makes hus own choices, maybe all of them are bad, but those are his” you swipe away the tears off his face with your thumbs “you didn't force him to do any of that, and I know you mean so much more to each other than you say, but you can't keep taking everything he does just because he's broken or whatever you're telling yourself” but you noticed mid-sentence that this was something you needed to tell yourself too “I'm sure he's grateful for you, but you can't keep fixing his mess every single time”

He feels like a weight has been lifted off him, knowing that you can see him for him, you can see how he cares for Mark, and understands what you mean, but it doesn't feel right at all.

“Yeah, i know that” he sits straight again, he looks like he never had that breakdown “Anyway, he's alright now, somehow, do you want me to buy you some coffee?”

You spot Jeno coming back, probably just because it was cold outside. “No, but I could use a walk, the environment is weird here”

You stand up as Jeno makes his way to the chair next to Jaemin.

“Can you take a shift waiting? She's feeling sick and we're taking a break” Jaemin asks his best friend “or you can come, he's probably taking hours to be free, he can wait anyway”

Jeno shakes his head, assuring Jaemin that he'd rather be inside, and that Mark could get kicked out any minute if he was awake.

There's not much to see in the surroundings of a hospital, nor in the parking lot, but the pain of all those people, mixed with Jaemin's and your own was getting overbearing. Jaemin takes a cigarette in his mouth and skillfully lights it real quick, you try to remember if you've ever seen him smoking, but you couldn't remember, nor could you remember his car of his clothes smelling like he did. He's quick to finish it, taking big puffs and barely taking it away from his mouth. He noticed you were staring at him.

“Do you want one?” he forgot his whole lecture on why he was guilty over dragging you into his life and suddenly he remembered as he was sure you were about to say yes “please don't say yes, I didn't mean to offer you one, actually” but he takes out another one, places it on his mouth and lights it, too quickly.

You couldn't help it but remember Mark, because the truth was that anyone who met Mark, would never be able to leave without thinking about him, he was too special to forget. Yes, Jaemin was the sweetest person on Earth, and granted, you'd choose him any day over any other person, and that's why your heart sunk when you remembered what the days hiding in abandoned place with Mark were like, full of uncertainty, but exciting anyway, how his strong leather and tobacco scent would pierce into your nose for the whole day, how he'd make you feel when his fingers ran through your thighs. You loved Mark, you've loved him for a while now, but now you loved him in a different way, you told yourself. There was no use in comparing the two of them since they were absolutely opposite to each other, but you'd love to forget what you felt for Mark anyway.

You take Jaemin's hand on your own, stealing a puff of his almost finished cigar, blowing the smoke directly to his face and smile fondly when he laughs it off. Something about Jaemin always felt right. He throws the rest of it, not risking a burnt when as he rounds your back with his big arms. He could swear he sees a whole galaxy in your eyes, the way they shine is absolutely stunning and it makes him feel warm and fulfilled. He gets closer for a kiss, a sweet kiss, but with the taste of tobacco in his mouth, it becomes easy to forget where you are. You can feel someone walking in your direction as you get away from each other. Jeno and Mark are walking slowly to the car, you remember how Jaemin said he hurt his ankle and giggle at Jeno smiling at Mark's struggle. Both you and Jaemin walk to them, but Mark doesn't care at all, you expected him to be less of an ass by then, and he expected it too, knowing well how much everyone cared for him, but too bitter seeing Jaemin with you, convinced that it should be him who's kissing you and taking you out every Friday night.

Jaemin drives you all to Mark's place, you've never been there, and you don't want to be there either way, so you wait in the car while they make sure Mark can survive a couple hours alone, he can't help but feel defeated, owing his literal life to Jaemin but still pretty annoyed about his new relation. Jeno decides to stay with Mark, promising he'll call someone to take a shift later, and now Jaemin has a some more time alone with you.

Your mom was worried after she read that note, following your instructions and calling you as soon as she saw it.

“He's alright mom, he hurted his ankle, that's it”

“Are you sure? We can bring him something and pay him a visit”

“I think he is tired, besides, I want to spend some time with Jaemin, can I come home later?”

She agrees, too enchanted when Jaemin was mentioned, and diving more into the idea of you setting down with him. Boys were never a priority to you, and somehow it made her happy you were with him. You had already hung up when Jaemin came back to the car, not sure if he should ask you out on a spontaneous date or wait until you suggested it.

“Are you busy, like, right now?” you ask before he can decide on what to do

“Not really, why?”

“I don't know, I wanted to go out, but now I'm thinking I'm more in the mood for a movie at home”

“Do you want me to take you home?” you laughed at how naive he could be sometimes

“I want to go to your place” you confess “well if you don't mind it, maybe we could go to my room and cuddle there”

Jaemin thought of the scene: his mom would definitely be surprised, he couldn't remember if his room was clean, but he sure wanted his mom to meet you, he wanted to have dinner together, he wanted to show you the cool stuff gathered in his room. “Well, we can go to my place”

__________________________________________

A.N: i will never say sorry enough times because i can't help but take too long to update this,,,, anyway, thank you so much for reading this, i hope you're having a nice day/night, some people are still in quarantine and it can be messy to our heads, remember to take care of yourselves, much love! ♡

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dumbfuck-mojave · 3 years

Text

Sliced Moons

Characters: Lily Chen and Maia Roberts from The Shadowhunters Chronicles by @cassandraclare

Author’s Notes: I simply do not care if this is out of character, accept it. Maia is bi, I will not accept anything less. This was planned at the beginning of the year but it’s June now. Kind of works out, happy pride month.

Warnings: It’s hurt-comfort. Maia is physically injured before the story but not to an awful extent. Talk of past trauma. Suggestive but still relatively SFW, Lily is a vampire so smexy bites.

Thank you to @highonbandcandy and @humantorch for beta reading!

The fridge in Maia’s apartment was broken. It made an awful loud humming and was frankly quite annoying when you were rummaging around in the fridge looking for drinks. Pale hands, with skin so thin you could see the workings of the body under it, were pulled from the cool box into the somewhat warm air of the apartment. Lily set the objects in her grasp down and went to open the cupboard above her. As she poured sparkling liquid into one glass and thick red into another, the furrow in her brow got deeper. With keen balance, she padded to the bedroom in the back in the apartment.

The door was open, the only light inside an artificial white emitting from the cloud shaped neon sign on the wall. Both Lily and Maia could see in the dark, but for aesthetical reasons it had appeared in the room one day, along with others. Maia herself sat upon the edge of the bed, looking down at the blood stained bandage wrapping her wrist. The bright light shone onto her, illuminated her warm, tawny-colored skin and soft curls that had fallen out of her ponytail. Lily stared for a few minutes before snapping out of her daze and walking farther in.

“Hey, I brought drinks.” Lily said softly, stopping awkwardly again when her bare knee brushed the edge of the bed. Maia didn’t look up, instead slowly moving her wrist around. Lily set the tray down on the nightstand closest to her and nudged Maia so she could sit next to her.

“Hey, what’s up? You haven’t said anything since we got home.” Lily wrapped her arm around Maia’s shoulders, laying her head against her warm flesh, “C’mon baby, talk to me.”

“It’s nothing.” Maia whispered. Lily stayed silent for a few moments to see if Maia wanted to say anything else, but she did not. “I brought drinks.” Lily reverberated, “ I brought you 7-UP. That’s supposed to make you feel better, I think, and I know you were feeling kind of sick after we finished that fight.”

Maia looked down at the shirt Lily was wearing, “I haven’t seen this one before.”

Lily looked down at the faded Lunachicks shirt she threw on after taking a shower, “I’m not sure if I’ve worn it around you before. Jacob dragged me to one of their concerts back whenever. You’re changing the subject.”

“I like the design.”

“Maia, talk. I’ve tried to give you time and let you come to me but it’s been a couple weeks and it just seems to be getting worse.”

Maia looked at her in the eyes for the first time, the start of a cheeky smile on her face, “I can’t believe you of all people are telling me I need to talk about my feelings.”

“Haha, real funny. That should be a sign it’s bad, if I’m making you talk about it.” Lily pulled her legs up onto the bed and faced Maia fully, “Now talk.”

“Speak, Maia, speak. I’m a wolf, not a dog.”

“MAIA.”

Maia stood and attempted to move around the bed to where she had heard Lily put the drinks down. Before she could reach, Lily’s arms hugged her waist tightly, head being pushed into her stomach.

“Lily, what are you doing?” Maia unwrapped the arms and set them to the sides of their owner, patting them theatrically and telling them to stay put. A few seconds later, she sits back down in her spot and hands Lily her drink. The two sat in silence until both cups were empty.

Lily grabbed Maia’s cup from her hand, popping it into her own, “Okay, I’m going to go take these out and wash them off, then we’re going to talk. So hype yourself up.”

She saw Maia smile before leaving the room.

Fortunately, both Lily and Maia liked to keep things clean so dishes never really piled up. Use something, it gets cleaned within the day, maximum. It wasn’t always this way with Lily, but with the introduction of actual leadership and seeing how hard Camille went with parties there had to be at least some responsibility for tidying up. She thought about how well the others were doing back at the hotel, probably causing more havoc despite her visiting regularly. The soapy water became tinged with pink as she ran her own cup under the faucet.

Lily counted for a few seconds right outside the door before she entered the room once more.

Maia had moved farther back onto the bed while she was gone, her feet now hanging off the edge instead of reaching the floor. Her head was tilted back as she stared up at the ceiling, exposing the marring lines on her neck.

“I just feel worthless recently.” Maia spoke suddenly, “Like I’m not helping anyone.”

Lily frowned, “What? Maia, you save everyone’s asses constantly. You’re like, the only smart one here. The only one who knows what’s going on.”

“That’s an insult to you and Clary.”

“Jace?”

Maia deadpanned, ��Of course not.”

Lily joined her girlfriend on the bed, mimicking her position, although her feet didn’t quite reach the edge. Maia looked down at her bandage and slowly unwrapping it. Any sign of the blade that carved a long line into her forearm had vanished, but the memory of the pain was still fresh in Maia’s mind. Her lifestyle warranted almost constant injury, but over the past few months it had plagued her mind more and more.

“Everytime we go out on missions, I get injured.”

“Maia, everybody gets injured-”

“I DON’T KNOW HOW TO EXPLAIN IT.” Maia exclaimed, her hands moving towards her head, “I just… noticed it’s happening more. I can’t explain why I’m so upset and I don’t know what to do.”

Lily looked at her sadly, the white light illuminated the dark pools of her eyes. She crawled over onto Maia’s lap and gave a small push to her shoulders, silently telling her to lean back. Maia abided, scooting up a little so she was in a comfortable position, higher up and arms splayed out. Hands went to grasp at said arms, careful to avoid the once injured wrist instinctively. Lily lowered her face to Maia’s neck and started pressing kisses into it. Maia closed her eyes.

“Hey, keep talking or else I’m stopping.”

Maia sighed and started again, “Um, I guess I’ve always felt out of place, amongst you guYS-”

“Like that?” Maia could feel Lily smirking against the dent of her shoulder.

“Shut up.” Maia let out a small noise as Lily grazed her neck with her teeth for a moment before resuming kissing, ‘I mean, it just seems different, you know? I can’t explain it. Bat’s way better suited for leading, I haven’t gotten the hang of it yet. Maybe?”

Lily stopped suddenly and sunk her fangs into Maia’s neck, who in return let out a small yelp. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to that. Maia didn’t know how long she had paused until Lily’s hands roughly shook her arms.

“Even you’re, you’re a way better leader than me,” Maia was starting to feel the effects of the bite now, the tingly feeling arising through her body. She tilted her head to give Lily more room, but once Lily heard that she shot up. Maia moaned exasperatedly at the loss of contact.

“Me? Maia, I didn’t even want to be leader in the first place. I just had to do it to stop mini Camille from wreaking havoc on the general populace. I have no idea what I’m doing! Seriously, ask Alec, he trusts you way more than he trusts me, and I’m his best friend~”

Maia looked up flatly, still upset she wasn’t currently being bitten. Lily grinned, showing off a bloodstained mug before pressing an aggressive kiss to Maia’s forehead.

“I know…. I’m not the best at comfort, but you’re doing alright, alright? We just have to roll with the punches.”

“I’ll forgive your subpar advice skills if you go back to what you were doing.”

A devilish look came over Lily’s face, “As you wish~”

The two forgot about their problems that night, saving them for the morning as Lily redressed in her discarded shirt and walked out into the kitchen once more, avoiding the small beams of light peeking in through the small curtain gap. Maia would awaken to the smell of pancakes and soft singing to a barely audible song playing on the morning radio. Lily may not give the best advice, but she sure knows how to make people feel better.

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 4 years

Text

A Favour Repaid

|| also on ao3

Royal gatherings were never Geralt’s preferred way to spend an evening. He’d rather a quiet corner and a mug of ale than dancing and singing and whatever long ceremony he inevitably had to sit through. But things were just not like that amongst the wealthy and well-to-do. Geralt preferred to be quick and precise, to the point; no wasting time with long, indulgent ceremonies. The only reason he has ever attended is out of obligation, a contract or, in this case, a favour for a friend.

Damn him for becoming so soft. All it took was a pleading look and the promise of something nice in return and Geralt had found himself here, sitting between a chatty countess and the apparent object of her affections. And Jaskier, the whole time, was happy as can be, prancing and performing for the gathered wedding guests.

Geralt watched every step; a strategy to keep his mind off the mindless conversation being spoken over and around him. He focused instead on Jaskier’s hands, the way they held his lute and so carefully picked at the strings, all the while making it seem entirely effortless. Geralt didn’t share that kind of finesse and it intrigued him, like any other secret begging to be learned. He wondered briefly what else Jaskier could put do with his hands that required that level of easy precision, but thoughts like those were dangerous and unwelcome in halls like this.

He wasn’t enjoying himself, though he made a promise to Jaskier and so he was stuck, at least until the bard’s talents were no longer required. So long as this didn’t go as badly as the last time he did Jaskier a favour, he would keep his promise. Although, thinking about it, he had to stop and wonder why he agreed to this in the first place.

As the night wore on, Geralt’s mind wandered. The festivities weren’t enough to hold his attention and short of leaving, his only other option was to find a way to amuse himself. Not so simple in a place like this. His clothes were tight, uncomfortably so, and he found himself hoping for some sort of attack - anything that would give him reason to leave without breaking his deal. Because as much as he hated it, he gave his word and he wasn’t about to go back on it over boredom.

He shut his eyes, tried to enjoy himself through the scents and sounds of the party rather than suffering the visual of people with too much coin stuffing themselves. The chattering was overwhelming, but Jaskier’s music, his voice rang out over it like a beacon in the dark and Geralt focused on that. It was nice for once to hear a song without several breaks while Jaskier worked out the lyrics. This particular one, he’d never heard all of, only bits and pieces in the dark around campfires. He liked it though and it was a welcome familiarity among the rest of the noise.

A subtle warmth crept under his skin, one he so far had done his best to keep at bay. It was an unfamiliar sensation, one he preferred not to think too much about, though it had been becoming clearer that only certain situations provoked this feeling. Certain situations and certain people.

He opened his eyes again, letting the cacophony of sound rush back and engross him. Those thoughts were better left untouched.

To Geralt’s great relief, Jaskier didn’t linger once his job was done. He came to Geralt immediately, beaming with pride and smelling of something delightful. Geralt turned his attention elsewhere, ignoring the nagging sensation in his gut. Too much ale, he told himself.

Jaskier trotted alongside him as he made his way back to the inn and their room, jovially recounting his success at the party. Geralt listened intently, offering the odd hmm or nod of his head when appropriate even though he’d been present for the entirety of the event now being described to him. Jaskier, he decided, was in a very good mood.

Which might explain the scent that followed them back to the inn. Geralt had been happy to leave it behind, assuming it belonged to some nobleman at the party, but it seemed not to be the case. Jaskier his brain offered, but Geralt was not in the mind of thinking too much into things, especially where the bard was concerned.

The man in question stepped out in front of him and stopped so suddenly Geralt nearly ran him over.

“Are you even listening?” he asked. “Here I am coming off the greatest performance of my life and you can’t even be bothered to listen.”

“I was there,” Geralt responded. The scent was back, harder to ignore than before and right there.

This time, when he tried to push it out of his mind, it was harder, he could pinpoint the various scents that combined into such an intoxicating aroma. Pride, lust, and something very specific like wildflowers and spice. He’d been trying not to think about the latter, but he couldn’t deny its familiarity, not while it was right there staring him in the face.

“Well?” Jaskier demanded and Geralt realized he’d stopped listening again.

“Let’s get back to the inn.”

He didn’t wait for a response, already uncomfortable from a night of playing at civility and the haunting scent that twisted his stomach. When they returned to the inn, Jaskier disappeared and Geralt took it upon himself to arrange a bath before bed.

As he traipsed upstairs, he could hear Jaskier below him, recounting the tale of the wedding to whatever pretty face would listen. Geralt rolled his eyes. At the least, it would mean a little peace and quiet for him.

As he sunk into the hot water, Geralt hummed to himself. His head was foggy, the thought of that scent overwhelming. He closed his eyes again, trying to recall it. The scent, he knew, belonged to Jaskier, but he’d be loath to admit the way the bard made him feel. Even without this new, intoxicating scent, Jaskier just had a way of getting under Geralt’s skin like no one else could. And despite his best efforts, a part of him liked it.

He could still think back on years of solitude, sleeping under the stars every night because people were afraid to house a Witcher, much less the Butcher of Blaviken. Jaskier was the one who changed all that, despite Geralt’s initial hesitation and outright refusal to have a traveling partner.

Now, so many years down the line, Geralt was sitting in a tub in an inn he never bothered to get the name of, trying to convince himself that the bard was just a traveling partner. He slipped lower under the water and shut his eyes. He didn’t want to think about things like that right now.

He tilted his head back, arms spread over the edge of the tub and he let his mind slow. Jaskier was down at the bar, probably flirting his way through the rest of the patrons. And while Geralt had to fight back a bitter feeling in the pit of his stomach just thinking about it, it meant he would have some time alone to himself. It was a pleasure not often enjoyed.

There were many things he could do alone in the bath, but he was tired, drained after a night of listening to nobles bicker over meaningless things. He didn’t have the energy, though that didn’t mean he couldn’t think about it. About Jaskier and his stupid scent and how all of Geralt’s training and discipline couldn’t keep him from wanting. It was stupid to think that a bard, this bard of all of them, could affect him so drastically, but he did and continued to do so. Grumbling to himself, Geralt rolled his head along the edge of the bath.

His mind wandered. He thought about Jaskier singing down in the hall, about elegant fingers picking at strings. Jaskier was good with his hands, Geralt was sure of it. He’d heard too many stories of returning lovers - men and women who sung the bard’s praises and flirted their way back to bed with him - to think otherwise. It meant something that they kept coming back, not that Geralt thought about it often.

What he usually thought about was slim, calloused fingers dragging over his own skin, twisting themselves in his hair and pushing him to the height of pleasure. He squeezed his eyes shut then and readjusted himself, feeling his body heat at the thought of it. Damn. Jaskier and his damn hands and his damn scent and-

The door creaked open behind him and Geralt was suddenly overcome with the scent of Jaskier surrounding him. He didn’t know how he didn’t smell him earlier, and he kept his eyes shut. His stomach turned, that same familiar flip-flop that he’d been trying to ignore for years.

Jaskier hummed, amused, and slipped up behind him not speaking as his hands settled on Geralt’s shoulders.

“I was going to give you a massage, but maybe I should go. You seem to be having a good time all on your own.”

“Stay,” Geralt said, ignoring the comment; Jaskier was teasing, but it didn’t stop him from not wanting him to leave. A bad idea, Geralt reminded himself but when Jaskier’s fingers pressed into stiff muscle his mind settled and all of the good ideas went out of it.

“You’re very tense for someone who spent his entire night with a mug of ale in his hand,” Jaskier commented.

“Hmm.”

“And very talkative too. That’s fine, I don’t need you to talk.”

Geralt turned and quirked an eyebrow at him, but Jaskier just grinned his little grin and continued. He didn’t stop talking, but Geralt stopped listening, focusing instead on the firm press of Jaskier’s fingers. He wanted to give in completely, to let Jaskier do what he wished with him, but his body was already reacting and he suspected things might not go exactly as he was thinking.

Practiced fingers slid up to his neck and down over his shoulders and a low groan bubbled up from his chest, escaping as Jaskier’s fingers slid further down over his collar bones. It didn’t stop Jaskier; if anything, it encouraged him.

“Oh ho,” he said, understanding clear in his voice. “So that’s why you’re so tense. Tell me, Geralt, what’s on your mind?” He didn’t give more than a grunt in response, but Jaskier didn’t seem to mind. “What have you been thinking about, hm? Up here, all alone- You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I was thinking we could go to sleep early tonight, get an early start, but maybe I have a better plan.”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t you worry about it,” Jaskier sing-songed, “I promised you something nice, didn’t I?” He did, Geralt thought, but he was beginning to wonder just what something nice meant.

Jaskier stepped away from the tub and though the water has lost some of its original heat, Geralt was comfortable enough not to be too worried about where he was going. From a short distance, something broke the surface of the water and Geralt lifted an eyebrow in question before the salts sunk low enough to hit his skin. He hummed thoughtfully and Jaskier returned a moment later.

There was the pop of a cork being pulled and for a moment, Geralt’s senses were overwhelmed by the scent of wildflowers before the scent mingled amongst the others, fading. Then Jaskier’s hands pressed down on him again, slicks with oils and bolder than before. They slid down his stomach and the water rippled as they dipped into it, drawing it back up over Geralt’s dry chest.

Behind him, seemingly oblivious to Geralt’s delicate state, Jaskier started to sing. Geralt didn’t know the song, or couldn’t focus well enough to recognize it if he did, but he liked it. He liked the soft, lilting sound of Jaskier’s voice stronger as he bent lower over Geralt’s shoulder.

With each pass, Jaskier pushed lower until his chest was pressed against the back of Geralt’s head and Geralt’s body ached to press up into that touch and let Jaskier prove how dexterous his hands really were. A spike of lust, warm and spicy, spiked the air and at first, Geralt assumed it was his own, bleeding through where he tried to hold back. But this was different, this was tinged with something familiar, that same scent from earlier.

And then it hit him, that one component that he couldn’t figure out.

Anticipation, he realized and his eyes flashed open. Geralt reached blindly behind him, groping for any bit of loose clothing he could get his hand on. When his fingers found Jaskier’s wrist instead, he pulled him around to the front of the tub.

“You planned this,” he accused. Jaskier’s mouth dropped open and he drew back, his hand flying to his chest in shock. He opened his mouth to speak but Geralt lifted an eyebrow at him, one corner of his mouth quirking just so. Jaskier rolled his eyes relenting, dropping his arms to lean over the bath.

“Okay,” he admitted, “maybe.”

“Maybe,” Geralt echoed. “Why?”

Jaskier pushed himself upright again, throwing his hands up dramatically. “Why?” he asked, “why do I tend to your needs and take care of you? Because you don’t.”

“Hmm.”

“And maybe if you weren’t so stubborn-” Geralt cut him off, leaning forward and curling his fingers into Jaskier’s shirt.

“You smell-” he growled and Jaskier’s eyes widened where they met his own.

“Like I need a bath?” he offered anxiously, looking quickly down at the water beneath him. The hem of his shirt was hanging dangerously close to the water and by all accounts it appeared Geralt was intent on getting him in the water.

In reality, he hadn’t even quite thought this far. Now he’s sitting forward in the bath with Jaskier hanging over the edge of it, his own hand the only thing keeping him from being in the bath with him.

His skin prickled at the thought, but his mind was otherwise occupied, focused on Jaskier’s eyes and the almost hopeful glint in them, to push it aside. The scent, now tinged with something not unlike delight filled his head and Geralt surged forward without a further thought, catching Jaskier’s startled mouth in a bruising kiss.

To his surprise, the bard showed little apprehension, and when Geralt pulled back, Jaskier didn’t hesitate. Geralt didn’t even have time to catch his breath again before Jaskier kissed him, his lips soft and eager against his own. Geralt growled low in his throat and Jaskier all but when limp against him as he sat forward in the tub.

Behind him, Jaskier shifted awkwardly, kicking off his boots just in time for Geralt’s patience to run out. He inhaled deeply, letting Jaskier’s scent flood his senses and slid his hands underJaskier’s arms, hauling him up over the edge of the tub and into it with a splash. There would be hell to pay when the girls came to clean up after, but Geralt had waited far too long to worry about something as trivial as water on the floor.

Jaskier fitted himself against Geralt’s body, his thighs bracketing him with some difficulty in the confined space. Every time he moved, he sent waves of pleasure rolling through Geralt’s body and the Witcher dropped his head back, rolling against the tub. Jaskier was quick to take advantage of the situation, stretching up to mouth at his neck even as Geralt’s fingers pressed into his clothes.

He was soaked through up to his chest, but Geralt didn’t manage to get further than pushing his doublet back off his shoulders before Jaskier was shrugging out of it and reaching for him again.

There was a bang on the door and Jaskier’s head shot up to look at it, but Geralt pulled him back.

“Ignore it,” he breathed and Jaskier didn’t need to be told twice, melting back against him and letting Geralt kiss him with dedication.

Jaskier shifted against him, his arousal prominent as Geralt slid a hand down his back, pressing him closer. The innkeeper was still there, banging on the door, but Geralt wasn’t interested in talking or getting out of the bath or anything that didn’t have Jaskier in his lap, soft and damp and lovely.

In the background, there were complaints about water and dripping and then-

“Witcher!”

Geralt groaned as he pulled away from Jaskier’s lips, rolling his head back along the edge of the tub. His fingers continued, pushing through Jaskier’s hair and dragging against his skin as Jaaskier kissed a trail down the side of his neck and along his collar. His hips pressed down against him, moving in time with his kisses and Geralt dug his fingers into Jaskier’s hip to hold him steady, an attempt to keep his voice even.

“Ten minutes,” he shouted back at the innkeeper, his voice hoarse nonetheless.

“You’ve got five and I’m coming in.”

“Fine,” he grumbled, pulling Jaskier up to face him.

Jaskier was unaffected by the news, straightening and pressing his hands to Geralt’s chest. He leaned forward again, but Geralt turned his head to deflect. “Jas-” he groaned as hot lips found his jaw again. “I don’t want to get kicked out- I want a bed tonight.”

Jaskier seemed to gather his meaning and at that, he drew back, a look of intrigue plastered to his face. He climbed out of the tub, dripping all over the floor, his soaked clothes clinging to him in all the right places. He turned his back to Geralt, crossing to the door to try and placate the innkeeper.

Geralt heard something about a bathing mishap and a fire before rolling his eyes and pushing himself up and out of the tub. He dried himself just enough to pull his clothes back on before sliding up behind Jaskier, wrapping his arms around his waist.

“Bed,” he rumbled and Jaskier turned in his arms, reaching up to pull Geralt’s face to his own. When he kissed him, Geralt’s motivation to leave faded quickly, instead letting the bard press him against the wall, tangling his fingers in Geralt’s hair.

Cold seeped through his clothes, but Geralt pressed closer, taking the chance while he had it, lest it be the only time they got to do this. Wherever this night took them, Geralt was sure it would only happen once; he wasn’t blind to Jaskier’s other affections, nor did he expect him to give them up. He was happy enough just to have him around, most of the time.

Jaskier’s hand slipped down his stomach, creeping dangerously close to his untied trousers and Geralt pressed him back, walking him into the middle of the room. He only had so much patience and the innkeeper would be back soon and likely unimpressed to find them there like that.

Wet and cold, they quickly retrieved Jaskier’s boots and the remainder of Geralt’s clothes and stumbled out the door together. When they finally broke apart, Jaskier reached back, slipping his fingers between Geralt’s and tugging him along behind. Geralt huffed and followed, pleased enough to let Jaskier have his way with him, whatever that entailed. When they reached the room, Jaskier let go of his hand, turning to face him with a grin.

He crowded him up against the bedroom door, reaching around to open it and Geralt stumbled back, catching himself just as Jaskier shut the door behind them. As he turned back, Geralt slid a hand over his jaw, pulling Jaskier’s face back to his own. He kissed him softly, tugging him along even as Jaskier pushed him back, only stopping when his legs hit the edge of the bed.

Jaskier slipped his arms around his waist, kissing him once, finally, before pulling away. He curled his fingers around the edge of Geralt’s shirt, tugging it maddenly slowly up over his head. Geralt frowned at his leisureliness, but Jaskier just grinned at him, leaning in to kiss him again as he worked on getting the Witcher out of his trousers. Once he had, he pressed against Geralt’s chest, encouraging him down onto the bed Geralt sat, looking up at him expectantly. When Jaskier didn’t immediately join him, Geralt quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Lie down on your stomach, I think I promised you a massage.”

“Hmm.”

Geralt lay back on the bed, rolling over as Jaskier returned to the bed, his hands full of various bottles of oil. He set them down on the bed and took a step back. Geralt shifted to look behind him, watching as Jaskier peeled off his wet clothes and piled them in a heap on the floor. When he caught Geralt watching, he winked and crossed over to the bed.

“Like what you see?” he asked, smug. Geralt didn’t get a chance to respond before Jaskier climbed up over him, straddling his thighs and running a hand up his spine to lie him back down again. His skin was cold from his wet clothes, but it felt good against Geralt’s, heated with lust. “Relax,” he breathed, pressing his fingertips into Geralt’s shoulders.

He didn’t know how he was supposed to relax when his body burned with desire and Jaskier’s cock pressed into him every time he leaned forward. He shut his eyes, trying to focus on Jaskier’s hands instead of his cock slipping against his ass, pressing into his skin and sliding frustratingly close to where he really wants him. Geralt grumbled and groaned under him, but Jaskier’s hands were incredible seeking out every knot and soothing it, moving slowly down from his shoulders.

The scent of the oil was sharp and floral, mixing with Jaskier’s natural scent and the combination was intoxicating, driving Geralt crazy even when Jaskier wasn’t touching him. He groaned into the bed, arching his back and Jaskier leaned down, humming against his skin. He was keeping tune with something, but Geralt didn’t recognize the song, or maybe his head was too clouded with lust for the memory to get through.

When Jaskier’s fingers slipped down, pressing between his cheeks, Geralt’s entire body tensed and subsequently relaxed as warm, slick fingers slid across his hole. The moan that broke through the air was soft and desperate and it took Geralt a moment to realize it came from him. Jaskier didn’t even give him time to be embarrassed about it before pressing against him again and coaxing another shaky moan.

“Gods,” Jaskier breathed, bending low enough that his lips grazed Geralt’s skin when he spoke. “I could write a dozen ballads about the lines in your skin- and a dozen more about the sounds you make when I touch you.”

Geralt remained silent, curling his arms around a downy pillow and bringing it to press his face into. Jaskier continued, mumbling soft praise into Geralt’s skin as he pressed into him. He was cautious at first, testing the waters, but when Geralt rumbled and pressed his hips back, his wariness faded.

Jaskier leaned over him again, kissed his way down his spine, whispered into his skin all sorts of things Geralt knew not to be true. He wasn’t beautiful, he wasn’t good, but Jaskier- Jaskier believed these things about him and more. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, quickly to be replaced as Jaskier pressed into him again. He groaned, shifted his hips and his fingers clenched around the soft cloth of the pillow.

“Beautiful,” Jaskier hummed, so quiet Geralt wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear it at all. “Roll over, darling.” Jaskier withdrew and Geralt complied, turning onto his back and looking up at Jaskier.

He was smiling, looking down at him so softly and Geralt had to wonder if he ever stopped smiling. He reached out, slipped a hand around the back of Jaskier’s neck and guided him down, kissing him softly. Jaskier moved as he kissed him, shifted Geralt’s legs apart and settled himself between them, knees pressed under his thighs.

Jaskier groped blindly around the bed, happy enough to let Geralt hold him down. When he found what he was looking for, he shifted slightly in Geralt’s grip, slid a hand down between the two of them and wrapped his hand around him. Geralt pushed up into the touch, sliding one hand down Jaskier’s back to push his hips down against him. Jaskier huffed against his lips, stroking him slowly as his own cock pressed into Geralt’s hip.

He was steady but eager, always tending to Geralt’s needs before his own, but Geralt wants to see him, to know what Jaskier is really like behind closed doors where there was no one to perform for. Just once, he got to be the focus of Jaskier’s attention. He had spent more time with the bard than anyone else in his life, but this was different. This was so much more than just Jaskier traipsing around after him, flirting incessantly.

Jaskier frowned down at him. He was thinking too much.

Before Jaskier could do anything, Geralt pushed him up, rolling him onto his back. He climbed over him, pressing Jaskier’s arms against the bed as he reached up for him. He dipped down, catching Jaskier’s lips in a slow, passionate kiss.

Geralt lingered longer than intended, letting himself sink a little lower, press himself against Jaskier. He slid his hands down, pressing his palms against Jaskier’s and Jaskier surges up, kissing him back hard drawing him in with his enthusiasm. And Geralt let him, let him overwhelm and when Jaskier’s legs wound around his hips, he dropped against him, fitting their bodies together.

When he finally drew back, Geralt’s breath caught. As his grip lessened, Jaskier pulled his hands free, reaching up to tangle them in Geralt’s hair. His eyes were wide, dark with lust but bright, smiling and a familiar warmth flooded through Geralt’s chest.

This wasn’t going to just be one night. Even if he wanted it to be, even if they both decided against it, they were bound to wind up here again because Jaskier did something to him that no one else had succeeded in doing in a very long time; he made him feel wanted, loved.

He slid his arms under Jaskier’s shoulders, pulling him close and Jaskier met him halfway, tugging his head down and kissing him roughly. Jaskier smiled against him, and when Geralt pressed against him, rolled his hips slowly, he dropped back to the bed with a gasp. Geralt followed and let himself be pushed back against the bed.

Jaskier pressed him down, kissing a line down his chest, drawing away. Geralt watched him go and Jaskier caught his gaze, holding it as he moved slowly down, tracing circles in Geralt’s skin with his tongue. Geralt groaned and his breath grew ragged as Jaskier’s fingers dragged over his hips, his mouth creeping close to his cock.

When his mouth wrapped around him, Geralt’s eyes dropped shut, hips rising as he reached for Jaskier.

“Fuck,” he breathed and Jaskier hummed proudly around him, sinking further onto him. Geralt pushed off the bed, his eyes dropped shut as Jaskier’s tongue wrapped around him, his fingers pressed against his head as he tried not to let himself lose control.

Jaskier’s scent spiked with a heady spice and Geralt dropped one hand to the bed, digging his fingers into the bedding as Jaskier’s mouth slid up to the head again. He opened his eyes, risking a glance, and Jaskier looked up to meet him, all dark eyes and tousled hair. He looked incredible like that and the sheer image of it combined with that scent was making it difficult for Geralt not to just haul him up over him.

“Fuck, Jask-”

Jaskier pulled up, letting Geralt’s cock drop back against his stomach and he watched him, running his fingers along the inside of Geralt’s thigh. He dipped his head, pressing a soft kiss to Geralt’s hip before crawling slowly up him, over him.

Jaskier slid a hand over his chest, twirling his fingers in the short hairs there. Geralt tilted his head up and Jaskier grinned at him. He dipped down, kissing Geralt’s chest and when he reached his mouth again, Geralt could smell sweetness mingling with the spice of his lust, something he didn’t quite know what to do with. But Jaskier wasn’t concerned.

He kissed him sweetly, letting Geralt feel the full force of his affection, and when he pressed up close, he pushed Geralt’s legs up as he did. Geralt went with him, letting Jaskier do as he pleased, too preoccupied with his touch and his fucking scent to want anything more. As he kissed him, Jaskier sought out the oil again, rocking himself against Geralt’s ass. He felt incredible and Geralt growled his impatience, running his fingers through Jaskier’s hair as he brought his legs up around Jaskier’s hips.

When he found the bottle, Jaskier slipped a hand down between them, stroking himself slowly as he slicked himself and pressed against Geralt’s rim. As he pushed in, he pressed his forehead against Geralt’s, groaning out a low oh fuck.

Geralt’s hold lessened on him as Jaskier moved inside him, setting him aflame from the inside out. His body burned with Jaskier’s touch, ached for it even as the bar gave him what he wanted, thrusting deep and pressing himself against him. He kissed him like he was something precious and Geralt wrapped his arms around him, sliding his fingers up the back of his neck.

He realized now that he would never see that park of Jaskier that flirted his way through court and charmed every pretty face that came his way. He wasn’t unhappy because he knew why now; it was simple, Jaskier was just different when he was with others. He liked to belong to someone, to love them for a few hours or days or weeks, but inevitably those romances faded. And yet, for eleven years, he’d been with Geralt and continued to return to him.

The realization sat heavily on his heart and Geralt pushed him up enough to look at him. A soft smile crept onto his face as Jaskier grinned down at him and he leaned up to kiss him again.

He shut his eyes and focused on the body against him, the fingers that pushed through his hair, the lips against his own. Jaskier was indeed talented, but more importantly, he was loving. In their years together, he had always been affectionate, caring, but Geralt could be happy to spend the rest of his life in this bed with Jaskier’s hands on him, soothing over the scars and fawning over him.

They moved together, breathing heavily and Geralt’s moans broke the quiet as Jaskier’s thrusts grew quicker, more erratic. His own body responded in kind, pushing off the bed as his pleasure came to a peak. He clutched Jaskier against him as he came, kissed him breathlessly. And when Jaskier tensed against him and pressed his face into Geralt’s neck, he ran his fingers through his hair, breathing softly against him.

They laid like that for some time, chests heaving against each other and tangled together before Jaskier leaned up, kissed him and rolled off to the side. He laid on his back, still catching his breath and turned his head to Geralt, looking at him out of the corner of his eyes, a smug smirk spreading across his face. Geralt shut his eyes with a soft smile and shook his head.

“Thank you for bearing with me tonight,” Jaskier breathed, propping himself up to face Geralt.

“Hmm.”

“I know you don’t like sitting through feasts and speeches and I do appreciate it.”

“It wasn’t all bad,” Geralt admitted and as he peeked over, Jaskier’s eyes shone.

“That’s right,” he smirked. “Something got to you tonight. What was it?”

Geralt shut his eyes again and ignored him. He valued his peace too much to let Jaskier know his singing and playing affected him. No, that was information that didn’t need to be shared.

“No really,” Jaskier pressed, “tell me what you were thinking about in the bath? What got you all hot and bothered before I showed up?”

Geralt hummed, laced his fingers between Jaskier’s and lifted their hands, considering them before lowering them to his lips and kissing Jaskier’s knuckles.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Yes, in fact, I would.”

Geralt chuckled softly, rolling onto his side and leaning in to kiss Jaskier, effectively silencing him. “We should clean up before bed.”

“Mm,” Jaskier hummed. “That may be difficult. I don’t think they’re going to let you back in the bath.”

#geraskier #scent kink #bathing #massage #wip: bath #5k+#rex writes

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angel-squid-trash-ghost · 4 years

Text

Parental Guidance Pt.3

"You have a lot of explaining to do Iroh.” The Fire Lord’s voice rumbled on the marble walls.

“I can begin anywhere you like, brother.” Iroh kept his face impassive yet still retained his natural smirk.

“You can begin by telling me why you kidnapped the Prince!” The Fire Lord bellowed.

Iroh was no fool. And at times neither was his brother. But Ozai was a glutton for flattery, “I simply was doing what was best for the country. I could not allow my honorable brother to taint his hands in scandal. When our late father, may he be resting in the hands of Agni, had tasked you with the elimination of the prince, of course I did not question. When Lady Ursa foolishly disrupted, the task was not completed. I only did what a good brother would do and tried to help the best way I could.”

“By taking him from the palace alive.” Ozai’s nose started to flare.

“Yes of course! Seeing the boy board alive raised no suspicions. I was free to help on the open ocean. Away from listening ears and prying eyes. And alas, I was handed the perfect solution. When our ship sunk it took many lives including the Prince’s. The people weep for him in the streets as we speak.” Iroh held back the bile creeping up his throat.

“I do not care what they are doing in the streets. They seem to be weeping about something all of the time. Is it not enough that I am conquering the world for them?”

“Oh but, brother, their tears can be used to your advantage. Appear to them and share in their losses of their own sons with yours. You will have them not just by their minds but also their hearts. They will see you as you truly are. A man who just wants what is best for his people.”

“I do not care what’s best for them. I want glory! Victory! I’ll let them starve if it means the rest of The Earth Kingdom!” Ozai thundered. The sound rung for seconds after. He breathed out smoke regaining his prim posture. “But I can see the appeal in that strategy.”

“You are wise and will make the best decision.” Iroh bowed. Only for a moment. He didn’t trust his brother not to throw fire at his head.

Ozai laughed, “So, what decision should I make about you? I should burn you alive. Or at least imprison you. Your attempt of help could have been a disaster.”

“But the spirits were on my side. Everything happened as it should have. Now the Prince is no longer a problem and you, dear brother, are Fire Lord.” Iroh fought the strain in his smile.

“True again.” Ozai looked to be pondering something. “Alright I have made a decision. We will use the Prince’s unfortunate death to win the people over. They will be allowed to pity me and then love me more. Then I will continue taking what belongs to us and they will worship me forever.” Ozai said pleased with himself.

“An excellent judgment.” Iroh nodded. He waited patiently for Ozai to say more.

“And about you. I don’t think our father would have wanted me to kill you. He would have just made the request if he did. I will allow you to keep your life. I may need you later.”

“A thousand thanks to you, your majesty.” Iroh himself thought he sounded a little forced.

“The news spreading of a dead royal child will surely knock the memories of your failure at Ba Sing Se right out of their simple heads.”

“Indeed.” Iroh bit his tongue. Ozai had not stopped mentioning the failed siege. He wished to insult his military career forgetting it was where Iroh lost his only child. Or perhaps he did not forget. He did try to murder his own son.

“If you ever move without my permission again, I will string you up in the middle of Caldera and set you aflame myself.” Ozai warped his mouth into a wicked grin.

Iroh was keen to change the subject in case Ozai thought too long on it. “Very understandable. Maybe we can start new with a nice cup of tea.”

“Yes.”

Servants reappeared a short time later with everything Iroh needed. He took the teapot into his hands and heated the water to the proper temperature. Iroh had not forgiven himself for abandoning Zuko and probably never would. He prayed every night he was still alive. He hadn’t expected the Water tribesman especially a Southern one, to be so unafraid of him. Then maybe they had gotten rid of Zuko and his nephew was truly dead. Iroh had tried to apologize that night as him and his men made their escape. Hopefully, it was enough to make the chieftain understand.

A piece of his heart was with Zuko. Another with his wife. Another with his son. The last bit he would try to give to Azula. Ozai’s second child. Iroh knew without the intervention of Ursa, Ozai would sink his talons into her and sear her with his hatred for everything not golden eyed and draped in red. Fortunately Azula was still a toddler and had more of a chance.

“So how is the Princess Azula progressing.” Iroh poured the tea.

“A cup of tea and you go rambling on like an old man.”

“A cup of wine and you ramble on like a mad one.” Iroh jested.

Ozai did not seem to mind, “Well her tutors say she is doing well. She is learning to write the formal characters.”

“Write? She is barely three years of age.” Iroh took a long sip.

“Yes. She is a prodigy. She’s excelling in teachings created for children twice her age. The sages have determined she will be a bender.”

Iroh caught his paternal tone and tried to hold onto it. “Oh good news.”

“Very good. I like her much more than the first one. The other one was always whining. I blame myself. I allowed him to be around his mother too much. Not this time. Azula will be the perfect heir.” His brother’s smile had not wavered once.

Iroh balked at what was considered to be a normal chat at tea in the court. He pressed on pouring another round, “And if I may ask, where is the Lady Ursa now?”

“Not that it is any of your business, but I had her branded and banished. But she has probably taken her own life by now.”

“Maybe.” Iroh said sadly.

It was almost certainly true. He wouldn’t blame her any.

…………………………….................................................................................

Zuko rolled over in his furs. He settled into the warmth that encircled him. He was still getting used to the cold. It wasn’t too bad until the wind blew. He looked across the floor to Katara. Katara was nice. She called him friend. She was teaching him how to talk like her. He was teaching her some of his words too. Every day he woke up; earlier than the rest, looking forward to sitting with Katara and learning new things. He squirmed closer to her. She never seemed to mind even when he did wake her. She’d always smiled at him before lolling back to sleep.

The next person to wake would be Sir. Sir always sat up, looked to his left, say something, and then fully arise. Zuko always pretended he was asleep. He’d watch Sir dress himself with his chiefly fittings and unwrap his great whale bone spear. He wished he was allowed to hold it. Not even Kanna picked it up.

Zuko watched Sir leave. He wasn’t sure if Sir ever noticed he was awake. Zuko had a difficult time figuring him out. He was kind enough. Although he wasn’t allowed to sleep near Sir anymore, he still said goodnight. Sir taught him things like sit straight, don’t rub it, speak up. He would ask Zuko if he was ok a lot. Sir liked it the most when Zuko said he was in a good mood. But there were other times when Sir would be a little more cross. He had to learn do not do that and did you hear me. It didn’t take Zuko long to figure out he wasn’t supposed to eat snacks in his bedding or bring Mink Snakes into the house.

He laid a little longer and stretched out his legs. He could feel the sun move higher in the sky even with the pelt blocking the window. Next, Kanna woke. She made a lot of noise getting up. She waddled over to Zuko,

“Good morning, Early bird!” Gran- Gran bent the best she could. She planted a big wet kiss on his cheek. “Go get that pan hot now. I have something special for breakfast.”

Zuko threw off his furs eagerly. He ran over to the hearth throwing some fresh wood in. Gran- Gran had showed him how to use spark rocks. The small lights bounced around the wood until a tiny string of smoke appeared. Zuko cupped his hands and blew the fire to life.

“Well done. Now get Katara and Sokka up.”

“Yes!” Zuko hopped up and crouched to Katara’s side. “Katara time to wake up.” He patted her cheek softly. “Up, up.”

“Good morning, Zuko.” She smiled big.

“Good morning.” He smiled back.

Katara suddenly scrunched back down into the furs. “Mm! It’s too cold!”

Zuko reached behind him and pulled out the extra blanket Sir had given him. “Here.” He said in Fire’s Tongue.

Katara sat up. He wrapped the blanket around her. She nestled softening her expression. Some of her braid had come loose and the dark ringlets roamed around her. She looked at him with sleepy eyes. Zuko moved some of the hair from her face. If he kept doing it, he feared she would fall back asleep. He made sure he was nice to her when she woke up. Zuko regretted waking up Katara those nights when his mind wouldn’t cease showing him images of black water and screaming men. But Katara was there when he opened his eyes. Her small hands would grasp him and tell him he was safe. And he would feel safe. He wanted Katara to have the same feeling.

She pulled the thick material tightly around herself. “Thank you.”

Zuko stood and grabbed his pillow.

“What are you doing?” Katara yawned.

Zuko tossed the pillow at Sokka. The pillow made a satisfying thump. “Sokka! Wake up!”

Sokka made the noise of a dying Tiger Seal. “Go away!”

“Zuko be nice.” Kanna tutted.

“Sokka! Food. You help.”

“Cooking is women’s work.” Sokka abruptly sprang up. “Is that bacon?” His mouth watered.

“Sure is.” Kanna eyed smugly. “But maybe only us women and Zuko will get some.”

“You help cook or you help clean. Gran-Gran say.” Zuko teased.

“So you go help then Mr. Helpy-helper-head.” Sokka rolled back over.

When Katara went over the words for family, Zuko learned Sokka was her brother. Sokka still wasn’t open to Zuko being in the house. Zuko at first tried to get Sokka to like him but he just ended up being called names. Some of them he hadn’t learned yet, but he could tell they were mean. Sometimes he’d try to boss him around and Zuko would just pretend not to understand. Katara said he didn’t have to listen to Sokka anyway. There wasn’t much he knew about him besides that he liked meat and weapons. It seemed if he was not eating, he was practicing throwing his boomerang.

“You know the little ones can’t help with all the cooking yet. How do expect to feed yourself when you go hunting with your father?” Kanna said.

Sokka pouted taking the spatula. He mumbled something about “warrior’s sleep” watching the meat carefully.

"Watch out for the grease popping."

"I know. Ow!" Sokka jumped back.

Zuko and Katara laughed at him. Katara moved her arm to ask Zuko to join her. He sat and snuggled under the blanket. She was warm or he was warm. He didn’t know. But she was soft and her hair was soft and the blanket was soft. Zuko thought about building a house made out of a giant blanket. Then they could be warm forever.

Katara turned her attention to Zuko, "Guess what! Today is your last day wearing these.”

“Last day?” Zuko asked unfamiliar with the phrase.

“No more bandages!”

Zuko nodded. "That is good. Katara is happy?”

“Uh-huh!” Katara hugged him, “Aren’t you happy?”

“Yes!” Zuko cheered.

…

Breakfast was amazing. Zuko would dream of the salty meat for weeks. Sokka had already joined the other boys in weapons lessons. Zuko sat with Katara to hear the story about the Wolf and the Raven. Gran-Gran was an amazing storyteller. She showed them tiny cards with painted pictures. They had to hold them carefully because they were very old. The lesson in the story was about working together. Zuko thought it was his favorite so far. Next was practicing writing his name. Katara could write his name better than him. He tried not to let it bother him. Katara said he would get better. He was a natural talent in sewing. Gran-Gran mended clothes so she could trade for goods around the village. Ms. Yise’s petty skirt was going to get lamp oil. Mr. Kursru’s parka would get more spark rocks. Then they were going to pick up the weekly rations of non-hunted food. Gran- Gran had tried to explain to him that tradesmen had brought some root vegetables from the Earth Kingdom. He didn’t know what they were or where the Earth Kingdom was, but Gran-Gran seemed excited. So he was too.

His excitement didn’t last long. Kehana, the healer had requested to see him. He didn’t like visiting her. She always looked at him like she had eaten something bitter. She was old like Gran-Gran but not at all inviting. He hated the ointment she put on him. It stung and smelled rotten. He hated her thin fingers and how they were so sharp he felt like they might poke right through him. But Katara always went with him. She held his hand and told Kehana when she was being too rough. He was lucky to have a friend like her.

“Almost done.” Katara squeezed his hand as Kehana prodded at his scar, “Then we’ll go deliver the clothes. Gran-Gran should be all done when we get back.”

“Ok.” Zuko winced as the brush irritated the freshly cleaned scar tissue.

“Can you be more gentle please.” Katara asked sweetly. Zuko sighed in relief.

Kehana glared but lessened the pressure. “Your father shouldn’t be letting you spend so much time with him.”

Katara creased her brow, “Huh?”

“You are around him too much. It isn’t right.”

Zuko didn’t like her tone. Katara held his hand tighter, “Zuko’s my friend!”

“I hope you remember that when the Fire Nation come back.” Kehana all but threw the brush back in the bowl. “This is the last time I want to see your unsightly face, boy.”

Zuko lip quivered. He took a deep breath. Deeper than he ever had before. “Be nice.”

“Do not dare speak to me!” Kehana snapped. Zuko scrambled back. Her rage felt too familiar.

Katara pulled Zuko up. “Come on Zuko, let’s go. We don’t need her anymore anyway.” She grabbed their parkas.

Kehana started ranting about how she had come so low in her life to end up treating a Fire nation child. “Stupid girl. Your mother thought she could talk to the Fire Nation as well. And now she is dead.”

Something in Katara’s chest lurched. “Miserable hag!” Katara kicked the ointment, splattering it on the wall. She hadn’t even buttoned up before she was dragging Zuko out of the hut.

Zuko stared at Katara’s uncovered head as he tried to cry silently. She was really upset, and he didn’t want to make her worry more. He wasn’t entirely sure of what Kehana said but he could feel it in his bones that she hated him. He felt like it was his fault she was mean to Katara. The tears fell harder. He could no longer conceal his sniffling. Katara stopped stomping and turned around. Her eyes were watery, and her face was twisted like he’d never seen before. For a moment he thought she was going to yell at him. She sighed and touched the edge of his scar.

“Don’t worry about her. You’re not ugly.”

Zuko shook his head. He didn’t know the right words to say in that moment, “I’m sorry.” Is all he could think of.

“You don’t need to be sorry. Kehana is just a meanie. An old stupid meanie…” She trailed off as tears slipped. She tried to blink them away. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about anyway! Mommy was trying to protect us!” Her voice cracked.

Zuko almost tackled her into a hug. Katara let loose and sobbed hard. She shuddered when he rubbed her back. There were so many things he wanted to say. So many questions he wanted to ask. There were still so many words he didn’t know. So he whispered Fire’s Tongue into her hair. He told her she was the nicest person ever. How she was brave for speaking up for him. And how beautiful she was when he first woke up. He thought she was a spirit of mercy and he still wasn’t convinced she wasn’t. Katara settled down and drew back a little. Zuko gently wiped her eyes. She hiccupped in some breaths before she fully regained herself. She put her hands on his face. Zuko could tell she was thinking about something.

“You’re not bad. I can tell. I’ve seen bad people. They hurt my mommy. I think they hurt you too.” She traced his scar again. “When my mommy died, I prayed for her to come back.” She shuttered again. Zuko put his hands on hers. “When it didn’t work, I prayed for a friend. There’s no one my age here and it felt like no one else understood…I just wanted someone to talk to.”

“Katara teach me. So I can talk and make Katara feel better.” Zuko started to fasten her parka.

Katara smiled big. But tears came again. She threw her arms around his neck. “I knew when I heard you came from the ocean that La had saved you. And then Mommy had brought you here so that I wouldn’t be lonely anymore.”

“Lonely?” Zuko asked.

Katara looked at Zuko. “Don’t worry about that word. I’ll make sure you never have to know what it means.”

Zuko squished her cheeks making her giggle. “Friends.”

“Friends forever.” Katara put her forehead to his.

The night was easier after Gran-Gran reprimanded them for dawdling. She couldn’t have been too angry because she made cookies to celebrate Zuko not having to wear his bandages anymore. At bedtime, Katara insisted on sleeping in Zuko’s furs. Sir had no luck in trying to convince her otherwise. After their goodnight prayers and kisses, Katara cuddled close and Zuko closer. She fell asleep before him. He closed his eyes to follow.

“Friends forever.” He whispered into the darkness.

#zutara #zuko x katara #Zuko #young zuko #katara #young katara #sokka #young sokka #hakoda #kanna #Avatar The Last Airbender #atla fanfic #alternate universe #cannon divergence #i own nothing #oc #baby zuko #sad katara

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manicpixiedreamguurl · 4 years

Text

I got my period in the middle of the night and now I have a deep need for consistency and daddy Roman. Lemme project a lil

They have been together for a long time. Since they were teenagers. Neither of them knew the exact date but it didn’t matter. Over the years how they treated her period has changed a lot. In their teen years roman could barely handle himself, and she would let him do whatever he wanted. He would become feral clawing at her panties as soon as he smelled it on her, something at the time she loved. It had helped bond them in a weird way.

Now that he’s a ceo and her cramps have gotten worse by ten fold things are a lot calmer. Roman understands his blood lust and now that he has a nutrient from pryce and sometimes indulges on feeding on her neck her period blood (that’s like 80% water did you guys know that?? I didn’t know that and it freaked me out lmao) doesn’t string him out the way it used to. Now he’s much more concerned with how she’s feeling. He wants her to feel comfortable. Everything he does in life now has her in mind.

One night she was stirring in her sleep having a bad dream. She was in pain, and couldn’t find out why. She tried screaming but with her muscles in the rem stage she didn’t make a noise. Roman felt her stirring and opened one eye to make sure she was okay it was almost as soon as he saw her face that he smelled her bleeding. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand and saw it was around 3am. He would have to be awake for work soon in a few hours but he knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep through this much longer and he didn’t want her to anyway.

They had been expecting her period any day. She calculated it the best she could because she’s not one for surprises. A doctor at the tower, that is absolutely not pryce because he freaks her out, has her on a really awesome birth control making her as regular as she could be. The reason she went on it was to try and combat cramps but it didn’t workout quite the way they had hoped.

“Hey.” He whispered leaning forward to kiss her forehead. She didn’t wake so he cupped his hands around her checks and kissed in between her eyes a little harder then before.

“Hey.” He repeated.

Her eyes opened and she started gasping for breath. She recognized she was in pain but still half asleep she wasn’t sure if it was still part of the dream.

“You’re okay, baby.” Roman whispered pulling her into his chest. She snuggled into him and took a deep breath.

“I was having a nightmare.” She explained.

Roman sighed. “You started.”

“God fucking dammit.” She fussed. She felt the need to cry wash over her. Even though it shouldn’t be, it was embarrassing. You never really get used to bleeding all over your rich boyfriends bed. She pushed her palms against his chest to remove herself from him but he didn’t let go. She had thought for a second maybe he had fallen back asleep. “Rome.” She urged as she pushed again.

“It’s not a big deal.” He said to her.

She rolled her eyes and even in the darkness of the room Roman had felt her do it.

“Don’t get bratty. Go take care of it and I’ll be here.” He let her out of his arms and she scurried away as fast as she could. She stopped in the closet first grabbing some fresh pajamas and panties before rushing to the bathroom.

Roman waited until he heard the bathroom door shut and then got up. He turned a few lights on but dimmed down so he could see without blowing out his pupils. His girlfriend always gave him shit for the extra boujie things he had in his house. Lights with the perfect dimmers, heated tiles in the bathroom, he even had a small appliance specifically to warm towels for after a shower. She made fun of him for all of these things but was also the first one to use the heated tiles in the winter.

He made his way to the hallway near the bedroom and pulled out some clean sheets. There wasn’t any blood on the ones already on the bed but he knew it would make her feel better if they were clean anyway. He scanned around the cabinet and pulled out the heating pad tucked away in the back used only during one week in the month. It was old and ratty, probably from the early 80’s and definitley a fire hazard.

“But it still works.” She would fight when he offered a new one.

Tucking the sheets safely under his arm he made his way down into the kitchen for some water and something to help her with the pain. He lightly jogged up the stairs to make sure he would be back before she was.

When she returned from the bathroom Roman had just plugged in the heating pad into the outlet near the wall. She noticed the new sheets on the bed and felt a little guilty about him having to do all of this for her in the middle of the night.

“Thankyou.” She tried to sound extra grateful although she didn’t have to. Roman knew she appreciated everything he did for her. He wouldn’t do any of it otherwise.

“Anything for you babygirl. What else do you need?”

Her eyes fell to the nightstand where Roman had put a glass of water and a joint. Tylenol probably would have sufficed but this is still Roman we are talking about.

“I shouldn’t have that in here.” She pointed to the joint. “I can go into the garage at least.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “I don’t think one joint is going to ruin the entire bedroom. Besides Mother Nature fucked you hard tonight, I think you earned it.”

“But you have to be awake soon anyway I can just—“

“I’ll work from home today.” He grabbed the joint himself and lit it with a match from the drawer of the nightstand. After a slow inhale to get it going he held it out to her. “Come on, let me take care of you.”

She took a deep breath and nodded. He was right. She didn’t know why she was fighting it. Maybe because she was in pain and past the point of frustration well into self pity.

She crawled into bed with him and they passed the joint back and forth in silence until it was burned all the way down into Roman’s fingertips. She adjusted herself with the heating pad against her lower abdomen and sunk further into romans arms. Her cramps finally subsiding as Romans cool hands traced along the freckles on her arms.

“You don’t have to work from home. I’m a big girl.” She pouted.

Roman grinned and kissed the crook of her neck.

“That may be true. But you are MY babygirl.”

#roman godfrey #imagine how incredible that mans bathroom is tho #i just like love to daydream about roman

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winryofresembool · 4 years

Text

Caleo one-shot: Only Us

Summary: Calypso tries to convince a jealous Leo that he doesn't have to worry about her and Percy.

a/n: Decided to post this here too! Like I said on AO3 (and have said here a few times), I’m still in the middle of reading ToA so this fic isn’t entirely canon compliant, but I still feel like jealous Leo is smth that would probably happen at some point of their relationship so that’s why I wanted to write this fic. Anyways, please enjoy and review! The comments motivate me /a lot/.

words: 1865

genre: some floof, some hurt/comfort

warnings: none

AO3 link: [x]

...

Leo was bored. He had already done everything he had planned for that day – finishing his newest mechanic project, oiling and flying with Festus, helping his siblings, coming up with a new bad joke – but he hadn’t had a chance to spend a lot of time with his girlfriend. He was on his way to the strawberry fields where he knew Calypso liked to spend her time because it reminded her of her home, when he noticed her on the beach. That alone didn’t surprise Leo. The sea was another place she considered home-y, after all. What did surprise him, though, was that she wasn’t alone. She was with Percy. And they seemed to be deep in a conversation.

“I’m sorry about what happened in Tartarus,” Leo heard Calypso saying. “I didn’t mean to curse you… it was a moment of whim and I didn’t think… I mean, it doesn’t excuse it but…”

“Hey, it’s OK,” Percy tried to reassure her, putting his hand on her shoulder for a moment. “You were mad because I forgot to make sure the gods had fulfilled their promise… So I’m sorry too.”

Leo didn’t hear more because as the words sunk in, his first instinct in that situation was to leave. Go and never let them know he had heard any of that. However, his mind was racing with possibilities of what that conversation could have meant, so Leo decided to try to distract himself with the best way he could.

His bunker had been a place that had brought him comfort ever since he had found it almost two years prior. However, soon he noticed that this time even that didn’t help; his hands were working on something he didn’t even recognize while his mind wandered elsewhere. When he stopped for a break, one of his hands started tapping that familiar rhythm he always tapped when anxious. He immediately stopped when realized what he was doing, very conscious of the meaning of the Morse code he had used. Love only hurt, it seemed. Leo had been occasionally thinking how lucky he was to have a girlfriend like Calypso, but he should have known it wouldn’t last. Not when he could offer nothing all the other boys couldn’t. Percy was handsome, strong, tall and funny, and he hadn’t broken Calypso’s table when they met (that was always a bonus). It was only natural she’d like him more.

With frustration, Leo started forming fireballs with his hands and shot the first one into an open water container where it wouldn’t cause dangerous situations. Festus, who had been resting outside the bunker, woke up at the sound of the fireball hitting its destination and when the second ball started flying, he threw himself between the ball and the container and swallowed it, then making a rare hissing sound at the person who had rebuilt him.

“What are you hissing me for?” Leo snapped at the metal dragon, another very rare occurrence. Often Festus was the only one who Leo felt understood him, and in general Hephaestus’ son was very calm and patient with him. That’s how the dragon knew something definitely was wrong with his master. He gave his answer by blowing smoke like a morse code from his nose, probably telling him to stop being stupid.

“Fine,” Leo sighed, sitting down on the stairs next to Festus. “It’s Calypso. I saw her with Percy and… I’m probably being paranoid but seeing them interact like that made me think… what if she falls in love with him again? I’m no match for that guy; you know water and fire are not a good combo…”

Festus made some ticking sounds this time, trying to convince Leo that she wouldn’t do such a thing.

“You seem very sure for something that I built… So, what do you say I should do about this?”

Festus pushed him with his huge snout, almost making him fall.

“Okay, okay! I’ll tell her what I saw. Happy?”

Festus made a sound that sounded a whole lot like a snort, reminding Leo that that was literally what his name meant. Happy.

“That was a bad joke, bud. I can still change your name to something that doesn’t mean happy, you know,” he sassed at the dragon but this time the metal creature made so clear a laughter sound that Leo couldn’t mistake it, challenging him to try. Knowing the dragon had won that battle, Leo decided to return back to the camp and face his girlfriend.

…

When the couple was finally alone later that evening, Leo didn’t have time to mention Percy before Calypso noted his weird behavior.

“Leo, you’ve been so quiet this evening. You didn’t even try to outjoke Apollo at the dinner and that has probably happened… well, never, so far. Is something troubling you?”

Leo supposed that this moment was as good as any to confess what he had seen.

“I saw… you and Percy talking at the beach.”

“Oh…” Calypso thought she knew what was coming but she decided to bite her lip and let Leo speak. If she had learned something about him during all those months they’d spent traveling, it was that if you didn’t give him the opportunity to speak out, he may bottle those emotions inside until near explosion point.

“You were looking pretty chummy out there,” Leo continued, staring at his hands awkwardly.

“I don’t know what that word means but we had a good talk,” Calypso replied, crossing her arms over her chest. “We realized that we both had made some mistakes and… while some scars heal slowly, we decided we’re past that point where we can just avoid each other and act like nothing happened.”

“Was that all?” Leo asked doubtfully.

Calypso didn’t know how she should have reacted to that question. She was torn between annoyed and amused because of Leo’s clear jealousy. She chose the latter.

“Leo Valdez. You really don’t have to worry about me and Percy. We've moved on a long time ago. The way he looks at Annabeth… it’s so obvious he loves her a lot.” Before he could argue something about ‘old salt’, she added: “And… even though he has his flaws… I have met a pretty special person as well.”

“Huh?” Leo finally raised his gaze from hands his with surprise. Calypso wasn’t usually that straightforward about her feelings with him, she preferred showing it with actions rather than drown Leo with sappy words.

Calypso smirked slightly. “You know the one. He broke my dining table the first time we met. Sometimes his jokes are very bad and he’s too sarcastic for his own good. He can be stubborn to the point of it getting frustrating.”

Her expression turned back to serious.

“Worst of all, he has a huge inferiority complex, which means he doesn't see himself the way he should and blames himself for things that are out of his control. He can also get pretty jealous because he doesn’t believe that someone could actually love him.”

Leo rolled his eyes. “Thanks. Just what I needed. Salt to my wounds and a reminder of my flaws.”

Calypso raised her voice to stop him, but there was softness in her eyes as he continued.

“Listen to how this story ends, OK? This guy… He's more smart and skilled he realizes. He's taught me so much about the modern world, even some embarrassing things.” She stopped for a moment, remembering a time when they had gone to a clothes store and she had seen modern underwear for the first time, asking about their use.

"Right,” Leo nodded, probably thinking about the same incident.

Calypso continued: “He even knows several languages and has taught me some too, although I’m not sure how useful the Spanish swear words will be to me. He also built an entire battle ship and a mechanical dragon that’s basically alive.” (Festus, who was also nearby, snorted, meaning: ‘basically?’) “Rumor has it he died for his friends so no one else would have to and outwitted the death. Those alone are some pretty cool things. But there’s more.”

For once Leo didn’t know what to say. Never had he heard anyone talk about him like that.

“There are moments when I can see the past coming to haunt him. But even though he hurts, he tries his best to make others smile with his – maybe not always bad - jokes, and it usually works. And…” Calypso brushed a lock of black, curly hair behind Leo’s ear gently, “he came back to get me from Ogygia even though it was supposed to be impossible, even though I admit that I probably didn't give you a lot of reasons to like me… But somehow you saw through my cover and knew that I still cared about you, even though I really strongly tried to fight against it because I had been hurt too many times. When you showed up again… I’m pretty good at concealing my feelings but I actually wanted to cry when I saw you that day. Because someone really cared enough to break through the curse.”

She swiped a couple of tears that had fallen on her cheeks, with her other hand lifting Leo’s chin so she knew he was looking at her. His eyes were burning with emotions he didn’t know how to express.

“Of course I care!” he exclaimed. “Was I supposed to just leave you there after everything you did for me?!”

“Leo… Do you know how many times I had to listen to men promising to come back to me and they never did? I had already lost my hope after Percy and that was why I got so mad when you showed up for the first time. But… when I got to know you better, I think I started sensing that there was something different about you. That you’d really go through enormous lengths for someone you loved. Of course, I didn’t think you’d fall for me because I was acting the way I was, but for once, I got lucky.”

“No, you didn’t get lucky. You deserved it,” Leo said quietly.

“Whatever you say.” Calypso smiled a bit sadly. “Anyway. There are some things we still need to work on. For example, you still have to learn to appreciate yourself more. I can't do that for you… but I can be by your side and support you, as long as you let me.”

“Cal… thanks. I feel pretty stupid for doubting your feelings. Lo siento, for reals. If I do something like that again, feel free to punch me, or whatever. And if someone’s lucky here, that’s me because you’re pretty damn amazing.” Suddenly his face got his usual mischievous expression. “Now, as for those bad jokes...”

Calypso couldn’t help but smirk as well. “Ha, I knew you'd get stuck on that. You idiot. But maybe they are a part of your charm,” she shrugged.

"Wait. You think my jokes are charming?" Leo asked, now sounding a lot more like himself.

"Hush. Or I may change my mind about that," Calypso noted and pulled him for a much needed kiss.

#caleo #leo valdez #calypso #heroes of olympus #trials of apollo #pjo #my fics

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