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crystalelemental · 1 year

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Pokemon Team Analysis - Geeta

Alright, time for something that’s stupid and ill-advised. I’m gonna talk about Geeta’s team. Because general consensus is “It’s a bad fight,” and while I don’t disagree, I think that, like usual, it’s kind of just a blanket statement of “Too easy” rather than something discussed and dissected as to why it’s not working.

Also I think there are legitimately great aspects of her team that deserve some recognition as fairly solid game design for a challenge, that maybe people miss because overleveling is basically the norm.

I’ll start with the big thing: “Geeta should’ve led with Glimmora” is a bad take. “But the Toxic Spikes!” Are borderline irrelevant. Players have no significant issues getting around them. And to make matters substantially worse. Glimmora is setup fodder. It’s slow. While it’s strong statistically, it’s weak with offensive types (Rock and Poison is a bad combo). It would be exactly like Cynthia’s fight: super weak to setup. Seriously, if you replay Platinum, try a Calm Mind sweeper with decent speed, and see how much of her team just drops. Cynthia’s fight is not especially challenging when you can set up, it’s why they locked the boosting TMs to Battle Frontier in post-game. To prevent you from doing that.

In the situation where Geeta leads Glimmora, Geeta is now significantly easier to beat. Because Glimmora cannot threaten a good booster. But you know what threatens a good booster? Opportunist Espathra.

This is my favorite aspect of her fight. Espathra is a fantastic lead for the game. Because this isn’t competitive, it’s main game, where the AI won’t switch ever. Where the goal of the AI now is to stop your tactics from just running train on them. Opportunist copies your boosts, which means anything short of Swords Dance benefits her as well, and Espathra is notably fast. And, most significantly, has Lumina Crash. Anything not Dark-type gets hit with -2 special defense. So if you’re boosting but you’re slower, you are guaranteed to be dead. That’s...actually a good lead. That’s a smart tactic for the main game. It’s very Emerald-esque. In Emerald, where boosting moves started to take off, nearly every major fight has something in their lead slot that can obliterate yours, be it paralysis, accuracy drops, Perish Song, or outright Toxic in Steven’s cast. Espathra feels reminiscent of that, and is, in fact, a pretty strong lead because of it. I just think maybe they could’ve done more than Reflect to bypass Sucker Punch strats, you know? Like maybe ditch Quick Attack for Hypnosis or Confuse Ray. Otherwise, great pick.

Glimmora’s the other I like, but more for thematic reasons. I think it’s really interesting how much conversation has been generated around the simple fact that Geeta even has this thing. For the story, I think it’s a great inclusion as her ace...I just also think Glimmora should’ve had a better speed stat, or Tera shifted into a completely different type. Personally, I’d say Grass, because you know what blows up four of Grass-types weaknesses? Rock. Though admittedly, I think Glimmora needs to go Fire. It’s got a solid defensive profile, and notably means Tera Blast can cut through Steel that otherwise hard walls its STAB combo. I think the big problem is that it’s just a bit too slow to ever be threatening with its offenses, but its typing, including Tera, is just too defensively poor. Poison would’ve been more valuable as a Tera type, with only two weaknesses, than Rock with like five.

The other aspect I do like is that Geeta’s team is representative of the region. Espathra from the west, Gogoat from the east, Veluza from the lake, Avalugg from the mountain, Kingambit from the north, and Glimmora from the crater. It’s a cool idea! But also, when you know that? You can...probably build a better team yourself. And you may also notice, Geeta has a battle focus. She’s bulky offense. All of these options, barring Espathra, are fairly slow but also reasonably bulky.

AND BULK DOESN’T WORK

The player has natural advantage, thanks to EVs, and Pokemon is a game that works entirely on hitting each other with supereffective hits. As coverage has expanded to insane degrees, virtually every offensive threat packs ideal coverage. It is not had to clean sweep someone with one Pokemon when you have four fantastic coverage moves and a solid offense and speed stat. Because of this, bulky offense cannot work in favor of the AI, which doesn’t switch out to avoid supereffective hits or leverage resistances. Moreover, it especially doesn’t work when your heavy defenders are (1) Grass type, (2) Ice type, and (3) quad-weak to Fighting, one of the most common coverage options.

Geeta’s team is poorly balanced for the type of playstyle she’s trying to run, and we’re going to talk about better options from around the region to keep that focus, while also playing a lot better.

Espathra stays. It’s a good lead. I also keep Glimmora. It’s a very cool ace.

From the east, instead of Gogoat, I would recommend Cyclizar. How is this not considered an integral aspect of the region? Cyclizar is such a hugely important thing. Also, for bulky offense, the substitute is ideal. While you could argue the idea of leading with Cyclizar, and I don’t strictly disagree, I think you’d want to program the AI to cheat a little. If the foe boosts, switch to Espathra. If they attack, switch to a resist. It’s a pretty clean solution.

The lake is the most obvious solution. Dondozo. Curse setup, Liquidation, Earthquake, Avalanche. Dondozo fits perfectly in bulky offense, but unlike Avalugg and Gogoat, Dondozo is blessed with a wonderful defensive typing in Water. Dondozo would be perfect.

For the mountain, I’m going to say all of them are bad. Most of what could fit is already a staple on someone else’s team, and I assume they were avoiding a lot of overlap. So instead? Gholdengo. We need to talk about this: how in god’s name does she not have Gholdengo? I don’t even like the thing, but a bulky offensive Pokemon with fantastic defensive typing and absurd offensive capabilities, backed by potential for either Nasty Plot or Recover? That feels like the most obvious pick. I feel like this has to happen.

Which means dropping Kingambit. I don’t dislike Kingambit specifically, but I also feel like it’s pretty easy to take advantage of, especially when she doesn’t let it learn Sucker Punch. It’s just so slow as to be laughable, and its typing isn’t super weakness-laden, but it’s not as powerful as Gholdengo’s. If you wanted to keep Kingambit, then I’d probably say take Drifblim as the mountain Pokemon. Make it more utility-focused, maybe taking Tailwind or something to buff the speed of Glimmora or something. But instead, I’d say give her Lurantis with Contrary. It has Leech Life, an ideal recovery tool. Also give it Close Combat, since you think it’s so funny to take away Superpower as like the only useful thing it could have. Bastards.

I think these shifts would largely improve on what she’s got going on. But also, I think it doesn’t matter. Again, bulky offense on AI doesn’t strictly work. Especially without items. It’s probably worth noting that the easiest BDSP fight, despite how hard that game cheats, is Bertha. Because it is not hard to beat bulky offense. I just...think a major problem is that Geeta’s approach effectively stands no chance of being particularly tough for a player. Especially not in the era of forced EXP All and infinite coverage. It’s just...not going to be difficult to stop her. At all. And I think we have to acknowledge that, with the way Pokemon is...that’s going to be the case forever. They literally cannot design a challenging fight. The system doesn’t allow it. The reason older games felt harder is because it was super hard to keep on pace with the opponent’s level, so you were statistically under-prepared. There’s a reason the only modern game to be considered difficult was Gen 7, which comprised entirely garbage mechanics to massively inflate enemy stats and force stupid 1v2 matchups. It’s because they can’t design a fair fight that’s fun. Because your solution is to just set levels way higher, and when you do that, the only solution is grinding, but they’ve spent four generations changing the gameplay flow to no longer require grinding, so they’re out of options. At this point, only a major overhaul to the battle system would be successful. And I’m...not sure they’ll know what to do with it.

#pokemon #pokemon scarlet and violet #geeta

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nicetrynicetry · 20 days

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182

Wednesday and I spend far too much time on YouTube, having various beefs between the famous and non-famous explained to me by peppy young men. There is one about a girl who claims her friend is after her boyfriend, and another about why one comedian doesn’t like another comedian, and another about a child star pilloried by her cast mates for defending somebody accused of grooming. I must really not want to live my own life today, because I am more soothed than usual by diving into the business of others. I have no drama in my own life except the crises I invent in my head and allow to drive me insane. I have also been neglecting my London friendships. I have had zero adventure since returning from LA, no unexpected outcomes, a very closed mind. I fell off the socialising wagon and now worry about being weird in social situations. It’s easier to work hard and hide in the hard work of YouTubers who generously collate information for me, cook it all down to a manageable video length like a red wine reduction

By nighttime I am making a lateral move to Reddit, watching clips of people wielding knives and smashing plates in diners on r/publicfreakout. I watch a man hide in the back of his car while the police smash its windows to get to him, then somehow re-emerge and drive away. A woman in pyjamas threaten to stab a waitress with a pair of tongs, another woman bite the tip of another waitress’s finger off, police in Madrid strangling a black man, a drunk driver pulled over for terrible driving crying and claiming she has breast cancer, a grandpa being tased and robbed as he enters his own house, some lady attempting to order a pizza by calling 911 and screaming when it doesn’t work. I’m not sure how many of these fall neatly into the “public freak out” category, but it’s not about taxonomy. If you want to feel like the world is unsafe, Reddit is the perfect skewed sample

I don’t get a call from A. He is helping tape a performance for The Daily Show, having helped the same band perform in Austin, and will go to Coachella in a couple of days with the band to honour a last minute invitation to play. He produced and co-wrote their record, but outside of this he is not being paid to work. Truthfully I’m not even sure what his role is in this mini tour of the US. I begin to wonder if the band’s lead singer has some kind of incriminating information on A that keeps him tethered to the operation. Perhaps this is all philanthropic, though I didn’t know such a thing existed in music production. None of the producers I know seem to go the extra mile if there isn’t a Grammy or glory or money or sex on the table. But perhaps, again, I have a skewed sample

By Thursday I am treating myself to a day off, stocking up on B12 vitamins at Boots and wandering Islington listening to Charli XCX. Her music is so unabashedly hook-y that it sometimes feels like eating too much ice cream. I find myself running my tongue across my teeth and around the inside of my cheeks after four songs, craving something less pristine and more mistake-filled. The drug addicts in my square are beginning their days when I return to the house, making plans to get more drugs. If I must choose a group of people to share my neighbourhood with, I prefer the drug addicts’ presence to the teenagers, who are infinitely scarier with their unchecked hormones and love of playing UK grime through crappy Bluetooth speakers

Most scary, though, are the thoughts that catch up with me when I’m at home and there is nothing to make or do. I try to banish them with food (duh), eating three cucumbers in a row dipped into tuna mayo, with writing, with reading, with pacing and smoking and with sitting and smoking poetically. Usually they go away, but I guess I’m without that extra 100mg of SSRI armour or something. It is a relief when V’s gallery art handlers come to deliver some art and hang the art around the house. They also mount a TV in my bedroom, which I figure I’ll either need if A and I lie together in bed during the summer or if A leaves and I plunge into depression. I will dust off the PlayStation if that happens, and finally allow myself to try Red Dead Redemption, which I bought during the pandemic but never got around to playing after Grand Theft Auto

C stops by in the afternoon after a heated call with A who stops just short of reneging on the handful of plans we made to go to Europe in June. Some band stuff came up, and some friends will be in London, and he alludes briefly to a “boy’s week”. C laughs when I fill him in on the call, expressing my frustration. He tells me I am now no different from any other woman in the UK whose boyfriend wants to go to the races or to a football match instead of the proverbial friend’s wedding or couple’s holiday. He’s probably right: my situation is the same, just more indie. Instead of sports it’s salivating over guitar pedals and modular synths, and instead of the couple’s holiday it’s a week in Athens going to art dinners and shows. Cliches aside, A is simply not a planner, and I am a planning fanatic. He lives in the moment and I live in the Google calendar. On the plus side, my garden is beginning to bloom - vines and leaves snaking up the walls and pale green buds on the brink of exploding. C has also never not cheered me up. What’s crazy is he would appreciate a trip to Athens more than A ever will

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crossbowking · 3 years

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More Than Anything (Part 2)

(Click HERE to read More Than Anything Part 1)

Summary: (Set mid-season 6) The reader’s feelings towards the archer evolve, but a supply run that goes south threatens to destroy it all.

Request: “I’d love to see something w protective Daryl and some angst, maybe set at the start of their time in Alexandria w an established relationship?” - @pulplorrd

A/N: See, you'd think I would've learned after making you guys wait a year and a half for No Way Out Part 2, that I should probably FINISH my stories before actually posting the first part...yet, here we are, one month later lol I'm sorry for the wait but hopefully it's worth it!

Happy reading and let me know what you think :)

xx Jess

Masterlist

Tip Jar

Previously...

But as its grasp slipped away from around Tara’s arm, the walker’s deadweight, in turn, collapsed against you.

You lost your footing and fell backward.

Except the solidity of concrete never rushed up to meet you.

Instead, you were embraced by water, the tarp that’d laid across the motel pool coiling around your body as you sunk deeper and deeper into nothingness.

Now...

When the world ended, you’d accepted the idea of death — your death, specifically.

You knew that one day, your life would undoubtedly end — most likely at the hands of the dead, ripped to pieces, torn to shreds, the way so many others before you had been taken. But you’d always hoped your death would at least mean something — maybe laying your life on the line, sacrificing yourself so the people you loved could survive.

Something noble, something brave.

Not like this.

Before the fall, you’d managed to inhale a sharp breath — though once you’d submerged into the grimy pool water, the coldness, the darkness, the shock of it all, had zapped the air right out of your body. You were becoming increasingly aware of the tightness in your chest, the burning in your lungs as you struggled against the walker pressed against you, its weight sinking you further into the depths of the pool.

Then, the panic set in — your heart pounded against your ribcage, right alongside the immense pressure crushing your lungs. Glimpses of sunlight hung just above you, peeking through parts of the drifting tarp you frantically attempted to push aside. You were completely disoriented, your vision obscured by the murkiness surrounding you, floating specks only visible beneath the shattered light above.

When your back connected against the bottom of the deep end, you managed to wriggle out from under the dead’s listless body — though the tarp remained twisted around your limbs. No matter how hard you fought, how hard you struggled, you couldn’t free yourself from the suffocating material. You could’ve sworn you were caught in a dream, your movements lagging and sluggish as you thrashed beneath the surface.

It felt as though someone had reached their hand directly through the center of your chest, squeezing your insides in a vice-like grip. A tingling sensation crawled down your spine, settling atop your churning stomach as the throbbing behind your ears began to slow.

You were listening to your last heartbeats.

It became unbearable, the water threatening to force its way past your clamped lips, the simple need to breathe. A sharp stab of pain shot through you as the blackness in your vision intensified, pulsing reddish-white around the edges as the fire in your chest consumed you at last.

Then, with nothing else left to do, you inhaled.

You weren’t sure what happened next — everything felt faint and fuzzy and quiet. The darkness that lingered no longer struck fear in you — instead, it was warm, enveloping you in its arms like a long-lost lover. The silence was soothing as you drifted in the emptiness, like careless whispers and forgotten melodies. You were weightless, you were freed, you were everything and nothing all at once.

You were dying.

That you were sure of.

Yet much to your surprise, you weren’t afraid — no, instead…you felt at peace.

But the brevity of calm didn’t last as you were suddenly aware of a vague pressure, though it wasn’t all-consuming nor constant. It was distant at first, a feeling you could’ve easily brushed aside had it not begun to gradually grow in force, in vigor — a steady pounding, coming from the center of your chest, over and over again.

The warmth around you began to splinter, shattering like shards of glass, the fallout piercing your skin as it collapsed around you. The pain was deep and burning and you longed for just a moment ago when all you felt was the sweetness of oblivion. The pressure pounding against your chest increased, becoming the sole thing you could feel, the only thing you could focus on, the unwavering thuds drawing you back from whatever place you’d drifted off to.

In the next moment, you were awake.

Your body flailed, jolting upright, but you’d only managed to get an inch or two off the ground before water began to suddenly spurt from your mouth. Your eyes squeezed shut as you choked on the liquid, every nerve ending in your body red-hot. You were vaguely aware of hands, rough and calloused and familiar, gripping onto your arms and forcing you onto your side, the motion allowing the water leaving your lungs to flow easier.

You gasped a constricted breath, coughing harshly on the exhale, completely and entirely disoriented as to what in the fuck just happened. Your chest tightened as you spit up more water, your throat closing around the sensation as you fought for control of your breathing, the feeling of concrete against the side of your body grounding you.

When your coughs finally died down, the same hands from before grabbed onto your arms, pulling your deadweight upright, maneuvering your limp body as if you were a rag doll. You blinked your bleary eyes open, wincing from the sunlight directly above as you drew in shaky breaths.

And then you saw him.

Daryl knelt in front of you, his ragged breathing mirroring your own, soaking wet from head to toe. Strands of hair stuck against his forehead, droplets of water still dripping from the ends as he stared at you, wide-eyed, his expression a mixture of horror and shock — something you rarely witnessed when it came to the archer.

He was mouthing something — no, he was shouting something — but you couldn’t hear him. You couldn’t hear a damn word he was saying as you sat there, dazed and confused, wondering if what just happened actually happened.

His hold around your arms slipped away, his hands cradling either side of your face instead, tilting your head up and brushing your drenched hair back. He leaned forward a fraction, frantically studying your features, his haunted eyes bouncing back and forth between your own as though making sure you were there — really there.

The silence was becoming a little less resounding, the world around you gradually seeping back, though muffled and dull — but the way Daryl was looking at you, the apprehension in his gaze, shook something loose inside you. Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. You wanted to tell him it was okay — that you were okay — but damn it, why couldn’t you speak?

So instead, you slowly lifted your hands, weakly grasping onto Daryl’s wrists, the small motion all you could muster — you had to let him know you were here. He glanced down at your hands, a small huff of relief escaping him.

But when he looked back up, you noticed the moisture that’d built in the corners of his eyes.

Daryl’s hands slipped behind your head, holding you still as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead gently against yours.

You, on the other hand, silently thanked whatever God or higher power was out there for giving you one more moment like this.

When the archer pulled back, you spotted a red streak smeared across his forehead that hadn’t been there before. Your brow knitted together as he sat back on his haunches. You tried clearing your throat, the sensation burning the rawness that’d spread. “You’re —” you croaked, your voice sounding foreign. “— you’re bleeding, D.”

Daryl’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he lowered his gaze and unsheathed his hunting knife. “It ain’t mine,” he rasped, suddenly slicing a long strip of fabric off from the bottom of his dampened shirt and balling it in his fist, ringing out some of the water.

Before you knew what was happening, he was reaching forward, pressing the material gingerly against your forehead and wrapping it behind your head, tying the strip into a knot to keep it in place. You were surprised at the sting of pain you felt, unsure when you managed to cut your head open in the midst of what had happened — everything was still sort of…fuzzy.

The sound of a car door slamming drew your attention. You peeked out of the corner of your eye, spotting Tara jogging towards you, the car you’d driven to the motel running idle in the parking lot.

“They’re coming!” she called out, motioning towards something just behind Daryl.

You craned your neck, attempting to get a look, but before you could, the archer was looping his arms beneath your armpits and hefting you up to your feet. The world tilted unsteadily around you, and had it not been for Daryl’s hold, the ground would’ve surely rushed up to meet you.

“I got ya,” he rasped, slinging one of your arms across his shoulders, his grip snaking around your waist.

Tara appeared at your opposite side, slightly out of breath. “Welcome back, chicka,” she shot you a slightly strained smile before following Daryl’s lead and winding your other arm across her shoulders, keeping you propped upright between them.

You wanted to tell them you were fine, that you were more than capable of walking on your own — but your strength had depleted, your legs shook beneath you, and the shock was beginning to wear off, making all the little aches and pains in your body alarmingly obvious.

Then, you were moving.

They half-dragged, half-carried you across the stretch of concrete, hurrying towards the parking lot where Tara had left the car. You peeked over your shoulder, managing to get a glimpse of what you were leaving behind — the small herd from earlier had been taken down, their bodies splayed out sporadically on the other side of the pool. Some sporting knife wounds, others bullet holes. The pool itself was rippling, the water sloshing back and forth, air bubbles visible at the surface.

Some of the dead had followed you into the water.

Just beyond the pool, you spotted exactly what you were running from — another herd, three times the size of the first one, ambling in from the woods behind the motel, most likely drawn in by gunfire.

When you reached the car, Tara slipped away and jumped into the driver’s seat. Daryl flung open the back door and maneuvered you carefully inside. You grimaced as you inched further into the car, only stopping once your back was pressed up against the opposite door. The archer quickly slid in after you and slammed the door shut, grabbing onto the back of the driver’s seat as Tara peeled out of the parking lot.

The silence that followed rang heavy.

Your heart hammered against your chest, your breaths coming out slightly wheezy, almost like there was still some water left in your lungs. You met Tara’s eyes in the rearview mirror before she focused back on the road — you noticed then that the sleeves of her shirt, up to her elbows, were wet.

She’d helped drag your body out of the pool.

You glanced over at Daryl, the archer’s grip on the driver’s seat white-knuckled as he stared at the back of the headrest. Waves of tension rolled off him, the feeling nearly palpable. But his eyes flickered towards you a moment later, as though he felt you watching him, and some of the rigidity faded.

He wordlessly shuffled closer, grabbing your arm and pulling you away from the door you leaned against. You were too tired and too sore to object, your body slumping against his side as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders — you thought for a brief moment that he was hugging you.

But instead, he wound your seatbelt around your body and locked it in place.

Daryl fell back against the seat beside you with a huff, keeping his gaze focused ahead, staring straight through the windshield. He didn’t look at you again — he remained still, like he was carved from stone. You weren’t even sure he was breathing. His arm just barely grazed the side of yours, but despite whatever hidden turmoil was surely happening inside of him, he made no effort to move away.

He needed time to process what happened — what almost happened.

But so did you.

You shifted, closing the small gap between you and resting your head against his shoulder, ignoring the way he stiffened. The material of his shirt was still damp and smelt like a mixture of chlorine and mildew from the murky pool water, but you couldn’t find it in you to pull away either.

You hadn't realized you’d dozed off until the archer gently shook you awake, the car now parked outside Alexandria’s makeshift infirmary.

You still felt weak and lethargic, but you managed to make your way inside without any help — although Daryl, silent and stoic as ever, remained at your side, his hand hovering over the small of your back.

The infirmary was quiet as Denise checked you over — Tara had gone to update Rick and the others on what happened, as well as distribute the supplies you’d managed to bring home. Daryl, on the other hand, paced — back and forth, like a caged animal, on the opposite side of the room. Almost like part of him desperately wanted to run, but a bigger part of himself needed to be there.

“Are you feeling any nausea? Confusion? Loss of basic motor skills?” Denise suddenly asked, breaking the silence that’d stretched on, looking up from the textbook she was reading from. She’d never dealt with an ‘almost drowning’, but had been able to scrounge up some old medical textbooks for help.

“Uh,” you cleared your throat, shaking your head once. “No. No, nothing like that.”

“Okay, good. Yeah, that’s good…” she murmured, mostly to herself, before flipping to the next page and skimming the stretch of words. “Besides your forehead, any other lacerations?” she looked up at you once more, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“I don’t —” you shot Daryl a look, but he was too busy pacing to notice. “I don’t think so,” you shook your head again, your fingertips ghosting over the bandage Denise had patched your head up with.

“Good, good. We’ll want to keep an eye on that in case of infection,” she informed before flipping to the next page, mouthing the text to herself. “Okay, and any soreness?”

You grimaced as you sat up a little straighter. “Just — just right here mostly,” you admitted, motioning towards your center, below your chest.

Denise shut the textbook and placed it on the metal table you sat on top of. “Can you show me?”

Your brow knitted together but you obliged, sliding off the table and grabbing the hem of your shirt. You fought back a wince as you rolled the material up, stopping just below your chest, exposing your skin.

The first thing you noticed was the way the room suddenly stilled — you glanced up, spotting Daryl standing frozen across the way, pacing no longer. But he wasn’t staring at you — he was staring at your midsection, a look in his eyes you’d never seen before.

When you lowered your head, getting a good look at yourself for the first time, you realized exactly what he was seeing.

Bruises. Dark and discolored. Scattered down your sternum and along the center of your ribcage.

Your head snapped up at the sound of the front door slamming shut.

And Daryl was gone.

You tried to ignore the pinprick of tears that grew, the hurt that settled across your chest as you lowered your shirt back in place — but when Denise suddenly reached out and placed her hand on top of yours, patting it softly, your features crumpled.

Everything that happened seemed to catch up to you in that moment — the fear, the shock, what Daryl must’ve felt pulling your unmoving body out of the water. You’d nearly died. What would’ve happened if he hadn’t been able to bring you back? Would he have been the one to put you down when you undoubtedly turned? Or would Tara have done it — the act far too painful for the man you loved to follow through with.

The man you loved.

Denise wrapped her hand around yours, squeezing gently and drawing you back. “Hey, it’s okay,” she soothed.

You quickly swiped at the tears that slipped down your cheeks, huffing a hitched breath. “I know, I’m just —” you glanced up at the front door, hanging onto the foolish hope that it’d swing open once more. “I don’t know,” you finally mumbled, albeit defeatedly.

Denise followed your gaze, scoffing slightly. “Men suck,” she finally shrugged.

You sniffled softly before shaking your head. “Not that one,” you murmured fondly.

Denise squeezed your hand once more, shooting you a sympathetic smile before she pulled away. “It could’ve been worse — most people who have CPR done on them end up with broken ribs or punctured lungs. You, my friend, are one of the lucky ones.”

You inhaled a deep breath, fighting back a wince, the motion stretching your bruised body. “Thank you. For everything.”

Denise nodded before taking off her glasses, using the hem of her shirt to clean the lenses. “Y/N, I don’t mean to overstep my boundaries, but,” she paused, sliding her glasses back on as she regarded you seriously. “You smell like a sewer rat.”

You faltered, completely caught off guard by her statement before remembering that you were still wearing damp, swampy, pool water clothes. Then, despite everything, a laugh slipped past your lips, breaking the tension. You let out a hiss as the movement sent a wave of pain through you. “Ow, fuck, don’t make me laugh,” you bit back another chuckle, lightly swatting her arm.

Denise smiled before motioning towards the door. “Go home, shower, get some rest — Doctor’s orders,” she grinned, turning away and beginning to clean up her workstation.

You thanked her again before hobbling out of the infirmary.

As night drew near, most residents of Alexandria were already in their respective homes — you were grateful for that. You didn’t want to see anyone right now, their worry and endless questions something you were more than happy to put off until tomorrow.

When you made it back to the apartment you and Daryl shared, you were, yet again, fighting back feelings of disappointment — he wasn’t home. You felt a pinprick of worry, but knew he needed time and space to process whatever it was he was feeling.

And when he was ready, you would be too.

You walked through the kitchen, the morning you’d shared earlier feeling like a lifetime ago — the pan he’d used to make eggs, now dry, remained sitting on the counter. The bedroom was untouched, looking exactly how it had this morning, just the way you’d left it. You grabbed a fresh set of clothes before making your way into the master bathroom attached, ignoring the bone-deep tiredness settling over you.

Showering was a good call — the warm water rained down as you scrubbed your body of the muck that clung to you, being extra careful not to get the bandage on your head wet or make any sudden movements. When you were finished cleaning up, you stood beneath the shower head for a few minutes, eyes closed, inhaling the steam around you with deep, calming breaths.

You were okay. You were alive. You were here.

You shut off the water, stepped out of the shower, and dried yourself off, gingerly patting down your chest and around your ribs, before slipping into clean clothes. You wiped away some of the steam that’d collected on the bathroom mirror before hanging up your towel, combing out your knotted hair, and brushing your teeth — the same routine you did every night.

The normalcy was soothing — you were already beginning to feel better, more like yourself. You were ready to put what happened behind you and move forward, sure to never take another day for granted.

But when you opened the bathroom door, ready to curl up in bed and doze off, all of your feelings from earlier came rushing back at the sight of Daryl.

Once again, he’d been pacing the length of the bedroom, only stopping after you’d entered the room, his gaze snapping towards you. He shifted his weight back and forth, opening his mouth before clamping it shut. You could feel his energy, rolling off his body in waves — tense, rigid, wild. He was struggling to say whatever was on his mind, only furthering his evident frustration. He flicked his hair away from his eyes, turning to face you head-on, clearly gathering up the gall to speak.

You took a small step forward. “Daryl —”

“Ya were blue,” he suddenly rasped, a fire in his gaze that wasn’t there before. “Tara was shoutin’ for ya an’ I — when I went in an’ pulled ya out, there wasn’t — I didn’t —” he huffed a breath in frustration, his face tinged red. “God, damn it, Y/N, ya were fuckin’ blue,” he finally growled, chest heaving, hands balled into fists at his side.

His anger wasn’t directed at you, but the situation itself, you knew that. But still, his words — or more so the emotion, the truth hidden behind them — had you recoiling from him, your heart breaking at the thought of what he’d seen, of what had run through his mind when he realized you weren’t breathing.

You couldn’t imagine how scared he must have been.

And that was what was beneath his outburst — not rage, but fear.

But he wasn’t finished with what he needed to say — if anything, he was just getting more and more worked up as he began to frantically pace once more. “This is why — I fuckin’ told ya — I didn’t need ya comin’ out there. I didn’t need ya on that run but ya — ya didn’t listen ta’ me an’ then —”

“I love you.”

Daryl stilled, mid-stride, his gaze widening as if all of the air had been sucked from his lungs.

You felt your face flush, the air between you so thick it could be cut with a knife. You hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but the words just sort of…tumbled out? And now, there they were, hanging between you. Part of you wondered if the archer could hear your heart pounding from where he stood — or maybe it was his heartbeat, synched up to yours.

You sputtered a soft breath, shaking your head in disbelief, trying not to panic because the last thing you wanted was for Daryl to look at you the way he was looking at you after telling him you loved him. “I’m —“ you took a breath, regarding him earnestly. “I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. And I promise — I promise — you do not have to say it back. Hell, you don’t even have to feel the same way,” you huffed an awkward laugh, but the noise hitched somewhere in your throat, betraying your words. You grew serious once more. “I just — I couldn’t have another night going by without you knowing. Not after what happened today,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, shrugging a shoulder up meekly. “So, I love you — I love you more than anything.”

You weren’t sure what sort of reaction you were expecting from him. But you absolutely refused to acknowledge the tiny part of you that secretly wished he’d swoop you into his arms, pull you close, tell you he loved you too — because that wasn’t Daryl. That wasn’t the type of man he was — and you were okay with that.

Because you hadn’t fallen in love with that type of man.

You’d fallen in love with the man standing shell-shocked in front of you.

You cleared your throat and stepped forward, moving away from the bathroom doorway. “The shower’s all yours,” you murmured, needing to break the uncomfortable silence that carried on.

You sidestepped around his frozen form, ignoring the way your legs shook like jelly beneath you as you made your way towards the bed. You took a seat on the edge of the mattress, keeping your back towards him, staring ahead at the blank wall in front of you instead.

After what felt like forever, the floorboard squeaked beneath the shifting of his weight, his footsteps growing faint as he slowly walked away and entered the bathroom, closing the door shut after him.

You strained your ears, listening for any movement beyond the door he’d disappeared behind — but you heard nothing. It was like you could feel him through the panel of wood between you — you could almost picture him, just standing there, trying to process whatever the hell was going on inside that mind of his.

A moment later, the shower turned on.

And you released the breath you’d been holding.

Exhaustion swept through you, the day’s events wearing you down. You carefully maneuvered yourself into bed, pulling a thin sheet over your body and settling onto your side. Your eyelids grew heavy, the sound of the shower lulling you to sleep despite the strange, sort of freedom your admittance had brought you, the feeling buzzing through your veins.

You didn’t regret your vulnerability — he needed to know he was loved, damn it.

When you heard the shower turn off, you snapped your eyes shut. You listened to the archer move about the bathroom until the door finally creaked open. He seemed to be just standing there, and you could’ve sworn you felt him staring at the back of your head as if he was gauging whether or not you were actually asleep. But a moment later, you heard his footsteps padding across the bedroom before the mattress dipped beneath him.

You held your breath, covers drawn to your chin as Daryl shifted in bed, eventually lying down beside you. Another beat of quiet passed, neither of you moving, nor breathing it seemed.

But then suddenly, you heard him speak, so softly you almost missed it. “I know ya ain’t sleepin’,” he rumbled.

The corner of your mouth quirked up — because of course he knew.

You sighed, shifting gingerly onto your back, the sheet pooling at your waist as you looked over at him. He laid on his side, facing you, propped up on his elbow. He was dressed in clean clothes, his hair still wet from the shower, pushed back out of his face.

He really was rather beautiful.

“Busted,” you smiled, though the archer’s expression remained solemn.

Ever so gently, he reached towards you, his fingertip grazing the material of your shirt, over your ribcage, below your chest, hovering the bruises that lingered. “Does it hurt?” he rasped, the mouth turned downward into a small frown.

You shook your head. “Not really.”

Daryl’s eyes met yours, his expression skeptical and knowing.

You never were a good liar.

“At least you didn’t break a rib?” you offered sheepishly, your lame attempt at a joke falling flat given the current audience.

But when Daryl’s features fell, a flash of what looked like guilt settling over his face, you placed your hand on top of his, resting them against your stomach. “Don’t do that,” you murmured, reading him like a damn book as you rubbed circles with your thumb over the back of his hand.

The archer grumbled something indistinct, staring down at your intertwined hands.

Your grip tightened around his. “I mean it,” you spoke, an edge to your voice, only softening when he looked at you instead. “You saved my life, D — that’s it. You can let go of anything else you’re holding onto.”

Daryl’s lip twitched as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, seemingly mulling over your words.

You were sure he’d hang onto whatever unnecessary guilt he carried — because that was just who he was — but eventually, he nodded once and settled down on his back, staring up at the ceiling. You were too tired to press the subject further so you curled into his side and rested your head against his chest, winding your arm across his midsection. His arm automatically wrapped around you, his fingertips trailing absently up and down your spine, sending shivers through your body.

You weren’t sure how long you laid like that, melting into the warmth he exuded, the steady pounding of his heartbeat easing you to sleep.

You’d nearly faded away when Daryl suddenly spoke.

“Did ya mean it?” he rumbled, the noise vibrating from deep within his chest. “What ya said before?” he grunted, his hand pausing at the small of your back.

You could’ve imagined it, but you almost felt the slight tremble of his fingertips against your skin.

You slowly pushed up onto your elbow, your faces mere inches apart. You searched his uncertain gaze, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Of course I meant it,” you whispered. “Every damn word.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed, as though not entirely believing what you said could be true.

So you leaned forward, closing the remainder of space between you, and pressed your lips gently against his. He returned the kiss, a quiet desperation growing as one hand came up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb sweeping back and forth across your cheek. You broke away from the kiss, brushing his hair back before meeting his lips once more, settling your hand on his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath your touch.

When you pulled back, you noticed his skin flush, surely mirroring your own. He looked up at you, slightly breathless, a fondness in his gaze that sent your stomach somersaulting. He cleared his throat, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face. “Well, alright,” he finally resigned, accepting your answer to his question.

You snorted a breathy laugh, leaning forward and kissing his cheek before burrowing against him. A soft sigh slipped past your lips as Daryl’s hold tightened around you, as though afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t.

You closed your eyes, reveling in the feeling of contentment, unsure how many more moments like this you, or anyone else for that matter, had left in this kind of cruel and harrowing world.

But for at least tonight, you could be at peace.

“I love you,” you murmured groggily, beginning to sink deeper into unconsciousness.

Right before sleep came, long after Daryl thought you’d drifted away, you heard him whisper three, simple words.

“More than anythin’.”

Then he pulled you closer and the world dimmed.

A/N: Aw...a happy ending! (I figured I owed ya after putting y'all through Honey & Whiskey lol)

P.S. Feedback is incredibly important. I write for my own happiness, but I also write for YOU. So don’t be afraid to shoot me an ask or leave a comment with your thoughts! It truly motivates me and helps move along the writing process. Also, please consider donating to my Tip Jar. Every little bit helps!

P.S.S. I can no longer tag people on this account, so my tag list has been transferred to my side blog @crossbowking2. If you’d like to be added/removed, please let me know!

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triptuckers · 3 years

Text

Revenge - Kaz Brekker

Request: yes :) “seeing as your requests are open, i thought i might as well pitch you an idea too, since i'm here... how about a little bit of a twist on the usual hurt/comfort, angst, etc with kaz? like... instead of getting hurt because of him, he's the one who gets hurt because of the reader? maybe she joined the dregs, running away from her past. but then someone wanting revenge finds her, sees how much she cares for kaz, and decides to get back at her by going after him... idk where exactly i'm going with this, it's just an idea, the details i leave up to you :))” Pairing: Kaz Brekker x reader Summary: You thought you’d be safe from the people in your past once you got to Ketterdam, but you couldn’t have been more wrong Warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, bruising, death, language, angst Word count: 2.4K A/N: to the one who send me this request: your lil message made me feel so happy & loved, I am so glad you appreciate my work <3 sending you lots of hugs! thanks for requesting this, enjoy reading! :)

You’re standing on one of the docks. You’ve got your coat wrapped tightly around you to protect yourself from the cold wind. It’s dark outside, and most of Ketterdam is deserted, its residents retired to the comfort of their warm houses.

You like to come to the docks and look out over the sea. It calms you. The sound of the waves, the salty air, it all reminds you of your past, and you go to the docks to tell yourself you don’t ever have to go back if you don’t want to.

It’s not that you hated your entire past, just parts of it. For a while, you were actually quite happy. Sailing the seas, laughing along with your crew, and taking what you wanted from rich politicians who dared to cross your waters.

It was fine for a while, only taking from those who already had too much. It didn’t bother you. But then your captain started to take from everyone and everything, and using more violence. You were hesitant, but didn’t say much. Even though your crew was basically your family, they could easily toss you in the sea. But then your captain started to take people as well, not just things. He forced them to work on his ship, and you knew it was wrong.

When you spoke up about it, they turned on you, threatening you. You were to work with the prisoners, and it was horrible. So, when you saw the opportunity, you jumped ship, along with a few prisoners. The sea was cold, and you swam for nearly three days, when a ship picked you up. It was headed to Kerch. When you set foot on the Ketterdam docks, you vowed to never sail again. You parted ways with the people that had been taken prisoner, and joined the Dregs soon after.

Part of you is still scared your captain or someone else of your old crew finds you, and gets their revenge on you. But since joining the Dregs, you’ve improved your fighting and survival skills, and the other members of the Dregs have your back.

When the wind is almost too cold, and the sky is pitch black, you decide to head back to the Slat. You liked staying on the docks, but it wasn’t wise to stay out on the streets of Ketterdam for too long, especially when it was dark.

After one last look at the sea, you turn and start walking back to the Slat. Your hand is on one of your revolvers as you walk, eyes open and ears focused on any sounds you hear. You had been jumped before, and knew it wouldn’t be the last time it would happen.

You keep your head down as you’re walking, but then you notice a figure in the distance. You slow down and take another look at the person ahead of you. You can see they’re limping, and realise they must be hurt. Instantly, you’re on edge, in case their attacker is still close.

You pick up the pace again, looking at the person in front of you as you approach them. The closer you get, the more familiar they seem. And then you’re close enough to recognise a cane.

Normally, you’d tell yourself it probably wouldn’t be Kaz. Lately, every figure or silhouette looked like Kaz to you. But it was unmistakably Kaz’ cane, and you knew he would never allow anyone to take it from him.

‘Kaz!’ you say and you sprint the last bit to get to him. When you get to him, your jaw drops when you see him. He’s got several stab wounds on his upper body, and his face is bruised and bloody.

‘What are you doing here?' says Kaz as soon as he notices it’s you. ‘It’s not safe here.’ he grumbles.

‘It’s Ketterdam at night. Of course it’s not safe.’ you say, letting your eyes roam over his body, looking at his injuries.

‘It’s not safe for you.’ says Kaz, wincing as he presses a hand to one of his wounds to apply pressure to it.

‘What does that mean?’ you say, frowning.

‘Your former captain says hi.’ says Kaz.

Your eyes widen at his words and your breath catches in your throat. Had he found you? Did he somehow manage to track you all the way to Ketterdam?

‘He did this to you?’ you say. Kaz nods.

‘Saints, Kaz, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. He blames me for freeing some of the prisoners. Rightfully, though. I’d already figured he’d send someone after me if he learned I was in Ketterdam. I never would have thought he’d send someone after you.’ you say.

You look at his beaten up body again. Somehow, he still managed to look good. His suit is dusty and bloody, but it still fit his body perfectly. His hair is messy and there’s sweat on his forehead, but you don’t mind.

‘I’m sorry, Kaz.’ you say. ‘This is all my fault.’

You want to move closer to him to help him, but you know he’d never allow you to. So you keep your distance.

Kaz doesn’t respond to you, instead he moves to continue walking. It results into him nearly falling to the floor. You have to hold yourself back not to catch him. Kaz clutches his cane to prevent his body from hitting the floor.

‘We have to get you back to the Slat.’ you say, still keeping your distance. The last thing you want to do is trigger something in him when you’re the one that got him hurt in the first place.

Kaz pushes himself up with his cane, groaning as he straightens his back.

‘Can you walk?’ you ask him.

‘I can manage.’ he says through gritted teeth. But he takes two steps and almost falls down again. You clench your fists to prevent yourself from reaching out to him. You can’t handle that he’s hurt and you can’t even help him to walk.

‘Y/N.’ he says. His voice his softer than usual, and it catches you off guard. ‘You need to help me walk.’ he says.

‘Kaz, I don’t want to-’ ‘I want you to. I need you to.’

You slowly walk up to him. He looks you in your eyes and gives you a single nod, silently giving you permission.

‘I don’t know Kaz.’ you say. ‘It feels wrong, touching you.’

‘Y/N, the longer we’re out here, the longer we are in danger and the more risk of me bleeding to death on the streets, is that something you want?’ snaps Kaz.

‘No, of course not!’ you say.

‘Then come here.’ he says and with one swift movement, he pulls you closer and swings one of his arms over your shoulder.

‘If at any point you want to stop, I get it.’ you say, a bit flustered now that you’re so close to him.

‘Y/N just get me to the damn Slat.’ says Kaz. ‘But could you just... Tell what you’re going to do while you’re doing it? Makes it easier.’

‘Of course.’ you say. ‘I'm going to put my hand around your waist, and grab your hand with the other, okay?’

You see him clench his jaw as he nods. You slowly move to wrap your arm around his waist. You then wait a few seconds before grabbing ahold of his gloved hand that’s on your shoulder.

‘Alright.’ you say. ‘Ready?’

Kaz nods and you start to walk toward the Slat.

The journey is slow, and you try your best to keep Kaz talking and conscious. But he’s losing a lot of blood, leaving a trail of red drops behind on the street.

When you finally get to the Slat and push its door open, it’s crowded. A lot of heads turn your way as you scan the crowd for Nina. When you spot her, you see her eyes have widened as she looks at Kaz. You signal for her to follow you and you start to walk up the stairs to Kaz’ floor.

When you finally get there, you walk to his room and lay him down on the bed.

‘What happened?’ says Nina as she enters the room.

‘Someone of my past got to Kaz.’ you mumble, struggling to meet Kaz’ eyes. ‘Roughed him up pretty bad.’

Nina moves to see to his internal wounds and you can see Kaz keeps his jaw clenched at the close proximity to another person. When she’s done, he moves to sit up.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ you say.

‘Business.’ groans Kaz and you raise your eyebrows at him.

‘Kaz Brekker, I did not drag your ass all the way from the docks to the Slat, only for you to resume working instead of resting.’ you say.

‘I'm fine.’

‘You almost bled to death in the streets!’ you say. ‘Half your body is covered in wounds and Nina’s only healed the internal ones.’

‘I can manage.’

‘Like hell you can.’ you say. ‘I'll take over the Dregs for a while. And as for you, let someone see to your wounds. And honestly, would it kill you to take a nap every now and then?’

‘I can see to my own wounds.’

You groan and throw your hands up out of frustration. ‘Fine!’ you say. ‘Go bandage those wounds all by yourself, I'm not helping!’

Nina steps closer to you ‘I can-’ ‘And Nina’s not going to help you either!’ you say. ‘If you want to be stubborn and suffer, be my guest!’

You leave his room and move to sit by the window of his office instead. A while later Nina leaves the room, telling you Kaz has started to fix himself up.

You stay in his office, trying to get your anger to go away. You close your eyes and imagine the sea, taking deep breaths. You can almost taste the salty air and feel the cold wind on your skin. You’ve done a pretty good job at calming yourself down, when you hear Kaz’ voice coming from his room.

‘Y/N?’ he says.

You open your eyes, walk up to his room and pause in the doorway. He’s sitting up on the bed. He’d taken his shirt off and put bandages around his chest. The cuts and bruises on his arms and face aren’t treated yet.

You always thought of Kaz as this indestructible man, who led a gang, and is considered one of the most dangerous criminals and most talented thieves in all of Ketterdam. But when he’s sitting on the bed, bruised and bloody, shoulders slumped and tired eyes, you see him for who he truly is: a boy who’s been hurt too many times before and needs help.

He holds out the bandages and wet cloth he used to clean his wounds.

‘Could you...?’ he asks.

You notice he’s not meeting your eyes and realise how hard it must have been to admit he needs your help.

You nod and walk over to him. You take the bandages and the cloth from his hands without touching his skin, and drag out a chair so you can sit in front of him. You glance at the gloves that rest on the bed next to him. You put the bandages and cloth aside and grab the gloves.

‘What are you doing?’ says Kaz, looking at you as you put them on.

‘This way I can treat your wounds without having skin to skin contact.’ you say. ‘Maybe that makes it easier.’

Kaz looks at you and smiles.

‘You’re so tired you can’t even fight off your own muscles?’ you ask. ‘I’m pretty sure that’s the first time I've seen you smile.’

‘I smile more than you think.’ says Kaz.

‘hmm.’ you hum. ‘Sure.’ you say as you move to start cleaning his wounds.

You try your best to talk to him and distract him while you clean and bandage his wounds.

‘Why would your former captain go after me and not you?’ he wonders out loud after a while.

‘Because when you want to hurt someone, you don’t hurt them, you hurt the ones they care most about.’ you simply state.

Kaz is surprised. ‘You care about me?’

‘Of course I do. I never tried to hide that.’ you say.

You continue to clean his wounds, unaware of Kaz looking at your face instead of your hands.

‘You really scared me, Kaz. I thought you were going to die.’ you mumble.

‘It takes more than a knife and one angry man to kill me.’ he says.

‘He tried really hard though.’ you mumble as you continue to clean and bandage his wounds.

‘But he didn’t succeed.’ says Kaz. ‘If it weren’t for you, he would have. You got me back to the Slat and got Nina to fix me up.’

‘After I basically forced you to.’ you say.

‘If you hadn’t, I would have done it all by myself. Who knows how that would have worked out.’ says Kaz.

‘I'm guessing not that good.’ you say, earning a small chuckle from him.

You continue talking to him and treating his wounds. When you’re finished, you get up and gather the mess. You walk to the other side of the room to throw it in the bin, and then walk back to where Kaz is still sitting on the bed.

‘I know you don’t like this, but please try to get some rest.’ you say. ‘The Dregs can manage a week or so without you.’

Kaz nods and moves to lay down on his bed. You walk toward the door, but his voice stops you.

‘Y/N.’ he says, making you look over your shoulder at him. ‘Thank you.’

‘Of course.’ you say, smiling briefly. ‘And sorry, again. For getting beaten up because of me.’

‘A good beating every now and then never hurt anyone. Builds character.’ says Kaz.

‘Are you sure your brain didn’t get messed up?’ you say. ‘You’re talking nonsense.’

‘I’m merely stating facts. Now I've got another grudge to hold.’ says Kaz. ‘Now go so I can get some rest.’

You smile once more before leaving his room, shutting the door behind you. You had loved your life on the sea before it took a turn. But you’d gladly do it all over again if it meant you would find your way to Kaz.

You look down at your hands and notice you’re still wearing his gloves. You take them off and place them on his desk. After a while of looking at them, you head downstairs to tell the others what happened.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit

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liviuswrites · 3 years

Text

Sasuke kind of loves where Naruto lives, though he isn’t quite sure why.

He likes the smell of salt by the sea when they open the window, and he likes how Naruto looks outside on the shoreline, wind in his hair and water at his feet. He likes how Naruto looks at home, even when a storm rages, he’s always right where he belongs. He likes the cozy feeling of the Uzumaki household, it’s just a house on a small island, where Naruto knows all the local shop owner’s, wearing them down with barter, but they still always smile at him when he walks through the door.

Sasuke desperately wants to kiss him.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Naruto jumps onto his bed, where Sasuke is half-laying against his headboard, schoolwork open on his lap.

Sasuke raises his eyebrows, as if he would reveal that information out loud in actual words. He and Naruto were currently caught in something. It felt inevitable, like they’d been caught in things before.

“If you purposely have terrible perminship to cover up your logs,” Sasuke proposes instead.

Naruto squints at him, clearly not buying it.

“I’m not gonna get caught.” Something a little mischievous appears in those ocean blue eyes. “Sweet of you though, to worry about me.”

His gaze turns a little more searching, and Sasuke always feels a particular way, when Naruto looks like that. Sasuke doesn’t personally think his thoughts are all that different from anyone else’s, but sometimes, it feels like Naruto wants to know every single one, like he’s never had access before, like he has to soak up everything he can, before it’s gone. It makes Sasuke’s chest hurt, and if anyone were to ask, he could never justify why.

Naruto asks again. “What were you really thinking about?”

It’s a nudge. Sasuke doesn’t know why Naruto does that — uses that careful, more gentle tone — except that maybe he worries about overstepping. Maybe he’s worried that Sasuke was thinking about his father’s recent death, and just hadn’t wanted to say so out loud.

“I like where you live,” Sasuke gives.

There’s a small release of tension in Naruto, and Sasuke watches it fall away under that hideously patterned orange shirt. Naruto has an attachment to a specific color scheme that must go back lifetimes for how stubbornly he clings to it. Sasuke has tried to sway him from it to no avail, and it’s easier to think about that, rather than what if he gives the answer Naruto is so scared of. He’s not quite sure what it is, or how to prevent it; he’s not sure he could guess it, even if he tried.

“Guess it can be hard, moving around so much,” Naruto offers, by leeway of giving room for Sasuke to expand.

“I don’t mind it,” Sasuke says and he means it. Though, he hesitates, gaze lifting. “I just... like it a little more here.”

It costs him to say these things, sometimes, like a lump caught in his throat, but it’s always worth it when he can manage.

Naruto’s smile is immediate, small and knowing. “Are you trying to say something, Uchiha?”

Sasuke can’t run from that challenge. Naruto is already moving in any case, there’s no time to even consider running, as he shifts over Sasuke to lean down, as Sasuke’s arms curl up and around—

Sasuke freezes. “Naruto,” he says.

Kushina looms over them, tapping a frying pan against her hand like a baseball bat. Naruto pauses at Sasuke’s pause, catching on and following where Sasuke’s eyes are looking, and turns to—

Scramble for his life.

He makes it to the edge of the bed, before Kushina has pulled off his jacket, which Naruto quickly twists and sheds, but unfortunately, not everyone is blessed with grace, as Kushina yanks on the sleeve just in time to offset his balance, sending him to the floor with a yelp. Flat on his back, Naruto holds his hands up in surrender, and laughs the most sheepish, red-handed laugh that Sasuke has ever heard. It threatens a small smile at his lips, but Sasuke isn’t idiotic enough to piss off Naruto’s mother.

“Naruto!” Kushina raises her voice, standing over him. “What did I say about leaving the door open when Sasuke is over!”

“It’s not like that, Ma, really—”

“It’s a little like that,” Sasuke corrects, because what? He values honesty. His job is to make Naruto’s parents like him, not to take the heat.

Naruto throws him a look of betrayal, and his eyes narrow even further when they notice the tiny quirk in Sasuke’s mouth. Sasuke refuses to take the bait, raising his eyebrows with false innocence. Naruto needs to get in trouble once in a while. Otherwise, he’ll get caught for the things he should actually get in trouble for.

“Door open,” Kushina growls. “I won’t allow my son to be a delinquent, yanno!”

Naruto nods with such enthusiastic agreement, a bobblehead would be jealous. Satisfied, she turns to Sasuke and smiles. “Nice to see you again, Sasuke. Say hi to your mom for me when you go home before your curfew. No more sneaking through my obedient’s son’s window, okay?”

Saskue nods, politely. He likes Naruto’s mother. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, and all that.

Though, he does appreciate her for what she did for his mom. Since Kushina suggested she come back to her hometown after the funeral, his mom has been doing better. It’s been strange, to see his mom function in a completely different element, where the shopkeepers talk about her and Kushina getting in trouble together as little girls. Before coming to the island, he didn’t even know his mother had friends.

It’s been... nice.

Kushina takes her frying pan and her leave. Naruto groans, sitting back up.

“I hadn’t even kissed you yet,” he complains. “She has some freakish sixth sense.”

“Well, you are a delinquent.” Sasuke plays devil’s advocate. “And I did crawl through your window.”

It’s difficult to find alone time on a small island, especially on a small island where the guy you keep trying to make out with knows everyone, and while his own mom is a little more... laid back than Naruto’s, at least in terms of open doors, Sasuke doesn’t want to cause her any trouble right now. He thinks Naruto inherently understands this, because he never suggests his house.

“Who’s side are you on?” Naruto huffs. “And I dunno what you think you’ve pieced together, but I’m not a delinquent.”

It’s almost a mutter, and Sauke gets the impression that he’s not a delinquent, but he is something. Sasuke watches Naruto stand back up, eyeing the door where his mom left, like he’s seriously considering bolting it shut, while Sasuke contemplates on revealing what he has pieced together. It just seems pointless when he’s relatively certain Naruto won’t tell him the rest, if not to protect whatever he’s involved in, then to protect Sasuke’s deniability if he ever does get caught.

“Smuggling—” That’s all Sasuke gets out before Naruto is tackling him and clamping a hand over his mouth.

The clock ticks as Naruto watches the door like prey waiting in the brush, holding its final breaths. When there’s no sign of either of his parents, he turns back to Sasuke with a firm look of warning, before removing his hand.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Is that it?” Naruto asks. “A stroke, an aneurysm?”

“I was aiming for brain aneurysm, actually, until I remembered you need a brain for that,” Sasuke points out with a smug smirk that he knows will drive Naruto up the wall.

He enjoys watching Naruto’s hackles rise.

“Just because you—Ugh,” Naruto eloquently voices, like he might start pulling on his hair. Sasuke quirks an eyebrow in encouragement, that may or may not be a trap. He wants to know the truth. If he’s reached the correct conclusion about Naruto’s spare time activity. “It’s not something you want to be involved in, okay? Why can’t you just drop it already?”

There’s a desperate note in Naruto’s voice, an askance for Sasuke to stop. Out of worry. Out of concern. But that’s why he can’t drop it. Why the hell does Naruto always sound like that?

“Are you in some sort of trouble?” Sasuke finds himself asking, and the backlash is immediate. Not from Naruto. Naruto just blinks at him, looking vaguely startled at Sasuke’s flinch, and then just confused. The internal backlash strikes with enough ferocity for everyone involved. He’s showing too many cards. He knows he is, and he can see the rigidity of his father’s face, too soft, those eyes said, too emotional, and Itachi’s quiet agreeance, it’s better this way.

Sasuke pushes at Naruto’s chest, telling him to get off without words. “Curfew is in a few—”

“No, Sasuke.” Naruto grabs his wrist, halting movement. Sasuke refuses to look at him, too open, too exposed. “No.”

Words can’t find their way out of his mouth, so he stays silent. The salt in the air suddenly feels far too thick.

“It’s not like that,” Naruto reassures, quickly. He lets go of Sasuke’s wrist, leaning back onto his own thighs to give them room. Sasuke studies a spot on the wall, until Naruto’s apparent distress draws his eyes back over, watching him push a hand through blond hair. Those frustrated blue eyes have taken partial to the wall too. “It’s... complicated.”

Sasuke observes the frown in his mouth. He’s already shown his cards. It’s too late to take it back.

Maybe it’s an argument worth committing to. It’s a foreign concept to Sasuke outside of his family. He hasn’t had many friends in his life, and even those he would consider friends, he’s never found much of a point in fighting. If they want to be stupid, then they can be stupid. Sasuke is hardly domestic enough to start little arguments. He can remove himself if he doesn’t want to be involved. Until now, apparently.

He cares if Naruto is stupid.

“Complicated sounds dangerous,” Sasuke tests. “You’re not denying it’s dangerous.”

Naruto’s mouth thins. His eyes refuse to come back to Sasuke, and Sasuke knows what it means. Naruto isn’t willing to argue.

He’s not willing to talk about it.

Sasuke waits, carefully, for what feels like several stabbing heartbeats. Naruto probably regrets it — the first time he took Sasuke out on his boat, gifted to him on his sixteenth birthday, two years ago. Traveling by boat was the only way to get to the mainland, and Kushina made Naruto his official guide when he and his mom first arrived, to both of their horrors.

He and Naruto incidentally met the day before at school, eleven kids to a grade. It would be hard to miss each other.

Naruto took him out anyway, and they grumbled and bickered for a majority of it, and they’d ended the night with Choji’s famous Kraken Skewers. Sasuke isn’t the biggest fan of squid, but he ate it anyway, after being convinced by Naruto that it was a crime against humanity not to try it.

On their way back, growing comfortable around Naruto at an unusual rate, he started poking around and noticed the logs. His memory has always been pristine, and he knew there were more crates underneath the deck than what it said on his logs. Naruto played it off, I crate over extra goods sometimes, Naruto admitted, caught and rubbing the back of his neck, there’s this girl...

Sasuke completely bought it, he didn’t even question it, in fact he immediately told Naruto he didn’t need to hear it. He’d been around enough guys his own age to know they were annoyingly obsessed with girls and Sasuke had no shared interest.

In hindsight, there’s a good chance Naruto had a hunch and wielded it as a weapon of redirection.

Given, the illusion was shattered when Naruto kissed him.

He probably wasn’t sneaking extra goods to a mainland girl, but it was a decent cover. Especially when the maritime patrol were mostly older men, who liked to reminisce in their testosterone riddled days as a teenager, or whatever the fuck. Sasuke wonders how many times that story worked, and how many different ones Naruto has told.

Sasuke began to notice more, how easily Naruto crawled in and out of his bedroom window, like he’d done it a thousand times, the bags under his eyes, the way he could anchor his boat in the dark, not a single light needed. Sasuke can tell apart Naruto’s real smiles and ones that meant something different, like he was sad, or just a little too tired of something heavier than this island could hold.

But Naruto thinks he can hold it. And he thinks he can do it alone.

Sasuke collects his study books and shoves them into his bag, sliding out from underneath Naruto and off the bed. Naruto still won’t look at him, hands resting on his knees, and mouth pinched.

“You know I’ll figure it out,” Sasuke says. It’s not a threat. It’s just the truth.

He pauses in Naruto’s doorway before leaving. He hesitates. He can’t help that he notices these things. One day, the pieces will fall into place, and it will all click together, whether he or Naruto wants it to or not.

“You should decide how you want that to happen.”

He doesn’t notice Naruto frown at the door when he walks out.

#SNStober2021 #Domestic #Domestic Supernatural Island AU?#Where Naruto smuggles demons and spirits over seas back into their realm #It's dangerous tho!#Doesn't want Sasuke to get hurt #SNS #SasuNaru #NaruSasu #Excited to participate in SNStober #!

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oopsitsstella · 3 years

Text

Vengeance

Thor Odinson x Reader

Fandom: The MCU

Summary: Things were going so well. But fate could not give them the happy ending they wanted

Warnings: ANGST. Angst all the way, and no happy ending. Major character death, battle, quite graphic descriptions of injuries, mourning, regret, general sadness. I’m sorry in advanced

“What did we do to deserve this?”

The middle of battle wasn’t going to stop playful banter. At least not for Thor, Loki and Y/N.

They’ve all known each other for most of their lives, and seen many battles together.

Some things just never changed.

“One does find themselves asking that question.” Y/N called back to Loki over the fighting, another of the enemy meeting their end by her sword.

Asgard had been experiencing a peaceful period before this. Many parts of the kingdom were making preparations for the upcoming royal wedding.

It had been long suspected that Thor and Y/N would end up married one day, the chemistry between the two had been obvious to everyone but them, and there had been a kingdom wide celebration when the engagement was announced.

But of course, just a few short weeks from the wedding, a race of warriors from another realm had threatened Asgard and its people, and that was not something they could ignore.

So now here they were, in the middle of the battlefield, exchanging their usual quips. The enemies were slowly dwindling, but they were all getting exhausted. No matter how many times they were in battle, it never really got easier. Sure, you could improve your fighting skills, but mentally, it always took a toll on you.

“I don’t think we’ve done something bad enough to justify all of this.” Thor said, a blast of lightning taking out the enemies surrounding him.

“Perhaps it’s all been added together.” Loki mused.

Their banter continued back and forth, as it usually did, but it seems fate would not have it last forever.

“Well, I suppose-“ Y/N cut off mid sentence, and when he turned to look at her, Thor froze in shock at what he saw.

She had been stabbed in the back, the enemy’s blade cutting through her entire midsection, and through to the other side.

The blade was removed from her, and she fell to her knees. One hand supporting her weight, the other clutching her heavily bleeding stomach.

Thor broke out of his stupor at the sight of her falling, and sprinted to her side as fast as he could. He quickly slayed the creature responsible, before kneeling at Y/N’s side and taking her into his arms.

“Y/N, Y/N. Look at me.” He pleaded, hand on her cheek to turn his face towards him. “There you are.”

“Hello darling.” She said, placing her hand over his.

“You’re going to be fine, alright?” Thor said, running his thumb over her cheek. “You’re going to be just fine.”

“I don’t know how much I believe that.” She chuckled weakly.

“No, don’t say that.” Thor said, tears gathering in his eyes. “I promise, you’ll be fine.”

Y/N’s hand slowly raised to brush the tears from his cheeks.

“I don’t think you quite believe that yourself.” She told him frankly. “I’m not making it off this field alive, we both know that, but you will. And you will be fine.”

“I won’t be without you.”

The world seemed to have stilled around them, despite the battle still going on around them. Loki was vigilant,killing anyone who came close to make sure Thor and Y/N could have this moment together.

“Yes you will. You’re the strongest man I’ve ever known.” Y/N said reassuringly. “And we’ll meet again in Valhalla, when your time comes.”

“We have so much planned. So many things to still do together.” Thor said, his forehead dropping to meet hers.

“I know, love. I’m sorry.”

Thor broke away just slightly to look her in the eyes. He could see nothing but love in her gaze. No pain, no fear of death. Only love.

“I love you.” He whispered. “I love you. I’m so sorry.”

“I love you too. More than I could ever tell you.”

Another moment passed, and her hand fell limply to her side, her eyes slipping shut.

“No. No, Y/N! Please, no!” He cried, burying his face in her neck.

Where normally he would feel warmth, and her pulse beating steadily, there was nothing. Only her skin slowly turning cold.

He raised his face from her neck, taking one last sorrowful look at her face, and he laid her on the ground, rearranging her body so her hands were still holding her sword, before his expression shifted.

“Loki.” He called, surprisingly quietly, but the fury behind his words was not to be underestimated.

“Make sure nothing happens to her.” He said, and Loki didn’t question him, only nodding in response, before Thor started walking away, straight to where the opposing leader was located.

He didn’t care that he was going alone. Just him, his hand holding Mjolnir just a little tighter. One man against an army, and he didn’t care.

The energy was building in the air, electricity flowing through his entire self. Any enemy that dared step close was struck by lightning, dropping to the ground not even a second later. And he kept going, until he was standing in front of the man who had sent this attack in the first place.

Thor had practically gone numb at this point. He could only feel the power coursing through his veins. Loud rumbles sounded in the clouds in the sky, and Thor was surrounded by a blue glow, lightning emitting from every part of him.

“Hel will be tame in comparison to what I will do to you.”

Odin and Frigga had been waiting for the army’s return, already aware of the tragedy that had occurred, but nothing could have prepared them for how absolutely heartbroken their son looked.

His eyes were rimmed with red. He was still covered in cuts, bruises and dirt, and his hands were shaking, knuckles turned white on the hand holding Mjolnir.

He had not lingered in the throne room for long. Frigga thought it would be wisest to put Y/N’s burial on hold for at least a few days. Thor would want to be there, he would be devastated to miss it, but he was in no condition for that now, so it would have to wait.

Thor had moved quickly through the hallways, not wanting to interact with anyone else, and locked himself in his and Y/N’s bedroom.

Not very surprisingly, it looked the same as when they left. Sunlight poured in from the large glass doors to the balcony, casting a golden glow over the room. The bed was made, Y/N’s leather bound journal, along with a quill and a rolled up piece of parchment, layed on top of the wool comforter. An empty ceramic mug stood on one of the bedside tables, along with a book of magic spells and potions.

Traces of her could be found all over the room, hel, all over the palace, but the woman herself could no longer be found there. She would no longer wander the halls on a rainy day, or relax in the garden on a peaceful afternoon. Thor would no longer be able to trap her in bed in the early mornings, or pull her close as they danced in the empty ballroom at midnight, because she was no longer there. She was gone.

And Thor broke.

#thor x reader #thor odinson x reader #thor imagine #thor odinson imagine #avengers x reader #avengers imagine

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unnamed-blob · 3 years

Text

Obsidian Snare

⇢ Pairing: Dream x reader

⇢ Genre: mild fluff, angst

⇢ Length: Oneshot

⇢ Synopsis: After Dream is locked in the prison, (Y/N) is convinced that’s the last she’ll ever hear of him. A certain visitor at her distant home turns that desperate hope, and her peaceful life, on its head.

AN: I had to get this out before the prison breakout occured

Sam’s hand felt like a chain upon her wrist, the tight grip hardly a comfort to cold, unforgiving metal. Her gaze flitted between the ground and the appendage constantly, casting paranoid glances over her shoulder at times, attempting to catch sight of the comforting wooden walls of her cabin, even when she was all too aware it was hidden by the trees and distance.

A glint of metal caught in the sunlight and (Y/N) darted her gaze forwards, heart nearly catching in her throat. Her tense shoulders loosened ever so slightly when she noticed it came from the Warden’s trident, though a chill still settled into her spine, more than aware of the resources and strength the male before her held.

Chains should really quite be the least of her worries at this rate.

She focused her gaze onto the ground below again, tracing jutting roots and pebbles as they stepped over them. Her gaze slid upwards again, eyeing the edges of the netherite armor clasped on the figure, the helmet thankfully absent for an easier view of his face, likely to appear less daunting when he had suddenly shown up on her doorstep without a prior word.

In some mild manner, it had helped, though with a longer look at him, (Y/N) realized it was a mere courtesy, an extension of good will. The absence of the piece held no weight of repercussions, the figure much too tall and daunting for someone to even attempt to aim for his unprotected face.

Not that it’d work anyway, she mused to herself, avoiding the sight of the sharpened and enchanted blade strapped to his side, staving off thoughts and speculations on the items he held in his inventory.

A shiver travelled down her spine at a particular thought and Sam’s hand tightened.

She swallowed past the lump in her throat.

She regretted opening the door for him.

- - -

(Y/N) flitted about the kitchen, wincing as the bowls clattered against each other as she dropped them on the counter. She took a moment to organize them unnecessarily, if only to keep her hands busy, before she leaned back and raised her finger to her lips in thought. Her gaze darted about the kitchen, attention catching on the latest chest she’d added to her kitchen, spinning on her heel to stalk across the floor and throw the lid open.

The contents were the same as before, the ingredients inside not having miraculously disappeared into thin air from the last time she’d checked. Some of the tension bled from the female’s figure at the sight, leaning her weight against the lid as she sighed. Of course, it also meant she couldn’t busy herself with hastily gathering them all last minute again, too occupied physically to allow her thoughts to run rampant.

(Y/N) dropped the lid unceremoniously, groaning as she stood, finding nothing to nitpick over in the kitchen as she crossed her arms. She untied her hair from the updo she had thrown it into, running her fingers over her scalp as she straightened the strands.

It was only Niki after all, the kind, pink haired female (Y/N) had never managed to befriend, both occupied with the constant warfare and heavy tension over the lands. Granted, things weren’t pitch perfect in any manner at the moment, but avoiding some mind controlling egg was easier than constantly utilizing supplies during a war.

(Y/N) winced at the thought of the tense, guarded glances always thrown at her as soon as she’d take a step into the populated SMP city. It’d been part of the reason why she’d taken occupation in the middle of a populated forest, trees stretching for miles as far as one could see. It was daunting at times, chilling even when she’d be awake in the middle of the night and hear the cries and groans of hostile mobs near her walls, aware that any form of help was too far to make an impact in an emergency, and that her body likely wouldn’t be discovered for several months until someone remembered about her or stumbled upon her abode.

(Y/N) huffed at the dark thoughts swirling in her head. Really now, even when the bastard was dumped into some high security prison, he still managed to hold a tight grip over her life.

It had been a desperate stab at friendship, approaching Niki with a friendly invitation for baking lessons at her house, wringing her hands nervously despite how much she’d tried to quell her nerves. If the female had noticed, she’d only shaken off her surprised expression, casting a friendly smile instead and asking for the coordinates.

Truth was, (Y/N) had never had an interest in baking before, opting to delight in the bought goods from Niki’s bakery whenever she could rather than attempt to do it herself. Though if she were going to make an attempt at finally bonding with at least some of the members of the SMP, further than just George and Sapnap, (she ignored the stab in her chest at how distant the three of them had become in the latest months) then she’d make sure to do so properly. Even if Niki weren’t fond of her, or the entire event managed to become an absolute disaster, at the very least Niki would have participated in an activity she was obviously fond of.

A knock sounded against her door, snapping (Y/N) out of her thoughts as she froze. She was already here?

She cast another paranoid glance over her kitchen, pausing in her haste to dart to the door as she lingered in the doorway.

She had everything prepared, right?

Niki wouldn’t despise her just for missing one ingredient, right?

Of course not, what was she thinking?

(Y/N) inhaled before releasing the stuttering breath, smoothing down her clothes and messing with strands of her hair in an attempt to ensure it looked presentable without a mirror to confirm. She plastered a nervous grin on her face, reaching forwards to clasp her hand around the doorknob and swing the door open.

“Thanks for coming N-”

The words died in her throat as she met face to face with a glimmering, enchanted netherite chestplate. (Y/N)’s mouth dried as it remained frozen half open, finally willing the courage to raise her gaze to meet eyes with a certain creeper hybrid.

“(Y/N)” came Sam’s soft greeting, a tense smile lifting at the corners of his lips. He seemed hunched over, his hands empty of any typical hold on a weapon. Though the details hardly had an impact on his threatening image, much less when the mere mention of his occupation would catch her breath in her throat.

“Sam.” She countered, hands clenching on the smooth doorknob within her palm, grateful for the lack of engraving on it as she was certain it would’ve left an imprint on her palm with her vice grip.

A voice within her head whispered to call him upon his Warden title instead, though she dismissed it, deciding against angering the male. She certainly wouldn’t be able to take Sam on alone, much less when she was in the middle of the woods with no hope for backup arriving in time. (She ignored the sting that arose from questioning if she had anyone to call upon for backup.)

She shifted further into the safety of her home, discreetly swinging the door ajar, lessening the open space into her home. Sam’s eyes briefly flitted to the wooden object before his gaze met (Y/N)’s, sending a shiver down her spine.

“How are you, (Y/N)?”

“I’m… well,” she swallowed, ignoring the “I was better before you came” lingering on the tip of her tongue.

Sam reached a hand upwards to rub at the back of his neck, his eyes scanning the area around the two of them before he dropped his appendage, releasing a barely-there sigh. He straightened, meeting gazes with the female before him again.

(Really, she wished he’d stop doing that. She wouldn’t be surprised if it was meant as an intimidation tactic.)

“(Y/N), I have a responsibility as the Warden of the server, which I’m certain you’re more than aware of.” Sam paused, (Y/N) stared at him in silence for a moment before realizing his intentions and gave a hurried nod. He continued, “As such, I take every precaution to ensure the protection of the building and that the prisoner remains… inside.”

(Y/N) didn’t like where this conversation was going.

“Dream asked for y-”

“No!” Sam’s hand caught the door as (Y/N) desperately attempted to swing it shut, lock the male and every word he had said out of her house and head. With a single sentence he had shattered the haven she had finally built for herself, by herself, the pieces too small to rebuild it as before.

“(Y/N) as the Warden-”

“I don’t care!” She hissed, ignoring the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, her distraught more than evident in her voice.

Sam had the decency to slump a tad bit, before he easily shoved the wooden barricade open and grabbed her elbow as (Y/N) flailed, kicking her legs against his shins and trying to plant her feet to the floor.

“I’m sorry (Y/N).”

- - -

The prison finally loomed over the last remaining barricade of trees, solid and unrelenting, brash against the soft blue sky. (Y/N) stared at it as Sam guided her past roots and bushes, keeping her from walking into a tree. A terrible, cold feeling pooled in her gut and she stopped as the two of them reached the last of the forest, feet stilling with the last tree before the open plain before the prison. The Warden turned to her silently, scanning her over, when no apparent issue came to light, he locked gazes with her, his eyes asking the question without a need to open his mouth.

Why did you stop?

(Y/N) tried to inhale a deep breathe, but her throat was too tight and it felt as if she wasn’t getting enough. She chocked down a desperate gasp for air as the prison loomed over her, fighting the urge to kneel over and dig her nails in the dirt, hacking for air. At the very least, she’d have the gritty dust on her fingers as a totem of the outside world in such a spotless, manmade build, composed only of unbreaking blocks and choking lava.

She turned her head over her shoulder towards the breeze as it grounded her, blowing strands of her loose hair out of her face and lifting her hair off her shoulders. The trees rustled, branches swaying towards her as they beckoned her, calling her to her humble abode in the woods, one with the nature surrounding it, with moss and vines already creeping up the sides of the walls.

She didn’t need to imagine it as it seemed to flicker in the distance, a haven away from an unrelenting prison and the madman trapped inside. She could already hear Niki’s bubbling laughter echo towards her, her own mixing with it as the smell of bread and baked goods wafted through the air. The fox she’d been feeding leftovers to poking curiously nearby, ears flickering towards the open kitchen window.

The Warden tightened his grip and the house vanished. The trees grew silent and (Y/N) fought his grip once more as he dragged her from the protection of the forest, the breeze giving her no parting touch. (Y/N) tried to bend down, to flop lifelessly on the ground and make him drag her, leave as many touches of the dirt and blades of grass on her as she could but he yanked her upwards easily, leaving her stumbling like a dazed lamb to catch her balance.

Before she could plead, or scream, or cry, or mourn, they were standing before the entryway, the shadow of Pandora’s Vault chilling her to her bones and chasing any semblance of warmth the sun had left within her. The Warden dragged her through without a hint of struggling, her small body and desperate escape attempts no challenge to the uncountable, heavy-duty blocks he had built the prison with with his own hands.

The purple sheen of the Nether portal washed over her, the haze of it settling in her vision and body, leaving her dazed eyed and slow, depending on the Warden’s tugging to guide her. She hadn’t used one in months, it wasn’t necessary when she was insistent on leaving no shortcut for others to find her nor having any need for high quality netherite weapons when there were no human threats. She expected for the sight of a too-large reception area to snap her out of her haziness, but the drowsiness stayed within her head, leaving her swaying without constant support and tugging her brain down into ignorant bliss of the surrounding action.

She didn’t bother to fight it, not as she numbly shook her head when the Warden’s voice drifted over her head, asking if she had any items on her (she was preparing for baking lessons, why would she?), not as she was pulled down identical corridors and softly pushed onto a bed. She curled into a ball on it, shutting her eyes.

This was just a bad dream, wasn’t it?

What an awful nightmare.

But the hands were back, pulling her upwards and holding her close to the Warden as she passed over a hallway of lava, pulling her down more and more corridors (how many pathways did this place have?), prodding her towards a passageway of water as she blankly stared at it, unable to will her body to the basic motions of swimming (the Warden had to tug her through a hidden doorway, muttering something along the lines of never mentioning it, why?).

She felt the fog lift as books were constantly pushed into her arms in a steady stream, the words settling into the back of her mind as she signed. She snapped back to attention finally as the Warden admitted that the sole prisoner was behind the fall of lava before her. She whirled her head in his direction, feeling her breath hitch as he stared forwards dutifully. Sam took a deep breath, stepping away from the lever to come closer to her, his gas mask hanging around his neck as his eyes flashed regretfully.

“For whatever it's worth,” he looked into her eyes as he hovered his hand near her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

(Y/N) looked downwards, digging her nails into her arms as she crossed them over her chest, blinking back tears. She didn’t answer, but she allowed Sam to place a comforting hand upon her shoulder and squeeze it.

“Just for a few hours,” Sam muttered as he pulled away, pulling the lever suddenly as her eyes snapped upwards to watch the lava fall.

The singular cell floating among the pool of lava came into view, the prisoner not in immediate sight, though it wasn’t hard to notice the telltale flash of bright orange against the far wall as (Y/N) craned her neck upwards.

“Just enough to calm him down,” Sam finalized, motioning to the moving pathway that sputtered to life under her feet, confidently crossing the chasm of lava bubbling underneath.

(Y/N) hated it for heartlessly depositing her on obsidian bricks, heading backwards without a single glance or hesitation to take her along. For how Sam stood at the only way in and out and didn’t extend his hand, didn’t give her the option to forget whatever had occurred and let her head back to her carefully constructed life, leave her in peace to mend the tangled and broken strings of her relationships to the other members, torn before she had a chance to form them.

Sam didn’t leave but the sight of him was blocked out by the lava soon enough, the heat pushing against her face and plastering loose strands of hair to her warming face.

(Y/N) dug her nails further into her flesh and slowly turned around to face the inside of the cell as the Netherite barrier lowered, leaving her no option but to cautiously step forwards, as if a sleeping predator were trapped in the same space as her. (There was the lava behind her, but she had no doubt the Warden would find her moments after the respawn process, dragging her back kicking and screaming however many times it took.)

Dream lay against the far end of the cell, face turned towards the obsidian wall as he hummed leisurely, tracing unseen patterns in the harsh surface. He didn’t bother to acknowledge her presence as she stood in her place, freezing impossibly still as he flopped onto his back, dramatically yawning with a hand over his mouth.

“Oh come on Sam,” he chuckled, crossing his arms behind his back, settling into a comfortable position as if he were splayed on a bed for a nap. “I’ve said my terms, and what follows. I’m sure you already know what you have to do, and I’ll comply! Just like that!” He removed a hand to wave it in the air as he spoke, (Y/N)’s eyes following it as if it were a poised weapon.

“Wouldn’t want your only prisoner to die now, would you?” Dream shrugged casually, placing his arm back into its previous position as (Y/N)’s gaze was drawn to the gathering pile of raw potatoes at the filled water hole. She wasn’t certain how many he received in a day, couldn’t calculate off of that, but she could only assume it had taken days for such a worth to accumulate.

His chuckle left shivers down her spine, needles stabbing into her back as he continued. “Built an entire, high security prison but couldn’t keep the only prisoner alive. A failed prison if it can’t serve its basic purpose, right?”

The silence stretched between them uncomfortably as Dream was content to pretend to sleep and (Y/N) didn’t dare move to draw attention to herself. She finally sputtered in a breath, her murmur practically echoing in the confined space as she spoke.

“I’m not Sam.”

The effect was instantaneous, Dream was sitting upwards, his mask staring at her before she could so much as blink, the moment too long as he made no other motions in the ticking seconds. When she shuffled backwards uncomfortably, it seemed to break him out of his focus. The male was crossing the cell as she opened her mouth, drawing breath into her lungs, ready to scream and yell at him to not come closer to her-

Dream’s arms wrapped around her, shoving any words she had hoped to say back into her, leaving her struggling to draw in air.

“You’re here,” he murmured the female detesting how his tall build allowed him to wrap his arms around her back, hands gripping onto her upper arms as he tugged her off her balance. (Y/N) stared upwards at the smiling, blank mask, attempting to keep her balance on awkwardly placed feet, if only not to have to touch him any more than already.

Dream sighed, the action expelling all of the tension from his body as a hand separated away from her to tug the mask upwards, exposing his entire face rather than just his mouth and chin. He grinned at her, his acidic green eyes seemingly glowing from the lava behind her. (Y/N) stiffened as he gazed down at her, eyes softening into a lovesick look as he studied all of her features, as if convincing himself she were truly here.

He grinned, dangerously, before yanking her closer, sweeping her completely off kilter as she was pressed against his chest, her arms trapped between the two of them. Despite spending several months within the prison already, his grip was strong enough to give her no room to struggle, pressing tighter as she attempted to wriggle away. She gave up eventually, stilling as Dream gently tugged his fingers through her soft strands, pressing his lips to the top of her head affectionately as his breath disrupted the still strands.

“I missed you, you know.” He murmured into her scalp, (Y/N) fighting down the urge to stiffen at his words. His voice had slipped into the old, coy, syrupy sweet tone she knew, any unthought words or actions were certain to be snared in his attention, words twisted to poke and prod at her vulnerable parts, backing her into a corner before she relented and allowed him to coo sugar-covered lies into her mind.

He turned his face to press his cheek against her head, leaving his next words to be heard clearer in the open air.

“I’ve been so alone in here, why didn’t you ever come visit me?”

(Y/N) tightened her hands into fists, keeping completely still even as his tighter hold seemed to loosen in favor of skimming his fingertips wherever he could reach on her figure, drifting dangerously close to the exposed skin at the collar of her shirt.

“I’ve been busy, built a house.” She answered back, the sentence short and containing enough information to not be pointless, tone betraying nothing about her screaming terror and pleas to be anywhere else within her head.

Dream hummed in response, lifting a section of hair to peer at it. “You must’ve been quite busy then. Your hair’s grown, you know? Shame I don’t have anything to tie it with in prison.” (Y/N) shrugged in response, imagining the bottle’s worth of shampoo she’d have to liberally apply to her locks to erase any history of his contact with it.

The male huffed dramatically, releasing her hair to draw her closer (as if that was possible) and dropping his head onto her shoulder. “Oh (Y/N),” he whined, the female nearly cringing away at the all too believable tone flowing from his lips, “it's been so dreadfully lonely in prison. You know that no one’s visited me? It's terrible.”

She didn’t know what else to do other than shrug half heartedly, awaiting the drop, the final implication of his words. He turned his head to lower his volume, leaving his words still heard as clear as day from his close position to her ear.

“You won’t abandon me though darling, will you? You’ll visit me, right? It’s oh so torturous to be alone in here, you know.”

(Y/N) considered making a quip about how Dream still had Sam, but she decided against it, biting her tongue to prevent any unnecessary sentences that would lead into a further conversation, expertly manipulated in Dream’s honey tone and sweet words.

“I’d like to,” she replied, pausing for a moment as Dream silently awaited her next words, “but it's uncomfortable like this, isn’t it? I don’t want to come just because you decided to go on some hunger strike.” Dream’s fingers sunk into her flesh, the female wincing as his nails left crescent marks before he loosened from her reaction.

He chuckled, “Oh come on now, you can’t tell me you’d come properly without it.” he purred, (Y/N) gave a half hearted motion resembling a shrug, pushing her head away from his chest to peer at the corner.

“I can come regularly, once a week, but it can’t be comfortable to starve yourself every time just to get one visit.”

(Y/N) wasn’t entirely certain if it would work, even in prison, Dream still tugged on the strings connected to her, controlling her actions. But it was this or having Sam drag her back unwillingly, her built haven of safety giving way to constant paranoia and fear of the next time she’d see the flash of netherite armor coming for her.

Dream pushed her head back into his shoulder, curling over her to whisper in her ear, “You promise?” (Y/N)’s words would be too muffled against the fabric of his orange jumper, so she merely gave a nod, the action more than pleasing the male before her.

“Oh it’ll be great,” Dream admitted, pulling away to push her chin upwards to face his gaze, smiling as if she’d promised she’d be coming to visit everyday (she held down the shiver of such a thing occurring if Dream were to protest enough). “It’s not as if you have plans with other people anyway,” he chuckled as if it were an inside joke between the two, and (Y/N) clamped her mouth shut to not shove the news in his face that she was healing. That she was interacting with the other occupants of the server, after Dream had made so many precautions and actions to prevent the exact happening, tied her to him with every human’s bone deep dependency on social contact.

The moment lasted too long and (Y/N) tugged herself away from the embrace, Dream releasing her now that he’d gotten what he wanted. (He could always hug her again during her next visit.)

She slowly turned around to peer at the flowing lava barricade, watching the bubbles form and pop. Surely it had been long enough already? Surely Sam was on the opposite end, already pulling the lever to allow her to leave?

Dream protested her actions immediately, a hand appearing on her wrist to pull her further into the room as a frown tugged at his lips, a tense smile slipping into place as she peered at his face with a confused expression.

“Come on,” he pulled her across the floor, opening the chest in the corner. One hand kept a constant hold on her as the other riffled through the contents, leather bound books thumping against his other as he searched for a specific one. “I’ve been writing stuff in the meantime, nothing else to do you know? Here, I wanted you to read this o-”

An explosion rang out, muted by the thick obsidian walls and the surrounding lava, but abrupt enough to startle (Y/N), yelping as she tripped over her own feet. Dream clasped her to his form easily, holding her protectively as the sounds of exploding TNT rang out, the damage left to the imagination. Silence rung out for a moment and (Y/N) yanked herself out of the male’s hold, stumbling slightly from the unexpected ease it took to leave it.

She stammered, already making her way to the lava curtain pulled shut. “That’s it, I don’t- that’s enough. Sam!-”

A louder, closer explosion cut her off, leaving her to throw herself backwards and scramble away from the expected blast, flashes of battles leaving her tense for an incoming attack. There was none, nothing other than Dream curling his arms around her frame again, pulling her close as she stared, wide eyed and frozen to her only escape, barricaded by flowing lava.

“Sam... Sam, let me out,” she croaked, the words hardly reaching the male behind her, much less the one controlling the prison itself. The blasts finally quieted, the tense silence ringing in her ears as Dream casually reached forwards to tuck a few strands of her hair behind her ear, as if explosions ringing out within a prison were a completely natural occurrence.

She wanted to snap, to smack his hand away and yell at him for what was happening (even though it wasn’t possible, he was in prison, he had no power or visitors-), though the crackle of the hidden intercom in the room cut off any thoughts, her eyes darting about for the disembodied static filling the room.

“Sam, Sam, please”, she whimpered, the mask clad figure behind her shushing her as she trembled.

“(Y/N), I’m-”, Sam hesitated, before she heard the Warden’s voice filter through, cold and collected, steadfast when he wasn’t the one trapped in a small cell with their manipulative ex lover and the villain of the entire server. “There’s been a security breach. I can’t let any visitors in or out until the cause is found. I’ll be investigating in the meantime.”

The com crackled off and (Y/N) hated her mind for flashing to a particular line of text written within one of the books she had been handed, dread curling in the pit of her stomach.

In the event of security protocol- I hereby acknowledge that I could potentially be locked within the cell for up to 7 days, or until the security issue is resolved.

“Well,” Dream’s calm tone cut through her fear gripped panic, too proud and tilting for the current situation. “It looks like your visit has been extended.”

He pulled her limp body against his chest, resting his head on top of her head as (Y/N) shut her eyes, imagining the safe cottage she had built in the woods, far far away from the prison.

But the heat from the lava was too hot to compare to the soft breeze. And the suffocating grip on her was worse than any nightmares she had woken from.

#dream smp #dream smp x reader #x reader #fanfic #mcyt x reader #mcyt #dreamwastaken #dream x reader #writing #angst

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datawyrms · 3 years

Text

Responsibility

For Phic Fight 2021, The Lord of Chaos’s prompt c:

Spectra fed off of misery; nocturne fed off of dreams. The elusive town cryptid that only shows up when people need saving gains a following and Danny finds that he gets a boost from the people who have faith in him, he starts to become aware of them, especially when they needed him.

The rest of the town seeing him as benevolent was a positive thing. The uncomfortable stabs that his ‘parents were right’ about ghosts lessened as fewer and fewer treated him as a monster just as troublesome as Technus. He didn’t need to tense when the news was on, to hear his attempts to help called a ‘savage attack’, or that stupid nickname. He’d slept a bit easier, knowing that people did understand he only meant to help lately. Sure, Mom and Dad might still insist he was an evil ghost, but it was so much easier to ignore that when he didn’t feel he was only one step away from proving them right to everyone else. Clumsy and reckless he could take. Just as long as he wasn’t some ‘evil soul sucking abomination.’

Having Jazz a bit more in the loop had actually started to pay off. She wasn’t as good at catching a ghost as Sam or Tucker, sure, but she wasn’t hindering him anymore either. Honestly, if all three of them worked together, his powers weren’t really needed unless something huge found its way to town. Which his friends had insisted he take advantage of at least once a week, to let them handle the usual patrols and alerts while he tried to catch up on work and sleep. Mostly sleep, to be honest. Focusing on work was almost impossible when his ghost sense went off, even if he knew they didn’t need help. He wanted to go, he had to go; but they were very good at yelling at him for not ‘trusting them’ to handle things. He really did need the break. That’s why he was feeling a little less haggard, a bit more alert. At least, that’s what made the most sense.

Then the ‘lurching’ started. He couldn’t think of a better name then that. It wasn’t like his ghost sense, that sort of just crawled out of him and didn’t give him much to go on beyond ‘there’s definitely a ghost around’. That could go off and leave him rolling his eyes at the box ghost, or fighting for his life against Plasmius with the exact same feeling. The lurching was...different. Like his ghost sense forgot where his windpipe was and decided to escape in a random direction. Inssenantly. It didn’t hurt, but it was annoying, worse than the pang that would pass when he ignored whatever got his ghost sense acting up. It just kept pulling in a direction, but refusing to get out from under his skin. Sometimes it would keep going for an entire class, which just made whatever the lurch’s chosen direction noticeably cold. He was pretty sure he was immune to frostbite nowadays, but that didn’t make explaining things easier if someone spotted his hand looking almost blue from lack of blood flow.

Maybe his core was on the fritz again. Who knew what sort of weird things could happen to a human who spent half his time dead?

Tucker suggested that he was just getting ghost puberty to go with the ‘joys’ of human puberty. Which sure, was funny and they could shove each other around and forget about it for a time. It didn’t feel like the right answer. None of his other powers acted up, honestly he was feeling better after fights then he usually did lately. Less drained, anyway. It wasn’t stopping either.

It just got worse. More intense. More frequent. Instead of vanishing the area the lurch decided to pull in seemed to grow the longer he tried to dismiss it. Noticeably. To the point even Dash asked if he should avoid punching him because ‘that shit looks contagious’. (He privately hoped it was. Dash totally deserved weird pulling that made you frost over.)

He had to ignore it, he couldn’t just drop everything every single time the lurch decided to show up. He’d look completely off his rocker, running in some random direction because ‘my shoulder feels cold to the north-west’. If it was close enough to be a real danger, his ghost sense would just go off!

So Saturday was going to be a ‘lurch hunt’. No more ignoring it, no school or mandatory activities that should keep him from following the strange cold that felt desperate to go after something. Yet even deciding that made his insides squirm. He had to follow it, he should be- but that was dumb. He missed enough class as it was.

So why was it so hard to focus on anything else when it started going? Like nothing else mattered? It wasn’t like he was drifting off or sleepy either.

Jazz said he was ‘fixated’ on something.

But how do you fixate on some weird feeling under your skin? He didn’t even know what it was! Just that Sam and Tucker kept needing to flick things at him to get him to pay attention to reality. One of his best rested weeks in ages, and he was worse off then he’d been focus wise in years. Stupid ghost powers. Saturday took far too long to come. Even when one of the lurches stopped pulling he couldn’t relax. Instead of relief he just felt. Hollow. He’d woken up in a panic, half expecting to be chained down in one of Vlad’s sick laboratories, but he wasn’t cut open. He wasn’t even injured. Safe, in bed- and feeling like the cold ran off with his ribcage.

Something was wrong with him. That had to be it. Once they found the cause, he’d solve it and it would stop. It had to.

Following it shouldn’t make him feel as relieved as it did. Taking his ghost form and flying after some...feeling that wanted to drag him somewhere was more like when Freakshow’s Staff dominated his mind than anything positive. A compulsion he couldn’t help giving in to.

At least his ghost sense went off once he’d followed it long enough, finding one of Vlad’s mutant ghost animals chasing someone through the streets.

Normal. A bit of one sided banter to get it’s attention, a few punches and ectoblasts and it was shoved away in the thermos. No more pulling, and one less ghost terrorizing town. That didn’t make sense. Unless it really was just his ghost sense increasing in range while becoming infinitely more irritating?

That’s what it felt like, at first. He’d follow, ghost sense, find the problem. Except there was something odd. Every ghost he found like this wasn’t just wandering about, or making a mess. They were all actively chasing, stalking or attempting to scare someone. Okay, so it homed in on more ‘violent’ ghosts then? That seemed possible.

Until one of the lurches kept pulling, but there was no ghost sense. The one that kept pulling him towards a man with his back against the wall, fumbling with a wallet. The man who wasn’t being threatened by Skulker, or a vulture, or any of this typical fare. Just another human with a gun, and the will to use it.

This so wasn’t his thing. He fought ghosts, they were half his fault to begin with. So why was his ghost sense leading him to this? Well. It hadn’t. Lurching confirmed for not ghost sense?

Jazz would totally chew him out for tackling someone with a gun. He just had to forget to go intangible at a bad time, and he’d be all ghost. Or worse, go intangible and someone else got a body full of lead. He couldn’t just...ignore it now that he’d seen it though. The chill that hummed below his skin wouldn’t let him.

So the guy was a bit startled about getting pulled through a wall and dropped off the other side. Probably lost some change. He’d expected a bit of fear, at least. Like come on, some ghost just grabs you while a gun’s in your face? That’s still scary.

Yet he didn’t seem bothered. Just thankful. Called him a ‘hero’. For being in the right place at the right time. By just happening to be there because...because he knew? Something in him knew. That was wrong, he shouldn’t just know when people were in danger like that. He vanished without a word, not wanting to stick around and hear more. It was coincidence. Hopefully the guy wasn’t too offended that he just bolted, but he couldn’t stay there. He didn’t like how the complement felt good in a way he couldn’t describe. That the cold in his chest thrummed with a pleasure that made the rest of him feel ill. He wasn’t a hero, he was just some kid. A kid who still wanted to have a life that wasn’t all this, eventually.

He can’t ignore at dinner that he picks at his meal, not from exhaustion but because he’s not hungry. He’s still energized, he’s still full- and no amount of gagging over the sink makes his stomach empty. ‘Ghosts helping humans only do so for their own ends’. He’d ignored and denied that, he hadn’t been getting anything out of being the local ghost punching bag- so why was he now? Did he steal something? Feed on that person he saved?

He hated that his face didn’t even have the sense to look pale at the idea. He looked healthy. Probably better than he usually did. Even the circles under his eyes weren’t as noticeable. Were Mom and Dad right? Was he just...more of a ghost now?

Sam and Tucker don’t buy his ‘couldn’t figure it out’ explanation. Mostly because he refuses to try it again with them along to help figure it out. Even as he grows cold and more lurching keeps gnawing at his attention. He’s human too, he doesn’t need...whatever this is.

Sam kindly tells him he’s being a gigantic idiot.

He’s too distracted by the chill to notice. Tucker explains that after he’s blinking confused at the corn chips bouncing off his forehead. They laugh it off. He’s pretty sure they’re just being nice. They know something’s wrong, but he can’t bring himself to tell them yet. They wait. For now.

He ignores the feeling. He tries to ignore the guilt, that he knows someone out there is in danger. That someone out there needs his help. That all he needs to do is walk out of class and he can go do some actual good. He can’t go chasing after everyone in town. Things happen! He’s just one person! The sooner the lurching in him figures that out, the better. It still ruins his focus, makes him grit his teeth and fidget in place. He wants to go, he doesn’t want to go, he doesn’t even know what he wants. For it to stop. That would work. The tugging stops halfway into his next class, the frost in his blood lifts. It leaves him empty. Starving.

Everything tastes bland. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Even his favourites barely seem worth the effort of snagging off a table. He’ll eat, he can’t have Mom and Dad looking at him like Sam and Tucker are now, but it just feels heavy in his stomach. A brick he’s decided to try digesting for fun. He’s hungry, ravenously so, but doesn’t want anything.

He knows exactly what he wants and hates himself for it. Stupid ghost half. He doesn’t need that, he doesn’t want to be some...leech. Seeking out trouble just to benefit from it. It’s wrong, he hates it, and if he could grab his core and slam it on the table for a few hours he would. Just until it remembered that they helped when they could. When it was close by, when it was a ghost problem. Not every bit of danger in town!

Misplaced aggression goes to the nearby ghosts. Which it often had, really. It’s normal. He’s just making sure people don’t get hurt, ignoring the humming of MINE coiled in his ectoplasm. The other ghosts feel it. They hear it when he hunts them down and wants to keep swinging even when they put claws or hands up in surrender. He doesn’t trust himself to banter with them right now. He doesn’t want to hear the words his ghost side wants to say. He shoves them back into the Ghost Zone, and the smarter ones stay away. A stronger ghost is already feeding here. There’s nothing for them to take.

He’s running on autopilot. Days are meaningless. He can’t focus in class, his notes are nonexistent and his patience is beyond frayed. He can’t sleep, the cold is too much, the emptiness hurts and fewer ghosts show up. He can’t even blow off steam by kicking the Box Ghost through a wall. He won’t follow it, and he’s fairly sure it’s going to kill him. That or his parents will. Even they have to notice how he barely eats and won’t focus on anything short of a horn section in his face.

Sam and Tucker sit him down. Force the issue. They know he’s a mess. They don’t have answers. How could they? His choices are to starve this ghost instinct out, or to just give into it and completely ruin his human life. He’ll be fine. It’ll stop eventually if he keeps ignoring it. Then he’ll be able to focus again. It’s all he can cling to.

He’s stubbornly ignoring the prickling awareness of other thoughts. Ones not from his brain. Ones that get louder when the lurch grips him, that practically overwhelm his own as fear and panic grows. Maybe he’s just gone a little off the deep end. He doesn’t hear voices. He refuses.

Jazz has her concerns. That he can’t ignore it. She knows more about Mom and Dad’s research, more about classifications of ghosts. She tries to be gentle, nudging him to be aware that stronger ghosts were more...like a concept then an individual.

He doesn’t want to be some sort of ghost concept of problem solving. She’s worried he won’t have that choice. Some part of him already knows she’s right.

He seeks out Valerie. For help. She’s confused, baffled and suspicious. After all this time he spent convincing her he’s not evil, he’s begging her to call him that. To convince other people he is. To make them fear him and his help. He doesn’t want to be a hero like she is. He just wants to be himself, doesn’t want to hear the people begging for help when he’s trying to sleep.

She doesn’t understand, but understands one thing. He’ll feed on those who rely on them. She has to stop that, doesn’t she?

They fight, and often. He does poorly, lets her save people while his misfires cause damage and chaos. It makes him want to scream each time. Some of the thoughts and voices dim. Not enough. Too many are understanding, too many can see the regret and pain that wrack him with each failure. He’s always hungry. He wants to try again, but everything in him rebels against it. The ghost hunter avoids him. It’s ‘not a fair fight’. He’s ‘not himself’. His green eyes are more dead then they ever have been. He can’t maintain his legs.

As a human, all he wants to do is sleep.

Mom and Dad notice. He collapses and his eyes flare green when they try to help him. Just automatically sensing them as danger, against him, not someone that calls for him. They think he’s possessed, and he wishes they were right.

He half considers not telling them the truth. Let them think of a way to let his ghost half quiet down, to stop hungering for validation he doesn’t want.

Jazz tells them before they can do much of anything. Pinches his ear for being stupid- that getting experimented on won’t help him.

Their hugs make him feel bad. This should be a good moment, a time where he feels safe and accepted. But his mind is not his own, not with the others whispering in his skull. Their warmth and love feels like a drop in the empty barrel of his hunger.

They want him to be healthy. They want him to be happy. He can’t be happy if he needs to abandon his life to be healthy. He tries to explain it, the emptiness, the voices (Jazz cuffs him again for hiding this, which seems fair.) and they promise to try and figure out why, maybe find a way to limit it or separate himself from whatever connection his ghost half seems to have made with the town. Until then- they encourage him. To go ‘help’ people. To feed the clawing cold taking over his existence. He’s not sure if they really mean it. It doesn’t stop him from listening.

It’s hard to feel guilty when it feels so good. To have the fear quiet and be replaced with thanks. Someone’s out of danger and happy, and he feels less hollow for a time. Mom and Dad switch him to home school. They say it’s a better fit, to be able to stop and start based on when he’s not being dragged away by his own instinctive need to protect people.

It feels like giving up. Admitting he’s too much of a freak to live like everyone else. Dad tries to compare it to his special classes when he was young. Different to fit his learning style, not failing. The pulls and voices aren’t nearly as distracting when he’s full. Food actually tastes like more than sand again. Sam and Tucker don’t need to try as hard to smile now that he isn’t looking like death warmed over. He doesn’t like not getting to see them as often. He can’t deny he feels better this way, and can actually pay attention now. Even if most of the time he just wants to nap when the hunger stops. Go ‘back into hiding’ as the town thinks he does.

It’s getting better. Slowly. Not in a way he wanted it to. Better nonetheless.

#Danny Phantom #phic fight 2021 #Team Ghost #how to mangle a prompt in 3k words #it's a really neat idea tho!#angst train choo choo

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flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash · 3 years

Text

Irresistible Danger - Part 54

Synopsis: After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)

Words: 3,305

Warnings: nsfw, smut, swearing

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Allies and Foes

You woke up the next morning to an empty bed, the cooled sheets and pillow telling you that Negan had been gone for a while. A quick glance at the clock showed it was almost 9am, and you lazily stretched underneath the red satin, enjoying the ability to sleep in.

You vaguely remembered Negan waking you up with a kiss to the neck earlier, when it was still mostly dark in the room. He had murmured something about a meeting with his Saviors, and you had responded by turning over and grumbling for him to let you go back to sleep. The last thing you remembered was his low chuckle, and then you were out again.

Reluctantly rolling out of the ridiculously luxuriant bed (seriously, where did he find such a soft mattress during the apocalypse?!), you started getting dressed. Unfortunately, you only had the outfit from yesterday, which wasn’t the cleanest after being out in the woods, but it would have to do until you returned to your own room.

The intrusive thought hit that maybe you could leave a few items of clothing here, so that you had more morning-after options for next time. You quickly dashed the thought, not wanting to get ahead of yourself. Sure, you had now spent the past three nights in a row with Negan, and two of those nights had been in his bed, but that didn’t seem like long enough to start moving in items. Just the thought of Negan doing something so domestic as allowing you to start taking over his armoire and bathroom drawers made you chuckle at the ridiculousness of it.

Though, doing so would mean more events like last night could easily occur, since you wouldn’t have to keep running back to your room for more clothes or other belongings. Your mind flashed to the shower, and what the two of you had done in it the previous evening. How you had gone to your knees and proceeded to blow both his cock and his mind. He had been particularly vocal, his sharp grunts and loud moans echoing off the tiles as he ran shaky fingers through your hair and made you feel like the most seductive woman on the planet.

Still smiling at the memory, you finished zipping up the boots, grabbed Ricardo, and headed out of the bedroom and across his office to the door. Creaking it open a few inches, you peeked down the hall. Seeing that it was clear, you quietly exited the room, shut the door behind you, and speed-walked down the halls and to the stairwell needed to get back to your room. Letting out a little puff of relief when you made it to your own floor, you slowed down the pace a bit, no longer needing to scurry like a roach caught in the kitchen when the lights turned on. Honestly, the fact that you had yet to run into a Savior or wife while making the morning-after trek to and from Negan’s room was really damn lucky and-

“Hey!”

The sound of a voice just as your hand was reaching out for the door knob to your room caused you to jump about a foot in the air. Whirling around, you saw none other than Maria at the opposite end of the hall, waving her hand in greeting as she came towards you.

Crap. Couldn’t the universe have at least let you put on clean underwear first?

Much as you didn’t want to interact with someone at the moment, you couldn’t help but recall the last time Maria had tried to speak with you, in this very hall. It had been after Negan confronted you about the pregnancy test, and you had completely ignored her and rushed past without a word. At the time you had been too emotional to care, but now you knew that she was owed an apology, not to mention the fact that you hadn’t really chatted or hung out with her since the night out at the picnic table. Doing the mental math, you realized that late night conversation had to have been a little over two weeks ago. Yea, you had been a shit friend to Maria lately, and it was totally deserved karma to have her pop up when you weren’t really prepared for social interaction. Well, you would just have to get over it. She didn’t deserve to keep being pushed aside, and you wouldn’t do so to her again.

Pasting on a grin, you opened the door and gestured for her to come inside. She preceded you into the room and settled on the rickety little bed. You tried to nonchalantly lean Ricardo against the wall, in hopes she wouldn’t ask why you were walking around with a weapon so early in the morning. Thankfully, she seemed too busy scanning the meager surroundings to notice. It had been a while since she was in your space, and you tried to take in the tiny room from her perspective, wondering if she found it lacking. You weren’t sure what the wives’ rooms looked like, since apparently Negan wasn’t keen on them having visitors up there, but if it was anything like the fancy clothes they wore then it was sure to be much nicer than your own room.

Just thinking about them made a lump of discomfort form in your stomach. It wasn’t as if you had forgotten about the fact that the man you were developing feelings for had a harem of women he called his wives, but it had been a lot easier to push them to the back of your mind when one wasn’t sitting in front of you.

Not wanting to waste time with small talk, especially when you both were smart enough to know it was a shallow distraction, you dove right in.

“I want to apologize for the other day, when I ignored you. That was shitty of me, and I’m sorry.”

She gave a tiny smile, and you immediately knew that she wasn’t mad. Of course she wasn’t. This was Maria, and she was one of the most forgiving and patient people you had known since the apocalypse began. The fact that she was still willing to even deal with your fickle ass, especially after your last couple of interactions, was proof enough of that.

“It’s alright,” she replied. “You looked pretty frazzled anyways. Everything okay?”

“I don’t know about everything, but things are alright,” you mumbled, almost hoping she wouldn’t hear the words.

You started picking at a stray thread on the grey cotton sheets, unable to help but compare them to the luxury of Negan’s satiny red ones. Ugh, why didn’t you just stay in his bed all morning, instead. You could’ve enjoyed physical comfort and social isolation there.

Able to feel the weight of Maria’s gaze, you lifted your head to look at her. As expected, she was watching you closely, the slightest ghost of a smile tipping one corner of her mouth. “What?” you asked, not rudely, but perhaps a bit impatiently. She looked like she knew a secret that you didn’t, and you wanted her to just spit it out already.

“You spent the night with him,” she stated in a gentle tone, and when you jerked in surprise and opened your mouth to say....well, you had no clue what you were going to say, but thankfully she cut you off. “Which means,” she continued with a raised palm, a silent gesture for you to not get defensive just yet, “that considering how negatively you viewed his multiple wives situation, you must also know he stopped sleeping with them.”

Mouth still hanging open, you stared her down for a few seconds before snapping it shut. Making a “go on” gesture with your hand, you waited for her to continue with wherever it was she wanted this conversation to lead.

She then told you how she had suspected for a while now that the reason why Negan stopped coming to see the wives was due to his interactions with you. Her theory had been confirmed after your late night chat out at the picnic table when you admitted to being in his bedroom, somewhere none of the wives had been allowed to enter.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you whispered, clutching the bedsheet so tightly your fingers were about to go numb.

“Honestly? Because you weren’t ready to hear the truth, and I knew you’d have completely shut down at the very thought of it. You still wanted to see him as a monster, so I figured I’d just wait and see how things played out. See if he’d keep allowing you to get close to him, or if one of you would get spooked and run, so to speak.”

You mulled this over. Was she right? If she had told you a couple weeks ago that he had suddenly stopped sleeping with all of the wives, would you have believed it? Doubtful. And even if you had, never in a million years would you have listened to her theory that his drastic change in behavior was because of the few interactions he’d had with you up until that point.

Much as you hated to admit, Maria had been right to keep quiet about it. Though you did wonder how she thought you had found out. Did she assume Negan had told you? Or maybe she was aware of how Amber had been using Trixie, and had come to the correct conclusion on her own. Maria was intelligent, so there was a good chance she knew more about the goings on around here than people gave her credit for. You wanted to ask how much she knew, but also didn’t want to risk outing Trixie, since she had told you that information in strict confidence.

Instead, you asked, “So now that you think I am ready to hear the truth, is there anything else I should know? Are the others coming up with a plan of how to quietly dispose of me, so that Negan will pay attention to them again?”

You said it jokingly, but were honestly curious to know how they felt about these recent changes. Amber obviously wasn’t your biggest fan, but what about the others? Did they see you as a threat to the luxuries they enjoyed here? Honestly, if the roles were switched, and they were the ones threatening whatever you had going on with Negan, you’d be tempted to sharpen mini-Ricardo shanks and take them out one by one. Your subconscious whole-heartedly agreed, giving a battle cry and stabbing at the air, as if taking out imaginary opponents, while your brain sighed and rolled its eyes.

“Well actually, we did recently have a group conversation about you.”

She said this calmly, but it still made your eyes go wide as you exclaimed, “You what?”

“It was a few days ago. Amber had been throwing a real tantrum after she tried to take Negan a dinner tray, and found him already in his office eating with you.”

Oh yea, you remembered that event, vividly. It had been about a week ago, before his last supply run. It was the evening he had confessed to you about his dead wife, and then Amber interrupted by knocking on the door with a tray. It had been apparent she wasn’t happy to see you there, nor to be sent away by Negan, so you weren’t surprised to hear she hadn’t handled it well afterwards.

Nodding for her to go on, Maria continued. “We let her vent about it for a couple days, since I think we were all hoping she’d eventually let it go the way she does most things that get under her skin. But she was like a dog with a bone this time, and kept running her mouth to all of us about how you were stealing Negan from us, and that if we continued to just sit back and let this happen, we were putting our status here in jeopardy.”

Sweat broke out on the back of your neck at the possibilities of where this story could be going. Just the thought of the wives sitting around talking about you as a potential threat or enemy made your stomach flop, but you stayed quiet and let Maria finish.

“She was really trying to get the rest of us riled up, and then one evening she started telling us all that we better be prepared to start scrubbing toilets for points, since we were willing to just let him toss us to the curb. That was when Sherry finally stepped in and put her foot down.”

“Wait, Sherry?!” you blurted, absolutely shook at this turn of events.

Maria nodded. “Yep. She told Amber that all she was doing was starting unnecessary drama, and that Negan had never given any indication that we would lose our privileges or have to start working for points just because he isn’t fucking us every night. Amber tried to argue at first, but Sherry held her ground. Told her that she’d gladly go get Negan, so Amber could tell him her concerns face-to-face, rather than continuing to make assumptions behind his back. That shut her up real quick, and she stormed into her bedroom and stayed there the rest of the night. I haven’t heard her say anything else about it since. She’s still sulking around a bit, but at least she’s been quiet.”

Your brain was struggling to take all this in, especially the part where Sherry had not only stood up for you, but done so against another wife. Crap, now you really felt like an asshole for being jealous and internally snarky towards her that day in the kitchen, when she took you to the medic after you cut your finger.

“Do you actually think she’ll let it go now?” You had a feeling that you already knew the answer, but couldn’t help asking.

Maria sighed. “I can’t say for sure, but Amber doesn’t seem like the kind of person who is okay with not being doted on. I don’t think she has any particularly strong feelings towards Negan, but she enjoys the status of being a wife. It can be a bit of a power trip, to catch the attention of a man like him, even if for shallow reasons.”

“Yea, don’t I know it,” you mumbled under your breath.

Maria raised an eyebrow, having obviously heard. “I don’t think I’d classify his attention towards you as shallow.”

Giving a huffed laugh and shrug, you tried to play it off. “Yea, well, is anything about Negan easy enough to classify?”

“Probably not,” she said with a shrug. “But that’s part of what makes him so intriguing, right?”

“If by intriguing you mean confounding as hell, then sure.”

Despite your annoyed tone, you were genuinely smiling at this point. Part of you wondered if this should feel more weird than it did, talking to a woman who was Negan’s “wife”, and had most likely slept with him, about whatever it was he had going on with you.

As if reading your thoughts, Maria’s face became more serious. “I hope this doesn’t make you feel like you can’t still talk to me, or see me as a friend.”

If you were being totally honest with yourself, the whole situation didn’t make you feel 100% comfortable, but you were pretty sure that was because of the possessive part of you that wanted him all to yourself. But was that a realistic emotion to even have, with a man like him? Could you be okay with him continuing to publicly have “wives”, even if he wasn’t sleeping with them? And what if he later decided to go back to them? It’s not as if he knew that you were aware he wasn’t sleeping with them at the moment.

Mentally shoving those questions into the padlocked box with the other unanswered questions, you honestly replied, “I’m not totally sure how I feel about all of this yet, but I definitely still see you as a friend, so no worries on that front.”

“I’m glad,” Maria said with a nod. “And in case I didn’t make it obvious, no part of me will be upset if Negan decides he doesn’t want to give us the same privileges anymore. Well, so long as you promise to give me a spot in the kitchen, so I’m not stuck scrubbing toilets beside Amber.”

“Deal,” you said with a laugh, glad that the air had been cleared between the two of you, and that she wasn’t harboring ill feelings towards you for taking Negan’s attention away from her and the other wives. Part of you even wondered if she had spent much alone time with him, since she hadn’t been his wife for very long when he stopped sleeping with them, but some things were just better left unknown. Besides, it’s not like he slept cuddled against any of them all night afterwards, or let them in his bed...or his shower.

Your subconscious was feeling awfully smug at that thought, nose in the air as it strutted around with a superiority complex. Meanwhile, your brain was pointing at the padlocked box of questions in annoyance, a motion which the subconscious purposely ignored.

You chatted with Maria for a bit longer, the conversation much lighter and more frivolous than before. It felt good to just hang out and discuss random topics, the way you had when the two of you were surviving for weeks out in the woods together. You might’ve each taken very different paths when it came to Sanctuary life, but it was a relief to know that the connection you had formed prior to coming here surpassed those differences. You also appreciated that she didn’t push for more information about you and Negan, and didn't even mention his name again.

When she left a little while later, a glance at your watch showed that dinner prep was in about two hours. Grateful for the chunk of alone time, you finally changed into fresh clothes and propped yourself up in bed with the copy of Harry Potter. You smiled when removing the little piece of paper you had torn from your notebook as a bookmark. While this one was blank, there was a second little piece of paper that was bookmarking a place closer to the beginning of the book. This piece of paper you had marked in pencil with the letter N, and it held the spot where Negan had stopped reading yesterday morning. You had stuck it in there after he left your room, the book having been face down on your side table where he placed it when you woke up and distracted him. Hoping that he’d return to reading it, especially if you kept his place, you couldn’t help but mark his spot.

Just the thought of his possible reactions to some of the plot twists had you smiling, at the same time as a devious thought crept into your head. If you made sure to get him hooked on the first book, he’d definitely have to find copies of the other ones in the series to share with you, right? There’s no way someone can read the first book and not need to also read the rest.

Both subconscious and brain nodded in agreement at this theory before cuddling up on either side of you, so that they could also see the opened book. Diving back into the story with a contented sigh, you immersed yourself in the magical world, not planning a return to reality and all the awaiting unanswered questions until it was time to head downstairs for dinner prep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

#negan #negan fanfics #negan fanfiction #negan x reader #negan x you #twd #the walking dead #ash writes #irresistible danger #the walking dead negan #twd negan #slow burn #fanfiction #fanfic #negan's thirst squad

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

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‘Tis The Damn Season | Hamish Duke

Warnings; includes angst, implications of smut (not too detailed), breakup, heart ache, sacrifice, pain, and angst again

Based of ‘tis the damn season by Taylor Swift

If I wanted to know who you were hanging with

Whilst I was gone, I would’ve asked you

Belgrave, home. For a while, you had thought that Hamish had served as that shelter, but the brick road broke, splitting the pair of you apart. It was as though the pair of you were ice, thawing over the time that the independent plan had been brewing.

This place, it was to be missed. It was a great step of a risk that you were to be taking, and so was the weighing of your heart. It felt as though it would be difficult to carry, it would remain with you, surely even after you crossed and exited the borders of the town.

Leaving overall, let alone him was to be exceedingly difficult, any attachment had to be released, like a bird from a cage. But birds in cages had routines, they’d be fed, and get affection, but this one wouldn’t. He’d just be abandoned, left to fend for himself.

The man that had been the only dream that had rendered your brain at night placed the guitar into the back of your car. He knew that it, what you had, was ending.

This was the end, and alternately not the one that Hamish had been expecting. If you were leaving university behind you, in the reflection of your rear view mirror, he would be left standing, alone and broken hearted.

It’s the kind of cold, fogs up the windshield glass

But I felt it when I passed you

“Goodbye Hamish.” It felt like a cruel lyric that would be used in a song, a line you’d harmonise on stage.

Getting into the drivers seat, you allowed yourself a first and last glance through the chilled glass, blinking away any tears that threatened to spill.

He was a good man, there were great things ahead of Hamish Duke. But none of that included you, this was his journey now, you had already made the choice of yours.

And this was the price of it, the freezing of your heart; the truest and purest love that you had ever felt. No matter, you had already paid it, and caused pain for both Hamish and yourself.

There’s an ache in you, put there by the ache in me

But if it’s all the same to you

It’s the same to me

Turning the ignition on, you proceeded to drive past everything that you had ever known, all that you had love for.

The smallest distance seared a wrenching ache within your chest. It felt like a punishment for putting yourself first for once, it made you concerned, surely it shouldn’t have.

The car’s slow pace had Hamish biting his lip, containing any of his avid disagreements to this. He understood your priority, respected it even, but none of that made watching you leave any easier.

If anything, it gave him an urge to turn and head to a bar or something of the sort. But he remained, his heart sinking lower as you got further from his line of sight.

It shouldn’t have heart him as much as it did. It was common knowledge that first loves weren’t eternal. Time would only help him accept that cruel fact, or so he thought.

So we could call it even

You could call me “babe” for the weekend

Hamish’s body was under bliss, he had found his solace once more. He fit perfectly upon your nude form, it felt like his soul was rebuilding itself.

But he had to remember that you were only here for the weekend, you’d soon be gone again. And he would fall apart all over, just like the first time.

“Babe.” The blonde moaned, his hands intertwining with yours, he had missed more than just pleasure from your entanglements. He had beyond missed the entirety of your being.

The name that you were keen to lap from the tip of his theoretical tongue was a misplaced comfort. It shouldn’t however have the effect of such comfort, not when the pair of you were claiming to have been trying your hardest to move past what you had once been.

It was an old and tiring routine, that you were prone to returning to. The sinful actions were bad for each of your mental health, but it felt right to argue against it.

The wisest decision would be to forget Hamish, and every notion he inclined you to feel, but it was too difficult, especially when he had you seeing orgasmic stars.

‘Tis the damn season, write this down

I’m staying at my parents’ house

“Aren’t you seeing any old friends from university this Christmas?” The question was poised by your mother, she was far too concerned by the fact that since your arrival you had hardly left the house.

It was even blurred by snow outside, not too much to the point where you’d have to be shovelling it from the porch, but it was enough. It was beautiful, perfect for this time in the season.

In fact, you loved the snow. But the memories that bombarded your mind from the wonderful weather had your mind rolling back to Hamish, specifically how blue his eyes appeared amongst the frosted surroundings.

The thought had you sniffling, holding in a post breakup breakdown from your mother’s eyes. She thought you were sick, demanding that you get something for ‘that runny nose of yours, it could be contagious’.

And the road looks real good now

And it always leads to you and my hometown

The exact second that you entered your car, your hands sternly hit the steering world. Were you not allowed to follow your career through the workings of the world without punishment?

Because it sure felt that way, as though you were being a rebel in a war, however the battlefield was that of your heart. It was tearing slowly, and had been over the entirety of your hopeful escapade.

It cried regularly to be united back with Hamish, to its rightful home. It was suffering from separation anxiety from him, clouding the gaps in your brain and making them think about the tall, handsome man alone.

And the road taken looks real good now

And it always leads to you and my hometown

Every time that you were in your car, it felt like you were leaving home all over again, and Hamish would be standing by, with his upset aura, trying his hardest to keep himself together.

It was the worst feeling, knowing that exiting town was essentially the same as stabbing him in the heart. There was no feeling worse than knowing that you had hurt Hamish, you still felt more than something for him.

Whenever you’d come by of a weekend, which was every couple of months, occasionally each few, you’d take the pill of seeing him. But not too long ago, you’d realised how cruel the self invitation really was.

He had been growing used to life without you, and then you’d reappear, lounging in his bed, only to rip away from him and cause a terrible ache in his heart when you’d return to your performing duties. It was unfair, so you refused this month to allow him to know that you were back, otherwise the painful pattern would only continue, and there’d never be an end to it.

I parked my car between the Methodist

And the school used to be ours

Belgrave university was right beside the pharmacy, it only made you feel actually sick. The memories from the school were returning, there were so many of them, it was as though they were trying to anchor you in the snow as you stepped out of your car.

Almost all of them included Hamish, he was the main attraction of the university anyways. But perhaps you had stood there reminiscing longer than you should have, because it seemed that you had drawn some unwanted attention.

Hamish. He was walking from the entrance, a sombre expression had been held upon his face until he saw you. And then his face was rivalled with hope and confusion, you hadn’t informed him that you were back yet.

He’d already expected you to be returning for the holidays, mostly for your family, however, you hadn’t told him, and from the wideness of your eyes, the realisation kicked into his instinct. You had had no intention to.

But he continued to walk towards you anyways, trying his best not to smile and coo at the adorableness of your red nose.

The holidays linger like bad perfume

You can run, but only so far

The thought of making a leg for it, sprinting as far away as possible, or getting back into your car and steering away certainly crossed your mind.

This interaction was certainly not a miracle of the season, it felt like a curse, ascending from hell itself. You hadn’t wanted to see him, but the universe had interfered and made a collaboration.

I escaped it too, remember how you watched me leave

But if it’s okay with you, it’s okay with me

However every time you came and left, this building confrontation had been avoided, with you packing your suitcase for the umpteenth time, zipping each of your mouths shut and hearing nothing but the sound of the wheels rolling across the concrete of your family’s driveway.

Now, to contradict it all, the pair of you were stood upon even ground, it wasn’t outside of either of your homes, it was strangely the perfect place for this. And you found your dread slightly dissipating, aware that this was always going to happen, the road had just ended.

We could call it even

You could call me “babe” for the weekend

He was confused as to what to say or do. This was the first instance that he had seen you again in a place other than in his sheets, it was overwhelming.

“You haven’t been answering my messages.” His tone was calm, but in it, pain was presented, his sad blue eyes also justified that aspect of his aura. “Here for another weekend?”

It came across as less pleasant than he had anticipated, he was stressed to say the least. Something happened to him, it was out of the ordinary, he had wanted to speak to someone, and the first person that had came to his mind was you.

‘Tis the damn season, write this down

I’m staying at my parents’ house

Wringing your hands at the sound of his voice, it was visible that his presence made you nervous. That wasn’t what he wanted at all, he already scared himself after that sheathing of wolf fur wrapped itself around him and chose him as its vessel. His intent wasn’t to make you mirror his discomfort.

And so he uncrossed his arms, putting them into his trouser pockets and tried to look as relaxed as his exterior could fathom.

“I’m staying with my parents, it’s the holidays and all. Had to come home somewhen.”

And the road not taken looks real good now

Time flies, messy as the mud on your truck tires

But you knew, that it was all to return to him. That was the universe’s plan for you, if you ever tried to get away, it’d only force you to reconnect once again. There was no escape, and a part of you was not complaining about that.

The other however was outrageous, nothing could ever be easy, it all drifted down shore from the plan, the ultimate dream. Using your voice to sing was the goal, however here you were instead, mentally cursing and dragging the name of the planet through the darkness inhabited in your neurons.

Now I’m missing your smile, hear me out

And the road not taken looks real good now

Right now, all you wished was to stay. His smile was inviting you to do, and so you stepped cautiously towards Hamish, hands going to his face and pressing the pads of your fingers to his cold cheeks.

Snow began to fall, but you could care less. It already felt like there was a blizzard forcing to search for shelter, and here it was, in the body of this one man. He was different from the rest, he was your road, the one you wanted to continue on, rather than drive away from.

And it always leads to you and my hometown

Sleep in half the day just for old times’ sake

His eyes shut at the contact, it was far more passionate than the times you had seen him during your occasional visits. Don’t get it mistaken, the sex was great, however it was a coping mechanism, rather than a true example of love.

There had been something missing, at first you assumed that it was the lack of labels between the two of you, however you proved yourself wrong after realising that it was the proximity that the pair of you had once had.

The loyalty, the trust, the knowledge that the two of you had traded. It had always been mutual, and so was this heartache, it wasn’t fair for the pair of you to be apart, yet still suffering from more than the distance.

I won’t ask you to wait if you don’t ask me to stay

So I’ll go back to L.A. and the so-called friends

There was one singular thing that Hamish desired to ask. However it’d be a two way street of cruelness if he allowed it to slip. But if he gave it permission to leave his mouth, then perhaps it would be a different story.

Everything could go back to normal, the way things had been. Except from him of course, he was forever changed, he was the house to a creature so unbelievable, yet proven real, that he could not just dispose of it. That would end in his death if he were to split from this monster within him.

But he would also die if he had to be distanced mentally from you any longer. He took one long stride of his leg, cupping the edges of your face, and clashed the two of your lips against his own. The contact was hungry, needing to swallow any last breaths that could possibly be breathed in each other’s presence.

If he had it his way, he wouldn’t break the unison against you, however he had to, otherwise he would surely have to catch your tired body, not that that would be the worst thing in the world.

“Stay, don’t go again.” It fell, permitting a moment of silence in the air. This required thought, but the answer could be sudden, if it were, then that would be the true response that he was seeking. It would be an instinct to remain here, with him, at your home.

Who’ll write books about me if I ever make it

And wonder about the only soul

It made a sigh tumble from the hollow of your throat, as though you were shocked by his defiance and desire. However you were not, the grand query was to come to pass sometime, it had been eventual, until now.

He had finally ripped the band aid from the soreness upon his beating chest, and done so to your own. He had opened the wound, allowing it to breathe in the surrounding air, making your own hitch as you thought of an appropriate reply.

It wasn’t professional to be so swayed by his proposition, however, what about all that you wanted to accomplish? The career you were pursuing, the town of Belgrave wouldn’t be so kind to permit you the reputation you were seeking.

“I don’t know what to say.” The truth left your lips, the mind that was being stalled by all the possibilities, the two paths that were duelling for your footsteps, was suffering from total confliction. There was no easy answer, either way, you were to be giving something you loved up.

Who can tell which smiles I’m fakin’

And the heart I know I’m breakin’ is my own

“How about yes?” He was desperate to hear it, the confirmation that you would remain with him through the tough time that he was painfully living through. Your absence, albeit how it was completely your choice, did not help the situation.

Hamish needed someone that not only he could rely on and trust, but would help him. Somebody whom could keep him in touch with his human side, and away from the likening to alcohol that he had picked up upon now that he was legal to purchase it himself.

“Okay. I’ll stay for a little, but no promises to it being permanent.” You had been swayed by not only his engorging blue eyes, but also the pain, the pleading that echoed behind them. He was desperate for you to remain with him, and you feared for his mental health if you didn’t compromise.

To leave the warmest bed I’ve ever know

We could call it even

Even though I’m leaving

The pin had dropped, the choice had been made. The sacrifice bled out from your heart, the same red as the sheets that were currently around you. Hamish stared up at the ceiling, his hand softly stroking the skin of your shoulder.

“It’s funny, every time that we spend the weekend together like this, I tell my mum that I’m seeing an old friend from school.” The sound of your voice pursed a smile to Hamish’s face, he huffed a small, almost wolfish laugh.

“That’s kind of the truth, if you think about it.” He pulled you closer, placing a slow yet short kiss upon your lips, to which you reciprocated. This had been the best choice that you could have made, for not only the man nestled in the bed beside you, but also yourself.

And I’ll be yours for the weekend

‘Tis the damn season

We could call it even

It was both a selfish and selfless call that you had taken. One that perhaps one day, you would kick yourself for making, but right now, you held no regret to it. Hamish had been your first love, and fate had it so that he would also be your last.

“My mum would be over the moon to know that I was with you rather than one of the girls that I took bio with.” She had forever been fond of Hamish, even before the two of you had became an item. Even your father had a likening to the young man. The pair would pleased that the two of you were still in communications.

“What are we now?” He asked seriously, he had reeled enough answers from you for one day, however it was another thing that he would have liked to know. He didn’t merely want you to be his only over the weekend, he wanted it to return to the way it all was, before your first departure, he’d ensure that you had already taken your last ticket out of town.

You could call me “babe” for the weekend

‘Tis the damn season, write this down

“Us, I suppose. The equals to one another, as we always were.” His dimples showed at the clarity that you provided. Until he felt a pain in his back, it cracked up through his spine as he felt it begin again.

The dreaded transition, the curse was sparking to life in the worst possible moment. He needed you to be away from him, if he harmed you, then that would surely kill him. He couldn’t have a mark from his own hand upon you, it would be against his will, but the blood would have still been drawn by himself.

I’m staying at my parents’ house

And the road not taken looks real good now

Time flies, messy as the mud on your truck tires

Hamish’s sudden seating in bed had you frowning, your hand caressed his his shoulder, however he snarled at your touch, harshly shrugging you off from him. To say you were worried was an understatement, in the light of the afterglow, he had always been quiet and calm, but this was something you had never witnessed.

If you believed in anything beyond this world, perhaps you’d have suspected he was possessed by something greatly evil and controlling. But they were all tales, fiction and fairy tales that were drawn into illusions and dreams.

“Are you okay?” He wasn’t, and if he didn’t get space from you, then you too would be suffering. And so he spat the only thing that he could think of to get you to spook, to run far away from him.

Now I’m missing your smile, hear me out

We could just ride around

And the road not taken looks real good now

“I’ve changed my mind. Leave!” It was as though he roared the words at you, and he had you in a haste to scramble for your clothes and leave his room. This wasn’t supposed to happen, none of it. But he knew that he had been too greedy, he couldn’t be alive with this horrible circumstance that was inside of him and have you.

It may not have been fair, but it was the safest route. In the end, he had figured it out, you couldn’t help him with this. He didn’t want to tell you, he didn’t want you to know that he was a monster.

You never believed in the supernatural anyways, and that was now for the best. It would make you safer, and more importantly, have faith that he was just a jerk, not some killer that hunted under the full moon.

And it always leads to you and my hometown

It always leads to you and my hometown

You had escaped from your hometown. But Hamish would always draw you back, one way or another...

#hamish duke imagine #hamish duke oneshot #hamish duke x reader #hamishxreader #hamish imagine #hamish duke #the order x reader #theorder x reader #the order oneshot #The Order #thomas elms #netflixtheorder #theorderfanfic #netflixxreader #the order netflix #imagine #imagines #xreader

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fangirlandiknowit101 · 3 years

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Here's the sad pining sasuke i wrote last night... it's not finished and who knows when/if i'll finish it. university AU, not edited and there's some naru//hina and sasuke//OC bc i couldn't think of a canon character that fit. The texting part is also weird bc i wrote it all very fast lol. i'm sharing bc why not *shrugs*

xxx

It hurts, to look at them.

Sasuke can’t help himself. Naruto is his best friend, after all, and he’s not yet so desperate that he’ll avoid him. It’s worse, somehow, that he can’t even dislike her.

She’s good for him, he thinks, when he’s feeling particularly self-deprecating. Her hair is dark and her skin pale as porcelain, and that’s where the similarities end between him and Hinata.

Sweet, and so patient with Naruto. Soft-spoken, but not a pushover. Impeccably dressed, always, no make-up needed to outshine any girl beside her. A picture perfect couple, that’s what they are. It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t have to watch it unfold from the front row.

How her shyness turned to surety, how her eyes would catch on Naruto and look away before, but now – now she looks at him like he belongs to her, soft smile on her plump lips.

Sasuke can’t even hate her, and he wishes he could.

It’s not her fault that Sasuke is the way he is. She doesn’t know, isn’t doing it on purpose. And yet, there’s a stab to Sasuke’s chest every time she takes his hand, every time Naruto tucks her silky hair behind her perfect ear.

Naruto will kiss her cheek and Sasuke will be looking, always looking. His face devoid of emotion, his voice carefully neutral. He can’t be mean to Naruto’s girlfriend, though he wishes he could. Maybe if Naruto got mad at him and pushed him away, Sasuke would be free to move on.

It’s more likely that Sasuke would apologize and do better, and he’d rather spare himself the embarrassment.

Sometimes he imagines that Hinata will find out, that she’ll start treating him with suspicion, watch his every move with her wide eyes. Feel threatened by him. But Sasuke is no threat. He’s tired and hurting, but he’s not a homewrecker. It would be a lot easier if Naruto didn’t keep nudging him in Sakura’s direction.

It’s not Sakura’s fault, either. She’s dreaming of something she can’t have, and the similarities make him sick to his stomach.

Sometimes he thinks he’ll date her, live the lie to the fullest. Give her what she wants, since he’s doomed anyway. He doubts he’d last long, though. If he had even the slightest bit of interest in women – but when he looks at her, there’s just no attraction. He’s not sure how no one’s noticed yet. It’s not like he’s that good of an actor. He thinks the only reason no one’s figured it out is because he’s so deep in the closet, and they’re all so heterosexual. Why would they suspect he’s gay? It suits them better if he isn’t.

“Oh, I didn’t realize it was that late already,” Sakura says beside him, breaking him out of his thoughts.

The bar is lively around them, but the music is at a bearable noise level. She’s looking at her phone, frowning. On the other side of the small table, Naruto pouts.

“It’s not late!” he objects, the beer in his glass sloshing around as he waves his hands around. “We just got here!”

“We’ve been here for three hours, I think,” Hinata says, leaning her cheek on his shoulder.

Sasuke wonders how she manages, the way he moves around so much. Perhaps her body is as soft as her voice, easily following him.

“I told you I have to get up early tomorrow.” Sakura sighs, irritated. She fishes her bag up from the floor, putting her phone inside it. “I really have to get going.”

“I’ll walk you to the station,” Sasuke offers. Not because he particularly wants to, but he’s not in the mood to subject himself to third-wheeling Naruto and Hinata. “I should get going, anyway.”

“What?” Naruto looks disappointed, more disappointed than when Sakura announced her departure. “I thought you were free tomorrow.”

Rolling his eyes, Sasuke swallows down the last of his drink.

“Doesn’t mean I want to stay up all night,” he counters with, easing out of the booth. “I still have to study.”

“You study too much,” Naruto mutters, giving Hinata a smile like an afterthought when she squeezes his arm.

“Maybe if you studied at all you wouldn’t need to panic before every exam,” Sakura nags at him, coming around the table to wait next to Sasuke. “Some of us care about our grades.”

“Nerds.” At least Naruto looks a little happier, and Sasuke hates to think that it’s because he thinks anything’s going to happen between him and Sakura. “Don’t get lost, you two!”

They say their goodbyes, and Sasuke tries to pretend he doesn’t notice how Sakura’s cheeks fill with color when they step outside the bar. She’s put a jacket on, but Sasuke’s fine in his sweater. It’s not cold enough that her blush can be blamed on the weather.

“Thanks for walking me,” she says, hefting her bag higher up her shoulder. She’d joined them straight from the library, researching her latest paper. “You didn’t have to.”

“It’s fine,” he tells her, hands tucked into his sleeves.

He doesn’t want to run the risk of her attempting to reach for his hand. As much as he dislikes her attention, it’s safer if she thinks he’s just playing hard to get. He won’t have to explain, then, why he hasn’t outright told her to give up. He should, he knows. But Naruto would just nudge him towards some other girl, would bother him about it until Sasuke started going on actual dates. It’s touching, how worried he is over Sasuke potentially being lonely.

Too bad Naruto himself is the cause of it.

“You’re not doing anything tomorrow, then?” Sakura asks, stepping aside as they meet a group of half-drunk businessmen. “I’m working until five…”

It would be so easy to invite her out. To suggest a movie, or trying out that new café near campus. To watch her eyes light up with hope, watch her mouth stretch into an excited smile.

“I really do need to study,” he says. “And I’m almost out of clean clothes.”

None of it is a lie, technically. He’s just not sure he’ll actually do either of those things tomorrow.

“Oh.”

She tries to hide her disappointment, and Sasuke is an expert by now at pretending he doesn’t notice. They walk the rest of the way in silence, waving a quick goodbye at the ticket gates as Sakura’s train is due to arrive in just two minutes. Sasuke buys a drink from a vending machine and takes small sips as he waits for his own, mindlessly scrolling through social media. He almost ignores the text Naruto sends.

> Wanna hang out tomorrow?

He contemplates it. On the one hand, yes, of course he wants to. On the other, having an entire day to himself has its appeal.

> I’ll be busy

> Ooh, with sakura?

The train arrives, and Sasuke snags a seat next to a couple too caught up with each other to pay attention to him.

> No

> Got studying and laundry to do

The reply is instant.

> That’s too boring!!! I’m coming over for lunch

> Whatever

He pockets his phone, and stares down at the bottle in his hands for the rest of the trip. It doesn’t help against the warmth rising in his chest. At least he doesn’t do this to Sakura – doesn’t invite himself into her space, ignorant of her feelings. It doesn’t make him feel better.

xxx

Sasuke doesn’t have a lot of friends. He’s got Naruto, and then there’s his small group of friends from high school. Naruto is the only one who still lives nearby. Rather, Sasuke had ended up staying in Konoha like him. It’s a big enough city that most of his classmates are strangers, although slightly less so in their second year. He stayed with his parents for his first year, but when one of his cousins moved abroad for work he took the opportunity to stay at her apartment instead. It’s closer to his university, and if he, potentially, wanted to bring a guy home then no one would know.

He doesn’t think his parents would mind, but there wouldn’t be any privacy. He relishes in it, and Naruto does, too.

“I should just move in with you,” Naruto groans, spread out on his couch. “You wouldn’t believe how annoying my mom was this morning.”

“I think I can believe it,” Sasuke tells him, cleaning up after their lunch. “And just to be clear, I’ve never said you’d be welcome to live here.”

“Stingy,” Naruto grumbles. “How long is your cousin gone, anyway?”

Shrugging, Sasuke dries off the counter just for something to do with his hands.

“A year at least. We’ll see. So it’s not like I’ll be living here forever.”

“But still!”

“Where would you even sleep?”

Naruto happily pats the couch. When Sasuke scowls at him, he simply grins.

“Come on,” Naruto says. “I want to watch a movie.”

“I wasn’t lying when I said I need to study.”

Still, he gives in too easily. Naruto lifts his legs to give him room, dumping them all over Sasuke’s lap once he sits down. It’s things like this that makes Sasuke’s heart refuse to give up. He leans his elbow on the back of the couch, cheekbone pressed to his closed fist. He doesn’t say anything when Naruto picks a drama at random, letting him comment on the plot as much as he wants. Watching movies with Naruto is certainly never quiet, and he winces as Naruto kicks his legs as he shouts his anger at the main character.

When the movie ends, Naruto doesn’t start a new one. Instead he chews on his bottom lip, playing with the remote. Sasuke considers getting up to use the toilet, maybe suggesting going to the corner store for snacks, but then Naruto clears his throat suspiciously.

“What?” he asks, irritated when Naruto takes his time.

“So, how are things going with Sakura?”

He resists the urge to pinch his nose. He still lets out a heavy breath, not quite a sigh but close enough that Naruto frowns.

“I mean,” Naruto continues, “you could just ask her out. She’s definitely going to say yes.”

Sasuke shifts, uncomfortable. Naruto’s legs are still on top of his. His socks have little frogs on them.

“I’ve told you I’m not really into the idea of a relationship right now.”

“Uh-huh.” Naruto rolls his eyes, pushing himself up and finally removing his legs, crossing them at the ankles instead. “Sounds like excuses to me.”

“Just drop it, Naruto.”

“But if you get together things will be so much easier,” Naruto insists, poking at his arm. “We can go on double dates, and stuff.”

Sending him a glare, Sasuke pulls a leg up to his chest. It won’t prevent Naruto if he decides to get comfy on his lap again, but it might make him think twice at least. Naruto’s only wearing shorts, and all that naked skin isn’t good for his heart. It’s definitely too cold for it, but Naruto’s never been one to care about the weather.

“We already go places together.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same!”

Sasuke pinches his lips, looking away. If he’s not careful, those large blue eyes will convince him to cave in, and then he’ll find himself with a girlfriend. He does a lot for Naruto, but there are limits.

“I’m not going to ask her out,” he mutters, knowing it will only lead to more questioning.

Sure enough, Naruto makes a noise of protest.

“But you haven’t rejected her either!”

“She hasn’t asked me out either.”

“It’s obvious she likes you.”

“That’s her problem.”

Naruto kicks at his thigh, using his heel. He looks properly annoyed now, as if Sasuke is a petulant child, refusing to do what’s best for him.

“If you got over yourself for a minute, you’d realize what a catch she is!”

He doesn’t reply. Let Naruto think he’s just stubborn, or an asshole, or whatever. Let him think Sasuke’s just stringing her along, keeping her attention while refusing to commit. It’s better than the alternative.

“Leave it, Naruto,” he warns, getting up and moving to the kitchen. “We’re not talking about this.”

At least Naruto doesn’t follow him, though it doesn’t make much of a difference. The apartment is small, no wall separating the kitchen from the living room. He searches through his cabinets, locating a forgotten bag of wasabi peas. He throws them at Naruto’s head.

“Eat these and shut up,” he says.

To his relief, Naruto does as told.

xxx

He picks up the call from Karin half-distracted, mind still stuck on a question for tomorrow’s seminar. As usual, she doesn’t wait for him to say hi, making her wince with the volume of her voice.

“Do you have any idea how tiring it is to listen to Naruto whine about you?” she starts with, the background noise suggesting she’s outdoors. “Can’t you just tell him you’re gay and put me out of my misery.”

“No thanks.” He drops his pen on his desk, rubbing at his eyes. He regrets not going to the university library, at least then he wouldn’t have been able to pick up the call. “Was that all? I’m kind of busy.”

“You know, this is exactly why I moved away,” she continues, ignoring him. “I thought I could get away from all the high school-level drama. Just get yourself a boyfriend, and go on those stupid double dates my cousin is so desperately yearning for. How hard can it be?!”

He can feel a headache incoming, and he rubs his fingertips between his brows. Naruto had sulked for hours the day before, until Sasuke got sick of it and threw him out. It was definitely backhanded of him to call Karin and complain.

“If you really wanted to be left out of it, why are you calling me? That’s the opposite of not getting involved.”

“Because it’s really painful and I’m morally obligated as the only person with functional brain cells to tell you to move on. Juugo’s too nice to say it and Suigetsu would give you terrible advice and sit back and watch. I’m being nicer to you than you deserve.”

“By telling me to move on,” Sasuke deadpans, wondering why his parents couldn’t have settled down somewhere else.

“Well, someone has to do it! Clearly I’m the gay cousin in the family, so you’re screwed. Might as well get over it and get laid.”

“I really hate you sometimes, you know that?”

She huffs at him, traffic and broken conversations filtering through the phone. There’s the jingle of a shop’s door, and the noise cuts off.

“Your pining is just getting sad,” she eventually replies, distractedly. “Trust me, I know my cousin. He’s not worth it.”

Something unpleasant churns in Sasuke’s stomach. He wants to argue with her that he is worth it, but he doesn’t want to land himself in an hour-long lecture if he can help it. He rolls his neck, making a face. She’s got a point, but he doesn’t enjoy hearing it. His life would be a lot simpler if he could find someone who made him forget about Naruto. He’s just not sure it’s fair to expect someone to instantly replace a lifetime of friendship.

“I don’t think I should have to come out just because Naruto irritates you,” is what he says instead, leaning back in his chair. “What if my parents find out and disown me? You want to be responsible for that?”

“Sasuke,” she sighs, “your brother is literally gay and your parents love his boyfriend.”

“So?”

“Stop. Making. Excuses.”

He bites his cheek, holding back a denial. He’s not worried about his parents, he’s worried about Naruto’s reaction. That things will change between them. That he’ll think Sasuke has feelings for him, which would be correct but would also ruin absolutely everything.

“I’ll… consider it,” he concedes, after a long silence, during which Karin has finished buying whatever it was she needed.

“Really? Because I’m going to hold you to that.”

He sighs.

“Next time I’m not picking up when you call me.”

xxx

A few weeks pass, and not much changes. Naruto still takes up too much space in his head and life, Sakura continues to drop hints but refuses to make the first move, and Hinata is still as lovely as ever. She doesn’t seem to have much of a personality other than being Naruto’s girlfriend, but to be fair Sasuke hasn’t precisely paid attention or tried to get to know her. Naruto’s birthday is drawing closer, and he can’t bring himself to do anything to break the status quo before then.

He’s been considering it, though. It would be a relief to stop pretending. He can’t imagine himself finding a boyfriend, though, because where would he even meet someone? It’s too awkward to use a dating app, and he’s not precisely social. He doesn’t have any experience, either, if you don’t count those childish games they played sometimes when they were younger. And that one time Naruto kissed him by accident when they were twelve.

Because of this, he’s really not expecting it when one day in class, just as the lecture ends, his eyes fall on the messenger bag that the guy next to him has just finished packing. There’s a rainbow pin on it, and Sasuke blurts out his question before he can stop to think about it.

“Are you gay?”

He only lifts his eyes from the pin when the surprised silence stretches out a bit too long. Their eyes meet, and the other boy is staring at him like he’s not sure how to react.

“Uh,” he says eventually, fingers clenching around the bag’s strap. “I mean, yes? But if you’re thinking about the pin it’s just a regular rainbow…”

He trails off, and Sasuke feels his cheeks heat up a bit. He can’t believe he just asked, when he himself has gone to such lengths to make sure no one made such assumptions about him.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s fine.”

Maybe he should know the guy’s name, but he doesn’t. He’s pretty short, hair dyed a light brown and glasses perched on his nose. Cute, but Sasuke’s not sure he’s his type. He’s not sure he has a type, other than Naruto.

“Are you gay?” the guy asks him, eyebrows rising above the frame of his glasses.

Sasuke licks his lips. He could say no, but to what end?

“I am,” he forces out, breathing in a deep breath.

“Oh.” There’s red color blooming on the other boy’s face, his eyes flickering to the side for a moment. “I was kind of hoping, but, um… I mean, hoping sounds weird! Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you to ask outright.”

When Sasuke stands up, he realizes he’s almost a head taller than him.

“I’m Sasuke,” he offers, clicking his laptop shut and slowly sliding it into his bag.

“I know. I mean! I’m Hiroshi. Nice to meet you.”

Sasuke nods, and awkwardly turns to leave. Hiroshi stops him with a hand to his arm, though, and Sasuke swallows nervously as the turns back. He’s not interested in Hiroshi, not really, but he’s never been asked out by a boy before and the novelty of the situation is getting to him.

“Do you, um, are you busy right now? We could have lunch?”

He weighs the pros and cons in his mind. As nervous as Hiroshi looks, there’s a determined glint in his eyes that sways Sasuke over.

“Okay,” he says, and just like that he’s doing what Karin told him to do.

He’s trying, at least.

xxx

Over the course of a week, including having coffee together and a visit to the aquarium, Sasuke learns a lot about Hiroshi. Or Hiro, as he likes his friends to call him. They don’t have too much in common, but they’re both gay and studying agricultural economics. Once Hiro gets over his initial shyness, Sasuke finds he’s got a great sense of humor and won’t hesitate to poke fun at him.

It’s a breath of relief, to spend time with someone who doesn’t know him from before. He didn’t realize how much he needed it – just being able to be himself, without constantly keeping himself in check.

He can’t fool himself to think it’s enough to replace Naruto, but maybe he doesn’t need to replace him. Maybe it’s enough that Hiro seems to like him. He doesn’t really think about it, when he invites Hiro over on a Saturday night, after they’d had dinner at a nice udon place.

“Oh, wow,” Hiro says as he steps into Sasuke’s apartment, making an impressed face. “Nice place.”

“It’s my cousin’s, so no need to sound so impressed.”

Hiro rolls his eyes, taking off his shoes and jacket and following Sasuke inside.

“Alright, I’ll try to keep it in,” he teases, sitting on the couch when Sasuke motions him towards it. “But it must be nice, to have your own place like this. The dorms are fine, but I can’t exactly bring guys there.”

Humming his agreement, Sasuke grabs two cans of soda from the fridge, handing one of them to Hiro when he sinks down on the couch next to him.

“Want to watch something?”

Hiro nods, and Sasuke brings the TV to life. He’s not expecting anything to happen – they’ve only known each other a week. He’s still coming to terms with having a friend other than Karin he can talk to like this, and she doesn’t really count since there was never the potential for anything to happen between them. Hiro is… potentially someone Sasuke could date. At least there’s nothing wrong with him, not yet, and Sasuke’s easing himself into the idea of getting to know him better.

He finds a movie at random, some sci-fi that doesn’t look terrible. The movie turns into background noise as they talk, Hiro’s eyes watching his face more than the screen. It’s nice, in a new, exhilarating way, to have a guy’s attention on him like this. He’s not sure what to do with it. When Hiro moves closer, knee touching Sasuke’s thigh, hand resting on the back of the couch and occasionally touching his neck, Sasuke can’t find it in him to move away.

It feels like a secret, shared between the two of them. He thinks of Naruto for a long moment, allows himself the pain lacing through his chest as he imagines light brown hair replaced with blond, dark eyes replaced with blue. Then, he pushes it away, tells himself he can have this. The emotions are only his own.

It’s all happening too fast when Hiro grows bold, leaning in to press their mouths together, but he doesn’t care. It’s no one’s business if he spends the evening on his couch with a boy in his lap, a boy who isn’t his best friend.

The pain is easier to swallow if he tells himself that he’s the only one hurt.

#at this point i'm just writing whatever's in my head #something is better than nothing #i hate tumblr's formatting

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ao3theskyisblue · 3 years

Text

How to Woo a Texan

For @bellakitse who prompted this nearly a year ago and I had the audacity to put it off for this long 😅 Thank you for the title prompt, I hope you enjoy!

Summary:

He was suddenly brought back to the time when he was 5 years old, gazing at the white lilies in that antique vase every morning. How he hadn’t understood why his mother carried an aura so bright and yet so soft at the same time every time she looked at them.

Oh. There you are. I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.

***

Or, snapshots through time of their relationship with a splash of feelings

Read on AO3

Ever since he could remember, there was always a fresh vase of white lilies that sat comfortably on the side of the kitchen counter. A 5-year-old Carlos, who was finally old enough to climb down the stairs himself (though his parents seemed to disagree) had always tried to wake up early to try and catch whoever it was that was responsible for them. They always magically appeared like clockwork every Monday morning at 7am.

Neatly trimmed, placed, and lasted a week before a brand-new batch would appear the next Monday.

He hadn’t wanted to think too much about them, but there were times that he caught his mother looking at the flowers with a soft look in her eyes. Sometimes she would brush her fingers along the petals, and other times she would lean down to delicately smell them, an ever-present smile gracing her lips.

He asked her about it once, the words coming out faster than his brain could tell him to stop.

“Mama, where those come from?” He asks one morning, lips puckered in a light pout when he realized he didn’t catch whoever it was that put them there again. His mother turned around from where she was washing some grapes to look in his direction, only to widen her eyes in horror.

“Carlitos! What have I told you about climbing onto places taller than you?” His mother scolded, rushing over to stop him from climbing onto the kitchen counter so he could reach the vase easier. She wrapped her arms gently around his waist, and he didn’t fight it when she sat him on a dining room chair.

“But I wanted to see flowers!” Carlos pointed towards the vase, and his mother turned her head to where he was looking, a slow smile spreading across her lips. She reached over to take out one of the flowers slowly, before displaying it in front of him.

“You mean the white lilies?” His mother asked, nodding at him when he looked at her questioningly. He took the flowers gently in his hands, running his fingers along the petals. They felt like any other flower he’s touched in the schoolyard, and they didn’t have a particularly distinct scent. At least, not that he could tell.

So, what was so special about these flowers?

He was about to ask, but his mother beat him to it. “Your dad is a little bit of a romantic. He wakes up early to get these from the farmer’s market every Monday morning.” And there it is again. That smile he always sees on his mother whenever his dad is mentioned, a smile that made her look so bright and happy.

There was something he didn’t understand though.

“What’s a ro…romand-romantic? Is it like…like Roman empire?” Carlos frowned, not quite remembering that book his teacher had been reading a few weeks ago but he was sure he heard ‘Roman’ somewhere. His mother shook her head, laughing fondly. He watched her get up from her kneeling position to sit on the dining chair beside him, her hands resting on his knees.

“You’re probably a little too young to understand this fully,” Carlos wrinkled his nose at that, because no, he wasn’t too “young,” he could recite the alphabet just fine forwards and backward and knew all his times tables.

His mother gave him a knowing look as if she knew what he was thinking. “Those were the flowers your father gave me when he first told me he loved me, and ever since then, he gets them every week- rain or shine. Just to see a smile on my face when I open the door for him.” His mother’s smile is radiant, and he sees her peeking at the flowers again affectionately, as if just looking at them rings in a new bout of happiness all over again.

“So…” Carlos trails off, a million thoughts circling his mind. “Love means flowers?” His mother chuckles at that, patting his leg fondly.

“It could be, but everyone expresses love differently.” His mother says, before reaching up a hand to place over his heart. He looks at her, at the warmth in her eyes as her next words resonate within his mind.

“Love can be big things, and it can be little things. It can be complicated, and it can be easy. You’ll find your own definition of it one day, and your dad and I will be with you every step of the way.”

***

“I can’t wait to sleep for a decade.” Carlos groaned, toeing off his shoes before stumbling across the entranceway towards the stairs, regretting not building an escalator instead when he had the chance. A strong arm wrapped around his waist, and a bright laugh that never failed to make his heart skip a beat echoed in his ear.

“That’s a coma, sweetheart, not quite something I support. Experience, and all that.” TK mused, squeezing the skin just above his hip in admonishment and making him jolt. He turned a glare to his boyfriend, who was just looking at him innocently.

“You’re not funny,” Carlos grumbled as they slowly made their way up the stairs. Technically, TK was practically dragging him up the steps since he could hardly register where each step began and ended but minor details.

He didn’t need to look up to know that TK’s eyes were shining with amusement, lips curled in a wide smile with its edges softened by affection. “I’m actually very funny, you’re just grumpy when you’re tired. And on the verge of a fever.”

“Am not.” Carlos huffed petulantly, which probably just further proved TK’s point, but the latter wisely chose not to comment on it. They reached the last step and Carlos made a beeline for his bed, flopping down face-first into the soft sheets, legs dangling off the edge, humming appreciatively.

Soft and warm, perfect after a horrendously long shift with a persisting headache.

He didn’t bother moving when hands gently lifted the rest of his body to lie on the bed, the very same hands then reaching underneath him to try and undo his belt.

“You’re going to have to do all the work,” Carlos mumbled; eyes still shut tight. TK snorted, the hand stopping their administrations to swat his thigh lightly.

“I’m trying to make sure you sleep more comfortably. I’ve done my fair share of passing out in uniform and the morning after is never pretty.” TK has successfully removed his belt now, and Carlos half-heartedly lifted his hips to help him tug the pants down. “In fact, there was one particularly memorable moment where I almost stabbed myself in the leg with a belt buckle.”

Carlos was suddenly a little more awake than before, mustering the last bit of his strength to look at TK incredulously, turning over on his back. He ignored his head protesting loudly at the movement.

“I’m going to need a full version of that story when my brain can process more than 5 words a minute.”

TK shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “You’ll never hear it because you’ll forget this ever happened when you wake up.” He finished yanking his pants off and moved to fold them neatly in half over a hanger and placing it on the door hook. Carlos watched him through hooded eyes, absently going along with the motion of changing his shirt before shifting up to lay his head on the pillow.

“So, sleep-related injuries from passing out in work clothes. Another thing to cross off your bucket list.” Carlos gladly accepted the swat on his leg at that.

“One more word about this and I will go sleep on the couch,” TK warned jokingly, walking to the closet and pushing aside some of their clothing. They haven’t made it official yet, but Carlos already had a key – a permanent one, not a spare one that TK currently donned – prepared hidden in his gun safe waiting to be given, and the closet once only filled with his clothes began filling up with their clothes.

“Wha’re you doin’?” He asked blearily, already feeling himself pouting at the lack of warm boyfriend next to him.

“Looking for-ah, here it is.”

TK pulled out another blanket, the one that his mother had knitted for him when he was younger, and the only thing he could tolerate to be wrapped around whenever he was feeling under the weather.

Well, one of the only things.

He watched as TK gently tucked the blanket around him, seeing the familiar smile that lights up his face whenever he sees the design stitched on – a Gemini sign that stood out proudly among a sea of stars. He remembers mapping out imaginary constellations with his fingertips when he was younger, dreaming of what the stars would feel like underneath his touch – if the galaxy could be grasped within the palms of his hands.

“You mentioned the last time that your body temperature tends to go haywire when you aren’t feeling well, and that this was the only blanket you could tolerate,” TK says softly, and Carlos closes his eyes as the back of a cool hand felt his forehead.

“When did I say that?” Carlos mumbled, the haze of sleep threatening to take over, but he pushed himself to stay awake to hear the answer. TK shuffled some things around in the bed before sitting down, back against the headboard. Carlos didn’t hesitate to roll over towards him, wrapping an arm around his waist and tucking his face into his stomach, nuzzling into the soft warmth. He heard a fond chuckle, and smiled when featherlight fingers gently stroked his hair.

“I’ll tell you later. You should get some rest.” TK leaned down to kiss his forehead, the awkward angle not deterring him the slightest as he pressed another kiss to his cheek.

“You don’t have to stay.” The words came out a little garbled, and Carlos wasn’t sure if TK had heard him at all. He didn’t want to make TK stay with him when he could literally be doing anything else other than sitting with him while he slept off the fever. His arm seemed to protest at that thought, though it could also be his exhaustion at play when he didn’t pull it away from its spot around TK’s mid-section.

There was a pause, before the blanket was tucked around him even tighter, an arm wrapping around him to pull him in further.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

A million butterflies danced to that, fluttering about inside him as he tried to tamper down his quickening heartbeat. He couldn’t stop the lovesick smile even if he wanted to, tilting his head down to try and hide it.

“Plus, who’s going to wring cold towels and change them for you when you wake up? And make sure you actually eat something? Gotta put my paramedic privileges to work somehow.” Carlos grumbled incoherent words at that. Just because he was a living zombie when he was sick, and his whole body ached so badly he could sometimes hardly make it out of bed, let alone make anything to eat…

He’s been taking care of himself alone for years. And realistically, he knew he would be fine if left to his own devices.

“I’ll wait on you, hand and foot.” The words were light, teasing, reminding him of the heated debate they had the other night. There had been some history program playing in the background, and both of them had made varying sounds of contemplation when that particular phrase was said, sparking their usual bickering over the true meaning behind those seemingly innocent words.

This time, the words also carried a pleasantly heavy weight that settled in Carlos’ chest.

He could feel a stinging building up behind his closed eyes, his feelings always a tad bit of a mess when he was sick. They’ve already said the words, and the fact that they loved each other was ingrained in his mind and heart.

But there were also times like this, when Carlos wanted to grab the nearest jar and store the overwhelming love that was spilling out ardently. He wondered if the jar would feel as warm as he felt, what colour it would be, or if there would be enough space to fit it all.

It was times like these, that he would think,

Oh. There you are.

I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.

***

One of the things they’ve agreed upon in the early stages of their relationship, was that TK was not to be allowed anywhere near the kitchen or sharp cooking utensils unless there was appropriate adult supervision and two (working) fire extinguishers within five feet. There were one too many incidences where Carlos could practically feel his heart ripping out of his chest and plopping onto the floor, stripping decades off his life.

So, when he comes home to wondrous spices assaulting his senses, he briefly wonders if he accidentally opened the wrong door.

He had been pulling a double when one of his co-worker’s wife went into labour, and he had messaged TK earlier about not knowing when exactly he’d make it home. He had expected to come home to dim lights and silence, thinking his boyfriend would have already gone to bed but he was taken off guard at the lights shining brightly in the kitchen and the soft background music playing from his speakers.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind him alerted TK of his presence, and he was greeted with a smile that had his eyes crinkle happily at the sides.

“Hey, you.” His arms automatically spread apart to wrap around his boyfriend, laughing breathlessly at the way TK practically launched himself at him, trailing kisses up his neck.

“Missed me?” Carlos teased, leaning in for a few quick kisses before tucking his face in the crook of TK’s neck, his favourite spot to just breathe and take his boyfriend in after a long day. There was a heavy sigh in response, before he was met with a pair of eyes he never tired of losing himself in.

“It’s nothing new. I start missing you the second you leave our bed in the morning.” TK admits quietly, biting his lower lip nervously as if he hadn’t exactly meant to say that out loud. Carlos feels the familiar warmth spreading through him, and reaches up to gently pry his bottom lip free. He leans in to gently kiss the tip of his nose.

“Something smells amazing.” A welcome subject change, one that Carlos knows TK is grateful for, and he watches as his lips spread into a slow smile. Tugging on his hand, TK leads him towards the kitchen counter where various bowls of food were laid out.

“Everyone at the station has been giving me lessons. I thought Nancy was scary during training, it’s nothing compared to how she commands the kitchen. Even Paul was terrified but impressed.” TK was laughing as he continued on with a particularly hilarious incident that he repeatedly insisted was not his fault, but Carlos couldn’t help but be distracted by something scraping against his palm.

He looked down to see bandages covering the majority of TK’s fingers, looking like he had just left a particularly bad boxing match. All of his fingers had some sort of wrapping on it, most of them at the tips reaching just above the second knuckle, and a bulkier one on his right ring finger.

He looked back up to see TK smiling brightly without a care in the world, as if his hands weren’t completely covered with the scars of his labour. Not a single finger had been spared, and Carlos swallowed back the lump growing in his throat at how happy his boyfriend looked.

“Grace even swung by to indulge me in her family’s secret chilli recipe. We kind of went all out today in the kitchen, and everyone had enough to feed their entire family and their neighbours,” TK chuckled at the memory, picking up said bowl of chilli and holding it out to Carlos, a carefree grin painted across his lips. “I told them you were pulling a double, and how I wanted to take care of the cooking for tonight. They were more than happy to give me tips.”

Carlos stared at the bowl in front of him, then at TK’s radiant smile, blinking against the mist clouding up his vision. The whiteness of the bandages contrasted sharply against the brown wooden bowl, and he had an overwhelming urge to kiss each and every single one.

Some days, the love he feels for the man before him is overpowering, sparking life in every single motion and touch. Other days, it’s warm and light, just like the perfect summer breeze flowing by in passing, or the sight of the sunrise ascending over the horizon. The gentle waves splashing by his ankles in a soothing beat.

Today, he’s filled with an ache he can’t quite describe. It’s an ache that he wants engraved into his very bones – an ache that he wants to re-live for a long, long time.

He wondered if it was possible to be numbed by pure happiness, not knowing where the tingling feeling in his body started or ended.

Blinking a couple of times to anchor himself to the present, Carlos looked up to see TK’s worried gaze trained on him, the bowl of chilli sitting back on the kitchen counter.

Had he zoned off for too long?

“Judd, Mateo and Marjan sampled everything to make sure they were edible.” TK bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. His hands were twitching imperceptibly, as if he was itching to wring them together but remembered the bandages at the last second. The almost frantic look in his eyes made Carlos shake out of his stupor, and he reaches forward the cup the back of TK’s neck with one hand, running his thumb soothingly along his nape.

“Baby, this is…” Carlos trails off, the ache in him pulsating the more he looked at the culinary production around them.

He feels truly lucky to have TK in his life, and the rest of his found family with the 126. It startles him sometimes, how he’s been living fine on his own for twenty-six years before TK came into his life, but now that he’s gotten a taste of what it was like to have an extra splash of colour, he wants to continue painting the world with all the newfound hues.

“Extra? Over the top? Too much?” TK rambled, and Carlos shook his head, meeting his gaze straight-on.

“Amazing.”

He knows he sounds a little breathless, but TK seems to lighten at that, his nervous smiling relaxing. He silently obeys as TK gently guides him to one of the dining room chairs, arranging him around a little so that he was sitting, facing the gleamingly empty (for now) tableware.

“What would you like to indulge in first, my liege?” TK says playfully, hands kneading into Carlos’ shoulders to relieve the tension from a long day at work. He could feel himself grinning, reaching up a hand to cover one of TK’s, his thumb brushing against the bandages.

“You have been watching way too many historical dramas.” He mused, humming in approval as nimble fingers dug deeper into muscle, alleviating the residual tautness.

“There are only so many episodes of Grey’s I can handle watching without yelling at the medical inaccuracies. House is alright, but the way he treats patients would give him a lifetime of lawsuits he would never be able to climb out of. That in itself could be a whole series.” TK snorts, leaning back to plate some of the food. Carlos tipped his head back to watch him, already feeling his stomach yearning for everything his boyfriend was currently stashing onto his plate.

“I thought the point of watching those shows as a first responder is to enjoy the imperfections.” Carlos smiles fondly as TK lets out a quiet curse when a small piece of potato rolls off the plate, reaching out to grab a napkin to quickly wipe the spot on the counter.

“Pot meet kettle. You forget I watch Chicago PD with you, babe. I’m pretty sure I could recite the entirety of the Austin PD manual and 10-codes off the top of my head just from your heartfelt soliloquies every time they do anything.” TK shot him an unimpressed look, though the wide grin gave away his amusement.

He could feel himself pouting, not liking how true that was. “Yeah? Then what’s a 10-39 then?” Carlos raised an eyebrow, knowing he asked the wrong question when a predatory grin split across his boyfriend’s face.

“Something we both have abused in our professional duties,” TK smirked, walking over to place his plate in front of him before settling down at the seat across from him with his own plate, unconsciously linking their ankles together underneath the table.

“Uh, no. I haven’t. I think I would have noticed.” Carlos furrowed his eyebrows, growing more confused at TK’s quiet laughter.

“When I complained about traffic in Austin? And you very sweetly asked for a second round and offered to drive me to work with the light bars and sirens? Ring a bell?” TK wiggled his eyebrows, and Carlos makes a sound of protest.

“That doesn’t count!”

“You still offered. Which definitely counts.” TK chooses that moment to pick up a piece of lettuce to stuff in his mouth, effectively ending the conversation. Carlos rolls his eyes.

“That’s just cutting corners.” He huffs, stabbing into one of the potatoes purposefully, ignoring TK’s foot knocking against him. Conversation lulls for a while, and the more Carlos digs into the hearty meal before him, the more his skin tingles, kindled with warmth.

He reaches forward to squeeze TK’s hand, who in turn looks up at him curiously.

“Thank you. For all of this. It’s… I really appreciate it.” Carlos stutters, the overwhelming wave of emotion sweeping over him again as TK simply gives him that smile. The one smile that always seemed to be reserved for him – a smile he felt privileged to witness, and the smile he wanted to see every day for the rest of their lives.

“I can’t take all the credit,” TK’s smile is fond, no doubt remembering all the antics the entirety of the 126 were subject to earlier that day. “It was a team effort – I’m just glad it turned out alright with minor mishaps.” There was a sheepish look on his face, and Carlos notices how he’s picking at the heavier bandage on his right ring finger. He reaches across the table to take the hand gently in his, lifting it up to tenderly press his lips against it while their gazes were still locked on each other. There was a hint of pink that coloured TK’s cheeks at the gesture, making him smile against the hand still pressed to his lips.

“Minor mishaps, huh?” He remarks absently, but doesn’t push any further. TK curls his hand tighter to squeeze his before pulling back slowly.

“I added some more things to our Netflix queue. Want to call it a night and continue to preach about inaccuracies in medical and police dramas with me?” TK tilts his head invitingly, his eyes shining with mirth, and Carlos just wants everything with him.

“I’ll get the popcorn.”

***

Leave work at the door.

That’s what his father had always done when he was growing up. All talk of casework, of work stress, were almost always shed like a layer of skin when he came home, a wide smile present on his lips as he lifted him up into a hug and gave his unruly curls a fond ruffle.

Which was why he was currently still at the station at 10:34pm, finishing up the unexpected paperwork that couldn’t wait when they had been called in to a tip just before his shift ended.

Sighing in both exhaustion and frustration, Carlos glared at the offending words in front of him, his pen tapping restlessly against the table as he chewed on his lower lip.

He had promised his little boy that he would make it home tonight to finally watch the new Disney movie together as a family, maybe even build a pillow fort. Now, that promise felt like a scar etched upon his heart bleeding through his every thought as he tried to focus on the papers in front of him.

Their schedules would start being asynchronous again tomorrow, and although it made it easier so that one of them could always be with their son when the other was on a shift, Carlos missed his husband. He missed coming home to more than just a passing kiss as the other left for their shift, he missed going to bed with a warm body to wrap around him, he missed seeing that smile he’s loved more and more every single day for the past seven years for longer than five seconds.

They tried to have at least one evening a week to just be husbands, to spend time with their son together as a unit, but the case he had been working on for months finally had a breakthrough and they hadn’t gotten proper family time for close to a month.

It was times like these that he didn’t get the usual satisfaction of seeing the nameplate Detective Carlos Strand-Reyes on his desk.

“That’s a very impressive scowl you have going on there, detective.”

Carlos almost falls out of his spinning chair at the amused voice speaking lowly in his ear and spun around abruptly to see TK grinning at him, their three-year-old son Micah in his arms giggling happily.

“Papa!” Micah’s ecstatic voice echoes through the almost-empty precinct, and Carlos immediately catches him in his arms when his son practically launches himself into them.

“Micah! TK, what –” Carlos was a little lost for words, but tampers down the confusion when Micah squishes his cheeks between his tiny hands, grinning broadly. He was sure if his partner hadn’t left to grab them another coffee, she would be taking pictures to last her a lifetime.

“Have gift!” Micah declares proudly, his legs shuffling excitedly as he sat down more comfortably in his lap, and Carlos tips his head up for a quick kiss with his husband before looking at TK questioningly.

“Our son didn’t like how you would be spending movie night alone doing work,” Carlos couldn’t help a laugh at TK’s terrible impression of their son. “So, we decided that since you couldn’t come to us, we would bring family to you.” TK’s expression softened at the end, and Carlos could see how his eyes were taking him in fully, his own eyes doing the same.

He notices his partner arriving back to the precinct then, pausing in the doorway of their shared office. Her eyes lit up with understanding, sending him a quick wink before mouthing out a ‘more for me,’ and gestured to the two coffee cups in her hands. She lifted one of the cups as if in cheers, and quietly slinked away to take a break elsewhere.

Carlos mentally noted to send her a gift basket sometime.

“But you were looking forward to watching the movie.” Carlos looks at his son, and Micah frowned up at him, looking at him like he had suddenly grown two heads.

“Moo’ night is moo’ night ‘cause we all there. Papa, daddy, me. Two…two…” Micah furrowed his eyebrows as he tries to remember the word and TK gently cuts in.

“Together, sweetheart.”

“Together!” Micah repeats louder, and Carlos kind of wants to cry.

TK lifts up a plastic bag between them, and he knows exactly what’s in there when Micah’s eyes light up mischievously.

“Really, Strand?” Carlos deadpans, a smile twitching on his lips at TK’s indignant pout. “A sugar rush near midnight?”

“It’s Strand-Reyes. I didn’t marry you in the pouring rain with a broken foot just for you to neglect the second half of my name. And some occasions require processed sugar no matter what time it is.” TK says softly, and Carlos is momentarily taken back to that memorable day five years ago, where everything that could have gone wrong actually did go wrong, as if testing their brush with fate.

But in the end, love won. Which meant come hell or high water, they would be standing on that altar, no matter how many hours they had to stay at the hospital afterward in lieu of their planned honeymoon.

When he looks up into TK’s eyes, he could tell his husband had been thinking the same thing, and they shared a private smile.

“It’s chocolate.” TK grins, wiggling the bag enticingly as if his favourite flavour would make him cave, when he in fact had already caved a long, long, time ago.

“What a coincidence. I have French vanilla.” Carlos smiles as TK looks at him knowingly. He had let it slip once that he always kept a batch of French vanilla ice cream, TK’s favourite, in his private minifridge in the office ever since that night a couple of weeks into his new detective role when TK had come into the precinct soaked to the bone and on the verge of tears.

The news was never kind, and his fiancé had to find out through the grapevine that there had been a nasty altercation with the case he had been assigned to and immediately ran out of their house to search for him when he didn’t answer his cell phone. It was somehow the only thing they had at the precinct that day, and TK had stayed beside him for the rest of his shift, occasionally taking bites of the ice cream and cuddling close.

Now, the particular flavour of ice cream served more as both of their comfort food whenever they wanted to feel each other’s presence during a long shift, and sometimes just seeing the familiar packaging immerses him in comfort.

“Papa get break?” Micah’s question pulls him out of his thoughts, and he kisses the top of their son’s curls, smiling affectionately.

“It’s a good thing I have spoons, then.” Carlos pulls out the drawer meant for miscellaneous things, and takes out three plastic spoons from their packaging. He also reaches into the fridge to take out the container of ice cream, with TK doing the same with the two chocolate flavoured ones in the plastic bag. His husband passes one container to each of them, graciously accepting the one in Carlos’ hands extended to him before hopping on to sit on his desk.

“Papa happy?” Micah asked between spoonfuls, and Carlos hugs him tighter against him, leaning his cheek against the back of his head. He looks up at TK who’s watching them fondly, and he has a sudden urge to hug them tightly and never let go. He leaves that for when they all finish their midnight treats, instead reaching out to squeeze TK’s leg and kiss his son’s cheek, feeling lighter than air.

“I’m always happy when I’m with the two of you.”

***

Years of laughter, hours of tears. Days of contemplation, millions of joyous occasions.

And you were in every single one of them.

“We are getting too old for this.”

TK makes a sound of disbelief, turning to shoot him a glare that’s just as piercing as they had been in their younger days, his green eyes sparkling with life.

“Says you, Mr. I’m-seventy-four-but-can-still-lift-double-your-weight. Age shaming will not be a thing that gets between us.” TK scowls, and Carlos laughs at the way the wrinkles that came with age and years of laughter and joy deepened. His husband’s hair was now almost completely grey, matching his own, and yet…

Tyler Kennedy Strand-Reyes was just as beautiful as the day he first laid eyes on him.

“My hips are already protesting, and you haven’t even asked me to stand yet.” Carlos mused, laughing as TK extended his hand to him then, looking down at him in exasperation. The dim light from the fireplace lit up his husband’s features in flashes of brief memoirs, with each passing of the flame’s light echoing a different time in their life.

“And when have you ever said ‘no’ to me?” TK raises an eyebrow, his fingers wiggling in front of him, and Carlos touches the palms of their hands together, admiring how well they fit together, even after all these years.

“Plenty of times,” Carlos responds, even as he gets up all the same. Like two pieces of matching puzzles, they fit together effortlessly. The lulling chords to a song whose name was just at the tip of his tongue was playing softly in the background.

“And your hips move just fine,” TK murmurs in his ear teasingly, and Carlos could feel the wide smile against his neck as he laughs.

They sway together, both of them lost in their own worlds. Carlos closes his eyes as he latches on to this moment just like all of their many others through the time they’ve spent together.

“Feeling wooed yet, babe?” Carlos couldn’t hold back a shiver at the warm current of air brushing past his ear, squeezing TK’s hip at the knowing smile pressed against his shoulder. It never ceases to amaze him how far they’ve come since the beginning, never once letting go of each other’s hands, facing anything life threw at them as a team.

All these years, and Carlos still remembered the night that forever altered their futures crystal clear. Two imperfect souls, meeting in the middle. Willing to share each other’s worlds, learn each other’s purpose, and choosing to love through it all.

Shifting back slightly so that he could look into TK’s eyes, the beautiful green orbs that never failed to be filled to the brim with adoration since that night under the stars, Carlos smiles.

“TK, baby,” He reaches up a hand, cupping his husband’s cheek and feeling his heart stutter when he didn’t hesitate to lean into his hold. Tilting his head to gently press their foreheads together, Carlos revels in the tender warmth of their bubble of intimacy.

It’s with shining eyes as he continues.

“You’ve been wooing me our entire lives.”

#Tarlos #Tarlos fic #Fluff #A love through the years #Prompt fill #bellakitse

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grantiskeith · 3 years

Text

Baby Wolf Cub (Davidxreader) Part 1

I have never written anything in my 9 years on this hellsite but redactedasmr has really inspired me. Let me know what you guys think so I can maybe do more. There is a part 2.

Words: 1.5k

I arrived at an empty warehouse and did a sweep of the outside and the roof. I cleared it and made my entrance through the air duct. The first interior room was an attic office it was silent. I watched it from the air vent, scanning for cameras, people, or otherwise. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw papers in the corner shuffled and a puppy moved to the center of the room to lay in a ball.

The tip about “barking” made more sense now. I opened the air vent and the noise from the scraping rust and banging metal made the little dog jump up and start barking. I am still in shock that such a tiny puppy made such a massive bark. You could hear him from down the block he was so loud. Growling and barking, he was not happy to be anywhere near me. I backed him into a corner and picked him up. He was shaking terribly but he seemed less angry. I pet him for a few minutes and then I nearly dropped him when he shifted into a naked little chubby baby. Holy shit, that supernatural bark made a lot more sense now. I was holding the baby with both arms, and I wasn't sure how to hold it in one arm so I could call someone for help. I also couldn't check the rest of the building safely and I couldn't take the baby back up the air duct. I decided to put it on the floor on its back. It was alone before, so I decided to just leave it in the room so I could make sure the building was empty or possibly find the mom and dad. When I got back to the room it was back into a dog. Fine by me, I feel less stressed carrying a dog, or I should say wolf, as opposed to a baby. I scooped him up and it became a baby again. Whatever at least I can walk out the door now.

I laid it down on the front seat of the car. 11:30pm. That's not too late to call him. It had been two weeks since I walked out. He kept threatening me and I was sick of it. I wasn't scared of him, but I had pride. I demanded to be treated with respect. My independence, his alpha pride. I walked away. I could have called other members of the pack, but how would that look. I hit his contact and waited. "Angel?" His voice sounded sleepy. That named stabbed my heart. "Hey hun sorry to wake you." "About time! Where have you been?" "I have a very important question. I'm on a case" He paused, there was a silence. I was on the street again, putting my life in danger again, doing a job he desperately wanted me to quit. "What is it?" He asked "Do you know of any werewolves around Chicago?" "Why?” "I am currently holding a baby that keeps shifting, it was abandoned in a warehouse" I thought I understood what a loving family looked like but after watching his pack for a while. I saw how serious packs took looking after little ones. "What? is it ok?" "It looks fine, maybe a little tired and scared. Do you have any leads I can look up?" His voice was no longer tired and instead very serious "Hang on, I'll call you back" I took the pup back into the warehouse with me, looking for clues. I turned the lights on this time, making it significantly easier to see, but made me seen to any hidden eyes. Concrete floor, walls lined with shelves, vaulted metal ceilings. I found what I was looking for. A shirt on the ground balled up in the corner, it had a blood stain. Bingo. The baby I was balancing on my hip rested his head on my shoulder and had fallen asleep. His precious face was all scrunched up and drool was pooling up on his lip. David rang. 12:01am "Hey! Whatcha got for me?" I was forcing energy to avoid sounding so tired "I got hold of Gerardo, he's the alpha in a pack not far from you. He can't come to help you, but he told me he doesn't know about any missing cubs" "Interesting" "He's lying" "Oh?" "For a pack to abandon a pup is a serious matter. If it's from his pack, there's no way he would take it back" "Well I still have a baby in my hand, someone needs to take it" "You should take it to the department" "What will they do with it?" He paused "Nothing good, governments never handle these matters gently" "Ok thanks, I'm just going to hang on to him for little while and see what I can find out. There is a CPS near by, it's probably related. Hey, I'm sorry I woke you up but thanks for all your help" He was silent again for a minute. "Angel, when are you coming back?" He would never actually admit to missing me, the stubborn bastard. "I miss you." I took a breath, "but I'm not ready to come back if I can't be a detective" "Detective? Angel, you aren't a detective. You're a criminal running around playing fake cop, throwing yourself across buildings. You're going to get shot or worse" He fell back into the same arguments from our last fight. "David! David" I tried to get him to shut up. "I need to go" click. I hung up. I kept the baby against my chest while I drove back to the hotel where I was staying. That night I slept in my bed with the baby next to me. As soon as he fell asleep, he shifted back into a wolf cub. I got back late at night. I opened the door of our apartment quietly and slipped in. I dropped my bag on the floor and sat back on the couch. I laid the baby on my chest and closed my eyes. "Angel?" I left my eyes closed but I felt David put both hands on my shoulders and kissed the top of my head. He leaned over to one ear and whispered, "Don't ever leave like that again" I sat up. "He's such a sweet and well-behaved baby," I said. Ignoring his previous comment to avoid an argument I was too tired for. "Let me take him," he said, I handed him the baby but once David had him, he turned into a sleeping puppy. "He can feel my aura. That's why he's a baby when you hold him" "Oh my god, that's so cute." "He's very young to be shifting and he's big too." He looked at

the sleeping puppy in his arms, "you're going to be an alpha aren't you?" I closed my eyes again, doing a bad job fighting off sleep, "Did you hear anything about a missing kid from any other packs" "I put out a word out, we'll have to wait to find out, we should..." He was interrupted by a massive thunder crack. The pup jumped out of David's arms and started barking and shaking and growling. David took a step back and shifted into a wolf. I've seen him do it before but in the small confines of the living room, he seemed to be as big as our couch. All he had to do was look at the puppy and the baby silenced and sat at attention. David laid down and the puppy curled up next to him. I went to make a cup of tea. "A few years ago, I stopped a robbery. It was a 15-year-old girl with a gun demanding pain killers from Walgreens. I escorted her out of the store, and I took her gun. She hadn't done anything violent so I didn't call the police. I walked with her to her home, and I gave her a bottle of Advil." I looked over to the wolves on the floor to make sure he was listening. David's ears were up but he wasn't looking at me. "I left her until later that night I spied through her window where I saw her taking care of an old man. She later told me that her grandfather was sick but they couldn't afford any help. If I had called the police on her that night, no one would have known about him, and he would have died" I sat down on the couch in front of them. Rain was pouring down against the windows. "I did something special and meaningful walking her home that day. I am proud to be the detective that I am and I wouldn't trade that for anything" David and I were going to have another fight about my career. The little wolf was snoring against David's fur, my shoulders relaxed against the soft couch, the rain came down on the window like a waterfall. There was the taste of lavender tea on my tongue. I kicked off my shoes to feel the cold hardwood floor against my toes.

#redacted asmr #redacted David #redacted asmr david #redacted David x reader

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ffangirlingsince2001 · 3 years

Text

Nothing Alike: V

Description: Geralt of Rivia has been tasked with taking out a fellow Witcher who has decided to settle down in a town. She has no intention of leaving and Geralt is forced to take matters into his own hands.

Geralt x Reader

Warnings: almost fluff but the reader hates it, language, angst (This chapter might make you uncomfortable and a little called out if you have intimacy issues, it definitely called me out, so beware)

MASTERLIST

He had gotten himself into trouble. That’s what he had gotten himself into when he ignored instinct and allowed a mind lower than his head make decisions.

She was beautiful of course, dangerous but beautiful, nonetheless. Not that he had ever doubted either, if he had, he might not have been stupid enough to take her with him.

They couldn’t stay in towns for long, she would anger the town people. She held raging parties in her own honor, keeping their cups filled until she could slip gold from their pockets without batting an eye. It wasn’t until the next morning when they tried to pay for the drinks, she failed to provide, that they realized they were poorer than the day they were born.

He tried to make her give it back. He ordered, and threatened, and seduced, and turned her upside down to shake out the coins, but they were never there. She always seemed poorer than the men she robbed.

That didn’t stop them from being angry.

And that didn’t stop her from being a right pain in his arse, always starting fights and taunting the innocent when he simply wanted peace. When they spent time in town it no longer than fifteen minutes for a man to be drawing his sword and Y/N to return the favor. And then they were being kicked out by the sore loser who had dared to challenge her. Finally, he gave up comforter for peace and they remained in the forest, beneath the trees and the stars.

That’s how they sat now, beneath the galaxy as it spun around them. A warm fire crackled between them as some poor animal she had caught cooked over its scorch. She was lying on her back, staring up at the diamond filled sky, or at least he assumed that’s what she was staring at. The lace of her shirt was undone, the soft linen draped over and leaving no room for the imagination. Not that he needed imagination to know what was beneath her clothing. He had witnessed the harshness firsthand.

She was a bitter dessert he could hardly bare to devour, and yet he wanted to taste her over and over again.

Despite such desire, he hadn’t touched her since that morning months ago. He wanted to, god he wanted to, but she wasn’t keen on letting him. Every time the though conjured in his mind she would slither away from him, a devilish twinkle in her eye. She never admitted to her little game, and he never asked her about it; but it seemed that not everything was for the taking as she had once promised.

“Is the food almost ready?” she asked suddenly, the harshness of her voice against the silence startling him. Geralt shrugged, stabbing at the meat with a stick. The fat sizzled as it fell into the fire, filling the air around them with the smell of tender meat and a dinner that would soon fill their bellies. He pulled it off the fire, carving out a hunk of flesh and passing it to her, before filling his own mouth.

She ate like a man, the juices running down her chin and catching on the slopes of her chest, staining the linen of her shirt. She chewed with her mouth open, and he could hear every noise of tongue, the gnash of her teeth, the smack of her lips with each bite. It was positively revolting, and he was sure she did every bit of it for him. To disgust him, to keep him far away from what he knew was sweet lips and words that could make even the harshest man melt.

“It’s delicious,” she moaned with delight, taunting him from across the fire. Her golden eyes were molten as they stared at him like a cat caught stealing from the bins. “You’re so boring,” she groaned, flopping back into the dirt, wiping away the last of her meal onto her sleeve.

“And what should I do about that?”

“Go into town, make a riot somewhere.”

“Is that all that excites you, chaos where peace should reside?”

“No. Sex excites me too.”

“And yet you choose chaos.”

“Much easier to come by these days when you won’t allow me in a town long enough to find some fool who finds me meek and malleable.”

“Is that who you want to be? Meek and malleable?”

“No, but it’s dreadfully fun to surprise them when they’re sure they’ve finally cornered me.” Geralt laughed beneath his breath. A man would have to be a fool to ever think they had cornered her. The pair settled into silence once more before a question that had been floating around his mind for days finally escaped his lips.

“Have you ever killed any monsters?”

“It depends. What is your definition of a monster? To you I am a monster, so you must explain what you mean.”

“You are not a monster?”

“Is that so?” she snarled as she sat up again, crawling forward, the fire raging in her eyes. “Is that why you look at me with such disgust? Is that why you keep me out of every town we near? Is that why you hold my leash so short I am sure I will choke on my own indignation?”

“It is a leash of your own making,” he replied, voice low as he struggled against his instinct to fight. She was so close now, resting on her knees, the rivulets of grease that ran down her chest glistening in the orange light.

“God, the sacrifices I make,” she spat, rising to her feet before marching away from him, but he would not let her claim victim, not tonight.

“What sacrifices have you made? I would be willing to bet all I have earned this year that you have never made a sacrifice in your entire life. You are selfish and coarse and without feeling. They ruined you in that school. You claim to have survived their tests, but you died the moment your mother abandoned you.” She roared, drawing her sword as she faced him, fury twisting the softness of her features.

“You will not speak to me like that,” she screamed, her sword shaking in front of her.

“Do you not like the truth, Y/N? Does it upset you? Does it remind you of what you have failed to become?” he roared back, blocking the strike of her sword with ease. She was good, there was not debate about her skill, but she was nothing more than a wildfire of emotion. There was no control, no patience, just fury that could be easily parried.

“I will kill you.”

“You have tried before, and you will fail just as you did then.” She screamed again charging forward, but he slammed the flat edge of his sword against the fingers closed around the handle of her sword. She screeched in pain, dropping her sword to the ground, backing away as she flexed her fingers. Without flinching she lunged forward, abandoning her sword for her bare hands.

He caught her with just as much ease as he had disarmed her.

“Let me go, let me go,” she repeated, struggling against his arms. One of his arms slid to her throat, ending the scream in moments. Her hands found his arm, fingers tense against muscle as she struggled to remove him.

“Are you listening to me?” he asked, and she nodded angrily. “You said it yourself, no one tells you what to do. You are here on your own accord, so do not preach to me about sacrifices you have not had to make. You survived on my mercy alone, and if I truly desired it, I could snap you in half before feeding you the real monsters that wander these woods.”

“Then do it,” she choked out, self-loathing threaded through every syllable, but instead he dropped her to the ground. She didn’t move as she lay among the leaves that had begun to fall as summer ended its stay. She could have been dead; save the angry noises she was trying to contain. “You fucking coward.”

He kicked her in the side, sending her across the campsite. He hadn’t wanted to, he never would have before, but she made him so angry it was all he could do not to kill her. She was gasping for air as she glanced at him, laughing through hungry breaths.

“We’re so alike, and you hate it. You can’t stand to look at me because I am everything you wish you were. Free and arrogant and terrifying, all that you are and wish the world would know.” Now it was his turn to scream.

“We are nothing alike.” She only laughed at him, holding her side as she struggled to stand. She stumbled forward and like the fool he is, he caught her. His hands instinctively avoided the ribs he had broken moments before, tightening against her waist to steady her. “Like I said, nothing alike,” he murmured.

“You don’t think I would catch you?” she coughed.

“I know you wouldn’t.” She smiled at him with a sad laugh and looked up at him with wide, expectant eyes.

This was the first time he had touched her in so long, he wasn’t sure he could let go. Almost delicately, he lowered both of them to their knees, brushing a strand of hair from her face. In moments like this, he could imagine what she looked like before the world hardened her features. He could picture garlands of flowers strewn through her hair and the blush of a virgin on her cheeks. He could imagine a girl who would lead the boys who longed to woo her around like puppy dogs, dashing away every time they got to close. Somehow, he knew, even back then she was a coy little thing. She even dared to mock him now, batting her eyelashes towards the soil beneath them like a doe seducing its way out of the hunt.

He caught the nape of her neck as tenderly as he could bare, tilting her head up until their eyes met once more. She was beautifully exposed to him, the slow heartbeat thrumming against her throat in unspoken anticipation. He pressed his lips to the frantic pulse, teeth breaking through tenderness until she gasped in pain. When he pulled away a drop of blood joined the trail of grease.

A bruise in the shape of his bite was already forming.

“What do you want from me?” she asked breathlessly, squirming as he rubbed his finger against the wound.

“I want to hurt you,” he growled, so low he wasn’t sure she had heard it. He knew she had when she began to laugh despite the pain. He pressed harder and the laughter subsided to a whimper. She may be a Witcher, but pain still existed even if she wanted to pretend she didn’t feel it.

“Is that all?”

“I want you to cry, and I want to know that every tear is of my making.”

“Anything else?”

“I want to make you wish you were dead. I want you to beg for me to end your life. And I want to refuse.” A small emotion he could not detect flitted across her face before the smirk returned.

“Such requests, but I’m sure we can do our best.” With a quick hand, she pulled his knife from its sheath. He jumped away, prepared to defend himself but she only offered the handle to him, still smiling like only the devil herself could. He batted it out of her hands and grabbed her wrist, yanking her closer.

“You misinterpret me.”

“Oh?”

“You do not make the devil wish they were dead with violence; you show them heaven.” With a gentle but commanding force he wrapped her legs around his waist, and when he kissed her neck there was no ferocity only tenderness. He ran his tongue over the wound, tasting iron, sucking ever so softly until she was moaning into the crisp night air.

When she was sufficiently worked up, squirming for relief from Geralt and his tender lips he pulled away and kissed her softly, like no one ever had before. There was no malice, no lust, nothing that she was familiar with. It was like he was mocking her, teasing her with the possibilities that came before the mutation.

“Geralt,” she growled, slamming her knee into his side but he only persisted. His hands did not stray from her hips, they remained firm and respectful.

She didn’t want respectful, she wanted anger. She wanted him to kick her again, to pick up the knife she had offered him and use it the way he knew how. She wanted him to choke the life from her body like he had so many weeks ago. She had made him wait weeks for this, for the ability to touch her, taunting him until she was sure he could take no more. He should want to ravish her, to enter raw and without warning, but instead he was kissing her like a lover would.

“Geralt,” she managed to say again, slamming her fist into his back but he only hushed her tenderly.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, one of his hands leaving her waist and settling on her hair, softly running his fingers through the curls. When they caught on snarls, she thought he would pull, hoped he would pull, but he only unknotted them with delicate ease.

She was terrified, shaking uncontrollably like she never had before. He had wanted her to fear him, and he had succeeded. The fire was hot, his touch was warm, even his lips were a taste of excruciating fire, but she was still so very cold. Every touch ran across her skin like a feather, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. Butterflies were flittered around her rip cage, while her heart hammered with excitement. There was a time when this was all she wanted, when there was no greater desire, but not now, not ever again. There was nothing like this in the whole world, not her world anyway. Tears slipped down her cheeks, salty against her lips as she pushed against his chest.

“Geralt stop,” she managed to cry out through the dreams of yesterday, “Please, I’m begging you stop.”

Instantly, he did so. He released her and she scrambled away breathing heavily.

“All you had to do was ask,” he replied, watching her as she panted. Her fingers dug into the soft soil, a desperate attempt to ground herself after his attack. He didn’t seem phased by it at all, in fact he seemed proud of himself.

But why shouldn’t he?

He had wanted to make her cry, to hurt, to wish for death above all else, and he had succeeded. While there were no wounds on her skin, her heart seemed to have wilted, aching with every moment she looked at him. She could still feel the softness of his touch, ghosting over her like a dream. She wished she were numb, that nothing could penetrate her body and soul ever again. An emotional death she was all too greedy to obtain.

He was right, heaven did hurt.

“I hate you,” she finally managed and he laughed, leaning against a tree, hands providing a layer between his head and the rough bark.

“I’m sure you do.”

“I’m going to kill you in your sleep.”

“Try and I might have to hold you again.” She spat on the ground in between them, and now it was his turn to smirk. “You’re so pliable that way, I might have to do it more often.”

She said nothing, because nothing she had to say would do anything to tear him down after his success. She jumped off the ground and stalked to her own corner of the campsite. She slammed herself against the ground, still shivering from the encounter, and some foreign thought wished he would hold her, if only to keep her warm. She banished it in an instant, cutting any possibility of it down with malice. She wrapped her arms around her chest, turned away from the fire as she stared into impossibly dark forest.

“Get some sleep, we ride for the coast in the morning,” he said, and had she not been so exhausted she would have stayed awake just to spite him.

She wished she had, because the next morning it was not Geralt who kicked her awake, nor was it his voice that greeted her ears.

“Well, well, well, it seems to be our lucky day.”

Taglist: @stuckupstucky @aurora-sweet @holyhumorliteraturelight @dreams-of-sunlight-and-starfire @auds24

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intotherumiverse · 3 years

Text

Chapter 2

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: I’m still on my fae bull shit so yee have fun with this ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: blood, violence, pov changes ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ: @lilsparkyswife, a brief mention of @katsumiiii ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1.9k

Yvonne’s Pov

The Summer Court was known for a lot of things. Yes, we did the dirty work for people who didn’t want to be seen doing it. We lied for liars, stole for stealers, and cheated cheaters. But we were big on loyalty. I mean if we couldn’t trust one of our own, who could we trust? But driving back home, knowing what we had to tell Bakugou….

Maybe it was better if we lied.

We found him training. Sweat dripped down his face as more and more holograms blur around him. His muscles tighten in frustration as the holograms look like they are about to win. Power training was something I always hated. We were already fast and strong, why work yourself to the bone to gain some other ability. But some people did it, Like (Y/n), but others have tried every day to improve themselves to no avail. All of us has given up at some point, Bakugou was just a matter of time.

The hologram knocked his sword out o his hand, and he glances at it as if something miraculous was going to happen. When he realizes nothing is happening, he lets out a grunt of anger.

“He’s rarely happy anymore,” I think to myself. “ Well, it wasn’t unusual, well for Bakugou at least, but his obsession was going a bit too far”

“Good luck with him,” Mina says while Mira walks away.

“If you live we’ll see you in the meeting room. You know where, so don’t die.”

“Gee, Such wonderful friends,” I say back.

. Turning back towards the entrance of the training room, I walk, cleared my throat, and spoke up

“Bakugou?”

All I get is another grunt as a reply, knowing he was somewhat listening. He continued his workout, concentrating on summoning a weapon in his hand.

“Bakubitch!”

He gives me a glare. Well, that got his attention.

“Whatdoyouwant?”

I hated when he was like this, not wanting to listen to anyone else even his friends. Steeling myself, I spit out the ugly truth to him

“(Y/n)gotkidnappedanditwasn’tourfault.”

“What? You said that too fast for me to even hear.”

“(Y/n) got kidnapped-”

“HUH?? HOW’D YOU IDIOTS LET THAT-”

“Will you shut up and let me explain?”

Rolling my eyes I wanted until Bakugou was calm, well calm enough, to begin.

“We had a mission. One assigned to us by the King. Someone from Spring Court wanted someone from Autumn off their back and they had enough money to pay for it. Shit went sideways and long story short, (Y/n) got taken… by Izuku Midoriya.”

I barely had time to doge before the knife was embedded into the target behind me. Such primal behavior, attacking me without warning.

“So you’re telling me… Izuku Midoriya took (Y/n) and you and the rest of the team, just fucking stood there?”

Another knife dodged. He’s making it harder and harder for me not to hit him

“Will you stop using me as target practice long enough so we can get her back?”

“It’s the Autumn Court. Who knows where they took her? She could be halfway to the gates of hell and back before we figure it out.”

Walking over to the target and prying the daggers off of it, I threw them back in rapid succession. He dodged the first one, but the second one scratched his face, leaving a thin line of blood in its wake.

“Next time you throw a knife at me make sure it hit its intended mark”

And with that, I leave the training room.

(Y/n)‘s POV

Being interrogated by the Autumn Court was… It’s an experience, let's just say. They had a lot of ways of making you talk, and once you open your mouth there is no stopping them.

Due to their power, vocals are the thing that they focus heavily on. It’s easy to fall into their trap but easy to evade it if you know what you’re doing. Just don’t say anything. I’ve been doing that for three hours now.

Granted it was hard. They tried everything short of laying hands on me. Ripping my dress, threatening my family and friends, you know the usual. But they couldn’t get me to talk. Then they called the motherfucking prince, who also happens to be the person I wanted dead.

“Just answer the question, doll, and you can go home.” Stupid motherfucker, staring down at me with that condescending smile I think. The haze of his power swirling around me, deep and smoky. Izuku was powerful, yes. But against me, he was nothing.

Smiling at him, I think to myself ‘You’ll get me to talk when I’m dead and gone’

Tracing his hand on my jawline slowly, like I was glass, brittle and ready to break. He stares deep into my eyes and for a moment, a hint of a second, I see the pain in his eyes. Something indescribable, intangible, but somehow there. And the moment is over. Harshly grabbing my chin, the pain is covered with feral, oddly flat green eyes.

“Tell me. Or else we’ll have to resort to… uglier methods of gaining information from you. And trust me, darling, you won’t like those methods.”

I took the saliva from my own mouth, aimed carefully, and spit on him. It landed directly on his eye.

“You fucking cunt!” He recoils in disgust, wiping his eye fervently. I smile in pride, knowing I got under his skin.

He backs up away from the cell I was in, taking one more look at my triumphant face, before saying to the guards, “Make sure she doesn’t escape.”

I heard his angry footsteps echo, and finally, the silence came.

The guards snicker at the recent events, before one of them saying,

“You’re going to regret that, you know? No one messes with Prince Midoriya and lives to tell the tale.”

“Guess I’ll be the first,” I replied back.

And then I broke the chains.

Izuku’s Pov

Fuck I missed her. She was the part of me that I never knew I needed. She was my blood, my bones, framing me into what I am now. And seeing her now, it made my bones ache, my blood sing. An agonizing, beautiful song. Placing my head into my hands, I bite the insole of my palms.

‘Where did it all go wrong?’ I thought to myself.

Sorting myself out, I walk through the quiet corridors of the Autumnal Palace. The sun shining through the high glass windows, mocking me with its beauty. It seems fit, having such a wonderful day go on outside as I suffer internally. With hastened pace, I make my way towards my personal team.

Stopping in front of the common room, I fix myself, running my hairs through my hair before walking in.

“Oh hey man,” Sero was the first one who saw me, giving a toothy smile “How’d the interrogation go…” he trails off, seeing the scowl on my face.

“So not well” One of Shoji’s many arms pops up and says.

Choosing my words carefully I say “It didn’t go as expected. (Y/n)’s a difficult one.”

Difficult wasn’t even the basis to cover it. She was infuriating, complex, and every time I see her it spurs my heart on erratically. But how could I say that in words?

My team was a good one, personally trained by myself, but sometimes they were a little too bit much.

Ochako pipes up from where she was sitting “Izu, don’t worry. We finally caught (Y/n)! After two and half years no less. All your hard work won’t be for nothing.”

“Yeah, man! This is cause for celebration! We finally caught (Y/n), Summer Court’s deadliest assassin. It’s time to kick back and celebrate-” At that moment, Ojirio storms in, face in pain as blood soaks his normally white clothes. The look on his face said that something was clearly wrong.

“(Y/n) escaped)”

Cocking my eyebrow I stare at Sero.

“Celebration huh?”

(Y/n)’s Pov

I hated being chased. Everyone talks about the exhilarating feeling of almost not making it but does anyway, but all I feel is annoyed. Turning another corner I hear in the distance. Luckily the guards tattered the ends of my dress, so it was easier to run in it

“Don’t let her escape! We need her alive!”

‘Autumn Court’ I thought to myself ‘One person escapes and they go bat shit crazy. Well, it is me.”

I look around looking for a place to hide out until the guards’ pass. Then looking up I spot...

“A vent. Perfect.” I whisper to myself. Working quickly, I made my way into the ventilation system. I keep myself there, holding my breath until I hear footsteps. It was two of the workers there.

“It’s such a shame,” one says to another. “King Toshinori has never done anything helpful since the Prince had been announced.” The other one shakes their head shamefully.

“I know right? Even since Izuku became prince, he’s nowhere to be seen or heard. It’s like he just placed all the burden on Prince Izuku and moved on with his life.”

Oh? Izuku’s being packed with the burden. I guess Von will find that information useful. Waiting until I couldn’t hear the voices of anyone, I get down from the vents.

“Easy as pie.” I smile at my genius.

“Spread out and find her! She couldn’t have gone far!” I see one the second in command, Ochako Uraraka yells. My smile turns into a grimace at her figure. I’ve never liked her but after the incident three years ago…

I didn’t let myself think of it, rather waited until I couldn’t hear footsteps anymore before dropping out of the vent.

Corridor after corridor, I run the palace. The orange-gold of the palace becoming a blur as I see the doors towards my freedom.

“THERE SHE IS. AFTER HER!” Fuck they found me. I was almost there, just a little more… Then I feel a large object knock into my back.

Giving a little as I went down, I turn quickly. Seeing the familiar hair of…

“(Y/n) don’t do this,” His soft voice rings out, power laced in it even now. “Just come back and we can get you home safely” Gritting my teeth at Izuku, I clench my fist and throw a punch. All the while my other hand summons a small dagger before dipping it in some poison and stabbing Izuku in the thigh.

How dare he. How dare he pretend that he cares, after all, he did to me, to my Court.

“Fuck!” Izuku screams.

Pulling him up by his collar I spit it out.

“Rot in hell.”

In the back, the rest of his team runs, seeing their leader hurt.

Not sticking around, I take off running, getting the doors of the front of the castle.

The night was dark as I fumbled slightly down the stairs of the castle.

‘Shit, shit, shit. I need a place to hide’ I think.

Running towards the car area of the courtyard, I see a black party bus sitting fairly near the gates. Sneaking into the back doors, I sit in the darkness.

“She couldn’t have gone far, split up and search.” I hear the voices agree before splitting off in different directions.

“Well, Well, WELL.” I’m suddenly knocked off my feet, and without another chance to regain my balance, my chin is grabbed. Sharp nails meet my flesh, threatening to make me bleed.

“What should we do with her Dabi?” a feminine voice reaches my ears.

“Drug ‘er. We’ll deal with her when the others come back. Shiggy will know what to do with ‘er”

“Sure.” Something stabbed into my neck and everything goes dark.

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