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ivystoryweaver · 10 months

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With You part 13

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Summary: Who left you that note on the counter? (It was Marc)

Pairings: Marc Spector x gn!reader, (Steven Grant x gn!reader, Jake Lockley x gn!reader) No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 3.4k

Content: angst, sprinkle of fluff (more under the cut)

Warnings: like a lot of cursing, spiciest chapter to date, nsfw tho the language is still gn and not overly explicit but you have been warned. Probably inaccurate DID, based on the show.

PREVIOUSLY, on "With You"...

The three of you agreed that Marc just needed some time. As always, you decided not to take it personally. This was about him.

You beat Steven home again the following evening, and this time, waiting on the kitchen counter, was an envelope bearing your name.

'On the roof -M'

Just that little scribble - Marc's handwriting, that he'd taken the time to put into an envelope for you - had you gasping for air.

You bolted for the stairwell, clad in your scrubs and in no mood to wait the brief eternity for the lift. Taking the stairs two at a time, you heaved yourself breathlessly through the rooftop door, gasping out his name.

"Marc!?"

Your husband wasn't exactly the film-style, run-and-jump-hug kind of man, so you were going to have to work very hard not to tackle him.

"Marc? It's me!" you panted, more from the anticipation than from exertion.

Unable to locate him in his usual spot, you peered over the building's edge, down to the city below - in case he was hanging there like Spider-Man?

Dumb.

Scurrying around the rooftop, you checked behind cooling towers and anything else obstructing your view.

No Marc.

Cursing under your breath, you dialed his phone, hoping maybe you missed him somehow, but knowing full well that the roof of your building wasn't that big.

No answer.

So back down you went. Maybe he wasn't fronting anymore. Sometimes it happened, whether one of them wanted it to or not. Couldn't really blame him if that were the case.

That didn't stop you from ringing his mobile again as you raced back down the stairs, narrowly missing a dangerously close face-plant situation once arriving at your floor.

"Marc!" You cried, bursting back into your flat. Releasing a shuddering sigh, your eyes burned with the beginnings of frustrated tears.

Right then, he emerged from the bathroom, soaking wet, dark ringlets dripping down his cheeks, with a white towel tucked snugly around his hips.

"I'm here," he softly responded, approaching you slowly, stopping before even reaching arm's length. Realizing you were in some sort of distress, he withdrew, almost imperceptibly.

"M-Marc," you stuttered out, unable to believe it as actually him. And not just him - who you had missed terribly for two weeks - he was soaking wet and half naked.

Swallowing hard, he pushed his fingers through his drenched curls, sprinkling the floor with water droplets and creating one hell of a sexy mess.

He figured you must be really upset with him for being gone so long.

Neither of you moved. You just stood, staring, your chest heaving with emotion as Marc wilted, drawing in on himself.

Steven would probably be here soon. You had to do something. Anything!

"I-I saw your note," you blurted. "I ran upstairs to look for you. I- "

"Shit. I left the note earlier, in case..." Figures he would have sent you up to the roof on a wild goose chase. No wonder you were keeping your distance. The quick note had replaced a long letter he had composed for you. Something to try to explain. But he tore the letter up and replaced it with the rooftop note, because the letter was utterly inadequate.

Head dropping in shame, Marc's fists clenched by his sides. "I'm sorry," he choked out.

You had to try anything. Inching forward, you moved carefully, afraid of scaring off the elusive creature he'd become these past weeks.

Stretching your fingers out slowly, you made sure he could see your incoming touch with his eyes - then asked for verbal permission before you made contact.

"Baby...is this okay?" One fingertip grazed his knuckle like a whisper.

Realizing you were here, right in front of him - touching him - soothed his fears almost instantly.

Exhaling shakily, he stared at the floor, even as he pushed his fingers up to meet your palm. With the faintest caress, you traced the length of his fingers, slowly pushing your own in between each one until your hands intertwined.

"Marc...please - I need..." Chomping down on your tongue, you called upon every restraining force in your body to keep from pushing him away.

"What?" He whispered - wide, brown eyes flickering briefly up to yours. Water droplets made his impossibly long lashes glisten. He must have quite literally run from the shower. "What do you need?"

Tugging on your intertwined fingers, he pulled you close enough to feel the steamy humidity of his solid chest.

Feeling your shaking puffs of breath cool his heated skin, he wilted inside as you squeezed your eyes shut.

"I...is it okay if I hug you?" Your body twitched with nervous energy, your glassy eyes finally locking with his.

In them, he saw raw truth. He saw you. You weren't angry with him - you were something else. Maybe you needed him to touch you, but you wouldn't violate his safety to get what you wanted. Never. The restraint you were showing him was burning you alive.

'I'll burn down the whole world first.'

Your promise to never leave him flooded back to his memory, propelling him to dip his knees and scoop you up into his arms.

"I'll get you all wet," he murmured, even while nuzzling his sopping curls against your cheek.

"Then get me wet," you groaned, fingers clawing at his shoulders, hauling him into your embrace. "Please just...stay. Just a little longer, Marc, please."

Lips parted, you mouthed the damp skin of his cheek before pressing a kiss there.

Relief surged through him, simultaneously weakening his grip on you while fortifying his desire to stay here with you.

Feeling his hold on you loosen, you cursed yourself internally, face flaming as tears burned your eyes. It must be too much for him - the frantic searching, calling out for him - the pleas to stay and now, a soft kiss to his warm skin.

"I'm sorry," you whimpered, releasing him. It hurt so badly, you could barely stand.

Playing the last 30 seconds over in his mind, Marc frantically attempted to figure out what he did wrong. What else he did wrong... You let go of him...although you apologized. For what?

"For what?" He uttered, reaching out for your arms, his fingertips electrifying your skin.

Ducking down again, his heart shattered at the sight of your tears. When would he ever stop fucking up your life?

As your gazes locked, he brushed his knuckles tenderly across your cheek. "I'm the one who's sorry. I'm so sorry."

"I missed you," you whispered, nuzzling into his touch. "Did you get my letter?"

Nodding, he dragged his fingers down the side of your neck to grasp your shoulder. "I'm sorry I did that to you, honey. I didn't mean to be gone so long. I was so tired..."

"It's okay, baby, that's why you have Steven and Jake," you attempted, your hands twitching with the pulsing need to touch him again. Touch him more.

Right. Jake.

The one Khonshu wanted. The one you wanted. The one who was now here with you, living life with you, moving his clothes into the closet, showing you who he was.

The preferred one. Giving you the love you deserved, along with Steven - so alive, full of hope. Steven was the glue in this whole thing, as much as you were. Without Steven, Marc wondered if he might somehow slip away into the recesses of his own mind, leaving your heart in more capable hands.

Moon Knight was certainly in far more capable hands.

"It shouldn't be okay," he sighed, his skin crawling uncomfortably. "It's not okay for your husband to leave you without telling you." Shaking his head, his arms dropped heavily down to his sides. "But I guess it was okay to you because you have Jake now."

Ouch.

Your lip trembled - he'd pulled away from you again. "I...I haven't had chance to talk to you, like I promised I would - about Jake." What the hell? You didn't want to talk about Jake right now, you wanted to see and feel and love Marc!

"A-are you mad at me?" You whimpered, trying to find your footing in this conversation.

"Mad at you?" He gasped in disbelief as his hands found his hips. "You're the one who should be mad. You shouldn't have to fucking live like this." Shifting from foot to foot, he grew restless, like he wanted to claw his way out of his own skin. Or have a drink. Fuck.

Blowing out a long breath, you tried to steady yourself. If you hurt his feelings, oh well. If he withdrew into his mind and you didn't see him for another couple weeks, so be it. You thrived on honesty and communication. The real. No more tiptoeing.

"Marc, I don't need for you to tell me how I should have to live. I can decide the life I want to have," you calmly explained, relaxing your body and boldly holding his gaze. "I'm not mad that you're a system or that you're going through something new or hard for you."

"I know you're not mad," he muttered. "You never are. Because I can't disappoint you or hurt you if you expect nothing from me."

He may as well have thrown ice cold water in your face and then slapped you.

But he wasn't done.

"Why do you want to be on this merry-go-round...roundabout?" He added the less American term. "My drinking, my fucking panic attacks, nightmares - all my shit," he spat, his chest heaving. "I asked myself how anyone could put up with this, or would even want to, and the answer is...obvious."

Pushing a hand back through his damp waves, he re-stated his worst fear. Something he found himself finally able to voice out loud, after two weeks in the headspace.

His dramatic pause was long enough that you cleared your throat and prompted him to go on. He may as well get all this off his chest, even if it destroyed you. "What answer is obvious?"

Daring to meet your eyes, he could see, in real time, how much he was fucking up. But it was like a plane crashing - he couldn't stop the descent.

"The answer is Steven," he rasped, his voice hoarse - thick with emotion. "You don't expect anything from me because Steven is so good to you. He's so good at everything. And now Jake..." his voice trailed off as his dark eyes clouded with moisture. "Jake stepped right into my shoes - with you, with Khonshu. I don't do anything. I don't give you anything. But you're a good person and you love me anyway. Believe, me, I could not be more grateful for that. Or any less deserving."

You were crying now - heavy, wet tears streaking your beautiful cheeks as you sank to the floor. He had actually done it. He had rendered even you speechless.

Without another word, he walked back into the bathroom and shut the door.

God, how every word out of his mouth cut you so deep. You could cry for a week, but where would that get you? He thought Jake had taken his place? If he wanted a taste of the shit you and Jake gave each other, he could have it. But no way would you spend another instant on this floor, no matter how your gut twisted with pain.

Racing over to the bathroom door, you pounded. "Marc, open the door!" You shouted, wincing as you realized this was probably the opposite of what he needed. Lowering your voice, you announced that you were coming in.

Marc was naked.

His towel was hanging up in its usual place and he was reaching for the underwear lying on the countertop.

Why was he getting dressed in the bathroom if you were married?

Whatever. Didn't matter. Fuck him.

"You don't need those," you said sharply, yanking the boxer briefs out of his grasp and tossing them aside. Pushing your fingers over the soft flesh of his abdomen, up onto his chest, your nails scraped his damp skin. "You think I don't need you, Marc?"

Gripping his face in your hands, you lifted up on your toes, crushing your mouth against his.

He was stunned for a moment, but slowly melted into your kiss as you slid your tongue over his demandingly.

His hands found your hips, gripping them tightly before yanking you hard against his chest. The two of you stumbled backwards, breaking your kiss and sending you crashing into him.

Reaching for his muscular arms to steady yourself, you panted, desperate for him in every possible way. That's when your eyes traveled down to plainly see that he wanted you too.

Jerking your scrubs off your body, Marc quickly joined you in yanking and pulling until you were as bare as he was. Between every movement, your lips chased one another's, licking and tasting - connecting at every possible point, until he pushed you up against the door.

The fire in your eyes had him weak for you.

You surprised him by returning to a deeper topic even as your bare bodies pushed and pulled against the other. "You treat my love and compassion as indifference? Fuck you."

He stilled for a moment, but you gripped his length firmly in your palm, tugging and making him groan.

"You think I should be mad?" You spat, working him roughly. "Congratulations. I am."

"Baby," he panted, his forehead dropping to rest against yours as his body submitted to your demanding touch.

"You think Jake took your place, here, with me?" You growled on his ear, biting his earlobe and tugging it between your lips. "Fuck you both. Nothing is taking you away from me."

Groaning your name, Marc's hips stuttered against your hand as his forehead dropped to your shoulder.

"You think I don't expect anything from you?" Yanking on his wet curls, you jerked his head back so you could see his face. "I really fucking do." Using your grip on his length, you guided him to where you really wanted to feel him.

"You think you don't give me anything?" You whined, as he entered you, your body shuddering with pleasure as he groaned on your ear. "You've given me everything." Moving on him slowly, you moaned as he pinned you against the bathroom door. "Give it to me, Marc."

"Fuck...baby..." he gasped, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

He couldn't help himself - after deep, frantic thrusts over and over - he finished before you, whimpering and desperate.

Good. You had him right where you wanted him. Vulnerable and sated. Or at least slightly relieved, maybe.

Yanking the towel off the rack, you handed it to him so he could clean up a little bit. "Go lie down on the bed," you ordered, your eyes dark and unreadable.

Swallowing, Marc nodded once and complied. As soon as he left the bathroom, you stared at yourself in the mirror, exhaling shakily. What just transpired between the two of you felt really fucking good, but it was more than sex. You were doing battle. And Marc wasn't getting out of your bed until he understood a few things.

Moments later, you climbed on top of your husband in bed, salaciously kissing him, draping your body over his.

"I want you to do something for me," you murmured after a long while, as both of your bodies stirred with new desire.

"Anything," he whispered, his hands finding their way between your legs.

Gasping as he teased you, you reveled in his touch, forgetting to finish your thought.

"What can I do, baby?" Marc hummed against your skin. Being needed by you? He lived for it.

You kissed him again, your body writhing under his caress. "I want you to stop deciding how I feel."

"O-okay," he groaned as your breath tickled his lips.

"I'm serious," you went on, forcing him still - waiting for him to look at you. "If I'm mad, I'll be mad. If I'm patient and understanding, you can't tell me to be angry."

He was trying to listen, but he really wanted you again. "Uh-huh," he ground out, thrusting upward, hoping...

"You see this?" Showing him your wedding band, you pushed your fingers through his. "You remember the vows I made?"

"Yes," he panted, desperate for you, wishing you would touch him back. "Please, honey..."

"I know," you cooed, kissing him again. His mouth, his cheek, his eyebrow. "Who did I make vows to?"

His eyes locked onto you and he melted. "Me."

"That's right," you smiled gently down at him. "So stop with all the bullshit you keep telling yourself. And stop telling me how I feel."

Feeling a little relief in the air, Marc sat up and kissed you urgently. "So damn bossy." He said this while continuing to stroke and caress you.

"You were being an asshole," you half teased, shivering as he grazed a particularly sensitive spot. "I definitely prefer your usual method of stress relief."

His eyebrows shot up playfully as he slowly removed his hand, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. "Is that right?"

The air between you crackled with electricity as you waited...

Wetting your lips, your eyes traveled down from his warm gaze, over his sharp nose to the fullness of his parted lips. The strong line of his jaw twitched with anticipation and that wasn't the only thing that twitched under the heat of your stare.

He pounced, rolling you underneath him, face down, nuzzling into your neck as his body smothered yours. "Are you sure, baby?" He growled, licking a stripe up the side of your neck while dragging his palms up your bare thighs. "Because I need a lot of relief."

With that warning, he pushed his way inside you, groaning on your ear. His strong hand slid around your abdomen, pulling your body against his as you began moving together. "I am sorry," he breathed.

"Shut up," you gasped as the hand on your abdomen traveled down between your legs.

You and Marc stayed in bed for hours, relieving a lot of stress. He had to re-visit the shower, not that you were complaining. The two of you did finally make your way to the rooftop, after the moon shone in the dark sky.

Wrapping his arms around you from behind, Marc nuzzled your cheek with his nose. "Can I ask you something? About your letter?"

"'Course," you murmured, tracing his forearm with your fingertips.

"What did you mean when you said I was the real Moon Knight?"

You thought for a moment, thinking back through the composition of your letter to him.

"Well...I mean - when Khonshu found you - or you found him, rather - he was in search of an avatar. The only reason he still has one is because you said yes. You're still the real Moon Knight," you explained. "I'm not saying you have to be him if you don't want to be. But if Khonshu wants Jake, he should be grateful to you. Otherwise, he might still be searching for an avatar."

"I guess so," he mumbled with a sigh. "Still prefers Jake though."

"For being a deity, he is dumb as a fucking rock sometimes," you sarcastically remarked. "I know you and Jake are different, but he may have noticed you share a body. If he needs Jake, he needs you. He needs Steven."

Marc was quiet for a few minutes, but it was a calm quiet, rather than the tension from earlier.

"I don't know, babe, I...I just can't seem to find my place in all this lately. And, believe me, I know how that sounds - a new husband, saying shit like that. It's not right."

"Sweetheart, you feel how you feel," you softly responded, resting your head against the solid warmth of his chest behind you. "You don't always have to make a judgment on that. You're too hard on yourself."

"That's what Steven says," he lightly chuckled. "You're much too hard on y'self, mate."

His terrible impression of his alter made you giggle.

"Well, you know he's right," you replied, "And - the other day, Steven told me I'm always right, so...I think you should really listen to us."

"Yeah..."

You hadn't noticed at first but the two of you had started to gently sway to the muffled tune drifting out a neighbor's open window. Something from the 1970s...American.

"Can I ask you something?" You echoed his question.

"Mm-hmm," he mumbled into your hair, pulling you impossibly closer.

"Do you want to be Moon Knight?"

He didn't answer for a while. And that pretty much told you everything you needed to know.

next->

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would-this-pokemon-be-a-friend · 11 days

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Hi, sorry if it already has been done, but would Darkrai be a friend?

I have very low hope of it having a good grade, but there's hope!

This one may be a surprise, but it’s probably a pleasant one for fans of this pokémon, myself included. Darkrai would be… well… an okay pet. There’s a lot of factors that get in the way of a solid recommendation here, but we’re not looking at Giratina or anything. It’s complicated.

Considering the basics, Darkrai is on the larger size for pet compatibility. Despite their ghostly appearance, Darkrai is pretty heavy at over 100 pounds, and they stand almost 5 feet tall. Mobility in an enclosed space might not be too big of a problem for them, given their ability to levitate, but this size will disqualify them for many pet owners.

One factor that is very important to consider is that Darkrai, being a mythical pokémon, is exceptionally rare to encounter. While they have been spotted in regions around the world, the chances of tracking down Darkrai to adopt are pretty low for inexperienced pokémon trainers. The only solid lead I can offer you from the pokédex is that Darkrai is most active on new moon nights (Diamond).

Unfortunately (and this is the biggest factor holding Darkrai back), this pokémon might not be happy to be a house pet. Darkrai has been the subject of countless legends and horror stories due to their ability to inflict nightmares upon sleeping humans, but they are not a particularly malevolent creature (Pearl, Shining Pearl, Legends: Arceus). The pokédex stresses again and again that Darkrai “means no harm” (Platinum, Black/White, Black2/White2). Most of these negative encounters with this pokémon are a result of intrusions on their territory: in order to protect themself, Darkrai drives humans and other pokémon away with this power (Platinum, HeartGold/SoulSilver). This is a pokémon with a natural distrust of humans for whatever reason. I’m afraid this means that they would be unlikely to want to live with you until you’ve built up a strong bond, something that would be really hard to do considering their formidable deterrent abilities.

As has been previously alluded, Darkrai has the ability to inflict people with terrifying dreams. Additionally, they can put anybody into a deep sleep using their signature move, Dark Void, as well as Hypnosis. Darkrai may not be exceptionally violent, but they are a massive threat to anyone asleep. Their ability, Bad Dreams, and moves like Dream Eater allow them to cause significant harm to sleeping foes. A grouchy Darkrai could be a serious problem for any owner.

Overall, given their non-violent nature and solid ease-of-care, Darkrai would make a decent pet for anyone looking for a large pet, if not for some significant issues. The pokémon’s rarity and antisocial behavior would make them a difficult friend to adopt for a vast majority of prospective owners. But you know what, go for it. What’s the worst that could happen? Terrible nightmares, that’s what. But at least they won’t vaporize you or anything!

#pokémon #pokemon #darkrai #pkmn irl #PR-C

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exquisitesimp · 7 months

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Comforting Akutagawa during a mental breakdown

A/N: Hello to everyone reading this! I’m back at it again with Bungo Stray Dogs, more particularly the Port Mafia. In this story, the reader (F) is giving comfort and affection to her emotionally damaged boyfriend Akutagawa, after an unfortunate encounter with his old mentor figure (aku was my first love in bsd). Thank you so much for reading and interacting with my posts, it means so much to me! Stay healthy, eat well and drink plenty of water! - Sam

Tags: Bungo Stray Dogs, Akutagawa Ryunosuke, angst, reverse comfort, SFW

Warnings: mental breakdown, emotional and physical abuse, NSSI

Word Count: approx. 4.8k

It was one of these nights again; these difficult, heart-wrenching nights that constantly made you question the meaning of such a life, a life filled with pain and suffering. You’ve become a little too familiar with this feeling since you’ve experienced, well… a little too many nights like these.

“Remember what you’re doing all this for!” you exclaimed.

Except there was nobody there to listen, save for the librarian that was sick of having you be the last one to leave the library in the dark hours of the early morning for the fifth time this week. Talking to the void, maybe all that studying did drive you insane after all.

“You scared the life out of me, for the love of god!”, the lady gasped, jumping awake from the information desk. Poor her, she probably hated these nights even more than you did.

“I’m terribly sorry”, you said, chuckling in awful embarrassment.

She gave you a cold stare, which truthfully saddened you deep down, because you were under the false impression that you had bonded with the woman by now.

“Don’t look at me like that ma’am”, you said, “You know med school isn’t a piece of cake…”

“I know dear”, she responded with a certain sweetness in her voice and a tired sigh, “but isn’t it time to go home soon?”

You looked at the clock above the information desk. It read 2:45. A look of desperation channeled itself on your face as you were thinking about just how much more work you had ahead of you before you could allow yourself to go home and finally get some shuteye.

“Just one more unit, I promise!” you lied, knowing damn well that it was much, much more than that.

“Pfftt….Like we haven’t heard that before…” the librarian mumbled as she began moving around all sorts of books and paper sheets around the information desk.

Of all the times during the day she could get that taken care of, she had to do it right now? The noise she made was getting on your nerves and messed with your focus. However, you knew she was going to kick you out for sure if you dared complain about it. So you just decided to let it go, for your own good perhaps…

Resting your head which had grown quite heavy and dizzy on top of the open books, you sighed in exhaustion, waiting for the woman to stop messing with the papers and your concentration along with them. Wondering how the hell you were supposed to pass all these exams the following week, you were just sitting there, beating yourself up for always leaving things for the last possible moment. But not even a minute later, your phone, which was laying on the table, suddenly buzzed and stopped your overthinking.

It was a voice message from your boyfriend, a little smile subtly forming on your face upon seeing the notification. You’ve been together for almost a year, but the habit of smiling at his texts hasn't faded away whatsoever.

“Ma’am, can I pleeaase use my phone?”, you joked, since there was obviously nobody there to be disturbed by mobile phone usage… except for the poor lady of course. “It’s my sweetheart!”

A few moments of deadly silence followed. From the look on her face, you’d think she was finally done with your smart-ass idiocy.

“Eh, to hell with it…” she responded, having accepted — to your grand surprise — that she’d have you here for quite a while once again.

“God bless your patience! I shall treat you to a huge meal once these detestable exams are over!”, you proclaimed in comedic exaggeration, yet genuinely wanting to express your gratitude to her in some sort of way. With your late-night hypertension and your endearingly annoying sense of humor, you could imagine that having you study here all these days must have been quite a handful.

“Who said I wanted to have a meal with you?”, she shrugged and rolled her eyes.

Purposefully ignoring her rhetorical question with a smile on your face, you opened the message and placed your phone next to your head with the speaker facing your ear, the woman sighing at your shenanigan in the background.

“Hey, Y/N…”

You didn’t expect to hear Gin’s voice.

“Listen… I found my brother’s phone in a dark alley on the ground, and it’s all cracked up now, and I’m not quite sure what happened... He was still supposed to be here, but I assume there was some big trouble and he had to flee. Problem is— TACHIHARA CAN YOU JUST SHUT THE F— sorry about that… problem is I contacted our headquarters and he’s not there”

Your eyes opened wide as the message kept on playing. Two opposing forces fighting in your brain; one worrying that something terrible has happened to him, the other trying to remain cool-headed since you didn’t know any crucial details about the situation.

“My guess would be that he’s at your place. I know you have a lot of work to do in the library, but please check if everything’s okay with him. Gotta go, the Armed Detective Agency is just around the corner”

You heard the words “Armed Detective Agency” and you instantly knew what this was about.

“Oh fuck” you said out loud and stood up from your desk as if struck by some invisible thunder.

“What is it this time?”, the librarian desperately asked.

“It’s your lucky day”, you replied, packing up your bag in quick, messy movements, “I’ve got to go right now”

“Good grace”, she mumbled as she started switching off the lights to finally close the place down for the night.

“Thanks for everything!”, you shouted hurriedly, storming out of the university library and rushing to the parking lot.

You jumped in your car and immediately started the engine. You already knew by now that no encounter with the Agency could possibly be any good for Akutagawa. And this time, you had a strong feeling that something was very, very wrong.

In less than half the time it would usually take, you sloppily drove back to your apartment, very lucky that you hadn’t crushed the car onto anything on the way there. Running with light steps and pushing through your own fatigue, you finally reached the door and knocked on it.

“Sweetie?”, you called out softly.

There was complete silence on the other side, a type of silence that grew an unshakeable fear within you. After taking a deep breath, you reached for the keys in the pocket of your jacket and slowly opened the door.

You took a good look at the living room before entering, and everything was exactly the way you left it, including the little lamp you always kept switched on even when nobody was home. From where you were standing, nothing seemed wrong with the kitchen either. At first glance it all looked perfectly normal, but there was something very intuitively suspicious about this quietness that consumed the entire place.

Due to your intensive studying at the library the past few days, you ended up coming home at times like these almost every day, and you found the emptiness to be serene, and even comforting in its own way. But now it was frantically maddening, as if you’d be crazy to assume someone else was here, but equally as insane to think that you were totally alone.

You gulped as you took a few steps in and closed the door behind you, cold shivers running down your body. Only while taking off your own shoes did you look down to check if his were there, and much to your relief, they were just beside the door. You immediately felt a weight fall off your shoulders, knowing now that nobody had broken in or that you weren’t… imagining things.

You quietly made your way right in front of the shut door of your bedroom, and since you already passed by the empty bathroom, you knew that was the only place where he could possibly be. Just by standing there you felt a dark chilly aura strike you down to the bone.

Knowing about his occupation and even his abusive past, you were already aware that Akutagawa was very much capable of becoming violent. But this wasn’t the first time he went through a crisis like this with you, so you had faith that if you stood there for him once again, it would all work out, just like the previous times.

You plucked up all the courage you had inside you and knocked on the door.

“Sweetie?”, you repeated. “Are you alright?”

Once again, no answer. At this point you started getting worried. That was the only place he could be, right? Then why was he not responding?

Making the tiniest amount of sound possible, you pushed the door open ever so slightly to peek through the crack, and that’s when you saw something you’ve never witnessed before.

Although the light switch was on, the room was pitch black with only a few strands of light somehow making their way through. Sinister branches of darkness were spread all over, some intertwined with one another in an infernal veil, and others ruthlessly piercing the entirety of the space like enormous, sharp blades.

You were completely astounded. You had no idea that Rashoumon could take on such a petrifying form.

Before you could even begin to grasp the density and the complexity of what your eyes just viewed, the door was somehow explosively shut inches away from your face, causing you to gasp at the thunderous noise.

“HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT THE DOOR?”, Akutagawa yelled, his strung out voice echoing within his ability’s construction.

“I’m sorry sweetie”, you responded peacefully, “I just wanted to check if you’re okay…”

“What does this look like to you?” he asked sarcastically, while Rashoumon locked the door from the inside, eliminating any possibility that he’d just let you in that easily.

“What I meant is, are you physically okay? Did you get hurt?”, you asked, trying to maintain your calm composure.

“I’m intact”, he answered as if even such a small question was so immensely bothersome to him at that moment, “now LEAVE. ME. ALONE!”

“How am I supposed to leave you alone in a state like this?”

He didn’t respond, but it’s not like you expected him to. Hurt and afraid, he always hid inside his hard shell at times like this, and it took a lot of strength and effort to get him to open up to you. You took a big breath, because the difficult part was just starting.

“Your sister found your phone somewhere in the city and contacted me…”, you began.

“I don’t wanna talk about this…” he growled as rage kept building up within him.

“I know it’s difficult to talk right no—“

“THEN CUT IT OUT”, he screamed with a trembling voice and paused for a second, “before I break the door…”

“You don’t have to talk about it right now, but please just listen”.

You paused for a while to see what his reaction would be. Although he was once again mute, you were quite happy that you didn’t get smashed by the door; it meant he was waiting for you to speak.

“I know you’re not feeling well right now, and I just want to let you know that it’s totally okay to feel this way, even though I don’t know what exactly happened… I just wanted to tell you…”.

Another silence-filled pause ensured you that he was still listening.

“You did the right thing to come here, sweetie… The fact that you’re here right now means that even if you want me to leave you alone this instant, some part of you wants to find comfort here… And that’s exactly what I want to do for you right now. I just want to make it better, I promise. Please, Aku…Let me help you…”

No response.

“I’ll be waiting right behind the door for as long as you need. Please don’t break me along with it, or better yet, let me in whenever you feel like…”

It wasn’t much later that you heard the door finally unlock behind you, so you stood up, carefully opened it, and saw that your previously unimaginably ominous room was now just the way you remembered it.

Akutagawa was sitting on the floor in the corner across the room, curled up so he could take up as little space as possible. He had wrapped his arms around his knees and held them closely against his chest. His cloak was thrown over his shoulders, covering most of his upper body and his head was buried on his forearms.

You quietly approached him and sat next to him to keep him at ease. All these months in a relationship with him taught you that at times like these, he felt threatened by people sitting right opposite him, and didn't respond to them so well. He also deeply despised being looked at when he’s in such a vulnerable state, so you respected his wishes and looked at the floor, avoiding his eyes at all costs.

“Take your time, sweetie. I’m here to listen”, you said after a minute or two.

He took a big breath before lifting his head up, while you made sure to make him feel as comfortable as you could, based on his own individual terms.

“The Command Unit was sent to the center of Yokohama to investigate some strange movements in the black market… and there, I ran into that stupid weretiger...”

“Mhm hm”, you nodded as you kept listening carefully.

“We started a fight and I had cornered him in this alley… that was all until he showed up…”

“Dazai?”, you asked, just to make sure your assumptions were correct.

“Yes…” , he answered as his voice got weaker. “He nullified my ability and told the weretiger to leave, so it was just the two of us…”

You noticed it was getting harder and harder for him to speak as the conversation shifted towards Dazai. It was no surprise since he’d talked to you about him before but it was, nonetheless, upsetting to hear.

“No…”, you said, “and what did he do?”

“Well, he…”, Akutagawa said and then paused as if to collect himself, “he kicked me right below the chest and I was on the ground coughing…”

He took a breath, before proceeding to give you the rest of the story.

“And he said some things… something about the weretiger being better than me… but I’ve heard that before…”

“Aw sweetie—“

“He knows…”, he said, burying his head on his knees once again. “He found out about my disease somehow…”

When you heard him quietly weep, you moved a little closer to him, just enough so that he didn’t feel alone in this difficult, doleful moment. Before you could even begin to ask how Dazai managed to find that out, Akutagawa jumped into your arms and buried his head on your shoulder, letting his black cloak fall off his frail body.

As he did that, you didn’t fail to notice that his white shirt had bloody stains on each sleeve, a little bit above the length of the elbow. Both sides had five holes each, one for each of his own fingers that had been digging into his skin, scratching and ripping it apart.

You were so upset, but you realized that it would be no good to address it right now. So instead, you wrapped him up in the warm embrace that he desperately needed at the time.

“That lung disease you have is going to kill you soon… Maybe then, I’ll consider coming back to the Port Mafia… Such a shame that… even when you leave your last pathetic breath… there won’t have been a single moment… when you were better than my new apprentice…”

“That’s what he said to me…”, he uttered, sobbing in between these nasty, horrible phrases.

Your eyes started watering as you squeezed him tighter against you. It was beyond you how anybody could be so viciously cruel to someone so loyal and devoted, even if fate brought it so that they parted ways.

“That’s so hurtful…”, you whispered as tears were running down your cheeks. “It’s okay… Let it all out, I’m right here…”

“Why? Just why?!”, he cried in anguish, “How much more must I do? When will all this be over? When will I ever be enough?!”

You didn’t know how to respond to such questions at times like these, so you just let him lash out until he hopefully calmed down eventually.

“What am I saying? That’s never gonna happen…”, he lamented as his body started shivering, “I’m so sorry, Y/N… I’m a worthless and pathetic fool…”

“That’s not true…please stop saying things like that…”, you pleaded.

“I’m just gonna die so pointlessly… And it won’t even matter to him…”

“Well it’s gonna matter to me!”, you raised the tone of your voice, verklempt and teary-eyed.

His chest kept pumping against yours as he was struggling for breath.

“I’m so sorry my love…”, you apologized, fearing that all you just did was worsen his situation by letting your own emotions take over. He tried to say something, but in this state, coherent words couldn’t come out of his mouth.

You had to stay strong and help him during this difficult time. Right now, the situation wasn't about you.

“Listen to me, let’s take some deep breaths okay? Breathe in till four, hold till four, and breathe out till six. Can you do that for me?”

You felt him nodding yes, lifting his head up and letting his chin rest on your shoulder.

“Perfect, I’ll count: 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6…”

Akutagawa tried to follow your count as much as he could. You had to do this exercise about fifteen times before his breathing took its normal pace back. Your hand was always gently caressing the back of his head, and with every round you completed, you made sure that he knew he was doing a good job.

“I’m so proud of you”, you murmured and kissed his temple, “are you feeling any better now?”.

He nodded yes and sniffed his nose.

“Can I look at you?”, you asked.

He sighed, then nodded yes once again. Once he let go, you gently cupped his face and lifted his head up so you could look at him. His poor, restless eyes were ever so red and puffy from all the tears he’d been shedding.

“My sweet Aku…”, you whispered, “if only there was something I could do to take your suffering away… I can only imagine how terrible it feels to be treated so horribly by someone you look up to so much, to always feel like you’re the second option…”

You paused to take a big breath and collect yourself.

“And I know it’s not the same to hear it from me… but you’re always going to be my first choice… always…”

A sad, bitter smile morphed into your boyfriend’s face upon hearing these words, as if they were half-empty, not coming from a certain someone he’d want to hear them from instead.

“I’ll always be here for you… You’re my everything, my love… I love you more than anyone and anything in this world… And seeing you suffer like this… it crushes me…”

Akutagawa sat there in silence, guiltful and grey, shifting his gaze to the cold, hard floor.

“Especially this…” you said with a cracking voice, and looked at the red stains on his sleeves, “this just… it breaks my heart…”

His withering eyes were filling up with tears again.

“Promise me you won’t do it again…please…”, you begged.

“I promise…I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry sweetie, none of this makes you weak in my eyes…. You’re so strong… so much more than you think…”

You looked at him sweetly before pulling him closer to give him a soft kiss on the mouth, his lips passive, almost motionless against yours.

“Now go have a warm shower, you need to relax”, you said, getting up from the floor and offering him a helping hand to stand up as well. “Make sure that a lot of water runs over your wounds. I’ll take care of them once you’re done, okay?”

“Okay”, he answered, giving you his hand, letting you pull him up and still hold him all the way to the bathroom.

“Thank you so much, Y/N… really…”

“Don’t mention it”, you responded lovingly.

As he shut the door behind him, you immediately got this morbid feeling, this insurmountable urge to break down and cry.

You loved him with all your heart, but in comparison to even the tiniest praise from Dazai, your love for Akutagawa didn’t matter nearly as much to him. And that thought pained you so much, it cut deeper than a knife… In a way, you could even say you understood him, knowing that your one and only was gonna leave you soon, and that you’ll always come second, till the last moment… till his last moment, his very last breath…

It was all so devastating… But as you pushed the tears back, you remembered the promise that you made to yourself when you first got into a relationship with him; no matter how hard things got, you were gonna love this person as much as you could, for as long as you could… Until the very end, you had to be his pillar of strength and continue cherishing him no matter how much it hurt you in the process.

And you loved him so much, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Hey Gin”, you spoke to your phone as you recorded a voice message for her, “I found him, he was at my place. He’s okay, he has a few surface wounds on his arms, most probably nothing to worry about. You can let your boss and the others know that he’s safe and that he’ll stay here for the next couple of hours… And, by the way, thank you for contacting me as soon as you found his phone….Things might’ve been worse, had it not been for you… Call me if you need anything”

As you hit “send”, Akutagawa walked out of the bathroom, wearing an oversized white t-shirt and plaid black and white pajama bottoms, with the towel he used to dry his hair thrown around his neck.

“Feeling more comfortable now?” you asked.

“Yeah”, he responded.

“Good. Now come here, let me see your arms…”

He made his way next to you, letting you investigate his wounds.

“Hmm…”, you said, lost in thought, “they’re not as deep, so you’re not gonna need any stitches… but they do look a bit inflamed… we definitely need to disinfect these”

You took him by the hand back in the bathroom again, where you kept your medical kit. You grabbed the disinfectant bottle and lathered some liquid over a big piece of sterile cotton.

“I gotta warn you sweetie, this might burn a little…”

“Yeah, like I haven’t had worse– OWW!!”, he exclaimed as you pressed it against his wounds.

“I’m sorry, perhaps I wouldn’t have to do this if you hadn’t used your own hands. You were out fighting, who knows how many germs they had…”

“It burns…”, he hissed, clenching his jaw.

“Warned you…”, you responded. “You’ve never used disinfectant before?”

“Do you really think people in the mafia care to use this sh– AUGHH!”, he snarled once again as you repeated the same treatment to his other arm.

“We’re almost done now…” you reassured him as he gave you the most displeased, irritated stare.

“Hmm let’s see…” you mumbled to yourself while searching the contents of your kit, “I don’t have big enough band-aids for this… guess we’ll have to cover them with something else…”

You opened up two bandages, and with a little hesitation, Akutagawa let you wrap them around his arms tightly.

“All patched up!” you said, giving his boney shoulders a light squeeze, “Is there anything I can make for you? Anything to eat? Some tea maybe?”

“No, I think I’m gonna throw up if I do…”

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want that… Okay then, I think we should go to bed and get some rest, no?”

“Yeah…”

After you changed into your pajamas and brushed your teeth, you made your way into the fluffy futon and scooched over for Akutagawa to join you shortly after. While he is generally the quiet type, this time you could tell that he was way too tired even for the short-lived, yet endearing small talk before bed.

“My eyes hurt…” Akutagawa murmured as he slid next to you.

“I know, sweetie…Come here…”, you said, lifting up the cover and inviting him close to you.

Your boyfriend found his way into your arms again, his tired head buried in your chest and his thinned body clinging onto yours, the entirety of his being searching for warmth within your embrace. The comforting motions of your hands caressing his back and the sound of your heartbeat was everything he could ask for at the time.

“Feels like you’ve lost more weight…”, you pointed out as you grazed your fingers over the prominent parts of his skeleton, “Have you been eating well lately?”

“Mm-mm”, he shook his head no after a short pause, as if to adjust his thinking to your own standards of self-preservation. To him, if he made it out alive at the end, what was there to care for?

“Well that’s no good…I’m making you fluffy pancakes and your favorite tea in the morning”, you said knowing that, being starved of affection almost his entire life, he found these simple acts of kindness to be a huge deal. His contentment was clear as day, flowing through you as he pulled himself closer, practically sealing shut whatever space there was between the two of you.

“Thank you…”, he purred against your chest, the mere sweetness of his adorable reaction leading you to plant gentle kisses on the top of his head.

“Anything for you sweetie… I just want you to take care of yourself. Undereating can’t do any good to your condition… And I want to keep you around as much as possible, make as many happy memories together as we can…Like that time when you took me to dinner with the mafia for the first time and Higuchi kept warning me not to hurt your feelings or ‘I’ll be dead’...”

“Tsk, that piss-off…” he mumbled in a mix of displeasure and nostalgia, getting annoyed just by remembering the event, but being strangely happy that he got to experience it with you.

“It made me very happy that you apologized to her…”

“After you told me I was acting just like him, I had no choice…”

“And I’m so proud of you for that, sweetie…” you whispered, running your fingers through his hair

“I still remember when we had Gin and Chuuya over for my birthday and we played that drinking game he had suggested. I’m pretty sure at some point he stopped caring about the rules and started losing on purpose…Ah, what an iconic day…Oh, and that day when I first told you that I loved you…Hahah, you were so awkward whenever I told you that on the phone. It took you a couple of weeks before you were brave enough to say it back to me... But it’s okay, I’m not blaming you, it’s most wise to wait for the time when you are a hundred percent sure that you feel the same way for me… Hey, what about the day of our first date–”

You’d been talking for quite a while now, vocally walking down memory lane, too absent-minded to notice that Akutagawa was fast asleep by then. Your melancholic monologue got softly interrupted by his faint, quiet snores.

“Aww of course. I almost forgot how easily you fall asleep whenever I start rambling like this…”

You slid your hands under his shirt and felt the soft skin on his back. His hold on you was more relaxed, but far from apathetic, as if what remained of his slowly melting tension was love, and only love.

You smiled, feeling infinitely blessed that your boyfriend was there with you, that you were listening to his slow breathing as he was drifting somewhere far away. Your eyelids had been feeling heavy for a while, but before you joined him, you wanted to get some things off your chest; somethings you truly wanted Akutagawa to know, even though you knew that he wouldn’t hear much of it in his sleep.

“Aku, my sweetheart… You are worth so much more than you think. You are enough— no, you’re even more than that… And I wish I had the means to show you just how much you mean to me… Oh, if only I could make you feel even half of my love…”

A/N: Akutagawa cried again in the middle of the night, but didn’t want to bother Y/N with his feelings any further. He removed the bandages because anything that reminded him of Dazai, he couldn’t have on his body. After Y/N found out, she apologised for her ignorance and made him the most delicious fluffy pancakes.

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muddyorbsblr · 3 days

Text

a startling realization pt1

See my full list of works here!

Summary: Oakley returns to campus after a trip with his mates and steadily comes to realize he's developed feelings for you

Pairing: Oakley x Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warning/s: frat boy friends vibes; bit of angst; probably not a completely accurate referencing to the events of 'Unrelated' [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: prequel piece to 'just another memory' but can be read alone; Oakley is a SIMP in the making for Reader

There'd been a strange sinking feeling in Oakley's stomach since he and his mates hit the road back to Cambridge. It was the kind that he'd only ever felt when he knew he'd done something that could get his mother cross at him and she and his father would impose some form of punishment on him. Perhaps revoke his cell phone for a week so he couldn't join his friends on their regular scheduled shenanigans. Or chat up some stunner that he'd met the week prior.

But things were different now. He was no longer bound by their rules for the most part. He was free to do whatever he wished and this trip to Italy was the perfect showcase of that new dynamic. All he had to do was get his degree and get a job, and he would still have their support and financial aid so that he wouldn't have to stay at the dorms or even have to tough it out with a roommate that might not approve of the way he lived day in day out.

The only person keeping him in check now was himself, and as far as he was concerned, there was nothing he'd done in Italy that he wouldn't have done in Cambridge. He had a bloody good time there, even, getting to engage in not just one but two flings, and one of them with an older woman.

And yet, when he thought back on every touch, every kiss, that he'd shared with either of the women, that pit in his stomach would form again. As if the activities he'd engaged in during his vacation were somehow the "wrong thing" that could make someone responsible for him cross.

But why?

"You're awfully quiet back there, mate. Which one of your lucky ladies is taking up space in that randy little brain o' yours, I reckon?" Eric teased, lightly tapping the curly blond's head as he plopped down on the seat next to him, jostling him out of his dwelling over why there was a pit in his stomach to begin with.

"I've no idea what you're on about, mate, I'm not thinking of anyone," he tried to brush it off, brows furrowing together when he tried to remember that night in the pool and the knots in his stomach worsened. Like the memories he made in Italy were not something he could look back at with fondness.

If he dwelled on it for even a second longer than necessary, it almost felt as if he was looking back on those memories with a touch of shame.

"Ah come on, Oaks, you tellin' everyone 'ere that you're not thinking about that stunner of a blonde Elizabetta? Even I'm thinking 'bout her and it wasn't my tongue down 'er throat." Eric crowded his space, squishing him to the side of the van. "Or even that cougar Anna, my lord, man that one was fawning and doting after you!"

As if right on cue, his mobile rang and vibrated violently in his pocket. Another call. He didn't need to even glance at the tiny device to know who it was. She'd been calling since just a few minutes after they'd all said their goodbyes.

That was over 24 hours ago. And he was well on his way back to campus, the scenery already began to elicit that feeling of 'home'. Or at least of familiarity.

"Speak o' the devil! Why don't you pick it up, Oaks? Be a grand old time hearing her pining after you again." His friend flailed into his side, dramatically placing the back of his hand on his brow. "'Oh Oakley how I miss you terribly, why don't I come visit you on Cambridge and we can live out any professor fantasies you might have in that virile young college brain? I'll even get the glasses and the pencil skirt just for you."

"Sod off," he grunted, trying to chuckle away the mental image. Another thing that was bothering him: Those fantasies that he'd had before they left for Italy a little over a month ago…none of them appealed to him now. "If you want, you take her number and live out those filthy little daydreams of yours, mate."

All that he could manage to think of at the moment was the melancholic knowledge that when he got back to his apartment, there would be no one there. He wasn't coming home to anyone. That didn't used to bother him before, but for some reason sitting in this van with all his mates and having to hear them be completely taken up with his own conquests in this trip made him feel as if he should be guilty and shameful somehow of the way he acted. The way he treated both the women that he encountered and found himself entangled with.

This is ridiculous, you're not looking for a wife, you batty little git, he hissed at himself, trying to supress the urge to let out a deep exhale. That would set off everyone in the van. Besides, you don't even know anyone that's even remotely wife material.

"Hey hey hey look alive, lads," Marcus, the one at the wheel, started to call out. His tone was brimming with wanton intent. "We are steadily approaching the dorms, and you know what comes after."

"Sorority row!" the rest of the van cheered, proceeding to make botched barking sounds, effectively drowning out the relentless ringing of Oakley's phone.

But the mention of the dorms finally had him sitting up straighter, realization dawning on him that he was wrong. He actually already knew someone who was so much more than "wife material". Someone brilliant and diligent that had a part of him driven to make the steps to be someone better.

Someone that he called his best friend. Better than anyone in the van with him tonight.

You.

"Marcus, could you drop me off here?" he called out, his stomach flipping at the sight of your familiar silhouette jogging to the front door of your dormitory.

His friends' remarks faded into a dull buzzing in the background as he got off the van, making his way over to you and staying still by your side while you did your step-ups at the bottom step of the stairs. It only took a few moments before you shifted your gaze at him, removing your earphones and hooking the cord behind your head before giving him a beaming grin.

"Goldie Long Legs!" you squealed, the exhilaration from your workout giving you an adorably flushed look, the slightest tinge of pink on your cheeks. "I didn't know you were coming back tonight."

"I was gonna give you a call when I woke up tomorrow, but then I saw you." He did his best not to pay too much attention to the strange somersaults his stomach was making the longer he stared at you. "Coffee?" He tried to keep his tone casual, despite the way his voice cracked on the last syllable, as if he was a nervous lad asking a girl out for the first time.

You answered a giggle that had his heart doing the most bizarre acrobatics in his chest. Why was he reacting to you like this? Was it simply the lack of a woman's presence the last two days as they made their way back, making this reaction more primal than anything else? Was it your exercise outfit and the way the fabric clung to the curves that were rarely ever out for him to take notice of before?

Was it something else? Something that was simply…uniquely…you?

"Coffee? At this hour?" you laughed off his offer. "All the coffee shops are closed by now, and you know how you get with caffeine, Goldie. If you have a sip, you won't know a peaceful night's sleep tonight."

"Oi! Lookin' good there, Y/L/N!" Eric hollered from the van. Oakley's skin bristled seeing how his friend leered over your figure. "Shame you didn't join us, Italy woulda been an even prettier sight with you around."

"Rather not add to the trail of broken hearts you lot left behind," you shot back flawlessly, sticking your tongue out at the boys in the van. "I know you lads well enough to know you didn't behave yourselves."

"Oaks over there's the worst offender of us all!" Eric pouted, pointing at the curly haired blond. "Two flings. At the same time. Shoulda seen him, Y/L/N, he was at the top of his game."

The playful smile on your face faltered for a fraction of a second before you recomposed yourself. That infinitesimal moment was more than enough for the pit in his stomach to make its presence felt once again. Now Oakley knew what it was, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Shame. And the worry that knowing what he'd done back there would somehow taint your perception of him. When your gaze darted to him once again, he had to fight back the words that wanted to stumble clumsily out of his mouth. They meant nothing to me.

In the moment they were fascinating, and truthfully while he was in said moment, he thought about how things would go moving forward. If he would try to pursue anything with either of them, but ultimately the immediate answer was 'No'. Back then he didn't know quite yet the reason behind his mind's outright refusal, but now he did.

This dalliance was a mistake. I have someone so much better back at home and I've been a fool not to see it.

"Quite the juggling act, Goldie," you remarked, your tone more hushed than before. It felt as if you were putting distance between the two of you despite not having moved an inch. Like there was a wall he couldn't quite scale now just to get to you.

"One o' them even gave him a nice lil picture o' her. A breathtaking blonde called Elizabetta. Ohh man not even the finest girls in sorority row can compare."

Shut up, you little twat, he internally seethed, wanting nothing more than to throw whatever he could get his hands on at Eric's head so that he could just. Stop. Talking.

And then his mobile started ringing again. And your smile disappeared, your face looking as if it was struggling to decide how to reconfigure itself, your neck twitching with every shrill note of his ringtone. "That's probably that breathtaking blonde now," you said in an eerily chipper tone. "I won't keep you any longer, I'm sure you're tired from the trip. And you'd like to spend the night speaking with your new lady friend."

"Oh that's not even the blonde! That's the other one!" Dammit Eric, stop talking. "Older lady. Head over heels for him, she couldn't keep her hands off him every time they were in the room together. Told you, Y/L/N. Top of his game."

"Ohh so a lady lady friend. All worldly and whatnot…" Even your body language was throwing him off now, way too casual to fit how he himself felt in this moment. The feeling of wanting more than anything to explain. "Well then, I really don't want to keep you. I know better than to keep my elders waiting, you should, too."

The boys in the van started cheering and clapping over your remark, jokingly chanting "One of us! One of us!" as you gave them a curtsy, making a motion as if you were wearing a skirt rather than your black and hot pink leggings.

It was only when you were halfway up the steps to your dorm building that he managed to find his voice again. "Breakfast tomorrow? My treat?"

You only answered with another giggle. "Did you hit your head or something back in Italy? You don't do breakfast, Oakley. At most you do half a protein bar at first period. From my purse. I'll see you at lunch. I mean…if you're not too busy with your new lady friends or whatever."

He couldn't come up with an intelligible enough response, instead watching you walk into your building and shutting the door, wiping away at your face with your towel. All that he could do was walk back into the van, telling Marcus in a daze, "Drop me off at my place. I'm not in the mood for stop overs at sorority row."

Oakley wasn't in the mood for any more games. Any more women. Not tonight.

The next morning the first thing he did was call up his service provider to see about getting a number blocked, and then he grabbed his wallet, rummaging around in his desk drawer for a handful of photos to place in front of Elizabetta's. A group photo with his mates from their first class project in freshman year, a photo with his family. A photo of a stolen moment with you where you two were wielding chopsticks at each other in a playful "stand off" for a potsticker, and your graduation photo.

On a whim, he placed the potsticker one in the front, a fond smile stretching across his face as he traced his finger over your face in the picture. And then his alarm clock began to ring and the sound quickly filled his apartment, springing him into action to find the nearest clean outfit he had lying around.

He nearly broke a sweat with how fast he ran to your dorm building, hoping he'd catch you before you started walking toward wherever you'd decided to grab breakfast for this morning. Right as he was across the street from the front doors, you walked out, one earphone plugged in and the other dangling from the cord, undoubtedly mouthing along to whichever song was topping the chart this week.

"Y/N!" He internally winced at the hoarseness in his voice. He wasn't even running for that long; how was it that he was already heaving for air?

Your head snapped up to his direction at the sound of your name, shock registering on your face when your eyes met his. Followed by confusion, your brows adorably knitting together as you watched him jogging towards you as he crossed the street.

"What brings you to my neck of the woods at this hour, Goldie?" you greeted him with a smile, hooking the cord of your earphones behind your neck. "Have a breakfast date with one of the girls from my building? You must have it bad for this one if you're willing to wake up so early for--"

"Y/N, I'm…I'm not here for someone from your building," he cut you off, wiping his hands on his shorts before standing up straight, trying to get his heart to stop beating so bloody fast. "I asked you to breakfast last night, remember? My treat?"

His response had you visibly taken aback. "Oh…" The word came out more like a squeak, making you clear your throat. "I uhh…I thought you just offered that as a nicety. For catching up. We could've done lunch…or you know, coffee now that it's a reasonable hour."

"We could do that, too," he said in a rush, fighting against the strange instinctual urge to reach for your hand as the worry that you might wave him off and start walking away crossed his mind. "After breakfast?"

You shuffled your feet in place, slightly swaying back and forth. It was a motion he knew all too well from you, the one that told him you were trying to think something through, trying to find the reason and the rationality in something before deciding what to say or do next. Had it been any other day, any other circumstance, and had he not been grappling with finding his own sense of rationality in why there was suddenly this shift on how he was acting and reacting around you, he would have swayed with you.

After a few moments your mouth stretched into a half-smile, shrugging before tilting your head in the direction of a nearby cafe and bakery. "Alright then. Let's go."

Oakley couldn't help how his face broke out into a grin, a touch too eagerly falling into step with you, still fighting the urge to reach for your hand. To lace his fingers with yours.

"So tell me all about Italy," you started, looking up at him and squinting your eyes as the morning sun hit your features. "Start with the food because I want to know if handmade pasta--"

"We can talk about Italy later," he breathed out, finally losing the struggle to not reach for you and settling on lightly resting his hand just above the small of your back. "Tell me about what you've been up to the last six weeks."

He'd try and process what it meant later. That all he wanted to do was know how you'd spent your time apart. That he wanted to hear your stories rather than speak about his own. That much as it was an extraordinary experience to roam Italy with his mates, the only thing he could think of now was how it could have been even more beautiful if he perhaps…experienced it with you.

"Oh…" Your voice got smaller again, as if you were struggling yourself to find words. "Well truthfully they were quite boring. My sister visited campus to drag me to the shopping plaza to overhaul my wardrobe. She's quite literally holding my jumpers hostage and replaced them all with…well, things like these." You awkwardly motioned at the dress you were wearing, a frilly sage number with a bow. "I look ridiculous."

"You look beautiful," he blurted out, immediately biting the inside of his cheek when you snapped your head up to give him a questioning look. A new feeling flooded him. Something almost akin to…fear? His heart was still pounding and thrashing in his chest, his breathing thready like the air was too thin.

Like he was afraid that you'd look at him and see right through him. Right into his soul. His deepest, most secret thoughts. Thoughts he hadn't even dared to properly articulate with himself.

And if you saw them, if you saw him, you would walk away without a second thought. Those words that he was so used to wielding without completely meaning it when he was around other girls, he'd uttered to you with the weight of every unspoken thought he'd had of you since last night.

With every ounce of sincerity and honesty that felt so foreign for him to possess.

"Oh please, Goldie, you don't have to butter me up," you laughed off his compliment, waving it away with your hand like it was a little housefly flitting away by your face. "You don't have to lay it on--"

"I'm not." The words were flying out of him faster than his brain could filter them. "You're beautiful, Y/N. And it's not because your sister overhauled your wardrobe or you changed your hair. It's you." His heart caught in his throat seeing your eyes widen, the questions and the confusion in them mirroring his own. What was wrong with him today? "All of you."

You pursed your lips, already looking back in the opposite direction like you were second guessing agreeing to sharing a meal with him. Or maybe even sharing any form of time with him. He already wanted to hit himself for not keeping his mouth shut, he probably just flushed your entire friendship down the toilet all because he started acting the same way he did when he was in the first grade talking to the prettiest girl in class.

"Hmmm," you sounded through pursed lips, taking a deep breath before your features morphed into that all too composed smile that you gave him and his mates last night. "And here I thought all I had going for me was my winning personailty."

"That's just a part of it," he shot back, failing to fight the urge to touch his hand to your arm as you reached the cafe, helping you keep steady as you walked up the elevated platform leading to the door. Right as you walked past him when he opened the door for you, he caught a wisp of your perfume. The same one you'd worn every day since the day he met you, the scent of apples and mandarin blanketing him with a warmth that took him aback.

Memories of his weeks in Italy now bombarded him. How he would relish the apples that he had, breathing in the scent before taking a bite. How he brought an apple when he and the rest of the group visited a citrus grove, and how the combined smells reminded him of home.

Only his family home didn't smell like that at all. It smelled of tea plants and bergamot.

"Oakley?" Your voice broke through his memories. "You alright over there?"

He took in the sight of you, a single eyebrow raised looking like you were amused by his stupefied state, the corner of your mouth upturned in a little smirk. "Right as rain," he choked out, finding it hard to breathe properly with his heart beating so fast it might as well be The Flash on a treadmill. "Just not used to being up this early, is all."

You only wagged your finger at him, tsk'ing in response when he stepped up next to you at the counter. "Shouldn't have shocked your system with changing your routine like that, Goldie. You have to ease yourself into it, take baby steps. Otherwise you'll crash midday and end up taking a twenty-minute nap that quickly turns into four hours, miss a lecture, and then you'll have to rely on my notes. Again."

"Ah, you should know me better by now, Y/N. I'll need to rely on your notes even if I'm wide awake, I can never pay attention to those old windbags."

His words had you rolling your eyes to the ceiling, a devious smile playing at your lips. He couldn't take his eyes off you, every waking brain cell screaming at him to take your face in his hands and kiss you.

"And here I thought your time with your new worldly lady friend would have you respecting our elders a bit more," you quipped, laughing at him when all he could do in response was audibly choke on the air. "Maybe we can hack that debauched brain of yours. Pretend those old windbags are your older lady friend instead, or pretend one of the pretty girls in our lecture room is your breathtaking blonde Italian beauty. Maybe then you'll pay a bit more attention in class."

I won't, his mind protested. Why would I look anywhere else when you're right next to me?

"I really don't think so," he said softly, letting out a chuckle when all you did was shake your head at him, proceeding to order a bacon cheese waffle sandwich and the first of a handful of coffees you'd be drinking throughout the day. All the while Oakley watched you, a fond smile stretching across his face as he lost himself in the memory of the citrus grove again. The scent he was chasing the entire way to Italy and back.

Your scent.

Home

A/N: Sometime last year I made a lil note in my idea notebook to make a prequel piece to 'just another memory' and now here we are…and it's gonna be a 2-parter with a potential alternate ending because the lil gremlin horn dogs in my writer brain want a scenario where she chooses…well, y'know what, you'll know who it is soon enough 😈😈

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist

#oakley #oakley x reader #unrelated #tom hiddleston x reader #muddyorbs writes

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okaystoptellingmetomakeanaccount · 4 months

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Okay alright guys. It's two thousand twenty something, new year, Mickey Mouse is in the public domain, doctor who is starting from season 1 again and the Marvel Cinematic Universe is probably on fire right now(not in a good way). Disney is distracted and we must plague them into making their best villain into a big thing outside of comics.

This year we must infect the English speaking world with Phantom Blot propaganda as much as we can. We need them unknowing Americans to see the light.

Everybody has been complaining these days about there not being enough real good villains. Everybody wants the Phantom Blot. They just don't know it yet.

Blah blah Disney and their emotional trauma is the real villain, Disney and their terrible twist villains, etc etc. They have the solution right here

Look at him doesn't he look like a great solution?

There needs to be more Blot demand. I demand that he is actually the big bad in that stupid mobile game that now also has a manga. You will like the phantom blot I swear you will hes cool And cOOl aNd yOU WILL LIKE HIM WHY ARE YOU RUNNING AWAY

That picture is me, i stabbed them for not liking the phantom blot.

Anyways. Phantom Blot propaganda. That was it. By the end of the year I want everyone to know the guy. Soon he will be on the big screen, on the small screen(not as a magica hating loser smh ducktales) and they should sell black cloaks in Disneyland. Make the people aware that they need him because they do. Fantagraphics you can help where is the Nucci/Casty volume of Disney masters containing their three Phantom Blot stories

So here I declare 202? as the year of Blotty, ignore that it's Donald's 90th anniversary.

#disney comics #mickey mouse #phantom blot #mouseverse #disney #donald duck 90 years

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pinkywildflower · 1 year

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decisions | katsuki bakugou

pro-hero! bakugou x pro-hero! reader

word count: 2.6k

tw: cursing, severe injuries/mentions of injuries, hurt/no comfort, trauma, blood, guilt, self-hatred, this is just pure angst and pain

a/n: reader's quirk is not specified

“what are you doing here, bakugou?”

bakugou. he knew it was his name and that it shouldn’t feel weird for someone to call him by it, but it felt weird coming from you. it felt foreign, wrong coming out of your mouth. he never imagined that once you became intimate enough to use his first name that you’d ever go back to calling him so formally. it felt like you were speaking to him like you were strangers, and it hurt him a lot more than he’d like to admit. not just because you were treating him this way, but because you were right in doing so.

you were strangers, and it was all his fault.

he still remembered the day everything changed, when he gave into his fears and left like a coward. he left without consulting you or even trying to figure anything out. he was too blinded by his own self-hatred for failing you the way he did, or at least in the way he thought he did.

you had just come back from your first physical therapy appointment a few days after you were discharged from the hospital for your spine injury. as a pro-hero, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for you to be injured on the job. it was a regular part of your life and, thanks to the hero-specialized doctors available to heroes nowadays, injuries were rarely a cause for too much concern. however, this injury in particular was an injury that changed the trajectory of your life in the five seconds it took for you to get injured in the first place.

bystanders claimed that the impact was fast enough to miss if someone wasn’t paying attention, but to you and katsuki, it felt like it would never end, as if the world had slowed down time to purposefully taunt the both of you.

he should’ve listened when you told him to wait for reinforcements. he should’ve known that this particular mission wasn’t that simple. he should’ve been suspicious of how easy it was to find the targets. he’d been a pro for years at this point, with UA as a distant memory. he couldn’t use his inexperience for justify his actions anymore (not that he would’ve anyway, even as a rookie). he’d made the wrong call despite your best efforts to dissuade him from his decision. he’d led you into a trap that cost you everything you worked so hard to accomplish, and he hated himself for it.

surrounded by an ambush and trying not to lose to any of the villains, katsuki hadn’t noticed one of the building’s beams collapsing behind him. he also hadn’t noticed you running towards him and pushing him out of the way, only for yourself to be crushed by the falling beam instead of him. in the same way you’ll never forget the look on his face when he saw your crushed form under the beam, he knew in that moment that he’d never forget the terrible crushing sound when it fell on your back.

thankfully, the reinforcements you’d called earlier showed up and helped put a stop to the villains, but even at the scene of the injury, everyone knew that this hit wasn’t something you’d come back from. the damage had already been done, and, although the impact hadn’t killed you, you doubted you’d ever be able to walk again, much less continue being a hero.

these fears had been confirmed when they rushed you to the hospital for emergency surgery. thankfully, due to the advanced medicine you’d had access to in this new age of quirks and heroes, the damage done to your spine was fixable enough to make sure you wouldn’t lose complete mobility in your legs. with enough time, and a good amount of physical therapy, you’d probably be able to walk with no issues. however, even with all the technology, it wasn’t enough to save your hero career. as it was, combat and intense movement would be too much for your body, and could even cause further damage.

after only a few years in the field, you retired before your career even had a chance to take off, and katsuki couldn’t help but blame himself for it.

it was only a matter of time, you supposed, until his guilt and self-hatred would consume him. when you woke up in the hospital after the surgery, katsuki looked utterly terrible.

it was obvious that he hadn’t gone home since you were admitted the day before, still in his torn and dirty hero costume. he hadn’t slept either, the bags under his eyes being a dead giveaway. he was a mess, and his state only worsened after he’d heard the doctor tell you that you couldn’t do hero work anymore.

even after the doctors assured that you were going to be ok and that you’d eventually recover mobility in your legs, he still refused to leave. it wasn’t until kirishima came to visit that you convinced him to drag katsuki home to at least shower and eat something that he left your side. even then, his absence wasn’t for long, and he returned only after about 2 hours.

katsuki wasn’t exactly known for being overly talkative (unless when he’s angry of course), but, despite his overprotectiveness and refusal to leave, he was almost completely silent the entire time. sure, he’d ask you if you needed anything or if you were in any pain of some sort, but, other than that, he kept conversation to a minimum.

he wanted desperately tell you how sorry he was for being stubborn. he wanted to tell you that everything was going to be ok and that he’d support you during your recovery. he wanted to tell you that he’d do anything to make up for what he did, but how?

how could he make it up to you? he’d taken away your future, your career, your dreams. it didn’t matter what he did or said, he’d never be able to take back his actions. he’d never be able to give you your dream back.

it’s not that he didn’t want to talk to you, it’s that he didn’t feel that he deserved to. as far as he was concerned, he ruined your life, and it was eating him up from the inside. it was only the selfish part of him that wanted to be around you that kept him from leaving you in the that hospital room alone.

he was fighting with himself, and it’s the only reason why you accepted his silence. you remembered his UA days and how he blamed himself for all might’s retirement. you could only imagine the guilt he was feeling at your retirement.

you’d been one of the only people he could open up to, and the only person he trusted and loved enough to pursue a relationship with. you’d known him since high school, and you’d watched him grow into a man who could communicate more openly and make himself vulnerable. he’d made so much progress and, yet, here he was: back in his first year fighting midoriya in the training zone. except this time, it was himself who he wanted to punch.

it went on like this, the silence, until you were finally cleared to go home. in fact, the only proper conversation you had with him was when you were setting up your physical therapy treatment and he spoke up just to tell you that he’d be going with you once he noticed your discomfort at the thought of having to go. it wasn’t a long conversation by any means, but it was the only time he’d showed even a tiny bit of life since the accident. you hadn’t argued with him either. truth be told, his presence was a comfort you desperately needed.

once you got to your shared home, you could instantly tell that he felt a lot better, although not drastically. there were moments where he seemed to go back to normal, but, you could still tell that he was feeling guilty. you’d tried talking to him about on multiple occasions, but he’d only change the subject. it was obvious that he just wanted to forget the entire thing happened, but that was almost impossible considering how he was the one helping you move around and adjust to your wheelchair. you tried to assure him that it was temporary and that you’d be walking again in no time, but just the sight of it made your words meaningless to him.

it was a few days after you’d gone home that you had your scheduled physical therapy appointment, and, true to his word, katsuki had tagged along. truth is, he demanded a month-long leave of absence from his agency, both because he wanted to be able to attend your first few appointments and because he still couldn’t put on his hero costume without thinking about the accident. he felt like it was needed, and honestly, you felt like he deserved a break too.

much like with most things done for the first time, your first appointment was a mess. after your consultation with the therapist and after setting up your treatment, you’d been hopeful, maybe even a little too hopeful. you’d assumed that your hero training would make the process a bit easier, but you’d been wrong. of course, you knew it was going to be hard, and even painful, at first, but you’d left that first appointment feeling as hopeless as katsuki looked, which didn’t go unnoticed by him in the slightest.

he’d watched you fall. he’d watched you struggle. he’d watched your spirit break, and it was all his fault. he couldn’t take it anymore. after almost a week of trying to hold it together and move past this with you, he’d reached his limit. he had to do something about it, even if it hurt you in the process.

the ride home was silent, neither of you wanting to talk about what had just happened. it had been a rough day, but, unbeknownst to you, it was about to get a lot worse.

he’d settled you down onto the couch in the living room when you got home. you assumed he wanted to cheer you up by watching a movie with you like he usually does, but you were caught off guard when he sat down on the coffee table in front of you instead of next to you on the couch. nothing could’ve prepared you for what came out of his mouth.

“I ruined you.”

his voice was quiet, too quiet, but you heard it as if he’d yelled it for the entire town to hear. it made your heart shatter, he’d sounded so defeated, broken.

you opened your mouth, about to say something in protest but he immediately cut you off, standing up in the process.

“don’t you dare try and tell me otherwise, you know damn well that it’s true. just look at you! you had your entire life ahead of you. you’re a retired hero and you’re not even 25! we were supposed to start an agency, remember? you and me, together! and now… now you have to learn how to walk again, and all because I didn’t listen to you…

“katsuki, this isn’t —“

“don’t give me that shit! it is my fault! I should’ve listened to you. I should’ve waited for the reinforcements like you said. or I at least should’ve been paying attention to my surroundings. if it’d done my job properly, I would’ve been able to avoid that beam from falling. hell, if anything, it was me that pillar was supposed to fall on, not you!”

“don’t say that! pushing you out of the way was my choice, not yours. and don’t you dare tell me that you wouldn’t have done the same in that situation. we’re supposed to protect each other! we’re partners. it’s not just your responsibility to protect me. I need to protect you too!”

“bullshit! protecting each other? well, it’s obvious that I did a shit job at it! I—.”

his voice broke off, his emotions getting the best of him. his actions were frantic and he refused to look at you, looking at at the ceiling while raking his hand through his hair. he took a few moments to compose himself (or at least as much as he could), and sat back down on the coffee table, looking down at the ground.

“I— I can’t do this… if I couldn’t protect you when it mattered the most so… what’s the point? who am I to keep you like this? how do I have any right to be in your life? i thought this would work, that it would get better but… damn it! it hurts to even look at you!”

“katsuki! I—"

“—I called the hero commission while you were filing out the check-out paperwork after the appointment. they’re sending someone to come help you until you start moving around on your own again. i’ve set it all up. you don’t need to worry about the money, i’m taking care of it. they’ll be here in a few minutes.”

if your heart hadn’t already shattered at his guilt, this last statement surely did the job. you wanted to scream at him, tell him he was being cruel. you wanted to beg him to stay, that it would get better, that you would both move past this, but all you could do was sit in silence as he went over the logistics and started to pack up his things.

you saw the way the accident affected him. he was a shell of his former self, his eyes were hollow and full of pain. you figured it was cruel of you to force him to stay when he blamed himself for everything. your very existence was a sign of his failure. you didn’t protest when your nurse showed up, nor did you stop him when he left. you were going to get better, and even if katsuki’s absence made it feel almost impossible, it was something you needed to do for yourself.

and, by all accounts you did. it looks months of painful and tedious recovery and physical therapy, but, you had reached a point where you could walk without much assistance. you’d sent the nurse the hero commission sent a few weeks ago despite the protests of your friends, but after everything that happened with katsuki, you needed time alone. you didn’t want to be unreasonable, hence waiting until only a few weeks ago, but their presence was only a reminder of your heartbreak.

he hadn’t reached out to you since the day he left. you’d heard about him from your shared high school friends, and he apparently wasn’t doing too well either, but, other than that, you tried not to think about it. you’d thought that, after a while, you’d start to blame him for what happened, resent him for your injuries and forced retirement. part of you wanted to, perhaps it would make you feel better about the entire situation, maybe hating him would give you the fuel to finally move on from all of this. it was something that often crossed your mind but could never decide on.

as fate would have it, however, it seemed that the universe wouldn’t let you leave that thought unanswered, not when a certain blond haired pro-hero showed up knocking at your door at 2am with his hair disheveled and his costume a bloody mess. you couldn’t help but ask just what he was doing at your door when he’d left without giving you so much as a choice in the matter. you also couldn’t help but call him by his last name, reminding him of his cruel decision and what that meant for the two of you. you took note of his bothered expression, flinching at the unfamiliarity of your words.

it seemed like tonight was the night you’d have to make a decision, but even you weren’t sure which one was right.

#bakugou angst #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #mha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #pro hero bakugou #pro hero bakugo x reader

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forpiratereasons · 11 months

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meeting stede bonnet

a slow meandering through June. third prompt: discover!

day 1 | day 2 | day 3 | day 4 | day 5 | day 6 | day 7 | day 8 | day 9 | day 10

Obviously, Stede found men attractive.

This was the gay part of the thought, I’m gay. Perhaps even the defining feature of it. Despite having only allowed himself that thought several days prior, Stede was not exactly surprised to discover that attraction to men was part and parcel.

Hugh Grant was attractive, for example. Richard Armitage was attractive. That bloke on the telly at six on Sundays doing the weather was attractive.

Not a problem, Stede had thought. Men! Hands and shoulders, body hair and the napes of necks. Fantastic.

The thing was, though: Stede was not in any danger of meeting Hugh Grant.

Stede was very much in danger, at this moment, of meeting the man in leather trousers and a cropped shirt queuing in front of him at the hot dog stand.

His heart hammered in his chest. His palms were sweaty. Was there some—some protocol he didn’t know? To finding men attractive in real life?

Not that he intended to act on it, not here and now in the hot dog line, but just looking, at the hands and the long beautiful neck and skin full of tattoos and not instantly turning away—it was breath-taking, it was chest-crushing, it was—it was—

“Next!”

It was Stede’s turn.

“Er,” he said intelligently, trying not to watch Leather Trousers saunter down to the end of the stand for condiments. “Two, please.”

The kid behind the stand took his card. Stede didn’t watch as Trousers struggled to balance two hot dogs, a mobile phone, and a bottle of mustard. Definitely not. Nope.

“Let me hold that for you,” someone said.

Trousers looked up. Right at Stede. Because Stede said it. Did he? Must have done, because Trousers was looking at him.

Trousers had warm, dark eyes that crinkled at the edges. Stede’s heart, for its part, had an arrhythmia.

“Cheers, mate,” Trousers said, handing Stede his mobile. “Pockets in the leather are a nightmare.”

“I imagine so,” Stede managed. Was he blushing? He felt like he might be blushing. The kid behind the stand also looked like Stede was blushing: incredibly smug in the way only teenagers can be. “Must be terribly hard to get out of them.”

The mustard blurted inelegantly onto one end of Trouser’s hot dog, like it had been squeezed too hard. He looked at Stede, sharp-ish grin forming along the corners of his mouth, and dragged his gaze all the way down to Stede’s shoes and back up again, focusing briefly on the progress pride flag pinned to his chest.

“Why? You offering to help with those too?”

Stede blinked, realised what he’d said. Blushed further, yes, he was definitely an unhealthy red now, wasn’t he?

“Oh, shit,” he said, flustered. “I’m so—that wasn’t what I meant, I wasn’t—”

“Think you were, a little bit,” Trousers said, still grinning. “You could tell me your name first, probably. Only polite.”

Absolutely positively humiliating, and yet. And yet.

Stede was smiling. Couldn’t stop smiling, actually, good lord, he was almost giggling.

So this was it, then. This is what it was like.

Seeing someone, liking the look of someone—what people meant when they said, our eyes just met, and I knew. Flirting. Being flirted with.

Stede hadn’t—he couldn’t have done, before. Trousers was the sort of man he might have caught sight of, but he’d have looked away. Turned aside. Shoved down the inclination.

To catch sight of this man now, to let himself linger on the carved angles of his wrists, the brown skin and black ink, the silvered hair, the dark eyes—to look, and find those eyes looking back—to breathe through the jolt in his stomach until it spread wings from fear and into possibility—

It felt like discovery. Like finding something he’d been looking for.

Like finding something he thought he’d lost.

“Stede,” he managed. “Stede Bonnet.”

Trousers smiled. Took Stede’s hand in his, when Stede reached to give him back his mobile, and held him a moment; his skin was sun-warm, rough. “I’m Ed.”

I’m going to remember you, Ed, Stede thought. I’m going to remember this.

Ed’s smile turned soft, like he heard. Like he agreed. “Do you want to grab a bench? Eat some lunch?” He gestured toward the waterline.

“You know,” Stede said, smiling back, “I think I do.”

#ofmd #gentlebeard #pride prompts #darcy writes pirates

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the-awful-dread-that-leaves · 23 days

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yknow what? get foggyskied. here's a short fic

Inspired by @dcartcorner 's art post (sorry for the link being weird. mobile layout meet me in the pit)

Enjoy Sky Blue

Simon Fairchild pays a visit to an old acquaintance. The reunion is remarkably one-sided.

The skies above Moorland House were grey and foggy.

Of course they were foggy, Simon thought - how terribly thematically appropriate for a plot of land belonging to the Lukas family. A dry chuckle came forth from between his lips.

He wasn't here for the house, though.

After quite a while spent wandering the frankly delightfully expansive territory, Simon finally found the object of his attention - the family burial grounds, and on it, a gravestone with letters engraved on it, reading “Forgotten”.

Well, all of them were like that - but this one was fresh. Not even quite dusty enough to fade the writing yet. Simon figured that this was the one he needed.

It hasn't been very long since it happened. Maybe two or three days - difficult to measure time with a lifespan this prolonged. He wasn't at the funeral, of course - such events were a family affair, and he recognised quite well that he was anything but. Besides, he doubted that the deceased would like him barging into his reprieve of solitude again.

Still, he couldn't help but pay a visit.

“Hello, Peter.” He said with a smile and sat down on the ground next to the lonely grave, leaning his cane on the side of the gravestone. “Long time no see, hm? Admit it, you missed me.” The old man laughed and pulled something out from his pocket. A seashell. A small, grey-and-white spiral seashell that looked so remarkably out of place among the faded flowers lying in the dirt.

“Here's a little souvenir, courtesy of the Falling Titan. Thought you'd like it - I know you had a fondness for the seas.”

He chuckled softly. “I know, I know.. if I gave it to you personally, you'd probably grumble at me like you always do - Simon, you'd say, Simon, get out of my bloody mansion and stop bringing me everything you find lying on the ground - but I know you'd keep it somewhere. Like the painting, and the ship in the bottle.. oh, ‘scuse me! You know how sentimental I tend to get.”

Simon leaned back, propped up against nothing in particular - the man had a truly perplexing habit of treating thin air like furniture. “Still. To the point - what was the point? Oh, of course!” Turning his gaze towards the sky, he continued. “Nice weather we're having. Very quiet. Shame you can't see it - although your quiet’s probably stronger than that. No clue.”

“Don't think I'm gonna mourn you, my good captain. I'm not one for clinging onto memories - besides, I know you'd like to be forgotten. I'm not quite going senile just yet.” Simon let out a quiet cackle, then looked into the pale clouds with a bit of a wistful expression. “Still, I've got to admit that I may miss you for a while. Gets a bit lonely for an old man like me, not having anyone to complain to about Jonah’s endless machinations or Reyner’s latest conquest- ah, wait. Lonely.”

He chuckled again. “Just how you like it.”

Simon was distracted from his reminiscence by an onset of pale mist, pooling around the old stones. He let out a sigh and, with grace uncharacteristic for a man his age, jumped onto his feet.

“Well! Won't bother you any further, my good captain. I know you want to be left alone - besides, it sounds like someone might be coming by.”

He put on his hat with a quick, swooping motion. “Cheers, then! And wherever you are, Peter - I hope there's a blue sky somewhere, and nobody to watch it except you.”

Light on his feet as always, Simon walked off. The graveyard was quiet again, and the skies were grey and foggy.

Nothing beside remains.

#tma #tma fic #foggyskies #simon fairchild #peter lukas is implied

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the-s1lly-corner · 5 months

Note

can i req jax x reader angst? o-(-( been brainrotting on this idea for so long now; jax goes a little overboard with his joke or prank and reader gets upset by it.. but he doesnt really approach reader to say sorry for a while because he doesnt really know how to? so it worsens the situation? thank uuu!!!!

Severed ties (jax x reader)

There will be NO!!!! Comfort here!!! I want pain!!

Written this as platonic !!

Not proof read and written on mobile!! Yahoo!!

Honestly I love writing angstier stuff, like

Idk I like exploring the topic and the feelings

Jac in general does not seem like the type of person to apologize. It hurts his pride and ego, and really in his eyes everything he does is "all in good fun", or as a means to entertain... himself, mostly

What, is he supposed to apologize because his little joke made someone upset? That's his thought process, I think. Like unless there are huge consequences or he is actively trying to better himself I really don't think he would give a sincere apology, you know?

Like imma be so real here, I know I usually portray jax as a prankster but so far he's worse than that. He has pushed gangle at least twice (in the pilot, and in her tailer), he stepped on her mask and knowing him I wouldnt be surprised if it was on purpose. He just. Ripped zoobles arm off (like yeah sure it doesnt look like it hurts and it can be reattached, but its the idea that he just disrespects them like that), throwing a bowling ball at kinger, ect ect ect

Like I think I down play how mean jax can be

I think a lot of this is caused by the digital world; given that hes probably gotten way too comfortable with the fact you cant get severely injured in the digital world or hahe any long lasting physical damage, you know?

Anyways onto the actual request

I think it's less likely to happen if this is a romantic relationship because I think at that point in time you guys respect each other enough to not be goofy and communicate stuff. As well as this, this prompts jax to try to tone it down.. can also see this happening if you guys are close friends

So really this can only happen if you guys are only like. Normal level friends, because otherwise jax at least learns remorse and tries to be less. Uehdjcf.. you know?

Like I love jax as a character and I enjoy writing him but I'm realizing just how assholish he is based on the pilot

Honestly to be friends with jax you're going to have to be able to have some kind of tolerance to his more tame everyday stuff... imma be nice and assuming the stuff he does above isnt in his usual league of asshole-ness... or maybe it is? I dunno

But some prank he pulls goes too far, and he laughs at you. Probably takes to down play it if you're actually upset, trying to dismiss it as a good ol fashion joke

If he gives an apology it's a half assed one

This leads to you not talking to him as much anymore, if at all

In fact, you may even go as far as to avoiding him during IHAs

And you know what

At first he thinks you're just being sour over his little practical joke

But overtime as you continue to bold your ground he starts to... actually feel bad

And if he does ever sincerely apologize, its likely two late

That's also assuming you dont abstract before then

God can you imagine that, I mean what's worse? Never being able to apologize because the person is effectively dead, or apologizing and not being forgiven?

I think this would push jax to try to tone down his antics

Like he wont totally stop, but it will definitely go back to the light hearted fun I like to headcannon it being when he first joined the circus.. before it got all.. meaner..

Boredom does terrible things to someone and given that the consequences of losing your mind in this place are huge.. I can't help but understand jax a little, assuming my headcannon is correct

Though again he might just be an asshole

While your friendship may be dead and buried now, at least jax learned a lesson that actions do in fact have consequences

And hopefully it sticks

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #digital circus x reader #jax x you #jax x reader #jax imagine

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nothingunrealistic · 14 days

Note

1, kleinsen

1. “I love you, please don’t go.”

“And as soon as the new car gets delivered, the minivan is mine for good.” Jared flops onto his back so that he’s lying across the entire foot of Evan’s bed, legs dangling over the side. “The Jaredmobile is gonna hit these streets harder than —”

“Are you really calling it that?” Evan has ridden in Jared’s mom’s minivan, soon to be Jared’s minivan, and it is mobile, but that’s kind of a low bar. It probably shouldn’t be hitting anything hard.

“Haven’t decided. But I know what bumper sticker is going on there first.” Jared sticks his phone in Evan’s face. “Check it.”

“‘Caution: This vehicle makes frequent stops at your mom’s house.’”

“It’s gonna be true. Especially at your mom’s house.”

“You mean my house?”

“Is your name on the property deed? I don’t think so.” Jared grimaces, wriggles around, and nearly whacks Evan in the face with his phone as he pulls out a mechanical pencil he was lying on. “And when, after I’ve spent another week chauffeuring your sorry ass around, she invites me to stay the night —”

“Mom works nights.”

“— is it gonna be you saying ‘please, I love you, please don’t go’ in the morning?” He rhythmically raps Evan’s knee with the pencil. “I. Don’t. Think. So.”

“You’re gross. And that’s my pencil.”

“Finders keepers, bro.”

“Boys?” Mom knocks on the door and opens it half a second later; in that half second, Jared shoves himself upright and slaps the pencil into Evan’s hand, and something that sounds a lot like Jared’s phone hits the floor. “Everything okay? Is that project coming along?”

“Going great, Mrs. H.,” Jared says, over top of Evan’s “Fine, Mom.”

“Good. That’s good. Well, I’m heading out to work.” She already looks as frazzled as if she just came back from a shift. “There’s money on the table so you two can order dinner. I think Domino’s is doing their half off deal again, but make sure you check. Jared, will your mom be able to pick you up? I’ll be back too late to give you a ride home.” And suddenly Evan is terrified that Jared will say some stupid thing about Mom giving him a ride, and she’ll get mad and tell him to go home now, and Evan will have to finish this English project on his own, and he’ll probably get a terrible grade, and Jared will be mad at him even though it’ll be Jared’s fault in the first place, and —

“Won’t be a problem,” Jared says, perfectly polite.

“Great. Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, Evan, I love you.”

Mom walks back out, but she doesn’t shut the door, so Evan counts to five before he says, “Thank you for not saying anything weird.”

“To your mom? What, do you think I’m some kind of male chauvinist pig? Thanks for nothing, Billie Jean.”

“Is that what that song’s about?”

“What — no. Never mind.” Jared bends over and retrieves his phone from the floor. “I’m hungry. Let’s get some shitty half-price pizza. Which is a ridiculous deal, by the way.”

“I think it’s a March Madness thing.”

“In April?”

“Maybe it’s an extra-long deal.”

“Madness is right. How much money are we working with here?”

“Probably twenty dollars.” An engine starts outside; Evan shifts over on the bed to look out the window, watching to confirm that it’s Mom’s car, until it turns left and vanishes from sight. “But, uh, when the pizza gets here —”

“Yes, I’ll get the door so you don’t have to have a breakdown about it. Never fear.”

(angst/fluff prompt list)

#inbox #cockbiteproductions #dear evan hansen #jared kleinman #evan hansen #heidi hansen #kleinsen #sometimes i write #first time posting any new writing since august! what the last season of billions (and 7x03 in particular) does to a mf #also this ask is coming up on four years old lmao. i do not work quickly #brought to you by seeing a windshield sticker with that same text on my walk home from work one day

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whumble-beeee · 4 months

Text

Show Me What You're Made Of

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 2

CW: escape attempt, disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, flashbacks (ptsd), past captivity references, needles mention, tied up, gunshot, general violence

* * * * * * * * [There are some scenarios in which you will want to invite a staged escape attempt just to foil it. Usually, this is done as a way to give hope to your captured hero only to viciously rip it away, but it can also be useful in making them reveal any powers they may have previously kept hidden.

It must be noted that inviting a non-staged escape attempt is very risky and generally a terrible idea, as there is always a chance the hero will be able to overpower you. Don’t get cocky, and always have a fail-safe. If done correctly, a failed escape attempt can be devastating to both a hero’s emotional and physical well-being and aid in long-term hero-keeping.]

* * * * * * * *

Stan was not a fast runner in any capacity. Especially without the use of his cane or any magical intervention to help his knee move along.

He could run without a mobility aid, sure, but that didn’t mean that a sharp pang of protest from his damaged knee didn’t light up his entire leg with every heavy step, and it certainly didn’t mean that he had the balance required to keep running smoothly like your average able-bodied person.

That realization blasted him like a truck as soon as he stood up and took his first steps to bolt toward the door, but at that point, it was way too late to turn back.

He pitched himself toward the wall and slammed into it with a methodically placed shoulder, using the cold cinderblocks to keep balance. With that support, and if he ignored the steadily increasing pain-filled protest from his leg, he could practically run normally!

Then a yell. He could hear footsteps pounding up behind him, gaining on him.

For a brief moment, he could already feel the iron grip around his wrist or his shirt, or the arm snaking around his stomach, the heave backward just as his fingers brushed the door handle, the slam to the ground, how he’d be bound up and forced back to that stupid chair and probably be tortured or whatever else the mercenary saw fit to do to him.

Fuck that.

If he couldn’t outrun him, he’d just have to fight him off.

Stan whirled around and sent out the sturdiest force he could muster to grab onto the bounty hunter's ankle. Just enough so that it caught in the air and missed the floor entirely, and the hunter pitched forward with a surprised shout and fell face-first into the concrete floor, the residual blue glow of the magic still half enveloping his leg. Stan could feel the energy seeping out of him like a punch to the gut, but he didn’t stop to see the rest of the damage before turning around and booking it again.

He slammed the mercifully unlocked door open wide and frantically ran outside, hesitating for just a moment because he didn’t expect to run face-first into what looked to be a warehouse wall, complete with a wide hallway he couldn’t see the end of, high ceilings, blank walls, and cold clinical lighting like a goddamn horror movie.

And no exit door in sight.

He raced to the nearest hallway turn, ignoring his pounding head and screaming weak knee and imminent exhaustion and burning lungs and the ever-threatening presence of the bounty hunter and just focused on the one and only task of ‘RUN!’ He couldn’t afford any other thoughts.

He finally barreled past the blind corner, and there was a door! Stan allowed himself a small relieved laugh at the sight of it.

A flash of the mercenary streaked in his periphery. Stan only squeaked slightly. He needed to get away, to slow him down again, he was so close, so close. So he twisted around to throw some sort of magic bullshit at him again when–

And his knee torqued.

He stumbled.

Lost his balance.

He shoved into the wall again so he didn’t fall flat on his face, and tried to push up again and run, or attack, or do something. And in that moment, despite everything, he saw a flash of red on the back of his hand that he hadn’t noticed before that drew all his attention; A tiny little smiley face, no doubt carved in the first time the bounty hunter messed with him when he was tied to the chair.

Then the bounty hunter tackled him to the ground.

Stan fought to get back up, but all he managed was a terrified shuffling of limbs and a feeble attempt at drawing up enough energy to fight the mercenary off as he quickly pinned Stan down with a straddling of the hips and threw a devastating punch across Stan's jaw that made him have to blink exploding stars away.

He held up his arms to protect his face, instinctively trying to curl up and away from the source of the pain. Noise surrounded him, that frizzy buzzing sensation filling his head with cotton and making it hard to think. His entire body felt like it was seizing up.

He wasn’t done yet. This wasn’t done yet.

“GET OFF!!”

Stan used every last bit of power he had to push the man off of him. The walls around them glowed an electric blue, and the bounty hunter lifted violently up into the air with a surprised yelp. But not before he grabbed the front of Stan’s shirt and dragged the hero right along with him with an equally terrified shriek.

Then Stan slammed face-first into the ground, barely managing to get his arms under himself in time to soften the landing. One which was not made any softer by the person landing on top of him.

“Holy shit... you don’t know when to quit, do you?” the voice above him cut through heavy breaths, a suddenly prominent southern twang vibrating through a growl of his voice.

Stan felt a punch in the right of his ribcage.

His muscles seemed to stop working entirely for a moment. Then a strange blooming agony started working its way outward throughout his torso.

His eyes unfocused. He curled in on himself as much as he could. It wasn't much at all. He couldn’t move. He felt an increasing pressure emanating from the area, the unbearable stinging pain spread throughout his torso and he squeaked trying to hold in a full-blown scream, breathless yet barely able to suck in a single gasp into his shuddering body.

He barely even noticed when a hand tangled through the hair at the back of his head until it yanked him up and arched his back, causing what felt like knives stabbing through his ribs. He gritted his teeth. If nothing else, he wasn't going to give the bounty hunter the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

The hand slammed his face down into the ground. The sides of his vision starting to go dark. Then slowly receded back again. A ringing sound reverberated throughout his entire body, and he all but went limp pressing his forehead into the floor.

“Y’know, runt,” the voice of the bounty hunter penetrated Stan’s clouded mind with hard breath. He could feel the man messing around with his belt pouches as he pressed his knee sharply into Stan’s lower back. “I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to use this. I think it's demeaning and kinda inhumane, but you just had to fuck around and find out, didn’t you?”

Stan shook his head and squirmed fruitlessly, terrified of whatever this guy could possibly think was demeaning and inhumane.

He didn’t have to wait long to find out, because suddenly a strip of smooth leather ran under his neck and pulled tight under his Adam’s apple.

Stan froze mid-struggle. Clenched his hands, and his teeth, arched his back and pressed his face into the floor even more. He could only see bright white.

He already knew what the collar felt like.

And suddenly he wasn't in the dingy warehouse corridor anymore.

"No, no, no no no NO NO PLEASE STOP PLEASE!!"

The red eyes flicked down to his sister, pressing her face into his side and squeezing into him as tight as she could.

Then back up to him, holding his hand out threateningly, blue glow dancing across his fingertips.

“How old is she?”

He snarled, arms protectively pulling her into him. “Stay AWAY from us!”

The eyes softened slightly.

So why was a gun still pointing at his head?

–

He threw his hands violently out at the person in all-black combat gear and a slight electric blue glow enveloped their side. Their narrowed their eyes and hissed in annoyance.

“Collar the older one, and for gods sake, find the younger one and dispose of it or something.” The person in all-black combat gear nodded at him. “She’s the only one we need alive.”

–

He tried to fight back. He didn’t have the cane back then. Didn’t need one.

His powers were so new, and they were so many, and he was just a kid.

He never stood a chance.

The gun. The eyes behind it. Red sparkles, red and scary.

He faced them down.

They were supposed to be gone forever.

Then the rough woven fabric of a collar too tight around his neck.

The large hands squeezing his upper arms painfully, forcing him forward.

Restraining him.

Fighting.

Held down.

Experiments.

Needles.

NEEDLES.

Where was his family?

He clutched at the collar as it wrapped around his neck. He could feel his powers leeching away as he fought to keep his freedom.

CLICK.

The sound reverberated through his skull.

And now the cycle had begun anew.

An arm wrapped around his chest and strong-armed him to his feet. Stan would have screamed if he remembered how to. Instead, a strangled gasp choked out of his vocal cords as a heavy hand clasped onto his shoulder and propelled him forward.

He immediately stumbled and fell to one knee, agonizing pain bolting up and down his bad leg and almost face-planting in the process, because when were his hands cuffed behind his back again?

He felt the collar sitting on his throat and he tried to bring his hands up to rip the damn thing off, but he couldn't.

He couldn't, he couldn't, he tried but he couldn't.

A voice lilted somewhere all around Stan, and he could feel the hands grabbing at him. He shrieked and fell forward, scrambling all of six inches before he was backed up and shivering against the wall staring up at the heaving bounty hunter.

He did not look amused.

“You are so pitiful, you know that?”

Stan brought his knees up and pressed his face into his legs, as if that small protection could put the world between them.

“Chiquito, if you don’t get your ass up and walk with me back to that room, I will pick you up and throw you over my shoulder like a sack of goddamn potatoes and spike you into the fucking floor when we get there, do you want that?”

Stan stared glassily into the floor. “... you– you– y-you were– you were there-ere.”

“I was–... What?”

Stan’s gaze snapped to his eyes. Those dark eyes. He couldn’t see it now, but he was sure there was a red glint in the right light.

“You!” He shouted, as if that would clear up his babbling. “You were– it was you!”

The mercenary stared at him. Then clenched his fists, looked up, took a hissing deep breath, and released his fists again.

“You can have a mental breakdown when we get back, runt. Are you gonna walk there or am I dragging you there?”

He didn’t remember.

Of course he didn’t remember, it must have been ten years ago. Stan was just a kid, and everyone thought he was a girl back then. He himself thought he was a girl back then.

Things were different now. Things were going better.

“I– I– We–... Walk.”

“Great.”

He reached down and dragged Stan up by the upper arm, completely ignoring the way he violently flinched and tugged back.

Stan did his best to keep up, but in addition to hunching over the searing pain in his chest and trying to ignore the prickling bruise that must have been forming on his cheek, his leg was oozing spikes of lava up and down his entire hip and leg. Stan stumbled and almost pitched forward if it hadn't been for the bounty hunter's iron grip.

The bounty hunter groaned incredulously. “Oh my god!”

“Wait, wait, I– Don't–!”

That was all he managed to get out before he was swept off his feet and thrown over the man's shoulder, hitting the soft part of his stomach right on the bone, knocking the wind from his lungs and setting his side on fire all over again. And now he was upside down. His brain felt like it was made out of slime.

He barely managed to gather his bearings enough to start kicking and yelling when he was unceremoniously dumped against the wall, where his head cracked against the cold cinderblock and he bounced to the ground with a strangled gasp.

The world went bright white as the searing pain shot through his entire being, snaking around his brain and squeezing it in a chokehold so that there was no more thought, nothing else but the primal urge to curl up into a little ball to protect himself and the silent open-mouthed screams of a trapped animal clawing desperately for its life, seizing and twitching and paralyzed all because of a too hard smack to the head short circuiting any chance it had at survival.

Stan could barely feel anything over the deafening ringing in his ears, the buzzing feeling in his body as if he were entirely made of bees, the dizziness tilting the world around him on its axis like some bad carnival fair ride.

What was that all about?

Then he finally spotted the mercenary again, coming at him once more with chain in hand, and he may as well have been dunked in ice water with how fast that image sobered him up.

He clumsily kicked out with all his might, pressing his back into the wall as much as possible to get away while simultaneously realizing that with the wall behind him, probably concussed, dizzy, tied up, and in agonizing pain, there was no way he was going to win this fight.

He kicked anyway.

Even as the hunter seemed to grab the ankle of his good leg easily, he still tried to slam his foot into the hand of the bounty hunter to just get him off. He even managed to get a solid kick in, causing the hunter to jolt back with a pained cry and let go.

Stan felt some sort of twisted sense of pride that he managed to get a hit in even in his sorry state.

Which was quickly crushed when two hands grabbed either of his ankles and lifted them up high into the air, so high that Stan was only touching the ground with the upper part of his back. He couldn’t even use his arms for extra support with the way they were firmly stuck near the small of his back.

There was panting above him. “Alright, you gonna–”

“Let me GO!” Stan yelled, trying once more to kick out of the hold, pressing painfully down into the ground with the back of his head and writhing around erratically in one last herculean act of defiance. He kicked even as his bad knee screamed for him to stop, to rest, even as the fists around his ankles just tightened and became more rigid in response, even as the mercenary grunted out a string of curses trying to wrangle him in.

He wasn’t just gonna give in.

“¡Basta ya! Fucking stop, you lost!”

“Fuck you, make me!”

A sharp kick struck him square in the middle of his spine, and he nearly cracked his teeth with the clench of the jaw he made trying to hold back the scream. He almost involuntarily had to take a moment to catch his breath, then before he could start his protestations again, the cold metal claw of a manacle clamped around his ankle and locked in place with a final click click click that made Stan’s hairs stand on end.

But he was still upside down. The mercenary didn’t let go.

In fact, he held Stan up by only one leg now, and seemed to be fiddling with something that Stan couldn’t see because of his own overturned and battered body getting in the way. He could hear each heavy breath the mercenary seethed out, each one filling him with more dread.

He felt like he’d been hit by a truck. The adrenaline of the situation finally started to ebb away as it started to sink in that he was well and truly trapped, leaving room for the much more paralyzing fear that Stan had been battling since the moment he woke up here.

Not to mention the blood rush from being upside down for so long was stinging at his face and making his brain hurt. And dizzy. And everything felt like it was shrouded in clouds. Or maybe that was the concussion.

“Jesus Christ,” the mercenary finally breathed. “One hell of a fucking kicker…”

Stan wrenched his head up to snarl at the man and tried to kick his hand off his ankle.

He snatched it out of the air mid-kick, haphazardly pressing a small bundle of twine into his skin as he knocked Stan’s ankles together and held them there as he began to wind the thread around them.

“Yeah, no more kicking.”

Stan still tried to wriggle out with increasingly weaker and weaker cries of anger, even as his ankles were anchored together, even as the blood rushed to his head and made him more and more dizzy, feeling the pressure in his face rising, and his breaths becoming shallower and slower.

Even as all of his efforts did absolutely nothing, and he was left panting and shaking with effort to not go completely limp as his legs were still held up high above him.

Stan didn’t even have the energy left to fight anymore. Tears stung at his eyes as he finally let his head lay on the ground.

“All tuckered out?” the mercenary's voice came from above him. “This seems to work pretty well on you. Maybe I just just let you hang like this for a bit. I’ve got this like, chain thing in the middle of the room hanging from the ceiling, I could probably just like, clip this in–”

“No, no, no, no no no…”

“You’re sure?” The southern drawl was ever-present. “Just wanna make sure you learned to never fucking do that again… y'know, I could hogtie you, you’re already most of the way there.”

Stan felt something break just then. He heaved in a desperate, hitching breath. “Just… please just put me down. Please.”

His voice was barely even a whisper. Every breath put more strain on his lungs.

A moment passed.

Then the hold on his ankles released, and his body came crashing to the ground. His feet hit extra hard, and his bad knee felt like it was being attacked by angry stinging bees.

But he didn’t care.

He just rolled onto his side so he wasn’t lying on his bound wrists and lay there.

He heard the boots of the bounty hunter approaching him, and he used whatever energy he had left to open his eyes and stare up at him, pleading with him to not actually hogtie him, whatever that meant. He didn’t think he could handle more.

But the bounty hunter just stared back down at him, briefly meeting his eyes before giving his body a once over, then a small nod. He nudged Stan lightly with the toe of his boot, and Stan’s wandering eyes opened and focused back on the man before he even realized they had closed.

“Not gonna pass out on me, are ya?” the mercenary asked, as if they had just had a light sparring match instead of an irrefutable beatdown.

It almost seemed like he cared. Maybe he did.

Stan swallowed. “I’m– not.”

“Good. Don’t.”

The mercenary whipped around and started to walk away, giving Stan a faceful of the revolver strapped to his hip, still completely clipped in and unused.

He never stood a chance, did he?

Despite everything, a feeling of something akin to a mix of rage and sorrow bubbled up within his stomach.

“He-hey! Wait!”

The bounty hunter turned to face him again quizzically, and somehow that made Stan’s annoyance just grow.

“You didn’t even–” Why was he mad about this? “You didn’t use the gun! Coward!”

The mercenary’s gaze shot to his hip. Then back up to Stan. His nose twitched. Face blank, calculating.

Then in one smooth motion, the gun was out of the holster and pointing directly at Stan, and a deafening blast rang out throughout the entire room.

Stan felt a burning sting whiz by his ear, high-pitched and cutting through air microseconds before the blast shook him to his core. He screamed and ducked into himself, violently shoving back into the wall and cowering into a small ball.

Even as the ringing died down and Stan realized he wasn’t a splatter on the wall behind him, the stinging on the shell of his ear didn’t die down. It got more intense. He felt a single drop of something tickling down the side of his ear before dripping down onto his shoulder. Then another.

His attention ripped up to the mercenary, only to scramble further into the wall when he found the gun still pointed at him.

Another drip.

The mercenary flipped the revolver once and shoved it firmly back into its holster.

“I’ll use the gun next time.”

* * * * * * * *

taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy

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shmaptainwrites · 10 months

Note

Any way you could do a Hawkeye/Reader one shot with the prompt “ “i like you just the way you are” 🥺🥺

I love your writing style!

hi bestie! thank you and of course i can :) i did fem reader with this but if you’d prefer something different lemme know and i can edit it as soon as i can :))

Pairings: Hawkeye Pierce x fem!Reader

Warnings: alcohol, insecurity

Just the Way You Are

A time old saying your mother used to tell you for when things didn’t seem to be going your way was that maybe you just needed a change of scenery. You didn’t realize it would come in the form of a draft letter.

In a snap your life went from small town to war zone, thrown right in the deep end.

“A MASH unit? What’s that?” you frowned. “I thought nurses were stationed in Seoul or somethin’?”

“It stands for mobile surgical army hospital. We keep ‘em close to the front so the doctors can patch them up there so they’re well enough to get to Seoul or Tokyo. Someone will drive you to the 4077th first thing tomorrow.”

You nodded your head and thought that given the information it might be best to try and get some sleep.

That seemed to escape you and instead the gears in your mind turned at the realization that absolutely no one would know you here.

The girl who was pegged as innocent, vulnerable, too empathetic with terrible luck in love was unknown to whoever you were going to be working with and it was the perfect opportunity to start fresh, but as what was the question.

After a rather sleepless night of planning, you woke up bright and early to get on the jeep and head down to Ouijonbou. As soon as you arrived after the long and somewhat treacherous journey, your commanding officer, Major Houlihan, was quick to welcome you to her team of nurses and introduced you to your colleagues and showed you where you would be staying.

“Major Im really unfamiliar with the working of a MASH unit but I’m a hard worker and I’m ready to learn. Just might need a bit of educating here and there,” you smiled.

“That’s no problem, everyone here was in your position at one point or another. Us nurses have to stick together alright, (L/N)?”

“Yes ma’am,” you nodded.

“I’ll let you get settled, but if you hear the call for choppers OR is that way,” she pointed and you nodded again in confirmation.

“Thanks again, Major,” you waved.

“Sure, you ever need anything you let me know.”

With the Major gone you got to unpacking and getting to know your bunk mates.

“So what did you do for fun back home?” Nurse Kellye asked.

“Oh…well,” you paused and thought for a moment. Your answer probably should have been something along the lines of reading or riding your bike around town, but you had decided you wanted to paint yourself as someone who was adventurous. Didn’t take no for an answer. Someone that other people looked up to and admired. So you embellished a little. “I have a motorbike,” you said. “I take it out on the freeway, ride it around town. Just to get outside, you know?”

“Wow a motorcycle?” Nurse Bellows looked at you in astonishment. “I could never bring myself to get on one of those things.”

“Takes a bit to get used to, but once you do it’s smooth sailing.”

Your conversation was interrupted by a call on the PA about choppers and the nurses quickly instructed you on the procedure as you ran out to the compound to await the ambulances.

Before you knew it you were scrubbed in all white, working alongside Dr. Hunnicutt with his patients.

Your particular area of expertise wasn’t necessarily in OR but you had the training for it so you got by with only a fumble or two.

By the time all of the wounded had made their way through OR it was dark outside and you wondered quietly to yourself if this was what every day was going to feel like.

Pure exhaustion, not even a single glimmer of energy.

It was no surprise to your roommates when you simply changed out of your dirty scrubs and went straight to bed. On your first day, showering could definitely wait.

Even within the first day you had developed quite a reputation with your fellow nurses. The Major loved you because despite your new personality you weren’t here to ruffle anyone’s feathers so you paid great attention to her instructions and carried them out to a T, but also managed to have some fun with your colleagues.

You were tossing around a baseball for some practice before your nurses versus enlisted men game when your partner overshot the ball and you had to run to catch it in your glove before it hit the ground.

“I got it! I got it! I-Oof!

You felt a large obstruction in front of you and stumbled back only to see the ball land on the ground.

“Hey, I was trying to…” you looked up and blinked a few times in astonishment. “H-Hawkeye?”

“Well, would you look at what Uncle Sam dragged in,” he chuckled. “What are you doing in this neck of the war?”

“Drafted, you?”

“Same,” he nodded. “I didn’t know you played baseball,” he motioned to your gloved hand. “Thought you were more of a stay at home and read type.”

You shrugged, “Uh, people change. I-I really gotta go Hawk, Cindy’s waiting for me. Maybe we can catch up some other time?”

“Sure, a drink in the officer’s club?”

“Sounds good,” you nodded. “I’ll see you around.”

Of the 400 people that lived in Crabapple Cove you had to run into one of them in Korea.

Your drinks with Hawkeye kept getting delayed. At one point it was because there was a camp wide outbreak of the measles and naturally a quarantine ensued, at another point there were back to back days in OR followed by everyone in camp sleeping like a log, and you seemed to have better luck getting a few dates here and there with some of the enlisted men who had taken a shine to you, unfortunately all of them didn’t seem such a good fit.

“Crazy how fast time flies huh?” Hawkeye asked when you finally sat down with your drinks.

“Yeah, feels like a couple of days, but I’ve already been here two months,” you agreed.

“And just as busy as the rest of us,” he chuckled. “Seems you’ve become the most popular person in camp.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you raised a brow and took a sip of your beer.

“Not bad, just different. Different from the version of you I grew up with.”

“Like I said, people change,” you shrugged.

“War will do that to a person,” Hawkeye sighed. “Anyway, how’s home?”

“Home’s nice,” you smiled. “Missing it more every day. I mean I left for nursing school and came back only to be shipped off.”

“At least you’ve got all the procedures fresh in mind. Sometimes I worry with all this meatball surgery I’ll forget how to take someone’s tonsils out.”

“If you need practice I still got mine,” you teased and he chuckled.

“Who would have thought coming from Crabapple Cove we’d find each other on the other end of the world.”

“Yeah, the universe sure has a funny sense of humour,” you stared down into your cup before taking another sip.

“You still read much?”

“Not since I got here,” you shook your head. “Major Houlihan’s got us working double time with all the wounded coming in and on top of it we need to keep the place spick and span.”

“Just make sure she doesn’t work you to your grave before the rest of the war does.”

“I’ll try.”

The rest of your night was relaxed, but you couldn’t help but feel like something was off, before you could give it much thought you had ambulances in the compound and it was back to work.

It seemed your luck had run out for the night because patient after patient there was one complication after another and it was not looking up to be a good shift.

“Maybe you should take ten lieutenant,” the Colonel suggested.

“No I’m fine,” you shook your head, a blatant lie, but the new you wasn’t bothered by things like this.

“(Y/N), I think Potter’s right, maybe you should take a minute,” Hawkeye counselled.

“I said I’m fine, Hawk,” you insisted. “Just let me do my work please.”

You kept your head down for the rest of the shift in OR and once it was over you slipped out before anyone was the wiser and gave you a lecture on not taking more than you could handle.

Your eyes filled with tears before you were even halfway across the compound, but you refused to let anyone see you in such a state. Maybe you’d be the one working yourself into a grave before the war got to you, or maybe it already had.

—

“Can you close up or do you need a break?” BJ asked you.

“I think I’m alright,” you nodded, but before you could take the needle from him your joints locked and you pulled back in pain.

“Woah, maybe I should just take care of this,” BJ nodded.

“Hey, let me have a look at that,” Hawkeye said, pulling off his gloves and walking towards you. “No more wounded, right Klinger?”

“You’re all good, sir,” Klinger nodded from the door and Hawkeye took that as his cue to grab your other wrist and pull you to pre-op.

He sat you down on one of the beds there and wordlessly filled a bowl with warm water so that you could place your hand inside and loosen up your joints.

“Who the hell are you trying to impress here, (N/N)?” Hawkeye asked and you blinked and looked up at him.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do,” he nodded and took your hand out of the water, wrapping it in a towel and gently massaging it. “You’re pulling double shifts in OR, covering for your friends, and on top of it living this life that isn’t yours.”

“Hawkeye you don't understand,” you shook your head. “Everyone has always liked you. When we were in school the parents loved you because you knew when to be well-behaved and the kids loved you because you knew when not to be. I’m trying to even myself out and get better at the second part.”

“And you’re gonna kill yourself in the process,” he shook his head.

“Easy for you to say, you’re not the one who’s been stuck in a town with only 400 people and half of them don’t even know your name let alone like you. No one’s ever liked me for me so I decided I was gonna be someone else.”

“I liked you,” he said quietly.

“W-What?”

“I like you,” he said plainly. “Just as you are.”

You blinked a few times more and stayed silent.

“And maybe you’d consider taking it easy for someone who likes you, and knows your name, and doesn’t care if you ride a motorbike or get hit hard in OR like we all do.”

He gently held your arm and leaned in, pressing a small kiss to your cheek before turning around to make his way into post op leaving you with a lot to think about.

—

Hawkeye and BJ found themselves aimlessly walking around the compound as they usually did when there was nothing to do.

“No wounded, post op is almost empty, peace talks are resuming, BJ dare I say it but I think the war is starting to look up,” Hawkeye chuckled.

BJ chuckled as they walked by the nurses throwing around Klinger’s baseball only for it to land by BJ’s feet.

BJ picked up the ball and tossed it to Nurse Jenkins while Hawkeye scanned the crowd for you.

“Hey where’s (Y/N)?” he asked. “She normally plays with you guys.”

“She decided to take it easy today,” Nurse Kellye told him. “I think she’s by the tent.”

Hawkeye and BJ turned in the direction of the tent to see you lounging in a chair with your feet kicked up and a book in your hands.

“If you’ll excuse me Beej, I’m gonna go check in on a friend.”

Hawkeye walked over to where you sat and pulled up another chair.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked and you looked up from your novel and shook your head. “I see you traded a glove for a book.”

“Temporarily,” you shrugged. “Baseball actually kind of grew on me. I'm not gonna quit that.”

“Fair enough,” Hawkeye chuckled.

“But I have decided to quit the double shifts, and all the extras if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I think I do,” Hawkeye nodded.

You closed your book and put it down next to your chair and looked at Hawkeye.

“Thanks Hawk, really for telling me it was okay to stop,” you said. “You were right I would have run myself into an early grave trying to keep up with everything.”

“What are old friends for,” he reached out for your hand and gave it a squeeze.

You stood up from your chair and moved next to his, bending down so you were both at eye level with each other.

“And this is a little something just as a thank you for reminding me I’m alright just the way I am,” you whispered and leaned in, pressing a soft and gentle kiss to his lips only for him to pull you closer as the nurses hollered and whistled behind you.

“Would the old you say yes to me if I asked if you’d come on a date with me?” Hawkeye asked.

“By old me do you mean the one that grew up with you?” you asked and he nodded. “Probably not, but,” you quickly butted in. “The new old me would.”

“The new old you?” Hawkeye chuckled.

“Can’t stay the same forever Hawk, just like baseball can grow on a person in a certain way, you can too.”

“I’ll take it. Otherwise I wouldn’t be a man of my word.”

“Because you like me just as I am,” you smiled.

“That I do.”

tags: @robin-the-enby

#hawkeye pierce #hawkeye pierce x reader #hawkeye pierce x you #mash #mashblr #m*a*s*h #m*a*s*h fanfiction #hawkeye pierce fanfiction

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